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He gave a startled laugh. “Hardly brave.”
“Oh, please,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You left behind the comfort of your status, secured a position aboard a ship, and set sail for an unknown and far-off land, all when you were just a boy. You’re quite brave.”
He was outright laughing now, that maddening dimple flashing in his cheek. “Very well,” he said, waving his arms in surrender, “You win. I shall admit to my exceeding bravery. But,” he continued, “only if you admit to a fair bit of bravery yourself.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Me, brave? You’re delusional.”
He rolled his eyes in a blatant pantomime of her. “Shall I list the reasons off as you did for me? You took care of your father when he was ill, helped Peter settle into his new position, came to London—a place you appear to despise—for your sister while having to deal with a stubbornly interfering viscountess, and stood up not only to a horrid duchess who would love nothing more than to eat you for breakfast, but also to that surly brute of a duke you call cousin. If that isn’t brave, I don’t know what is.”
“Ridiculous,” she declared dismissively, busying herself with smoothing her skirts, at once pleased and embarrassed and confused. He saw all that in her?
He took hold of her hand, and she gasped at the electric touch of his fingers cradling hers. She looked into his eyes and was shocked to see a fierce certainty there.
“I am ridiculous in a good many things, but not in this. You think because you’ve led a quiet life at home that you’re not brave. It’s easy to leave everything behind when times are hard. Often it’s the person dealing with the difficulties of day-to-day living that turns out to be the bravest there is.”
“Oh,” she managed on a soft exhale, melting under his regard. She tried to remember why she should keep her heart barricaded against the pull of him as, with a smile, he wished her a good night and headed back for the house. But goodness, he was making it difficult.
Chapter 8
The day of Phoebe’s engagement ball came with a swiftness that would have stunned Clara breathless had she time to breathe at all. As it was, her days had been packed to the gills with planning and organizing the myriad tasks necessary to pull off such a momentous occasion in such a short time. Not to mention the added necessity of taking on the persona of bride-to-be, taking walks on Quincy’s arm, sitting with him after dinner, blushing and smiling and appearing incandescently happy.
All of which had been much too pleasurable for her peace of mind. And taking up entirely too much of her thoughts and energies.
She could only be grateful that Quincy had been called to his solicitor’s offices and would not be present for the beginning of the ball. Though she was grateful for Aunt Olivia’s retreat on the matchmaking front, Quincy was proving to be a troubling distraction. And so, peering once more at her reflection in her full-length cheval mirror, studying with a critical eye the beautifully made pale green silk gown and the small seed pearls threaded through her hair—and trying her hardest not to wonder what Quincy might think of her when he saw her—she set her jaw and strode out the door.
Phoebe was already dressed, her maid putting the final touches to her hair when Clara entered her room. Margery was there, trying her best to rein in Aunt Olivia, who was loudly directing the maid on the placement of the creamy white roses being threaded into Phoebe’s golden curls.
It was a scene she had witnessed numerous times since the beginning of the season. She had not realized until that moment just how dear such things were becoming to her. Swallowing back the sudden burn of tears, she smiled and moved forward. “Goodness, Phoebe darling, you look like an angel.”
And she did, in the faintest pink silk, embellished with small roses and ivory ribbons twined into fanciful rosettes, ivory lace overlaying the bell-shaped skirt. When Phoebe’s eyes met hers in the glass, her sister’s entire face was shining with her happiness.
“Do you think Oswin will like it?” she asked, her voice breathless, cheeks blooming.
“I think he’ll love it,” Clara said with utmost honesty. The maid smiled at her, handing her a rose. “Thank you, Justine,” Clara murmured, and as had become custom over the last months she carefully tucked the last bloom into Phoebe’s soft curls.
“Oh, my dear, you are a vision,” Margery murmured with a wide smile.
“Yes, yes, a vision,” Aunt Olivia said with no attempt to conceal her impatience. “And as your intended is below as we speak, awaiting your appearance—along with his overbearing mother—it’s past time we were off.”
She wielded her cane, shooing them toward the door. As Clara made to walk alongside her sister, however, Aunt Olivia’s voice held her back.
“Come and help an old woman, Clara.”
Phoebe gave her an apologetic smile before, linking her arm with Margery’s, she sailed from the room, her eagerness to get to Oswin palpable.
Clara heaved a barely perceptible sigh, forcing a smile and offering her aunt her arm. “Well, Aunt Olivia,” she said, patting the woman’s hand as they made their way down the hall, “it’s finally here. We managed it. You must be so very happy.”
“I’ll be happy when I see that this event is the crush I wanted it to be,” the woman muttered. “Otherwise that harridan Lady Crabtree will never let me hear the end of it.”
“Oh, I’m certain she would not be so petty,” Clara said, impressed with the even confidence in her voice. She didn’t believe what she said one bit.
Aunt Olivia cast her a severe look. “Don’t think you can fool me, girl. The woman is worse than me for holding things against a person. And I’ve had more practice than she has. Besides, even should this event prove successful, there’s still the matter of the wedding itself to worry about. What if no one makes the ungodly trek to the Isle for it? What if it’s a disastrous failure?”
“Then you shall be content that Phoebe will still be the happiest bride in creation,” Clara said firmly, guiding her great-aunt down the stairs. “Truly, none of that matters to her.”
“Hmph,” Aunt Olivia grumbled.
They reached the ground floor, and Clara’s eyes were immediately drawn to Phoebe and Oswin. They stood just off to the side of the hall, their hands clasped tight, their faces alight with love. A small ache started up in Clara’s chest. She was so very glad for her sister’s good fortune. There was nothing more she wanted than Phoebe’s happiness.
