Page 46 of The Trouble with True Love

“That can be said to work both ways, for I rarely talk about my parents, particularly about what life with them was like before they separated. I certainly never discuss it with anyone outside the family. Well, now,” he added, trying to inject a lightness into his voice, “today has been quite the day for sharing confidences, hasn’t it? Given how we started, who’d have thought you and I would ever be doing that?”

“Neither of us, that’s certain. Are we...” She paused, her expression taking on a hint of surprise as she turned toward him on the settee. “Are we becoming friends, do you think?”

Through the window beyond her shoulder, sunlight suddenly flooded the room, making him blink. Leaning sideways a little to keep the light out of his eyes, he studied her where she sat at the other end of the settee. The ray of sunshine that fell over her formed a nimbus of light behind her coronet of soft brown hair and gave her an angelic appearance. But when he looked down, he noted that the sun also made the silhouette of her body plainly visible through her white shirtwaist.

At once, desire stirred within him, making it clear that his body, at least, did not want to be her friend.

Still, with a girl like her and a man like him, there was no other course possible, and with profound regret, he tore his gaze away from the shadowy outline of her shape. “Perhaps we are,” he said and took a swallow of tea, rather wishing his own cup had brandy in it, for he could really do with a drink. Absent that, conversation seemed his only distraction from the dangerous direction of his thoughts.

“What happened when you were eleven?” he asked, handing over his empty plate and settling back against the arm of the settee with his tea as the sun moved behind clouds again. “Sorry if I’m prying,” he added at once, hoping she’d tell him anyway.

“My mother died. My father was quite a hellion in his youth, but when he married my mother, he promised her he’d reform. Unfortunately, he kept that promise only until she died. After that, he took to drink again. I suppose after her death he saw no reason to refrain.”

“No reason? What about you and your sister?”

“Until this year, he’s been manageable enough. But now, with Irene married, and me staying with the duke’s family for the season, he’s gotten much worse. There’s no one here to check him, you see. It seems any time I come up to visit him, he’s always—” She paused, lifting one hand toward the door. “Well, you’ve seen for yourself how he is.”

“And your brother? Could he do nothing about it?”

“Papa would never listen to Jonathan. They quarreled years ago, Papa tossed him out of the house, and he went to America to make his own way. They haven’t spoken since, for my father refuses to answer Jonathan’s letters or heal the breach. So, even if Jonathan were here, he’d hardly be able to exert any influence. In fact, if my brother crossed our threshold, I doubt he’d have the chance to give Papa a lecture on his drinking. The house would combust before he could get in a word.”

Rex smiled in commiseration. “I know what you mean. I shudder to think what might happen if my mother and father were ever in the same room together again. One of them would end up dead, I’ve no doubt. Your father and your brother sound very much the same. Did your father’s drinking cause the breach?”

“Partly. Papa became erratic and foolhardy, making foolish business decisions and spending money like water, and the drinking contributed to his poor judgement, I’m sure. When Jonathan pointed that out, that’s when Papa tossed him out.” She paused and took a sip of tea. “You know, when I see my father like this, I wonder if I should forgo the remainder of the season. Perhaps I should return home before he gets any worse.”

“I doubt it would matter if you did.”

“I daresay you’re right. Irene and I used to search the house, tossing out his brandy bottles whenever we found any, but he always managed to get more somehow. His valet, I suppose. Anyway, I would ask that you disregard the things he said. Particularly,” she added, wincing, “his blatant matchmaking efforts.”

“My great-aunt is rather the same. Another thing you and I seem to have in common.” Rex smiled, hoping to ease her embarrassment. “It’s awful when they’re so obvious about it, isn’t it? Still, however clumsy his efforts, you can’t really blame him for trying to help you gain what you want from life.”

“I don’t blame him,” she answered at once. “I realize he is motivated by a genuine concern on my behalf. I think he knows—” She broke off and a hint of pain crossed her face. “I think he knows,” she resumed after a moment, “that he’ll kill himself with drink one day, and I think he wants to see me settled properly before that day comes.”

“He knows, and yet, he won’t stop the drink?”

Clara’s sweet face took on a hard glimmer of cynicism that hurt him, somehow. “Should he?” she asked. “Can a rake ever genuinely reform?”

He inhaled sharply, sensing they were not talking only about her parent any longer, but what could he say in his own defense? He’d indulged his rakish tendencies at every opportunity when he’d been able to afford it, and though he lived more like a monk than a rake nowadays, no one knew that. And besides, he’d probably go back to his previous wild ways at the first opportunity, because... why not?

“No,” he said, the admission a bit bitter on his tongue. “I suppose true rakes don’t reform. But let’s talk about a more pleasant subject. You, for instance.”

“Me?”

“It’s a more interesting topic than your father’s fondness for brandy.”

“Well, a less embarrassing one, at any rate,” she said with a hint of humor. “What would you like to know?”

He considered a moment. “Why do you want so much to be married?”

“Nearly every girl wants that, I suppose.”

“An answer which neatly sidesteps the question. I’m curious as to why you want it.”

She seemed a bit surprised, as if the answer was obvious. “Until a woman marries, she has no real purpose in the world. Oh, she can work for charity and help the vicar with parish activities and perfect her needlework. If she’s fortunate, she can go into society, but unless she wants to be like my sister and defy all the conventions, she’s stuck in a life that is quite dull, until she marries.”

He couldn’t help a laugh at that. “I know many married women, and I can assure you that most of them are bored silly.”

“Perhaps, but God willing, a married woman has at least one preoccupation that is denied to single women. She has children to care for.”

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