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“It’s not a long way down. Perhaps it would have been easier if I simply fell to the ground,” she said, trying to make a joke as a distraction. Gerald’s gaze was unrelenting, and his voice burned the air.

“I hope you never think that escaping me is the safer option,” he said.

The words rolled around her mind. In that moment, everything became unmoored within her. Clara’s heart felt as though it was bouncing around wildly, never settling in one place, and she hated herself for feeling this way.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

“Perhaps we should return to the main garden. It’s better to leave these roses to their isolation,” Clara said, attempting to keep her voice from trembling. As she moved, Gerald released her. It took a moment before she relaxed, for the impact of the touch lingered. She folded her hand closed, almost as though she was trying to keep hold of his touch.

“That was quick,” Agatha said.

“It wasn’t exactly as it seemed. I shall try again elsewhere,” Clara said, hoping that these churning feelings would settle before too long. However, she had a feeling they would linger, because what just happened on the bridge was intense. The shine in Gerald’s eyes had been like that of a wild beast. That, coupled with the way he held her and his words… it was enough to make her dizzy. Clara tried to sweep these thoughts away, telling herself that it was just a part of the arrangement.

Yet that was hard to believe when nobody but Agatha was around, and it was even doubtful that she had seen anything. It was getting more difficult to know which moments were for the benefit of others, and which were for her and Gerald alone.

Or maybe they were just for her. Maybe Gerald didn’t care at all.

Chapter Twelve

“Have you a date yet?” Beatrice asked.

“A date?” Clara replied, placing her teacup on the table.

“Yes, for the wedding.” Beatrice raised her eyebrows suggestively. Clara forced out a breath and licked her lips.

“Never mind a date; I have not received a proposal yet. I shouldn’t get your hopes up, Beatrice.”

“You don’t have to be like that. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. How could His Grace do anything but propose to you? I’m sure he’s only delaying because he doesn’t want to seem too eager. That can lead to all sorts of rumors.”

“I should hope there wouldn’t be any rumors about us at all, and you should certainly not be partaking in gossip like that. Haven’t I warned you about how damaging that can be?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun. Gossip is just stories, no different than the books Aunt Lydia reads.”

“The difference is that gossip is about real people. You wouldn’t like it if people gossiped about you, I assume?” Clara asked.

Beatrice flicked her hair and rolled her shoulders.

“I’m not sure about that. I think I would rather enjoy knowing that everyone in London had my name on their lips.”

“You should be careful what you wish for,” Clara warned. Beatrice looked unconcerned, however, for she was still young enough to believe that she was invincible, and that bad things only ever happened to other people. Clara had tried talking things over with her, but Beatrice remained obstinate. It seemed as though experience would have to teach her.

They were interrupted shortly after this by Alfred, who poked his head through the door.

“Clara, you’ve received a visitor, Sir Lionel Mercer. He told me that he had made your acquaintance at a recent ball.”

Clara smiled. Lionel had indeed been pleasant, and it was a surprise that he should call. He had indicated his desire to see her again as they finished their dance, but she assumed that it had been an empty promise.

Just before she was about to accept, she thought of Gerald. She was supposed to be courting him, and what would the ton think if she received another caller?

Then again, was she supposed to be rude for the sake of a lie? There was no harm in receiving a visitor. As she had just stated to Beatrice, there had been no proposal forthcoming from Gerald, and there never would.

“I shall be there presently,” Clara said.

“I never would have imagined it, Clara. All this time you have been waiting for one suitor, and now two come along at once,” Beatrice said. Clara simply arched an eyebrow and left the room.

Alfred walked with her to the sitting room, where a maid carried some tea. Lionel was perusing a bookshelf when he noticed her presence. His round face lit up with a smile, and he approached her gladly, bowing.