A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

Watching her, he couldn’t deny the unsettling uncertainty that had taken root in his mind. Would she return to Avening and quiet country life, or had tonnish society and her family not just reclaimed but recaptured her?

She saw him and frowned. “Come along. You aren’t going to escape either.”

He smiled, easily, charmingly, and ambled over to do her bidding.

They spent the next two hours immersed in engineered chaos. Only Clarice seemed to know what came next. Her sisters-in-law-to-be arrived and joined the discussions, after which Clarice sent them home armed with lists of questions for their parents. Her aunts stopped by and gave their regal blessing, promising to send a list of the more influential members of the ton to be included among the guests.

Throughout, Clarice kept him and her brothers busy inscribing invitations in their best copperplate.

Finally, she glanced at the clock, and called a halt. “We need to dress for dinner.”

Alton stretched and groaned. “I’m going to collapse at my club.”

Clarice narrowed her eyes at him. “No, you are not. You’re going to join Sarah and squire her about.” She raked her other two brothers. “And you are going to do the same with Alice and Emily. As of now, you are affianced gentlemen, and you need to act the part. If you want your engagement ball to be a success, you’ll start sowing the right seeds tonight.”

Nigel snorted. “Three Altwoods announce their engagements all on the same night, with their recently returned-from-banishment sister as hostess. The ball won’t be a success, it’ll be a riot. Everyone in London will want to attend.” He caught Clarice’s glare and held up his hands. “All right, all right, we’ll do as you say, but there’s no chance of this ball being anything other than a horrible crush.”

“Actually”—Alton leaned forward and fixed his dark gaze on Clarice’s face—“speaking of hostesses, you will return here now, won’t you, Clary? Moira’s gone, and Sarah certainly won’t mind—she sees you as an older sister already. She’d welcome your help, and indeed, no one is better suited to dealing with this sort of thing.” He waved at the clutter of invitations surrounding them. “There’s no reason you need to return to Avening, not now. James doesn’t need you, but we do. You will stay, won’t you?”

Jack’s heart seized.

Before Clarice could utter a word, Roger and Nigel leapt in to add their entreaties. This time, the three were more persuasive; they’d had time to plan and polish their arguments. They painted a picture of Clarice’s life as it should have been, as it could now be if she wished, the life she was born to, one of privilege, wealth, and position.

Jack managed not to react, not to stiffen, not to draw anyone’s attention as he sat back and listened. Calling on the skills of his past, he let himself fade into the background until the other four had forgotten he was there.

He watched Clarice. She hadn’t yet suceeded in saying a word; she seemed resigned to letting her brothers put forward every last argument they could muster, pulling every string they could think of to convince her to return to the family fold.

Keeping silent and still was an effort, a battle. He felt like his heart was in his throat, but still he waited. It was her decision, and only hers.

Finally, when Nigel had at last run out of words and an expectant silence fell, Clarice smiled at them. “Thank you, but no.”

Jack breathed out. He felt faintly giddy.

Clarice held up a hand to cut off her brothers’ protests. “No. Don’t argue. You’ve argued quite enough, and I must return to the hotel and get ready for the evening.”

Calm and serene, she rose and turned to Jack.

Rising, too, he met her eyes, but could read nothing beyond fond exasperation with her brothers in the dark depths.

She kissed them as they farewelled her. “I’ll see you all tonight.”

Cloaking his feelings in his customary geniality, Jack bade the brothers good-bye, led her into the hall and out to Alton’s town carriage, waiting to carry them to Benedict’s. Settling onto the seat beside her, head back as the carriage lurched, then rumbled on its way, he told himself she’d said “no.”

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been a very convincing “no.”

It hadn’t convinced her brothers; he’d seen the glances they’d exchanged. It hadn’t convinced him either.

Things had changed dramatically, unexpectedly. She’d been welcomed back into the ton, her stepmother had been defeated and banished, her brothers were all to marry soon. And they’d succeeded in exonerating James.

When she’d had time to consider, to think of how much had altered, would she still wish to return to Avening, a quiet country backwater, or would she choose to remain in town and live the life she always should have had?

He wasn’t going to give her up. Not easily; not without a fight.

Arm braced against the mantelpiece, boot propped on the fender, Jack stared into the fire in the sitting room of Clarice’s suite. She was still dressing for the evening; he had a little time.

Her brothers’ renewed push to have her rejoin the family had been an unwelcome shock. He was grimly aware of how significant a threat their suggestion posed to his vision of the future, the vision he’d been nurturing for the past weeks, that of him living quietly at Avening with Clarice by his side.

At no stage had he imagined winning her would be easy. Unlike with other females, he couldn’t ride up and slay her dragons for her and claim her hand as his reward. With her, he could only clear the way, at most empower her so she could slay said dragons herself. She was that sort of woman. He could stand by her side, his hand over hers on her sword and help her, but as with vanquishing Moira, it was she who had to perform the crucial act.