Chapter 1

Clara

Dorset, 1801.

“Have you not heard?”

“Heard what?” Clara asked her friend as she reached across the table and lifted her teacup to her lips. These afternoon tea parties had become so full of gossip as of late. Clara had often gritted her teeth as she listened to such talk.

“You’ve not heard who is returning to town? Oh! It must excite you, for it has excited every other lady in town, I am sure of it.” Miss Withers was excitable herself as she began to cut cake for her guests, so eager in her task that she added more than one slice of cake to each plate without noticing.

Clara bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Pushing back the few loose locks of her light-brown hair, she angled away from the table where the fine ladies sat and sought out another in the room. Sitting by the door, along with the other maids, was one of her closest friends in the world – Betchey. The lady’s maid caught Clara’s eye and as Clara cast her gaze up to the heavens, as if pleading for help to be free of all this gossip, Betchey giggled and covered her lips, hiding her smile from the other maids.

“Are you certain he is to return?” Miss Harriet Pilkington asked, leaning so far forward that she bumped Clara’s arm. Clara sat back, trying to get out of the way, realizing she had missed part of the conversation in her effort to communicate with Betchey across the room.

Who is coming to town?

“I am, quite certain,” Miss Withers declared buoyantly, sitting so tall that her pointed chin looked all the more angular. Clara could see Miss Withers was quite enjoying being the center of attention, as she had such tasty news to share. “I heard it from his parents. There can be no denying that he is to return.”

All at once, the five other ladies around the table tittered and began to whisper. Clara chewed her lip, holding her tongue, for she was rather reminded of the hens clucking on one of her father’s tenants’ farms. The ladies tittered but didn’t seem to say much.

I’m not quite one of them, am I?

It was a fear Clara had always had. Her father said she lacked confidence, but her brother, Daniel, had said more than once she was merely shy. Either way, Clara preferred her own company and the company of those she could trust, such as Betchey, who was now making faces at her across the room in order to distract her from the gossip. Clara lifted her teacup to her lips and hid her smile behind the porcelain rim.

“Lady Clara, are you not intrigued by the idea?” Miss Pilkington asked at her side, with her grey eyes going wide. “I thought he was your friend once.”

“My friend?” Clara realized she should have probably paid attention before, for she was lost now. “Who exactly are we talking about?”

“Goodness, have you forgotten your friend already since he left? Ha!” Miss Pilkington laughed boldly, before she seemed to think better of opening her mouth so wide, and instantly covered it. Clara knew that feeling, fearing you were being judged for a slip in composure. Self-consciously, she adjusted the cuffs of her long-sleeved gown, and rearranged the cutlery beside her cake plate, so everything was sitting as it should. “I would have thought you impatient to see your friend again.”

“What friend are we speaking of?” Clara asked, now determined to join in the conversation properly.

“The future Baron of Aldington, of course. Horatio Fitzroy,” Miss Withers explained, flapping her hand in Clara’s direction as if she was a fool for not paying attention earlier.

“Oh.” Clara held herself very still, with her fingers tightening around her teacup.

Mr. Horatio Fitzroy.

It had been a few years since she had seen him, for he’d attended university and then travelled to the continent for a Grand Tour. She’d heard much of him from his parents, for they were good friends with her own parents, but she had not seen him since the days they had been children together.

Thrust in each other’s company when their parents called on one another, the friendship had started out tentative, for they had been so young. Clara could still remember the first day they had met, for she had been playing with her peg dolls when her brother had broken one of them. Seeing her cry, Horatio had endeavored to fix the toy for her. From that moment on, they had been good friends, until the day he left.

“Are the two of you not friends?” Miss Withers asked, her dark brows pinning together. “I understood from the gossip that you were.”

“We were,” Clara said coolly, finding she bristled at the idea people had gossiped about her, “but I have not seen Mr. Fitzroy for many years now. In truth, I do not really know who he is anymore.” She shrugged off the idea, not wanting the ladies who were looking at her with eager expectation to ask her more questions about him.

 I will not partake in gossip!

“I have heard many things about him,” a lady said from across the table, bending her head forward the way a blackbird would, cocking its head to the side, listening carefully.

“How many of these things are true, Miss Campbell?” Miss Withers asked dismissively, clearly thinking that she was the authority on gossip.

“Who can say for sure?” Miss Campbell shrugged her shoulders and leaned over her teacup, lowering her voice as if she were to talk of the greatest scandal, even though the group was quite alone in the room apart from their maids. “I hear he has made something of a name for himself on his Grand Tour. My cousin met him when they were overseas.”

“What sort of name?” Clara asked, trying not to sound overly interested.

