She might have confided in Gabby— her older sister was her most trusted friend— but Gabby was abed on doctor's orders by the time Claire reached Morningtide almost two days after that bleak dawn when she had set sail from France. Stivers, the longtime family butler who had moved into Morningtide with Gabby on her marriage, had opened the door to Claire's knock, and had let out a shriek upon seeing who it was that had brought a host of servants, as well as Beth, and Gabby's husband, Nick, running.
"Miss Claire, Miss Claire, we feared you dead!" Twindle had sobbed, as first she and then Beth had fallen on her neck in floods of tears. Nick had let out a shout, and practically snatched Claire off her feet in his haste to convey her to Gabby's bedside. Not that Nick had not been out of his mind with worry over her fate for her own sake, as he had hastened to assure her later, when things had calmed down a bit. But Gabby, already weak and sick with pregnancy, had fainted upon hearing of the attack on Claire's carriage, and he had feared the effect on her should he have to tell her that her beloved little sister had suffered an even more dire fate. To have Claire turn up hale and hearty on their doorstep, when he had men searching half of England for her— and, as Nick hastily added, David had his own group of would be rescuers hunting her as well, of course— could only be classified as a miracle.
There was a moment there when Claire had thought about confiding to Nick, not the part about sleeping with Hugh, but at least the fact that she had met him, been mistaken for a spy, and carried off to France by him by mistake. Nick was a former intelligence agent himself, although he had retired upon his marriage, and might be expected to know Hugh. But anything Nick knew, Gabby knew soon afterward. And if Gabby got hold of any part of it, she would soon have the whole shameful story out of Claire. Then would come questions about the state of Claire's marriage, and Gabby would worry herself to death if she learned how unhappy Claire was in it, and at this, the happiest moment in Gabby's life, Claire did not want to burden her with problems.
So, in the end, she did not confide in anyone. Instead she determined simply to put it all out of her mind as if it had never happened, Hugh included.
At which, so far, she was failing abysmally.
To that end, all was well that ended well, Claire told them one and all, putting on her brave, smiling face and doing her best to drive all memories of Hugh— indeed, of everything that had happened above and beyond the original kidnapping— from her mind. Actually, it was borne in on her over the next few days and weeks that forgetting the rest— forgetting Hugh— was the only rational choice, because every time she thought of him she was hit by such a wave of misery that all she wanted to do was go to bed and cry. The pain was almost more than she could stand, but she gritted her teeth and lifted her chin and bore it. The reality was that her bolt-from-the-blue love affair was over, vanished as completely as a dream when the dreamer wakes.
Even James was gone, having disappeared after he had seen her walk safely in the door at Morningtide, and without even giving her so much as a chance to charge him with a message for Hugh. Not that she would have done so. At least, not then. At that point, she had still had her pride. Now, she feared, her pride was quite gone, worn down by the constant ache in her heart. Had she the chance to do it over again, she probably would have forced James to convey her right back to Hugh and France after assuring her family that she was all right.
But that was foolishness, of course. She must just be thankful for those few hours she and Hugh had shared, for the knowledge he had given her of what was possible between a man and a woman, rather than constantly regretting that they had not had more time together. And indeed, she tried to be thankful, but it was hard— very hard.
When David— reunited with her at Morningtide some two days after her safe arrival there and exhibiting such joy at her safety that she could not help but suspect he was feigning— had tried to come to her bed for the first time in months in an apparent attempt to prove to her how truly anxious about her he had been, she had not been able to bear the thought of lying with him and had turned him away with the excuse that it was her monthly time. He had accepted that without much noticeable regret, and had not attempted to enter her bedchamber again. But someday he would. He must, if they were to have children. The thought made her shudder.
She did not love her husband. She never truly had. She had married him thinking he was what she wanted, what she needed, a kind and gentle man who would never be a threat to her in any way. But she'd been wrong about David— he was no more intrinsically kind and gentle than was a wasp. And she'd been wrong about what she needed as well. She needed a man who could make her laugh and make her furious and make her gasp with a touch or a kiss. In short, she needed Hugh.
