Fated Folly (14 page)

‘
Very well, Ashendon, I am prepared to bury the hatchet, not for your sake, nor my own, nor—if you will forgive me, Clare?—for yours.'

The false air of friendliness faltered a little. ‘Ah yes. For my father. Of course.'

‘
Precisely.'

‘
Which reminds me,' Ashendon went on, and Rupert noted the harsh edge that crept into his voice, ‘Papa asked me to beg you to allow the young people to come over tomorrow. For Kitty, you know.'

‘
By all means. All the young people,' Rupert said, with a significant glance at Clare, ‘are their own masters and mistresses. I have nothing to say to their chosen amusements.'

‘
Then may we expect you also, Clare?'

‘
Oh!' Clare blinked as she realised she was being addressed. ‘I'm sorry, Ash. My thoughts were elsewhere. What did you say?'

‘
Are you going over to the Grange tomorrow?' Rupert asked. ‘With the others.'

Clare bit her lip. ‘I—yes, I dare say.' She swallowed. ‘Thank you, Ash. Yes, I will come.'

‘
Then I will say
au revoir
. Christian and I must away. We are expected for luncheon.'

Ashendon bowed and retired. Clare was left confronting her husband. She did not look at him directly, but as Ashendon went off through the orchard gate, out of the corner of her eye she saw Rupert lean against an apple tree.

‘
You are unusually silent this morning.'

Clare shuffled her feet, pushing the gravel stones with the toe of one sandal. ‘I have nothing to say.'

She knew her tone was gruff, but she could not help it. To her dismay, Rupert's voice became gentle.

‘
What is it, Clare?'

‘
N-nothing.'

But the sob she could not prevent must have reached him, for Rupert pushed away from the tree and took a hasty step towards her.

Clare backed, her gaze flying to meet his. ‘Don't touch me!'

Hurt and bewilderment leapt into his eyes. ‘Clare, what in the world has occurred to upset you so? What have I said or done?'

‘
You—you haven't,' she managed to say, making a valiant attempt to hold back the tears.

‘
Was it Ashendon, then? Is he responsible for this?'

‘
No!' Clare said too forcefully, shifting back and forth. She bit her lip and faltered, ‘Oh, it—it was what he s-said about Christian.'

How could she say that it was what Rupert had
not
done that was distressing her so? Or rather, what he had done—was doing—with a woman other than his wife. But perhaps this would serve as an excuse. It was embarrassing enough.

‘
Ashendon has—has been teasing me about—about brats coming through the door.'

She forced herself to look at him. It was true at least. She had ignored it, for she was determined not to let Ashendon know how deeply he had hurt her, especially after she had blurted out that hint to Christian on their first day here.

‘
I see,' Rupert said quietly.

‘
Of course I could not say—I mean—'

‘
I comprehend you, Clare, never fear.'

‘
Well, that is why.'

He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching her face. She met them, knowing that she must convince him.

‘
Are you telling me,' he asked at length, ‘that is the sole reason you have been so shy of me?'

Drat, he did not believe her. She thought fast. ‘Well, no. At least, this morning it was, for I was singularly discomfited.'

His expression did not change. ‘And yesterday? And the day before? And the day before that?'

‘
Oh, Rupert, for heaven's sake! Do you mean to catalogue the whole week?'

‘
I don't know. It seems a lengthy time to me that you have been holding so aloof.'

‘
You can talk,' Clare snapped before she could stop herself.

‘
What is that supposed to mean?'

‘
Nothing,' she said quickly, avoiding his narrowed gaze.

‘
Nothing? There is a tremendous amount of “nothing” about you this morning.'

‘
Oh, why can't you leave me alone?' cried Clare, driven to desperate measures.

‘
Leave you alone?' he echoed in a grating voice. ‘I thought I had done so. What is it you complain of? I have kept to my promise.'

She could hardly say that was exactly what she complained of. But venom spat from her nevertheless.

‘
That can't have been too difficult.'

‘
How the devil would you know?'

His glare was as hot as her own. Then Clare wrenched her eyes away.

‘
In any event, if we are to talk of keeping to promises,' she said snappily, ‘you will scarcely deny that I have played my part in this farce.'

‘
Oh yes. Very well you played it when Christian came.'

‘
There was no need for it then. You know as well as I that Christian knew everything.'

‘
Then why was he as surly as a bear?'

‘
Heavens, Rupert, even Ash does not know that there has been nothing physical between us. If he did, you may be certain he would be urging Christian to try for an annulment.'

Rupert frowned. ‘Then you do not trust him. I was afraid that—'

‘
Oh, were you?' Clare interrupted, eyes flashing. ‘You know how I feel about Ashendon. In any event, I'll keep my vows, even if you do not.'

‘
My God, I didn't mean that, you little idiot,' Rupert protested, horrified. ‘I wasn't accusing you.' Then her last words penetrated. His eye kindled. ‘What the devil do you—?'

‘
Nothing!' she flung at him. ‘I didn't mean anything, and I don't want to talk about it any more!'

Turning, she fled from him, picking up her skirts and running headlong through the orchard. With difficulty, Rupert refrained from chasing her, listening with pain to the sound of her sobs dying away, as a tumult of confused emotions churned in his breast.

What did the child expect of him? She could not know, could she? He had tried to keep it under control. Sometimes he thought the effort was killing him. She had never been like this before, though. Something had brought it on. She had never until this moment shown any indication that she wanted him to break his word to wait until she was a deal older. But unless he had taken leave of his senses, he must read that into her outburst today.