“He is quite the rogue!” Miss Campbell said with a delighted giggle. “I hear there was not a lady in Paris who wasn’t charmed by him. Handsome, they say, and so charming that ladies would swoon at his feet.”

Clara sat very still with her mouth hung open as her heart began to thud harder in her chest.

She could still remember the last time she had seen Horatio. She had been but fifteen at the time and he had come to say goodbye, kissing her hand in parting. That kiss had meant so much to her. Many nights had she stayed awake, thinking of such a kiss.

My foolish heart will not be so foolish this time.

She reprimanded herself. Maybe once she let her childish fancy for Horatio run away with her, but she would not allow her heart to do anything so careless again. She’d keep her heart locked tight in her chest, as if it was bound there by brambles, untouchable, and likely to injure.

“A rogue? My goodness!” Miss Pilkington gasped. “Are there any scandals that we know of?”

“None specifically,” Miss Campbell went on. “Yet my cousin did say he was known to spend his time in the company of many ladies.”

As all the ladies at the table giggled at the idea, delighted by the gossip, Clara could not join in the laughter. It seemed the Horatio she had once known was now much changed. The boy who had been quite wild, running across the estate with her, riding with abandon and fervor, was now a gentleman who preferred to turn a lady’s head.

I wonder how many ladies he’s persuaded to share his company.

Clara couldn’t explain her envy as she downed her teacup. After all, she had not seen Horatio for four years. By now, surely her heart was safe from him?

“I must admit a fascination for the gentleman,” Miss Pilkington confessed, leaning so far forward on the table that Clara was forced to lean back again, making room for her. Clara felt small indeed as she sat in her chair, almost forgotten about because of the way Miss Pilkington had inadvertently pushed her cake plate to the side. Clara caught it before it could fall off the table.

“A fascination? For a cad?” Miss Withers asked.

“Of course.” Miss Pilkington nodded. “Is there not something alluring about a gentleman who knows how to make a lady smile?” At her provocative words, they all laughed, other than Clara. Once again, she stayed quiet, and busied herself with stabbing what was left of her cake with a little too much harshness.

“Lady Clara.” Miss Withers turned toward her. “Does this gossip not intrigue you?” she whispered, for Clara’s ears only. “The Baron’s son is to return! We have so few entertaining gentlemen in these parts, and certainly few rogues, no doubt he will turn many a lady’s head, if not everyone’s.”

That’s what worries me.

The thought made Clara sit tall in her seat, unnerved at how much hearing of Horatio’s character had frightened her.

“We shall see,” she said simply, and placed her empty teacup down on her saucer, ready to depart. “If you would excuse me, I really must return home.”

As Clara stood to her feet, her eyes drifted over the others at the table. She observed Miss Pilkington’s smoky grey eyes, and the power they had over any observer, then her gaze slipped to the dark beauty of Miss Withers, and the black hair that shined in the summer light. It was hardly the first time Clara felt as if she didn’t belong amongst them, never as captivating as them.

There were protests from her friends and lamentations for her to stay, but Clara politely turned them all down and left, collecting Betchey on her way who had hovered by the door. Once they were outside, they walked home, for Clara wished to enjoy the outdoors, rather than be stuck inside a carriage for their journey.

As they walked, the sun creeped higher in the sky, showing that winter was breaking at last. Where frost had dappled the ground that morning, it had melted into puddles, and the green shoots of daffodils and tulips were poking through. Clara inhaled the sweet scent of the blooms as she strode ahead down the nearest path, with Betchey hurrying to catch up with her.

“Goodness, we are walking quickly today!” Betchey said, hastening to keep pace with her petite stature. “Did you not enjoy your tea, my Lady?”

“I cannot say that I did.” Clara’s words made Betchey’s freckled nose wrinkle.

“I thought at one point you found it quite amusing,” Betchey said with a small laugh. “Next time, I shall endeavor to make more faces at you across the room. Surely that will make you smile?”

“Ha! I look forward to it,” Clara said with eagerness. Pulling her gloves onto her hands, she took Betchey’s arm and linked it with her own. “I do not know, Betchey. It is merely that sometimes when I am with such ladies, I feel as if…”

“As if what?” Betchey urged her on.

“As if I do not belong.” Clara grimaced with the words. It was something she had often felt, as if she didn’t see eye to eye with some of the ladies, especially Miss Pilkington. More than once had Clara examined her face in the mirror, judging that she did not have the dark beauty of Miss Withers, nor the gentle elfin features of Miss Pilkington.

“I rather suspect it is a fear everyone has in their life, at some point or another.” Betchey’s words caught Clara’s interest. “Look, there, my Lady.” She suddenly pulled Clara to a stop and pointed to the stream that banked alongside the road they were walking down.