But Hugh was gone, and she was married to David. Trapped like a fly in a web, with no way out that she could see.
So she straightened her spine, held up her head, and vowed to put a good face on the rest of her life. Her initial reward for so much bravery had been witnessing the safe arrival, just one month before, of her new niece, Anne Elizabeth Claire Devane. Gabby was over the moon with happiness at the birth of her daughter, and seeing her beloved sister both happy and speedily recovering her health was one of the two bright spots in Claire's life. The other was Beth. Without Beth, Claire didn't know what she would have done. Although Beth didn't know about Hugh either, Beth was family. Claire leaned on her, depending on her stalwart, cheerful little sister for affection and laughter and companionship more desperately than Beth would ever realize.
Bringing Beth out gave her something to focus on, Claire thought now as she surveyed her sister critically from head to toe. Something to occupy the majority of her attention until the storm assailing her heart had passed, as it would surely— please, God!— do in time.
"The pearl earrings and necklet, Alice," Claire said to the girl who was hovering around Beth, thus signaling her final approval of Beth's costume by requesting the pieces that would complete it. A pink-cheeked, bright-eyed young woman with a coronet of neat brown braids, Alice was the maid who had been in the carriage with Claire at the time of her abduction. Aside from being clouted over the head, she had not been harmed, and had returned to Morningtide in the aftermath of the kidnapping. In an effort to make up to her for some of the trauma she had suffered, Claire had offered her this chance to come with them to London as her own lady's maid, the girl who had held that post in the country having elected not to leave her family.
"Yes, Miss Claire." Alice obediently fetched the items requested from the dressing table in the other room. But upon her return with them, Beth, turning this way and that as she surveyed her gown from every possible angle, proved an elusive target.
"Stand still, Beth, do," Claire said impatiently after a minute or so of watching Alice's futile efforts.
Her sister, all of eighteen years old now, a breathtaking debutante in a white satin ballgown with a sparkling gauze overlay that made her look like a fairy princess, a new and lovely ornament on the bosom of Society, met her gaze through the mirror. Then she stuck out her tongue at Claire.
Claire barely recollected her own dignity in time to keep from pitching the spray of tiny white roses in the silver filagree holder, which she had just picked up to hand to Beth, at her saucy red head instead.
"It's a pity that the vinegar didn't have the same improving effect on her conduct as it did on her figure, isn't it?" Claire confined herself to observing.
"You're just jealous because you're an old married woman now, and I am the one who gets to have all the beaux," Beth retorted good-humoredly.
That was so true that Claire could only make a face at her sister through the mirror that was not quite as childish in effect as sticking out one's tongue, but close.
Chapter 23
Long inured to such sisterly moments, Twindle frowned impartially at the pair of them.
"That's quite enough, girls."
Claire, hearing the familiar refrain that had been a staple of her growing-up days even as she watched Alice at last manage to screw the earrings into the grown-up Beth's ears, had to smile at her own instantaneous return to the familiar patterns of childhood. If Gabby was the sister in whom she was most likely to confide, Beth was the sister whose ears she was most likely to box. With just three years separating them, they had spent their formative years bickering and battling and then turning right around and defending one another from any outsider's attacks. As dearly as she loved Gabby, Claire just as dearly loved Beth. And she was truly glad to be bringing Beth out in London. She was glad to have more time with her sister, who'd been living with Gabby at Morningtide since Gabby's marriage.
Also, if it hadn't been for Beth, Claire would by now, since Gabby's baby was born and in the interests of keeping up a good front, have returned to her own home. Strange, after almost two years of marriage, it was still hard to think of it as that. Labington, a small jewel of an estate in Dorset that David had inherited from his father, second son of the late, previous Duke of Richmond, was beautiful: beautiful house, beautiful grounds, beautiful countryside. When David had taken her to see it soon after his proposal, she had thought that she could soon grow to love the place. But what she had not then realized was that people were what made a house a home, and from the time of her honeymoon she had lived at Labington largely alone except for the servants. Not long after the wedding, Claire had realized that David despised the place, preferring to divide his time between his cousin the duke's far more elaborate properties, which David's mother, and David too until his marriage, had long occupied with the duke's permission as the duke himself, whom Claire had not as yet met, had spent the last several years abroad. Hayleigh Castle was one of those properties, and this most august of London townhouses was another.
