Andrew hesitated. Clare looked like she was ready to collapse, not hostess a social visit. But he was thirsty, and she probably needed refreshment as well as rest, so he nodded and said “Thank you, Lady— I mean, Clare.”
The drawing room was on the side of the house, which was shaded by a large plane tree. The heat of the day was finally beginning to dissipate, and Clare had the footman who delivered their tray open the French doors.
“Even that slight breeze feels like a taste of heaven after being in hell,” said Andrew, loosening his cravat without thinking. When he realized what he had done, and started to apologize, Clare said: “Please, Andrew. After what we have been through together, you may be a little informal without offending me! You are lucky that you are wearing something adjustable,” she added, fingering the heavy black silk.
Andrew lifted his glass. “To the most courageous lady of my acquaintance.”
Clare put up her hand as though to protest. “No, to a most persistent and articulate defender. Truly, I owe you my life, Andrew,” she added with quiet fervor. “I am not sure I really understood that until now. And although I have no sense of what I will do with the rest of it, I am forever indebted to you that I have any choice at all.”
“Will you stay here or go to your parents’, Clare?” Andrew asked after they had both taken long swallows of their lemonade.
“I don’t know, Andrew. I feel very empty of every feeling right now. And where
does
a woman go who has murdered her husband,” she added, trying to sound humorous, but obviously still tormented.
“Clare, you know that if you had not killed him, he would have killed you.”
“I felt that way then. When you brought me back to that night at the inquest, I felt it again. Now, however, it seems none of it happened. Or if any of it did, it was to a different person. I am outside it all, only an onlooker. It is as though there are two Clares, one who is standing over her husband with a poker and the other who is watching her. And neither feels anything. Indeed, I don’t know if I will feel anything again,” she said with a sad smile.
“I have seen this before, Clare,” said Andrew reassuringly. “In many cases involving violence, the victim seems to become removed. You are still in shock.’’
“But I am not the victim, Andrew. Justin was.”
“Oh, no, my dear. You are indeed the victim in this case. Now, I think it is time you rested,” said Andrew, putting his glass down and walking over to where Clare was sitting, her eyes staring out the French doors, but obviously seeing nothing.
He reached out, took her glass, and put it down on the table in front of her. She turned toward him then and really saw him for the first time that day. His hair was all elflocks and wet curls both from the heat and from running his hand through it. His cravat was pulled loose. He had dark circles under his eyes, no doubt from late-night briefings with his solicitor, preparing his defense strategies.
“Oh, Andrew, you look worse than I must,” she said, with such sympathy that he wasn’t insulted. “I will rest and hope that something of myself is restored. It was very painful to remember, Andrew, but thank you for making me.” She hesitated. “I feel that we have become more than counsel and client. I feel we are friends. May I consider you so?”
Andrew smiled. “Of course. And as such, I fully expect to have a waltz now and again when you return to society.”
Clare shook her head.
“No, you won’t waltz with me?”
“I doubt I will be receiving more invitations this Season, Andrew. And even if I did, I would turn them down.”
“I would wager a small fortune that you will be the most sought-after guest, my dear. At least for a few weeks, until another scandal captures the ton’s attention. And I would strongly recommend you accept at least a few of those invitations. Oh, not right away. Give yourself time to recuperate. But you must show your face, Clare, to convince everyone that the jury’s verdict was the right one and your counsel a most competent one,” he added with a grin.
Clare shook her head again, and then swayed against him.
“Damn me for being a fool. Let’s get you right to bed.”
Andrew led her slowly to the door and summoned the butler. “Has Liza left yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get her, please. She can do one last thing for her mistress before she leaves.”
Andrew hated to leave Clare in Liza’s hands, but there was no choice. He certainly couldn’t bring her up to her bedroom himself. And by the time she awoke, Martha would certainly have returned.
He watched them both up the stairs until he was satisfied that Clare would make it.
“Tell your mistress when she awakes that I will call on her tomorrow,” he said to the butler.
“Yes, sir,”
“And Peters.”