Clara’s lips flickered into a smile as she observed a family of ducklings swimming, following their mother.

“Look at the smallest one,” Betchey whispered, gesturing to the back of the group. The smallest duckling was struggling to keep up with its siblings, clearly swimming hard, with its tiny beak outstretched, but making little progress. “Just as golden and as beautiful as the others, but he feels left out.”

“I take your point.” Clara pulled Betchey on, tugging on her arm. “Perhaps we all do feel like it at some point.” Though she feared she suffered that sensation more than others. “Yet there was something today that unsettled me more.”

“Ah, did it have something to do with all the talk of Mr. Fitzroy?” Betchey’s voice was light, alluding to the fact that there was more unsaid here. At Betchey’s perceptive question, Clara angled her face forward, rather hoping the brim of her bonnet hid her expression. “When he was mentioned, I could see you looked quite uncomfortable, my Lady.”

“Well, it is good to know my feelings are so easy to read on my face,” Clara said with sarcasm, earning a soft laugh from her maid.

“Not at all, it is simply that I know you so well!” Betchey assured her. “Is it not a good thing though, my Lady? I thought Mr. Fitzroy was a good friend of yours. Are you not looking forward to seeing him again?”

“That I do not know.” Clara chewed the inside of her mouth so much in her nerves that she broke the skin. Balling a fist at her side, she urged her body to stop hurting itself, before she found the courage to speak her true mind. “What the ladies had to say of him worried me, that I must confess.”

“What did they have to say?” Betchey asked. Clara’s furrowed brow urged Betchey on, to explain what she had heard. “Beyond a few words, I could not catch all of the conversation.”

“They spoke of Mr. Fitzroy being a…rogue.” Clara shook her head, baffled by the idea. “The boy I knew would never be such a man.” She hesitated, struggling with her words. “He was kind, quite wild in nature when it came to exploring and adventure, but he was also respectful. Constantly respectful. He had this habit of being able to guess my thoughts, even before I had spoken of them.” She smiled at the idea, before it faded. “I cannot imagine that boy becoming a cad, who charms the ladies of Paris.” She spoke with a little resentment.

“Maybe the gossip isn’t true or exaggerated?” Betchey said with clear hope and a spring to her step. “I remember when I first came to work with you. I saw you once with Mr. Fitzroy, before he left. You two looked so happy together. I made a wager to myself then that the two of you would wed someday.”

“Did you really?” Clara turned to her friend with a confused laugh. “Nothing has ever been spoken of between us that would suggest anything more than friendship.”

“Perhaps not, but an observer can spy an affection, even when it’s not spoken of.” Betchey smiled and glanced Clara’s way. Clara pretended a sudden fascination in the magnolia trees nearby, that were just beginning to bud. “Perhaps it is destiny, Lady Clara.”

“Destiny?” She thought the concept of a fixed future an odd idea.

“He is returning. That indeed could be destiny.”

“I wish I had your superstitious heart,” Clara said with a little envy. “I am afraid I feel too practical, or cynical at this moment, choose whichever word you think more appropriate.” She found she could not hold onto any romantic notions, not after what she’d heard of Horatio. “I fear that my meeting with Mr. Fitzroy again may be a great disappointment indeed. Maybe the man is no longer the boy I knew.”

“Maybe. We shall have to see.”

Chapter 2

Clara

“Goodness, Clara, you are usually not so eager to attend a ball.”

“I find I am in the mood for one this evening.” Clara tried to subdue her excited manner as she walked the corridors of the fine house, moving alongside her mother and father, who were arm in arm. Whereas her father, the Duke of Gordon, looked forward, her mother, Marianne, kept glancing at Clara, her dark brown eyes that were so like Clara’s own were rather narrowed, as if examining her in great detail. “You are staring, Mother. Why do you stare?” Clara asked playfully, trying to disarm her mother.

“You are not usually so fond of these events, that is all.” Marianne shrugged. “You once described it to Daniel as being put on display, like a fine China ornament on a mantelpiece. More than once have I seen you stay by Daniel’s side all night, not wishing to be there.”

“Yes, well, Daniel does make these events more enjoyable.” Clara missed her brother in that moment. Had he not been visiting the continent, on his own and much anticipated Grand Tour, she would have taken comfort in him escorting her tonight. When her nerves got the better of her, Daniel never seemed to mind. He would never comment on it, as their father had a habit of doing on occasion. “It is springtime, that is all, and we haven’t had a ball for a while. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“That’s the spirit, Clara,” her father said with keenness, evidently pleased to see her at last looking forward to such events. Marianne was clearly not so convinced now, and kept glancing towards Clara’s way, every few minutes.