Only she did not understand. She did not know what it would be like, what the aftermath might mean—to him, to them both. How could she, as young as she was? Seventeen! What was worse, she looked a deal younger even than that. He could not succumb, not now, not yet.

Useless to go after her and try to make amends. What could he possibly say? She would calm down. It was not like Clare to remain angry for long.

It was a relief to find, at dinner, that Clare had cooled, although she was a trifle stiff, and had only a tiny smile for him. When he came in next morning from riding, however, and went in to breakfast, unwelcome tidings awaited him.

He found himself alone in the breakfast parlour, and recalled Ashendon's invitation of the previous day. As Brookland served him with coffee and rolls—for he was ever a light eater—he asked after the rest.

‘
I assume the others have already breakfasted and gone over to the Grange, Brookland?'

‘
Mr and Mrs Carradale left quite half an hour ago, sir,' the butler responded. ‘But her ladyship has not been down.'

Rupert looked up from the newspaper he had just opened, and frowned. ‘What? Didn't she go?'

‘
No, sir.' Brookland coughed, and added, ‘Her ladyship sent word by her maid that she is indisposed.'

Rupert was on his feet. ‘Indisposed? But Lady Wolverley is never indisposed.'

‘
That is just what occurred to me, sir,' began the butler.

But he spoke to the air, for Rupert had flown out of the parlour and was mounting the stairs two at a time, panic driving him. Reaching the bedchamber adjoining his own, he flung open the door without troubling to knock, and strode into the room.

‘
Sir Rupert!'

Clare was lying back in the big four-poster, propped against a bank of pillows, a cup in her hand, and a tray on her bedside table.

‘
What is the matter?' Rupert demanded, dread in his chest. ‘Are you ill?'

Clare blinked at him. ‘Not really. It is just—oh nothing.'

‘
That “nothing” again? Come, don't trifle with me, Clare, I beg of you.'

‘
Well, if you must know,' she said in a goaded voice, putting down her cup, ‘it is just one of those little malaises to which women are subject.'

‘
What?' he said stupidly.

‘
Oh, you know what I mean,' Clare said impatiently, drawing the frothy lace negligée more securely around her. ‘I know you think of me as a child, but I am a woman grown, Sir Rupert.'

Enlightenment dawned and relief flooded him. ‘Is that all? Thank God!' A faint smile crossed his mouth, and he moved to shut the door, his eyes still on her. ‘I see I am relegated to
Sir
Rupert again, Lady Wolverley. I suppose I deserve it.'

Clare flushed, stammering, ‘I—I d-did not mean it so. It slipped out.'

He came to the bed, and perching beside her, took hold of her hand and kissed it. ‘I am glad it is nothing serious.'

‘
Oh no. I have a bad time of it now and then,' she confided, ‘and it does make me ticklish.'

‘
Ticklish? Thank you for the warning, even though it comes too late to prevent me falling into a foolish quarrel with you.' He added, as she began to twinkle, ‘I was afraid you had become ill on account of what happened yesterday. Forgive me.'

‘
Oh no, Rupert.' She struggled up and clasped the hand that held hers between both her own. ‘It was my fault. I said such things, too.'

‘
Oh, Clare, I don't even know what you said. Or what I said either,' Rupert declared. ‘All I know is that I made you unhappy, my poor child. And I swear I never intended that.'

‘
Don't, Rupert.'

Clare disengaged her hands and threw them about his neck. She did not even think of what she was doing, quite unaware of anything other than the fact that it was she who had made Rupert unhappy, which was unbearable.

Rupert received her into his embrace with fervour, holding her close and burying his face in the hair that fell loosely about her shoulders. All at once he experienced the most extraordinary sensation of
dejà vu
. The very feel of the curls tickling his cheek, one flaxen lock falling almost in his eyes. The clinging touch of the thin arms clutched so tightly about his neck, the small hands grasping his hair.

For a moment or two he remained motionless, dizzy with the certainty that this had happened before, that at any moment there would be a sobbing in his ear twisting his heart.

Then Clare was pulling away, and the odd impression left him as abruptly as it had come.

‘
You have been so very kind to me,' she was saying, smiling at him. ‘I had no right to—I did not mean to be so crotchety.'

‘
Crotchety?' he echoed, laughing. ‘Heaven help me, then, when I find you beyond the “ticklish” and “crotchety” stage.'

Clare chuckled. ‘I am not as bad as you.'

‘
Very nearly,' he retorted. Then the laughter left him and he gathered her hands in his. ‘Clare, let us be serious for just a moment. It is little enough I can offer you.'

‘
That is not true.'

He shook his head. ‘You think I have done much, I am aware of that, but you are mistaken. Giving you a home, a life—my name even—has cost me nothing. It was necessary, that is all. I cannot bear even to think of what it has cost you. But at the very least, I want you to feel comfortable with me. And that you cannot be if you don't feel able to tell me when I have done or said anything, however unwittingly, that may have hurt or upset you.'

That wavering smile was on her lips, the uncertainty back in her eyes. But she said merely, ‘You don't need to concern yourself, Rupert. I am very comfortable with you.'

‘
I wish I might believe you.'

Mischief leapt into her eyes. ‘Do you dare to suggest I am fibbing, Sir Rupert?'

‘
I would not put it past you, Lady Wolverley.'

She laughed, but a trifle absently, he thought. His brows drew together in a quick frown. ‘There is something. What is it? Tell me!'

Clare looked down, and then back up at his face. She drew a breath. ‘You do not—you do not really think of me as “Lady Wolverley”, do you?'

He tried to smile. ‘You are Lady Wolverley.'