The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott
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that word looks like on paper.’ Jonathon laughed as they practised the last sentence. ‘Ouvrez. What kind of word is that?’ Today, he was the Jonathon she knew, all laughter and light and easy perfection. Gone was the cold, dangerously exciting man from the library.
‘A French one and don’t imagine it. I think that’s your whole problem. You see the words with English eyes.’ Very attractive eyes, but English none the less.
He smiled, a smile that crinkled those eyes and lit up his face when he looked at her. She felt that smile to her toes. ‘Hopefully, I’ve proved I’m not a complete dolt.’
She heard the search for affirmation in it. How strange to think Jonathon Lashley needed that from her. Everyone adored him. Everyone found him perfect. She returned the smile and gave him the assurance he sought. ‘I never thought you were.’ Far from it, if only he knew. ‘Now that we know we’re going the right direction, it will keep getting better.’
‘Everything depends on it.’ They reached the end of a path, their steps bringing them to the fence on the edge of the property. Jonathon paused as they turned and she sensed the hesitation in him. ‘But you know that, apparently. May I ask how? Yesterday, you mentioned the Vienna posting.’ His dark brows drew together. ‘It’s not something that is widely known, at least not the part where I have to demonstrate oral competence.’
Claire worried her lip. She didn’t have a good explanation for that. She should have been more careful with what she blurted out in the heat of an argument. ‘I did not mean to offend you.’ She’d promised herself she would be good today. She’d been given a second chance—no mopping up spills, no blocking entrances. Nothing unladylike.
‘No,’ he answered quickly. ‘I’m not offended, just surprised that you knew.’
‘The appointment is important to you?’ Claire asked, steering away from directly answering him. She didn’t want to get May in trouble. They began to walk again, their steps slow as they moved towards the house. His other hand had moved to cover hers where it lay on his arm. It was a gesture he’d likely done a hundred times with any number of ladies. He was probably unaware he’d even done it. She knew it meant nothing and yet her mind was fixated on it, just as it fixated on the sweep of her skirts against his leg as they walked, as if they were a real couple, as if they belonged together. It was an easy fantasy to fall in to.
He nodded. ‘It means everything to me. The appointment is a chance to do some good in the world. To stop war, to find peace, to rebuild a continent one decade at a time. It’s a chance to make a difference.’
Claire hazarded a glance up into his face, surprised to see his merry blue eyes serious. He meant every word. Here was another brief glimpse into a different Jonathon Lashley than the one she was used to seeing.
She nodded slowly, digesting the import of his words. ‘I think that’s very noble.’ It wasn’t the passion behind them that made them noble, it was his motivation. He didn’t want this for his glory, but for the good it would do others. ‘You have a cause. I didn’t know, didn’t realise.’ She wondered what else she didn’t know about him. Yesterday and today had proven there were depths to plumb that went far beyond his smile and good looks.
‘You’re not expected to know. It’s hardly an appropriate topic of discussion during the waltz or a quadrille.’ Jonathon smiled, but she recognised the tactic as one of avoidance. He was trying to dismiss the topic.
Claire shot him a sideways look from beneath the brim of her bonnet. ‘You’ve given yourself a difficult task. Empires thrive on wars, it seems. It takes war to build them up and wars inevitably follow when they collapse, leaving uncertainty in their wake.’
Jonathon nodded. ‘I fear we may be losing another empire and it’s too soon. The Ottomans can’t last and they’ve been the instruments of their own downfall. It’s too soon to lose them after Napoleon. There is still so much instability since 1814. I can only imagine the land grabs that would go on. It’s been only seven years. If not handled correctly, Central Europe will erupt.’
She listened intently as Jonathon elaborated on Slavic states and nationalism, Phanariots and the Christian Millet. How had she not known this side of him? How could she have known? She’d never had any time with him, only seen him from a distance. Did anyone know this about him? The jolt of unlooked-for jealousy startled her. Was this a side of himself he kept strictly for those who knew him best? Claire was suddenly envious of any and all of those friends, those close enough to bear witness to his thoughts, his passions. ‘And Miss Northam, does she share these opinions?’ Perhaps that was the blonde beauty’s appeal?
* * *
She was staring at him. He feared for a moment he’d talked her into a stupor. Usually he was so very careful not to overwhelm people with his opinions. But Claire had seemed enrapt. She’d been such a good listener. Once he’d got started, he’d felt encouraged to continue. Only when she’d asked her question did he realise how he must have run on. ‘Miss Northam? Oh, no. We’ve never discussed it at length. She prefers to talk about fashion and society.’ Jonathon answered easily as if those preferences were entirely natural and expected.
‘Of course,’ Claire said shortly and Jonathon recognised his mistake. For being a usually skilled diplomat, he’d managed to step on Claire’s feelings with regularity. She was certainly interested in goings-on abroad. She’d learned Turkish, after all. He should have anticipated she’d view his response as a veiled reprimand.
‘I find a well-read woman refreshing, however. It doesn’t have to be all fashion and gossip.’ He hurried to cover his unintended slur.
She gave him a wry smile. ‘You don’t need to say that for my benefit. I am well aware my intellectual appetites are not appealing to many men. I would never ask you to pretend.’ He didn’t care for the coldness he heard in her voice. Had she learned that lesson the hard way? It was one more thing he didn’t know about her. Had there been suitors? Had they been driven away by her inquisitive mind? Neither did he like the implication that he might be capable of duplicity.
‘I never pretend,’ Jonathon said solemnly. ‘Do you? Were you pretending to enjoy my discourse on the Ottoman Empire?’
‘Why no, I...’ Her protest was drowned out by the warmth of his smile.
‘I’ve made my point, then. We can be honest with one another.’ He gave her a considering look. ‘It’s fair to say, though, that you are different than I expected. You’re not at all what you seem.’ He was pushing the boundaries of propriety now. He should stop. What he was about to say in order to justify his comment was hardly appropriate either.
Her sherry eyes narrowed in wary speculation. ‘Different how?’
‘In the past, I’ve had the distinct impression that you didn’t want to be noticed.’ And your dresses have become much more attractive.
‘You can hardly have failed to notice that I am something of a bluestocking, Mr Lashley. Men don’t tend to enjoy that sort of female companionship.’ Her response was polite, but there was a cold honesty to her words. They’d reached the back terrace, their starting point, and arguably a signal that he should depart. Jonathon chose to ignore the signal.
‘Is that why you’ve set yourself apart until now?’ Jonathon ventured, a suspicion taking root. Had she set herself apart out of deference to her intellectualism and her desire to preserve it instead of sacrificing it to society’s whim? If so, it was done at great cost to herself. She had to know such a choice would leave her unwed, alone. Her modest dresses, her quiet demeanour would have driven off any man before he got within twenty feet of her. But this Season, things had undoubtedly changed. Those dresses were certainly not designed to repel.
‘Until now?’ Her brow furrowed.
‘May I ask, is there someone you are interested in? Do you have a suitor?’ He wasn’t quite ready to let go of his hypothesis that a woman dressed to impress. There was a man involved.
She looked down at her hands, suddenly