As they stepped through the double doors, leading to the ballroom, Clara’s eyes danced around the room, searching for one person in particular.

Is he here?

With her gaze darting between the dancers, who trotted like deer at one end of the room, toward the tables stacked so high with crystal glasses they were in danger of falling over, she searched for Mr. Fitzroy. There were gentlemen dressed grandly for the occasion, in fine black tail suits, with cravats bearing so many ruffles, it was a wonder the gentleman could see over them and into the room at all. The ladies rather reminded Clara of the birds in springtime, for so many wore feathers standing proudly in their hair. Just as the birds would flutter their feathers to earn a male’s attention, the ladies here fluttered fans in their faces and batted their eyelashes.

Clara groaned inwardly and looked away from the ladies, knowing she did not have the skill to look so coy and pretty, just by fluttering a fan in front of her face.

“Mr. Pilkington,” her father said, bowing in greeting to their guest. “Thank you for our invitation this evening.”

“Thank you for coming!” Mr. Pilkington declared, bowing swiftly to the Duke. He was the father of the woman Clara called a friend, Miss Harriet Pilkington, though in truth, she wasn’t sure how much they really knew each other. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. There are drinks, and food will be served shortly. The dancing is lively, and we have even hired violinists from Shaftesbury.”

“How wonderful,” Marianne said on cue.

“We also will be graced with some special guests this evening,” Mr. Pilkington went on. “Baron and Baroness Aldington are to bring their son, Mr. Fitzroy. I understand he has just returned from his Grand Tour.”

“We’ll look forward to seeing him again,” the Duke said with ease. As he led them away, Clara was aware that her mother’s gaze shifted to her, even keener than before now she’d heard Mr. Fitzroy was to be there. Clara purposefully looked anywhere other than at her mother. “Shall we find ourselves a drink?”

“Yes, let’s,” Clara said swiftly, trying to distract her mother.

As they hovered by a table full of crystal glasses, and the Duke began to pour out three golden cups of punch, Clara’s eyes wandered again, unable to settle.

“How interesting we shall see Mr. Fitzroy again tonight,” Marianne said, addressing her husband more than Clara. “He was always such an affable boy.”

“Yes, indeed. He’ll be a man now though,” the Duke reminded her.

“Clara, have you heard much of him since you last saw him?” Marianne’s pertinent questions weren’t helping Clara’s nerves. Beneath her white gloves, a clamminess began to creep into her palms.

“No,” she lied, and took a big gulp from her punch glass. “Only that which you have told me from what his parents have said.”

As her father drew her mother into a conversation on the number of people there that night, Clara felt at liberty to look away. This time, she was not disappointed in her search.

Entering the ballroom were two people she recognized well, Baron and Baroness Aldington. They greeted their host with warmth just as a gentleman entered the room behind them.

At once, Clara recognized him.

It’s Horatio.

The green, far apart eyes were just the same, though they now resided in a more masculine face, with a dappling of bristles on his chin. The black hair she had seen so often, dark as a raven’s feathers, was still there, but tonight it was excessively coiffed. When he was young and they went riding together, it had been wild, curling at the ends in the breeze.

He's so tall!

Clara tried not to think of how his figure had changed so much, for it made that clamminess in her palms grow even worse. He was tall indeed, with his head height above most in the room, and he bore an athletic figure, with the slim-fitting tailcoat showing the broadness of his shoulders.

He was smiling as he looked around the room; it was an easy and charming smile, one that lit up his features, before his father begged his attention, and he turned to greet his host with a rather flamboyant bow.

Clara’s hand tightened around her punch glass to see the flamboyance, for it was not what she had expected of him.

“Clara, will we see you dancing tonight?” her father asked, clearly none the wiser to where she had been staring or what she had been thinking of.

“Dancing? Well, I…” Clara paused, shifting her attention to her parents.

“Dear Gregory,” Marianne said softly, “you know our Clara is nervous when it comes to such things. You should not push her.”

“I didn’t push, I asked,” Gregory defended with an easy laugh. “You’re a fine dancer, Clara. You forget, I’ve seen you practicing over the years in our music room. I know you can dance, even if you don’t believe it.”

“Maybe I’ll dance tonight.” Her words prompted both Gregory and Marianne to stare at her, wide eyed. “We shall see.” The two of them exchanged a look, smiling warmly.

Clara chose not to look across the room in Horatio’s direction, fearful she’d give away her hope, that maybe, if she had to dance, he would be the one to ask her.

“Then let us find you a dance partner.” Gregory put his glass down on the table beside him and rubbed his hands together.

“Oh, no, Father, please, do not usher me onto any unsuspecting gentleman. He would be quite cornered!” Clara said in panic.