It was ideal for holding a come-out ball, and Claire could only be grateful to her mother-in-law for permitting her to launch Beth from so peerless an address. Nick was bearing all the expenses of Beth's Season, including this ball, but, as a wealthy commoner, he could not provide the kind of cachet that was attached to Richmond House and the Lynes family. With her sister's own fiery beauty, the weight of Richmond House behind her, and no scandal to cast a spanner in the works, Beth could hardly fail to be a success.
And unlike Claire at her own debut, Beth was actually looking forward to the process. The idea of marrying held none of the terrors for her lionhearted little sister that it had held for her less courageous self. Claire had dreaded the idea of marrying, fearing that she might find herself subjected for life to the whims of an overbearing, abusive tyrant like her father. But Gabby's success at matrimony had heartened her, and the knowledge that she wanted children and a husband was the only way to get them had provided the final push. And so she had ended up with handsome David, cousin and heir to a duke, who'd written poetry to her eyes instead of kissing her and who'd sent her posies rather than sweeping her up in his arms when they danced.
Only it turned out that David wasn't what she'd wanted at all. Wasn't that the way life always worked? To learn a hard truth too late— was that better than never learning it at all? Possibly not. At least, if one never discovered what one wanted, one could never miss not having it.
But perhaps, like Gabby, Beth would have better luck with men and marriage, Claire told herself, and hoped fiercely that it would be so. Prayed that it would be so.
"Miss Claire, Miss Twindlesham, do you think a curl— so?" Haney, a tiny brunette who had been engaged in London and had been recommended as one who was a wizard at implementing the latest styles, was Beth's own maid. She coaxed one of Beth's long curls over her shoulder so that it fell in front almost to the off the-shoulder neckline of the gown. The effect was quite riveting, Claire decided, looking at her sister with a critical eye, rather like introducing a tongue of flame into a field of pristine snow. Besides Beth's long-hated fiery hair, the only other notes of color in the picture of virginal white perfection her sister presented were her lips, touched most discreetly with crushed rose petals to enhance their color, and her sparkling blue eyes.
"That's perfect," Claire approved, and smiled at her sister through the mirror. "You look perfect."
Beth returned her smile a tad ruefully. "No, you're the one who looks perfect, of course. You always do. It's the most lowering thing, let me tell you, to have a sister who always outshines one." Then her gaze shifted to her own reflection, and her smile widened and her eyes twinkled engagingly. "But I'm used to it. Anyway, I think I look quite beautiful too. And I'm far more lively and not nearly as shy as you. So have at you, Claire."
"This is not a contest," Claire said severely, then had to grin. She and Beth had played at being pirates as little children, with sticks for swords, and never mind that they were girls.
Have at you, Claire
, was what Beth had always shouted before she went on the attack, usually to beat Claire back quite handily. "Besides, I'm married, remember? This ball— this Season— is all for you."
"It is, isn't it?" Beth turned to beam at her with undisguised delight.
"The pair of you had best be going below now. It won't do to be late to your own ball." Twindle was briskly practical as she stepped forward to shoo Beth toward the door. Reminded of the time, Claire handed Beth her flowers.
"I am so excited." Executing a few swirling dance steps, Beth stopped to give Twindle a hug and got, in return, a quick, precautionary lecture on the behavior expected of young ladies making their debut. Listening to this diatribe directed at her deserving sister with half an ear, Claire stepped up to the mirror to take a quick look at her reflection and was satisfied with what she saw. Although she had lost a little weight, perhaps, over the last three months, it was noticeable only in that her collarbone, bare along with her shoulders and the tops of her white bosom above the low neckline of her gold lace over satin ballgown, was perhaps more pronounced. With her black hair swept up à la Chinoise and Gabby's topaz set, loaned for the Season, sparkling around her neck and in her ears, she was still as beautiful as she had ever been, she decided. Though no longer in the first blush of her youth, she would do.