The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott
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signified progress, but if there was even a flicker of ‘progress’ it was even harder to give up knowing she might have success. But at what price? She did not want to ‘lure’ Lashley away. After last night, she felt that might be the case. ‘I think it’s gone too far.’
He’d kissed her out of desperation over his own circumstances or over hers. And that was the ‘good’ explanation. Perhaps he’d kissed her because he felt sorry for her, the poor blue-stocking girl who had never been out in a garden with a beau before. She looked her friends in the eye. ‘I have to give him up.’ It was the right thing to do. Il n’y a pas d’oreiller si doux comme une conscience claire—there is no pillow softer than that of a clear conscience, as the French would say.
Beatrice was staring at her, dark eyes hard. ‘I would say it hasn’t gone far enough. I thought you wanted more than a few stolen moments and a couple waltzes. I thought you wanted Jonathon.’
She did. ‘I do, it’s just...’
‘What? Hard?’ Beatrice was relentless. ‘Of course it’s hard. You are going to have to fight for him. You’re going to have to fight Cecilia and you’re going to have to fight yourself. In fact, you’re probably your worst enemy.’
Claire bristled, Bea’s comments stoking her anger. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Bea, be careful,’ May warned, looking between the two of them.
Beatrice flicked stern eyes in May’s direction. ‘No, she has to hear this. We’ve coddled her too long.’
‘What are you talking about? Coddling me?’ Claire was angry now. Had her friends been keeping secrets? About her?
‘We let you retreat, Claire, when we should have pushed you forward. You are not a wallflower, but we let you play at it until you became one. You’ve changed and not for the better. You’ve created far more doubt for yourself than Cecilia Northam ever could.’
This was stunning. It was definitely not what one expected to hear from one’s friends. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Just uncomfortable. She’d come here anticipating that they would all nod their heads and gather around her in support of her decision to give up Jonathon. They’d fought the good fight, gave it a good run and all that, but in the end it was probably best to stop here. Claire stared at her friends, each of them in agreement with Beatrice. ‘Et tu, Evie?’
Evie nodded. They were disappointed. In her. Why shouldn’t they be? Hadn’t she thought much the same thing lately, although not quite in Beatrice’s succinct terms? She was different when she was with Jonathon, bolder, braver, stronger. And it scared her. She liked that girl. She didn’t want to lose that girl again. It was a big risk to take. Maybe too big.
‘Excuse me, Miss Evie.’ The butler coughed discreetly to announce his presence. ‘Pardon my interruption, but there’s a gentleman downstairs who is asking to see Miss Welton. He’s quite insistent. He says he’ll wait. I think he means it. He’s been here a half-hour already. What shall I tell him?’
Claire stiffened. Everyone looked at her, even the butler. No one actually expected Evie to answer. Beside her, May murmured in I told you so undertones, ‘He’s come for you. It seems he doesn’t want to be dismissed. Perhaps he didn’t mind that kiss so much after all.’
Bea gave her a challenging stare. ‘Begin as you mean to go on, Claire.’ Apparently she wasn’t giving him up after all.
Jonathon rose the instant she entered the room and came to her, his hands gripping hers, his face tight, devoid of his usual smile. She searched his face for a clue. Something had happened if he’d made the effort to follow her here.
‘Claire, I apologise for the intrusion, but I must speak with you right away.’ She felt the hard pressure of his hands where they covered hers. Her mind slowed down over that one thought, repeating the idea once more: Something had happened and when it had, he’d come to her. Another sort of woman might have taken a vindictive sort of pleasure in knowing that he’d rushed to her and not to Cecilia. But Claire was far more concerned about Jonathon to spare thought for a petty girlish rivalry.
He glanced towards the door, indicating he’d rather not talk here. She understood at once. He wanted privacy. ‘We can walk in the key garden just across the square.’
* * *
Claire was all efficiency, calling for her maid and her pelisse. Within moments she and Jonathon were out of the house. The key garden was quiet, frequented only by nannies and prams and a few small children who were too busy to notice them. ‘Now, tell me what’s happened.’
‘We have to step up the French lessons. I have to get my fluency back faster.’ Get it back? That was an odd word. She’d been unaware he had any fluency to ‘get back’.
‘All right.’ Claire hoped she sounded patient, sounded calm. Her mind was reeling with questions. What had sparked such urgency? She assumed it must be the Vienna position. ‘We can meet twice a day or for a longer period of time.’ The idea that the Vienna position had been moved up would also mean her time with Jonathon had been shortened as well.
‘No, that’s not enough,’ Jonathon said hastily, his own impatience showing in the roughness of his tone. ‘I think I need a more immersive experience,’ Jonathon argued.
She knew what he meant, but it would be more difficult to arrange. Claire nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking about that, too, only I had thought to wait just a bit longer. But you’re right. You need to be able to speak French without the safety net of English in order to truly test how much you can do. There are eating houses in Soho that are French and other small businesses that cater to the expatriates. We should go there.’ There was an entire French émigré society living in London. They could make use of that, but he still hadn’t told her why.
‘Yes, we could go to a restaurant or two, a bookshop perhaps.’ Jonathon paused, perhaps realising the implications. A man could go anywhere he liked any day of the week, but a woman had limitations. Gently bred girls seldom left Mayfair. ‘Would you be able to get away?’
She ought to say no. It wasn’t just the getting away part that created difficulties. What he proposed was more than slightly scandalous, especially if she did it without her maid in tow. Unmarried women weren’t allowed alone in a room at home with an unmarried man without a door wide open or chaperon present. To go out in public was, well, frankly unheard of, but she found herself saying, ‘I can manage something.’
Already, plans started to form in her head. It would be easy enough to tell her parents she was going to one of her friends.
‘Good. We can go tomorrow. I’ll come for lessons as usual and we can plan then.’ Jonathon smiled, looking relieved. ‘Thank you, Claire.’
They had made a complete circuit of the garden and had reached the gate. He opened the gate for her and gestured she should go through, but Claire held back. If she left the garden she might not get the answers she wanted. ‘You still haven’t told me why. Where has all the sudden urgency come from?’
He hesitated just a fraction. ‘I may have need of it sooner than expected.’
‘Has the Vienna post been decided then?’ She pushed forward her earlier hypothesis. There were people behind them now, waiting to exit.
‘Something like that,’ Jonathon muttered. It wasn’t an answer, but it was the best she was going to get, a reminder perhaps that while he’d been willing to run to her in his time of need, he wasn’t ready yet to fully confide in her. A reminder, too, that the man she saw in London’s ballrooms was far more than the sum of his smile. Jonathon Lashley was a man with secrets.
They walked the short distance to Evie’s in silence, their time taken up with the effort to cross the street, avoiding mud from last night’s rain and late-afternoon carriages. Too soon, it was time to let