“Nonsense, any gentleman will be thrilled to dance with you.” Gregory walked away, clearly seeking out a suitable gentleman.

“Mother!” Clara whispered in a hiss, moving to her side.

“I know, I know,” Marianne tried to ease her panic with a raised hand. “He’s just trying to help you, dear.”

“I do not need help.”

“Last time you came to a ball, you spent most of the night in the corner of the room.” Marianne reminded her with a small smile.

“I was happy in the corner,” Clara pointed out.

“Who is happy in a corner?” Marianne asked, a laugh escaping her lips.

“Me! You can observe the world from there, without anyone noticing you. It’s quite an interesting place to be.” Clara could see her mother did not believe her though, for one of her brown eyebrows lifted into a perfect arch. “Oh, Mother, I cannot stand this.” She looked away to see her father waving at her across the room, clearly trying to get her attention. Determined not to be forced into a dance with a stranger, she walked away.

“Where are you going?”

“To the privy,” Clara lied.

To anywhere else!

She strode through the ballroom, creeping between groups that barely took notice of her. Glancing behind her, she saw her father still intently talking with a gentleman. Not looking where she was going, Clara was completely unprepared for the body that was suddenly in front of her.

They collided together, their arms bouncing off one another. Clara stumbled back, in danger of falling over and barely stopping herself, as she looked up to see who she had collided with.

Oh, God’s wounds…it’s Horatio!

“Clara!” he declared suddenly, a smile appearing on his lips so fast it was a wonder to see. “Gosh, I suppose I should call you Lady Clara these days. We are not children running around your estate hunting for butterflies anymore.” His words were so easy, so reminiscent of the past that Clara found herself laughing.

“Did we do that once? I can’t even remember.”

“I can remember vividly,” he said, tilting his head back and sighing, as if reliving that moment. “I don’t think we caught any.” They laughed together before Clara recalled exactly who she was talking to. Horatio was not just an old friend, but the son of a Baron. There should be a more formal greeting.

“I should probably call you Mr. Fitzroy these days as well.” She hastened to curtsy, and he bowed, though he had an amused look in his eyes the whole time. Seeing how handsome he had become and standing this close, Clara was certain her heartbeat was out of control.

By blood, what is wrong with me!? I thought my childish fancy of him would be gone by now!

“It sounds strange to be called that by you.” He stood straight and stepped a little closer toward her, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”

“Just a few.”

“You have changed much.” He gestured to her. Clara at once felt self-conscious, laying her white-gloved hands to her stomach as she glanced down at her gown. She had chosen the dress with a lot of care this evening. The pastel blue dress was made of silk, with a white chiffon overskirt, hemmed at the edge with lace. She rather hoped it flattered her figure, but she feared it was not as fine as other ladies’ dresses here tonight.

“I hope that is a good thing,” Clara reached for some humor, prompting Horatio to laugh.

“You look fine indeed,” he said with ease. “Though I can still recognize you. Tell me, have I changed much?” He held out his arms and turned in a quick circle, clearly waiting for her approval.

“You are certainly taller,” she acknowledged.

“Ha!” He laughed deeply, tipping his head back with the movement. “High praise indeed. No compliment for your old friend?”

“You are fishing for one, I see.” She pointed at him in warning, and he laughed even more.

“Perhaps a little, but I can’t resist a little mischief.”

There was something in his manner that she hadn’t expected. After all the gossip she’d heard, Clara had feared he would not be the boy she had known. Somehow, he would be transformed, to the charismatic rogue the ladies had spoken of. Though the man before her certainly was charming, there was no falseness to his manner, nor was there an excessiveness that was uncomfortable. He talked to her as if the years had not passed between them.

He is still Horatio.

“You and I must talk more,” he said with eagerness. When someone passed by them, he stepped closer to her, avoiding a collision with the stranger. Clara felt a heat bleeding into her cheeks at his close proximity. “I long to hear how you have spent your years.”

“And I wish to hear of your Grand Tour too.”

“I fear I’ll bore you for talking too much of it. If I do, simply give me one of these.” He put upon a false yawn. “I’ll take the hint then.”

She laughed with him, so suddenly that her nerves began to dissipate.

“Ah, Mr. Fitzroy, it is good to see you again.” Mr. Pilkington appeared at their side. The moment they were interrupted, Clara felt her nerves return, for either side of Mr. Pilkington were his daughters. “May I introduce my daughters to you? Miss Harriet Pilkington, and Miss Lettice.”

They were very beautiful. It was something Clara couldn’t help noticing. Miss Pilkington’s delicate features were exquisite, as if painted by an artist, and Miss Lettice had such bold blue eyes one could not help staring.