“Yes, Mr. More?"
“If Martha arrives, please send her up to Lady Rainsborough’s room and send Liza away.”
Clare awoke late the next morning, partly because of her exhaustion and partly because the weather had changed. The heat had finally broken during the night with the arrival of a heavy rain, and it was a dark, wet morning. She lay there, all the energy leached out of her, listening to the steady beat of the raindrops on the roof. Perhaps she would stay in bed forever, she thought. Slowly she became conscious that there was someone else in the room with her. Liza, she thought, and opened her eyes. There was Martha, sitting by the window, sewing.
“Martha?” Clare whispered.
Martha dropped the shift she was mending and hurried over to the bed.
“My lady. You are finally awake.”
“What time is it, Martha? And how did you get here?”
“It is past eleven, my lady. And I left the Winstons’ as soon as you sent for me.”
Clare began to pull herself up, and Martha reached behind her and settled her pillows against the bedstead.
“I was hoping you would come, Martha,” said Clare. “But I didn’t dream it would be so soon. You have always been too good to me. I wouldn’t have survived my marriage without your caring. Or your testimony,” she added in a stronger voice. “Thank you. It took courage to come forward.”
“Not as much courage as you, my lady.”
“Do you think so? I felt I only revealed my own cowardice.”
“You were as brave as any soldier when you defended yourself.”
Clare gave her a wan smile. “You mean when I shot Lord Rainsborough? I was afraid for my life, Martha. And Lord Whitton’s,” she added.
“Which reminds me,” said Martha with a smile. “Lord Whitton and his sister have been here twice already, but I had Peters send them away. They will be back again, I am sure.”
Clare closed her eyes and sat back against the pillows. “I don’t think I can see anyone yet, Martha. Especially not Lord Whitton. I don’t know how I will ever face any of them again.”
“You will do it slowly, my lady. Your father has also called, of course. And Mr. More.”
Clare’s expression lightened. “Did Mr. More say when he would return?”
“This afternoon, I believe.”
“Perhaps you could send a message to my father, Martha. If Andrew were there to support me, I think I could see them. But not until later this afternoon,” she added.
“I’ll have Peters send a footman to deliver the message, my lady. And the Whittons?”
“Not yet, Martha, not yet.”
Clare knew that Giles and Sabrina had been there through the whole inquest. At one point during the proceedings, she had glanced up and seen Giles leaning over the railing. He had smiled at her, a caring, encouraging smile. She had done nothing to acknowledge it. How could she? What would she have done? Smiled back and then proceeded to give her testimony. That shameful scene with Justin, where she gave in and “confessed” that she and Giles were lovers? She had tried to make it clear that she had lied only to save Giles. That she had killed Justin almost as much for Giles’s safety as for her own. But in doing that, she felt she had drawn him into the horror that had been her marriage. That she had somehow contaminated him. He must despise her: for marrying Justin, for staying with Justin, and finally, for killing Justin.
Perhaps she could receive Sabrina again. Her old friend had been faithful and so good that night of Justin’s death. But she was Giles’s twin. They were so close.
It was all too much. She had saved her own life, but to what purpose? What kind of life could she now look forward to? She could go back and live with her parents, she supposed. She was sure that they would ask her. Or she could return to Devon. But how could she live at Rainsborough Hall? Every room would hold a memory. Some would be good, but that would make it even worse. Of course she could stay in town, as Andrew had suggested. If she stayed in town, then at least she wouldn’t lose her contact with him. He had heard her story first, and he hadn’t despised her or condemned her: he had listened and comforted her and saved her life. She owed him at least the waltz he had requested.
* * * *
Clare’s meeting with her parents was bittersweet. At last, she thought, she was receiving their full attention. And their genuine love and concern. How could she not appreciate it and receive it. Yet letting it in at long last only made her remember how she had longed for it as a child. Perhaps if she had felt more loved then, her life would have been very different.
As she had expected, they were ready to leave London and take her with them, and were clearly disappointed when she refused. Andrew, who had arrived after her mother and father, supported her in her decision, saying that the only way to deal with scandalmongers and gossips was to brazen it out.
