The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott
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offered her and not wish for more the first time she’d crossed this bridge back when he’d climbed into her bedroom.
In coming to Dover, she’d crossed another bridge, giving herself permission to love him and permission to keep him for as long as possible, knowing from the start loving him was not synonymous with keeping him, that ‘for as long as possible’ was a finite amount of time. Of course, she’d hoped that time would have lasted longer than one night in Dover. It hadn’t. Sometimes the people a person loved the most were the ones that couldn’t be kept, the ones that had to be set free. She could love Jonathon, but she had to let him go.
Vienna was more important than ever now. If he could help a region find peace, her sacrifice would be worth it for a world with no more war, or perhaps more selfishly her sacrifice would be worth it for a Jonathon who felt he’d done his penance and could live guilt free.
* * *
The little bitch was going to pay. Cecilia threw the pale-pink roses to the drawing-room floor and stomped on them with a vicious twist of her heel. The two of them were together! She knew it. His roses showed up on schedule, but Jonathon hadn’t been seen for three days at any of the fashionable events. Or the unfashionable. Once his absence had become noted, she’d checked. He wasn’t at his clubs either. Worse, Claire Welton was gone as well and no one seemed to know where.
She might not know where Claire had gone, but she knew with whom. Claire and Jonathon were together. Secretly. Doing who knew what. No. Stop. She feared she knew that, too. That conniving little slut.
An evil smile crept across her lips. She had to give Claire some credit. The girl hadn’t backed down. She’d gone after Jonathon with everything she had. But now, ‘everything’ was spent. Claire had nothing left to give Jonathon. But she did. As long as Jonathon hadn’t married Claire Welton, he was still fair game. Cecilia tapped a finger to her chin. A simple speculation from her would do it; a few words whispered in the right ears. Rumours spread like wildlife this time of year whether they were true or not. She would divide and conquer whenever they returned. She would ruin Claire and Jonathon would be desperate to distance himself from such a scandal, desperate to align himself with the right sort of woman and she would be waiting. With open arms.
Viscount Stanhope waited for them upon their return. Lights burned bright in the Welton town house like beacons calling their errant daughter home, when Jonathon’s coach rolled up to the kerb well past dark. But Jonathon was ready. He had been ready for this the moment he’d climbed the rose trellis. A man who broke into a woman’s bedroom had to be prepared for consequences or he had no business climbing that trellis in the first place.
He jumped out and offered Claire his hand. ‘Shall we?’ He’d had the carriage ride to align himself with the new reality of his world—a world without Thomas, a world in which the question ‘what next’ was answered by the future, not the past.
Despite the emotional outcome of his journey to Dover, he was in good spirits. He wished he could say the same for Claire. The closer to London they came, the more closed she’d become. Did she doubt him? Surely, she didn’t worry he would desert her? She knew he would stand beside her. It wasn’t even an issue of doing the ‘right thing.’ He wanted to marry her. He’d told her as much before Dover.
Jonathon took her hand. ‘You are not ruined, Claire, you are loved. By me.’
She smiled at him then, her voice soft in the evening air. ‘It’s not that, Jonathon.’
Inside, Claire’s father was indeed waiting for them, as was her mother, both wearing forced smiles, relieved to see their daughter home safe and yet knowing a safe return wasn’t enough. Stanhope was a tall slender man with amber eyes like his daughter. He greeted Jonathon cordially and offered him a drink while Claire’s mother hugged her tightly. Jonathon would take it as a good sign.
‘I trust your mission in Dover was successful?’ Lord Stanhope began, retaking his seat. ‘Danvers and Preston Worth came by to explain how important my daughter’s French skills were for the trip.’
So that would be the official story put about whenever there was a question. Jonathon wondered if anyone would buy it. ‘Yes, the mission was successful even if the information wasn’t what I’d hoped.’ He shot a warm glance in Claire’s direction where she sat next to her mother, pale and drawn. ‘Claire was indispensable. I could not have got through it without her.’ She’d comforted him when he’d broken in the inn. She’d started him back on the road of reason and healing where Thomas was concerned, not only with her words, but with her body. She’d shown him how to start letting go of his guilt and start living for himself. Every time she touched him, he was reminded of the new lesson: he was deserving of happiness. She was the physical embodiment of that. Claire had brought him back into the light. In the carriage, he’d spoken of Thomas, told her stories of their childhood, and it had been cleansing in its own way to remember his brother.
‘We are glad, of course, that Claire could be of use,’ Lord Stanhope began. ‘However, the circumstances are somewhat unusual and there’s been talk.’ He picked up newssheets from the small table beside his chair. ‘Your absence has been noted and remarked upon. You might want to read these. I’ve circled pertinent information so you needn’t read the whole rag.’
Jonathon scanned them.
Miss W., who has been surprisingly prominent this Season, has now become quite obviously absent after attaching herself regularly to Mr L....
Another read:
It has been several days since Miss W. last graced the ballrooms of London, one can only speculate on the reason...
And, perhaps the most damning.
Based on their regular habit of dancing together, one must do the social mathematics and assume that if one could find Miss W. one would also find Mr L. quite close by...
Jonathon grimaced. He could stand the scandal. He’d expected something of this nature might arise. But he grimaced on Claire’s behalf and the idea that she should have to endure it.
‘Well, I believe a marriage proposal will put a stop to such speculations.’ Jonathon smiled to dispel Lord Stanhope’s agitation. Lord Stanhope was a quiet man who did not thrive in the midst of gossip. The past few days must have been hell for him. ‘An announcement in The Times and the story from Danvers will have Claire painted as a national heroine once news gets out.’
Lord Stanhope’s tight mouth began to ease into a smile, but Claire’s voice stopped it halfway. ‘No, there will be no marriage proposal. Jonathon, you don’t need to do this.’
‘I have every need to do this,’ Jonathon said as delicately as he could. He had to protect Claire, even from her parents. If he blurted out half of what they’d been up to, Claire would have no choice but to accept him. He wanted her, but he didn’t want her forced. He thought she’d wanted him, too, not just for a night, but for ever. This, he realised, was what had been eating at her on the way home. Dear Lord, when had she known she was going to refuse him? In the parlour when she’d held him? In the room when they’d made love? Before that even? Had it always been just one night for her? She’d tried to leave him once. Was she trying to do so again?
‘Claire, is this about the Vienna post?’ Again. He thought her coming to Dover had resolved that, that she’d understood and accepted that he was willing to give Vienna up for her if need be. He couldn’t very well say any of those things out loud and imply there was a rather intimate history between them. One didn’t go giving up plum positions on a whim. Sweat started to bead on his brow. Sweet heavens, the room was getting hot. Even with his diplomatic skill, it was deuced awkward discussing such a thing in front of one’s lover’s parents.
‘It’s about you,’ Claire answered. ‘You need that position in order to be happy. If I’ve helped you secure it that is enough for me.’
‘You make me happy, Claire,’