“Charmed, indeed.” Horatio picked up their hands, each in turn, and bestowed a kiss. “What a pleasure it is to meet such beautiful ladies here tonight. The gentlemen in this town must be constantly spoiled by the good company.” The way he acted made Clara stare at him, wide eyed. It was as if he had transformed into another being, the moment they had arrived.

The ladies giggled behind cupped hands, demurely. Miss Pilkington fluttered a fan, hanging the fan rather close to the neckline of her gown to draw attention to her bosom. Clara had to hold in her groan, wanting to mock the obvious attempt to get a gentleman’s attention, until she noticed Horatio staring.

Good God, it’s actually working.

“I hope you have come eager to dance tonight, Mr. Fitzroy,” Mr. Pilkington said, clearly with a goal in mind. “My daughters were just talking of being in want of a good dance partner.”

“Nothing I like more than a good dance, and I hope I shall be blessed with many fair dances from such good ladies tonight.” He bowed his head in acknowledgement of both ladies.

Clara stepped back. She felt as if she had disappeared to Horatio and the others, no longer enough to be seen.

“But first, I must ask another.” Horatio turned his eyes on her, just before she could leave. “Lady Clara? Would you care to dance the first with me?”

Clara swallowed, not sure what to think. She had hoped for such a dance, had she not? Had she not longed for it? She could well imagine the thought of placing her hand in his would make her heart tremble in her chest, fluttering like a bird’s wing, but then her eyes landed on the two Miss Pilkington’s.

He was so excessive with them, even flirtatious! Those are the ladies he truly wishes to dance with. He only asked me out of duty, as we are old friends.

“Alas, I am afraid I am a poor dancer,” Clara said hurriedly and gestured to the other ladies. “Choose a better partner, Mr. Fitzroy. We can talk again another time.” Before anymore could be said, Clara retreated, crossing the room quickly toward where her mother stood.

I was wrong. He has changed, after all.

Chapter 3

Horatio

“What did you make of the ball last night then, Horatio?” his father’s question earned his attention.

Sat beside his father and opposite his mother in the carriage, as it swayed from side to side on their journey, Horatio’s mind had been quite lost in thought of the ball the night before.

“Intriguing! Interesting indeed.” Horatio spoke with enthusiasm, turning his back on the window, through which he could see the sky darkening as the sun set, and moved his focus to his parents.

“We didn’t disappoint after the grand events of Paris and Venice?” his mother said with a deep laugh. She was known for her rather husky voice and such deep laughs always came from her. “Sometimes I fear you were quite spoiled by your travels.”

“I will not deny they were wonderful, and I certainly saw some things that could make an interesting tale or two–”

“Not all of them have to be told, Son.” His father elbowed him subtly, and they shared an amused grin. Patrick, Baron Adlington, had been on his own Grand Tour when he was young, so before Horatio had left on his, Patrick had issued a few warnings. Sometimes, parties and assemblies on the continent could be wild, and tales from these nights did not have to be repeated.

“Have no fear, Mother,” Horatio said, turning his focus to Eleanora across the carriage. “I enjoyed last night, very much.” His mind was on all the ladies he had met. For such a small town in Dorset, he’d thought Wareham would not have such grand parties, but he’d been wrong. There were many indeed attending the event, and more than one beauty that had turned his head. There were fine eyes, elegant figures, and sweet smiles to think of.

Then there was another to think of, too.

Clara, his old childhood friend, had changed a lot in the time he’d been gone.

“Well, I’m glad we can give you a good social calendar now you have returned.” Eleanora fussed with her pelisse, making it sit just right. “A dinner at the Duke of Gordon’s house the night after a ball? A fine thing indeed.”

“We know the family so well, by now, it’s a wonder you continue with the formalities of titles,” Horatio observed. He’d often wondered at the necessity of all the titles, when the Duke and Duchess practically felt like an aunt and uncle to him as he was growing up.

“It is necessary,” his mother reminded him, her blues eyes wide. “You will have to address Lady Clara too by her title these days.”

“I did indeed, last night,” Horatio assured her, thinking of Clara and when they had met.

“You saw her last night?” his father asked in surprise. “Lady Clara has a habit of not standing in the center of a room at such a ball.”

“Whyever not?” Horatio asked with interest.

“She’s not one for being the center of attention,” Eleanora explained with a soft tone, finishing fiddling with her pelisse.

“Well, we quite literally bumped into each other last night. We talked as if we had never been away!” Horatio said, sitting forward, suddenly taken up with energy now he was talking of Clara. “Do you not think she has changed much over the years?”

“You forget, we see her most days.” Eleanora seemed unaffected by the idea. “To us, her change has been gradual.”