“But she will be expected to observe a mourning period, Andrew,” protested Clare’s mother.
“I think wearing black and not receiving visitors when one has oneself caused a husband’s demise, might cause as much gossip, don’t you think, Lady Howland?”
“I think he is right, my dear,” commented the marquess. “Why on earth
should
Clare mourn the death of such a monster.”
“I will come to Howland when the Season is over,” Clare promised, and her parents had to accept that.
After the marquess and marchioness had gone, Sabrina was announced. Clare, who had been anxiously expecting both the Whittons was relieved and gave her a welcoming smile.
“I won’t stay long,” she promised. “Giles wanted to come again, but I convinced him that too many visitors today would exhaust you. He will likely call tomorrow.”
“I am glad you called, Sabrina, for I wanted to thank you for your willingness to testify if you were needed.”
“There is no need to thank me, Clare. It was the least I could have done. I still feel terrible that you had to suffer those two years alone.”
Andrew, who had been watching Clare carefully, saw the look of anxiety that flitted across her face and broke in: “I think that Lady Rainsborough, I mean Clare, blames no one for those years and is ready to leave them behind?”
Clare nodded gratefully, and Sabrina felt shut out as her friend and Andrew shared a quick intimate glance. Andrew More had never offered her such a quick and ready sympathy. Andrew More had never done anything to demonstrate any special interest in Lady Sabrina Whitton. But it was understandable, she supposed, that his position as legal defender of Lady Clare Rainsborough might lead him to consider himself her friend. Perhaps with the potential for more?
“What are your plans for the rest of the Season, Clare? If you are not going home to Howland, Giles and I wanted you to know that we very much wish to bring you to Whitton.”
“And interrupt your own Season? No, thank you, Sabrina, although I appreciate your kindness. Andrew has convinced me that staying on and doing a modest amount of socializing will make the scandal go away quicker. And I have promised him a waltz,” Clare added, trying to be humorous.
Indeed, thought Sabrina, and then was appalled by her reaction. Andrew was right. The ton was drawn to weakness the way a wolf was drawn to a lamb: try to run, and they were down on you at once. But turn and face them, and they eventually lost interest and sought out other victims. Clare did not have to resume a full social life, but staying in London and attending a few functions would, in the long run, serve her well. And why shouldn’t she give a waltz to Andrew More, the man who had saved her life?
Sabrina only stayed a short while and left with Andrew, who asked if he could call her a hackney.
“No, thank you, Andrew. It is a lovely day, so I will walk home.”
“Surely you should not do so unescorted. May I offer you my company?”
“It is a short walk, as you know. There is no need for you to go out of your way,” Sabrina responded calmly.
“But it
is
a lovely day, and I would enjoy the walk.”
Sabrina nodded, and they walked along in silence for a few minutes.
“You were truly impressive at the inquest, Andrew,” said Sabrina, breaking the silence.
“Thank you, Sabrina. I was not sure that I could pull it off. And I knew if Clare’s case were brought to trial, she would be more at risk. I had to be very strong at the inquest. And I, too, admire your willingness to take the stand, had I needed you.”
“Oh, I think it took no courage at all compared to Clare telling her story. And she would not have done that for anyone else, Andrew, I am convinced. You were right to push her, even though I did not think so at the time.”
Andrew looked over at Sabrina and lifted his eyebrows. “So I have your approval at last, Sabrina,” he said teasingly. He gave her one of his quirky grins and suddenly she felt much better than she had all afternoon. He was not looking at her in that protective way he had Clare ... but then, did she really want that from him? She enjoyed it when they spoke as equals, even if it was in disagreement. And she knew that she wanted something more from him, much more.
* * * *
Giles was at his club when Sabrina reached Grosvenor Square, and she had no opportunity to talk to him. They were both to be at the Kendall ball, but had planned to arrive separately. Sabrina got there first and found herself surrounded by friends and acquaintances who wanted to know just what had occurred at the inquest.