The Golden Lion proved comfortable, if rather dark and overpowering with thick hangings and a heavily be-curtained bed. ‘It all smells odd,’ Eliza complained as they set out on foot for Harvey’s Library and Reading Rooms where the porter had assured Nathan they would find all the news-sheets they could possibly want.

‘Shh, and don’t stare so,’ Clemence chided.

‘They are all staring at us,’ the maid retorted.

It was hardly surprising, Clemence thought. A young lady bundled into layers of decidedly unfashionable garments, attended by a maid in a colourful head-wrap and escorted by a naval officer and a vast man with an ancient and belligerent hound on a leash. Yes, they certainly stood out amongst the crowds going about their business and the fashionable strollers who sauntered down the pavements closer to the centre of the town.

‘Here we are,’ Nathan said, sounding as nearly rattled as she could recall hearing him. ‘You wait outside, Street.’ Under the eye of a matron with a vast bonnet and an eye glass, he swept them into the entrance of Harvey’s Library.

An attendant showed them into the newspaper reading room, found them a table and chairs and brought them the Morning Post and The Times from the beginning of June.

Clemence applied herself to scanning the columns in search of any reference to the Ravenhursts, but it was hard to ignore some of the other news.

‘It say

s here,’ she reported, ‘that Mr Kemble remains at Stanmore Priory under the severe visitation of what Dr Johnson styles arthritic tyranny, vulgarly called the gout. Poor man, having that printed. And there is famine in Transylvania, wherever that is.’

‘I have found a list of the prices at the Pantheon Linen Warehouse,’ Eliza contributed. ‘Coloured dresses for only seventeen shillings and six pence.’ She frowned. ‘Is that expensive?’

‘I have no idea,’ Nathan said repressively. ‘Concentrate, or we will be here all day.’

They had arrived at the first week in July before Clemence found it. ‘Here! It is understood that Lord Standon daily expects a most fashionable house party to assemble at his country seat in Hampshire, the distinguished company of Lord Standon’s illustrious relatives to include, it is rumoured, Lord Sebastian Ravenhurst and the Grand Duchess of Maubourg. Thank goodness.’ Although a house party did sound somewhat daunting.

Nathan was already on his feet, checking the Peerage. ‘Long Martin Court, principal seat of the Earls of Standon. And it is not far from Romsey, which means I can escort you and then take the chaise on to London.’

‘I had better write.’

‘You would arrive on the heels of the letter if we leave first thing tomorrow,’ Nathan said, unfolding a map he had found on the shelves. ‘Look, we are here, there is Romsey. Now we know where you are going and when, would you like to look at the shops?’

What she wanted was to retreat to her fusty, dark room and panic quietly about her arrival at Long Martin Court. It was almost worrying enough to distract her from the dull ache inside at the prospect of parting from Nathan for ever. Clemence fixed a smile on her face. ‘That would be delightful.’

It was seven years since he had been shopping with a lady, Nathan realised, watching the tension gradually fade from Clemence’s face as she browsed amongst the shops lining the more fashionable streets. He wanted to take her somewhere quiet and hold her, stroke those lines creasing her brow until they vanished, kiss her until the worry disappeared from her green eyes.

With Julietta all his energies had been devoted to keeping her out of the scrapes her impulsive nature sent her tumbling into. Emptying his wallet as she shopped had been one way of doing that, even if the silks and taffetas, the pearls and bangles, had all been deployed to attract attention and aid her in flirting with any man who paid her heed. He closed his eyes for a moment against the pain. That was all she had ever meant to do: flirt. And yet it had killed her.

But Clemence did not flirt and she did not once open her reticule, although he saw her lips curve at the sight of a shop window full of nonsensically pretty hats and look wistfully at a display of fans and shawls. He wanted to buy it all for her, see her eyes light up and hear her laugh. But he should not give her something as intimate as a garment, he knew that.

Eliza had found a shop full of small antiquities, old paintings, statues and trays of second-hand knick-knacks. She rummaged enthusiastically while the shopkeeper stared at her dark skin and her colourful head-wrap.

To distract himself from watching Clemence, Nathan picked up fans from a shelf, almost at random. One small one caught his eye. Painted with a group of young women in the centre, it was surrounded in verses in French. It wasn’t new—in fact, it was slightly scuffed—but it intrigued him. The women were taking papers from cherubs who appeared to be operating some kind of lottery or lucky dip. It was hard to read in the subdued light as he skimmed the words, then he saw the name in the last verse. Clémence.

‘I’ll take this.’ The shopkeeper wrapped it for him and he thrust it into his breast pocket as the two women tore themselves away from the trinkets and came to join him. ‘Finished?’

‘Yes, thank you. You must be so bored.’ Clemence smiled up at him. ‘Should we go back to the inn?’

‘I think so. I will hire a chaise for tomorrow.’

She grew quieter and quieter as they neared the inn and Nathan found himself suddenly devoid of conversation. ‘You’ll take dinner in the private parlour?’ She nodded. ‘I will not join you. I have business to attend to.’ He stopped at the door. ‘I will send a note with the time for us to leave.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Clemence said politely, her eyes troubled. His memory brought back the look in them when he had refused to marry her. He felt, obscurely, that he had let her down, and yet, surely by now she knew he had made the right decision? ‘We will be ready.’

Almost there, he thought as he strode off down St Edmund’s Street towards his non-existent business. Almost free of the need to watch every thought and every word. Almost time for the safety of loneliness and of not having to worry about another human being. Because that was all it was, all it could be, this odd ache inside him. He had missed feminine company and Clemence was such an original female it was hard not to be attracted by her. He had been trained to care for those under his command and he supposed that was why he felt such a need to protect her. And he wanted to make love to her and that, of course, was impossible. So the sooner he could return to his bachelor existence, the better.

It had been easier to sleep in the cramped cabin, Clemence concluded after a restless night in the high bed, alternately stifled and cold. Everything seemed to be moving still, yet the familiar shipboard noises had been replaced by cartwheels on cobbles, shouts from the harbour, heavy feet on the landing outside and heavy snores from the chamber next door.

Nathan did not snore. Clemence rolled over and buried her head under a pillow, but all that the comparative peace provided was more tranquillity in which to think and to worry.

Somehow she would get through the meeting with her family, she knew that, despite her anxious anticipation. But what then? They would expect her to become part of their world, to take her place in society and to find a husband. And how could she when the only man she loved didn’t want to marry her?

Tags: Louise Allen Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net