“She’s very changed! I remember a young girl slight in stature, rather red in face, and not one so much for propriety. She’d sooner be walking through the fields with mud up her skirt than wearing a grand gown.” Horatio spoke of the memories with fondness. Those memories of Clara were some of the happiest times from his childhood.

“She’d still sooner walk through fields,” Patrick said, leaning forward to the window as they approached the Duke’s house. Travelling down the drive, the manor slowly came into view. “Though I take your point. She’s grown into quite a beauty.”

“She has,” Horatio agreed. There had been many beauties last night at the ball, but Clara was the one who had surprised him the most. With her cinnamon-colored hair, and the escaped wisps curling madly, there had been a temptation to run his fingers through those curls. Her brown eyes were bold in her face these days, and there was a pleasant glow to her skin with rouged cheeks.

“Well, perhaps Lady Clara can persuade you to stay longer with us now that you have returned,” Eleanora declared, moving to the door of the carriage. Patrick stepped down first and turned to help Eleanora.

“I beg your pardon?” Horatio said in surprise, jumping to follow his mother.

“Oh, Horatio, a mother can’t help longing for her son to settle nearby, can she?” she asked, taking his arm with her own as they walked toward the house. “Is it absurd for me to hope for grandchildren too someday? Maybe you and Lady Clara—”

“Mother.” Horatio stopped walking, earning his mother’s fixed attention, whilst Patrick walked on, heading for the door. “Before you make the insinuation aloud, let me halt you there. I have no intention to marry.”

“None?” Eleanora said, her lips quivering.

“Not at the moment, no. As for marrying Lady Clara?” He laughed at the idea. “How could I consider the idea? She was my closest friend growing up. No, it could not be done. I’ve heard of many friendships that have been ruined by an attempt to court.”

“Have you two finished your little argument?” Patrick called from the door. “We’re already late.” He knocked on the door, waiting for them to join him. Horatio spied the disappointment in his mother’s face. As she loosened their arms, she moved to her husband’s side, and pinned a rather false smile in place.

I’m sorry to disappoint her, but it is the truth.

Horatio couldn’t deny that his life on the continent had opened his eyes to many things. He may have charmed the occasional lady at university, but the continent had introduced him to a world of many ladies at a time. Spending an evening in so much good company was a pleasure he did not want to be without. He couldn’t imagine any single lady changing his mind on that point.

The door opened and the butler beckoned them inside, taking Horatio’s frock coat and his mother’s pelisse. As they walked into the hallway, the family ushered to greet them.

The Duke and Duchess of Gordon stepped forward first, taking their friends’ hands in greeting. When Clara appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Horatio jerked his head twice to look at her.

Tonight, she was wearing a pristine ivory gown, so fitted to her figure that it accented her slender curves. Once again, the cinnamon-hued hair seemed ready to escape its updo, tempting with curls.

Think not of the lady’s beauty. After all, it’s Clara!

“Well, come through, come through,” the Duke said with eagerness. “Our meal is prepared, so I hope you are hungry.”

Horatio followed the others into the dining room and sat opposite Clara, noticing that she seemed to avoid his gaze for a minute or two. It was not the Clara he had met the night before, the one so easy to talk in his company that he had quite forgotten they were at a ball for a few minutes.

As their parents lapsed into conversation, Horatio did not want the silence to continue any longer. He leaned a little over the table, determined to capture her attention.

“Do we have chance to talk of the years that have passed now?” he asked, waiting as those dark eyes flicked up to meet his. “Just remember our agreement, if I bore you, you must yawn so I know to stop.” He was delighted when her lips curved into a small smile.

“You might entertain, not bore.”

“Ha! I would be a proud man indeed to think myself such entertaining company.” He gestured to her as they began their food. “First, tell me of yourself, C… I mean, Lady Clara.” He corrected himself, before he could make the error. She looked amused at the idea then reached for her glass, suddenly not as stiff as she had been but a few seconds before.

“I am afraid I have not changed much since you have gone. I will have very few stories to tell,” she said, taking a sip

“Do you still ride and walk every day?” he asked.

“Every day!” she confirmed. “Much to my mother’s worry.” She cast a wary look across the table to her mother, lowering her voice, but the four parents were far too absorbed in their own conversation to take any notice. “When I was a child, she feared I’d become feral.”

“I remember that,” Horatio said with a laugh. “One day when you and I came into the house, covered head to toe in mud for we had fallen in the stream, she started to clean you with everything she could get her hands on. A handkerchief for your face, a sheet for your arms, and a brush for your shoes. You squirmed the whole time, and wriggled like a worm.”

“I remember that too.” She giggled at the idea and topped up her glass, before topping up his.

“So, you still explore?”

