Clara watched the children dart between the guests, the ribbons of the little girls’ dresses fluttering while the shoes of their brothers and cousins and friends slapped against the stone. Clara smiled at the sight, but it slowly faded as the familiar sadness she’d endured too many times in the past six years dropped over her like a blanket. At one time she’d dreamed of returning here for Christmas with a son or daughter who could play with her niece and nephew and enjoy the festive season the same way she had as a child but it hadn’t been. As with his first wife, she and Alfred had had no children. With Alfred gone, her dreams of having a family of her own were in danger of never coming true and it left a hole in her heart that made her want to weep.
‘Lady Kingston, Lady Exton, how magnificent to see you both.’ Lady Tillman strode up to Anne and Clara. Clara struggled to push aside her melancholy and greet their hostess. This wasn’t the time to cry and lament. She’d done enough of that at Winsome and there would be plenty of opportunities when she was alone in her room at night, but no matter how much she smiled, she couldn’t shake off the sadness completely. Alfred wasn’t even here to comfort her. ‘Lady Kingston, you don’t know how thrilled I was when Lady Exton told me you were coming. You’ve been away from my parties for far too long.’
She wagged a reprimanding finger at Clara before clasping Clara’s hands, her gracious and heartfelt greeting soothing Clara’s sadness. ‘You’re right, Lady Tillman, and it’s a mistake I intend to rectify.’
‘You already have.’ Lady Tillman patted her hand, then let go. ‘You both must go on through to the dining room and have your tea before the children eat all the tarts. The little cherubs, how I adore having them here.’
‘Are my children somewhere in this crush?’ Anne glanced about to see if she could spy the tow-haired heads of James and Lillie.
‘Oh, yes, they went running through here some time ago and your husband is in the billiards room with Lord Tillman and many of the other men.’
There hadn’t been enough room in the carriage for them all so Adam and the children had gone on ahead while Anne had ridden with Clara. Clara felt sure she’d done it to offer her support and she was thankful for the company, especially as they waded through the guests on their way to the dining room. Clara gave and accepted greetings from many old acquaintances, all the while enduring their consolations. It made her feel loved and wanted, but even these kind words reminded her of the loss of Alfred and how grief had made her stay away. It was a bittersweet arrival.
‘Lady Kingston, is that you?’ Lady Pariston stopped them. Wisps of her grey hair stuck out from beneath her white lace mobcap and she stooped a bit where she gripped a walking stick in her frail hands. Clara had never remembered her as robust or young, but she seemed even older today, but no less cheerful than she’d been before. Nothing ever appeared to dampen the Dowager Countess’s delight in everything. Lady Pariston leaned forward on her stick with a little too much amusement and no small amount of mirth. ‘What trouble do you intend to get up to this time, Lady Kingston? Plan to get jilted by another marquess while you’re here? I don’t think there are any in attendance, and if there happens to be more than one then you must share. It was awful of you to keep both of them to yourself last time, even if you did land the better of the two.’
Clara stiffened, struggling to maintain her smile. ‘I’ll be sure to share this time if there’s more than one marquess.’
‘Good. I know you won’t believe it to look at me, but I used to have to fend off marquesses, and even a duke, with a stick.’ While Lady Pariston waxed on about her past, Clara glanced around to see if any footmen stood in danger of her fingers, but none was so close. ‘If I hadn’t loved Charles so much I never would have consented to becoming a mere countess, but he more than made up for the step down by the size of his manor.’
She nudged Clara with her elbow and Clara laughed.
‘A sizeable manor does make a great deal of difference, doesn’t it?’ Clara could enjoy Lady Pariston’s jokes because they were not cruelly meant. She spoke plainly and frankly and expected everyone around her to do the same.
‘I’ll say. Now go on through to your tea and pick out the man you want to catch this time.’
Lady Pariston strolled off, her gait, despite the walking stick, as spry as her laugh.
Clara crossed her arms and trilled her fingers on them as she turned to Anne. ‘So much for no one remembering that unfortunate incident from the last time I was here.’
‘Well, if anyone was going to bring up what happened, you know it would be Lady Pariston.’
‘I doubt she’ll be the only one.’ Clara nodded to where Lady Fulton in her lace-cuffed dress that did little to contain her large chest and slender Lord Westbook with his sharp nose and slicked-back dark hair stood whispering together, each of them throwing Clara sidelong glances and then casually strolling away when it was clear that they’d been seen. Clara was certain they were not discussing the size of her diamond earrings. ‘What was it that Lady Fulton called me? A plain country mouse?’
‘And you are no longer that any more. Chin up, my dear Marchioness. There are tarts to eat.’
They strolled to the dining room, their progress slowed by more greetings, and Clara tried to shake her irritation at Lady Fulton and Lord Westbook. Their catty remarks had made a bad situation much worse six years ago and, unlike Lady Pariston’s silly and innocent reminder of Clara’s past, she knew anything they said was designed to inflict the most damage. The two of them were notorious gossips and Clara’s story must have greatly amused them, and who knew how many other country families six years ago.
As if to add insult to injury, it was then that she and Anne passed the small hallway leading to the ballroom. A sprig of mistletoe hung from the chandelier in the centre of the hallway, just as it did every year. Clara paused, noticing the white berries adorning the branch, and the memory of that Christmas Eve six years rushed back to her...
‘We should probably return to the ballroom,’ Hugh had suggested, rocking back on his heels before planting himself firmly in front of her.
‘Yes, we wouldn’t want people to notice our absence and talk.’
She didn’t care if they did. She yearned to stay there in the hallway beneath the mistletoe alone with him. He must desire it, too, for neither of them made a move to return to the dancing and she enjoyed this rush of boldness, the first one she’d ever experienced in a man’s presence.
He stepped forward and clasped her hands in his.
She straightened, struggling to stand still against the excitement coursing through her at the press of his fingers against hers.
His pulse flickered beneath her grasp and a shiver of excitement made her tremble. She wished to feel not just his fingertips against her skin but the entirety of him and everything promised by the longing in his eyes.
He wanted her as much as she wanted him, not in the sordid way spoken of in gossip, but in a deep and binding union of their lives...
Until the next morning, Clara thought wryly, the memory of crushing the berry he’d plucked for her from the mistletoe beneath her boot heel in the drive the next morning equally potent. Hugh might not have asked for her hand in so many words, but it had been there in every look he’d cast her that night and across the table and sitting rooms of the days before. The ones everyone in the house had seen, too. How people like Lady Fulton had sneered at her when Hugh had left to marry another. Despite his kiss and everything they’d shared that week, she’d been nothing more to him than a way to pass the time until someone more lucrative had come along and she’d been too much of a simple country girl to see it.
Clara swept off to follow Anne into the dining room. I’m not that naïve girl any more.
And