“I do. Though I am making a study of nature too these days.” Her words intrigued him, making him lean forward a little more. “My father has been kind to buy me books on birds. It quite fills my days.”

“Oh, it does!” the Duchess suddenly called up, clearly having caught part of their conversation. “You should see her aviary. She’s growing quite a collection every day.”

“Yes, thank you, Mother.” Clara lowered her voice and blushed a little. Horatio was quite distracted by that blush, thinking of the pleasant tinge it turned her cheeks. “What of you? I reckon you have grander tales than mine.” She motioned to him. “Tell me of your travels to the continent.”

“I saw such natural wonders that it might have even satisfied your hunger for nature,” he said with a chuckle. She seemed intrigued, abandoning her food and looking up to meet his gaze. “The Black Forest near the Rhine was a spectacle.”

“What an eerie name.” Her eyes went wide.

“Aptly named. You walk in and it feels as if you are walking with shadows alongside you.”

“Or maybe ghosts?” she said playfully, pulling a chuckle from him.

“Maybe so.” He nodded. “There were the Alps too, the snowcapped mountains of France. More snow than we have probably ever seen here.”

“More snow than the day you and I played hide and seek in the woods here? You hid in the snow,” she reminded him with raised eyebrows. “Though, I seem to remember you regretted it. I could not find you for so long that when you did appear, your teeth were chattering, and your lips were blue.”

“Gosh, I’d forgotten that.” He was baffled at the memory that stirred within. He could still remember Clara pulling him free from the snow, her gloved hands in his offering a little warmth compared to the ice. “Even more snow than that day. You look out to the Alps, and it is as if you have been shrunk down to the size of a robin, for the hills are so vast, and you are so surrounded by icicles, you can see it all in incredible detail.”

“What a place to go.” Clara appeared in awe; her pink lips parted. When Horatio found himself looking at those lips, he had to snap his gaze away.

I am different with her.

The realization came rather suddenly. By now, with any other lady, he would have flirted and given some obvious compliment to make her blush, but not with Clara. Abruptly, he felt like the boy he had not been for many years.

“Would you ever like to see such things yourself?” he asked, watching as she paused with her food.

“Gentlemen are fortunate they can go on Grand Tours. Goodness knows why our parents trust you and my brother to go, when I am not trusted.” Her jibe made him laugh deeply, before his ear was caught by the conversation beside him.

“Oh yes, two visitors this morning, she had,” the Duchess of Gordon said, gesturing to her daughter beside her. “It was a compliment, was it not, Clara?”

“What was that, Mother?” She turned her attention to the Duchess.

“I was just telling the Baroness about your callers this morning. Two gentlemen from the ball last night, two!” the Duchess said with delight.

“That, and you spent most of the evening in one corner again, Clara,” the Duke said with a soft laugh. “Maybe it’s about time you didn’t stand so much in the corner after all.”

“Father, please,” Clara spoke quietly, with a little embarrassment.

Horatio could not understand why she felt the need to stay close to the walls at such an event. He never did such a thing, for there was joy to be had in dancing and walking amongst the guests.

“You had callers?” Horatio said, surprising himself with the question.

“She did.” The Duchess clearly answered before Clara could. “Lord Warrington, from Corfe, and Mr. Nesbitt, from Poole. They were quite taken with you, were they not?”

“I think it was the idea of a dowry that interested them, more than anything else.” Clara’s jest made them all laugh, and they returned to their conversation, but Horatio couldn’t settle.

He’d met Lord Warrington at the ball the night before, and had thought him a rather scrawny man, with little interesting conversation to offer. He also seemed quite fixed upon his cleanliness, going so far as to dab his lip three times with a serviette after having one morsel of food.

Clara needs a gentleman who longs for adventure, not one who will stay at home fussing over his handkerchief.

Horatio stared at Clara for some time, uncertain why the thought of Lord Warrington and this other gentleman visiting her bothered him so much.

“So, Mr. Fitzroy,” she began again, now the parents were looking elsewhere. “What else can you tell me about the Grand Tour? Did you see Paris and Venice? I hear from the gossip that you were quite popular there.”

“Ha! Is that what is said of me?” He laughed at the idea. “Perhaps I was.” The number of ladies he’d had trying to get his attention was a pleasant reminder, then his eyes landed on Clara, and he found himself longing to talk of something else. “There was as much fun to be had though in what one could explore in the day, rather than the parties in the evenings.” She smiled a little at his words, and Horatio couldn’t help regaling her with tales of all that he had seen.

Long after dinner had finished and the clock struck eleven, his parents stood to their feet, ready for departure. Horatio looked to the clock in surprise, for the evening had passed very fast indeed.

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