Page 81 of The Trouble with True Love

She shivered, and the question whispered through her mind of what would happen to her now.

“Do you want to go, Miss Clara?”

She jerked, startled, and opened her eyes, the curtain falling from her fingertips as she turned to her maid. “Sorry? What?”

“The picnic. If you want to go, we’d best get you dressed. The carriages are supposed to be off at twelve sharp, so Miss Chapman said.”

Clara gathered her scattered wits, pushing delectable thoughts of Rex’s magnificent body and forebodings about the future out of her mind. “I do want to go, yes,” she answered and turned from the window. “Hetty promised me an outing to the White Cliffs, for I’ve never seen them, and I don’t want to miss the chance.”

It was a mad dash to get her ready in time, but Clara soon learned that the White Cliffs might have to wait for another day. The big grandfather clock on the landing had already chimed the hour by the time she raced past it down the stairs, and when she arrived at the bottom, she found Carlotta waiting for her.

“Sorry,” she said, skidding to a halt, out of breath as she tucked her parasol under one arm and worked to button her gloves. “Am I terribly late? Is everyone waiting on me, or have they already left?”

“No, no, they haven’t gone yet, but I don’t think you’ll be wanting to join them, in any case.”

Clara frowned, puzzled, especially because Carlotta was smiling like the Cheshire Cat, and that almost never happened. “What do you mean?”

Carlotta slid her arm through Clara’s. “Let’s take a walk, my dear.”

Her bewilderment deepening, Clara allowed her sister-in-law to lead her across the foyer and out of the house. “Where are we going?” she asked as they turned in the opposite direction from the carriages in the drive.

“The rose garden is lovely, with everything in bloom,” her sister-in-law said. “I thought we might go there.”

“What about the picnic?” Clara asked as they rounded the corner of the house and started across the south lawn. The question was barely out of her mouth, however, before she saw Rex standing by the entrance to the rose garden, hat in hand, and any thoughts of the picnic or seeing the White Cliffs of Dover went straight out of her head.

Lord, he was handsome.

All the memories of last night came flooding back in a burst of pure joy, and she smiled.

He didn’t smile back.

Clara’s steps faltered, but Carlotta’s arm was still entwined with hers, impelling her forward. As she approached, his face was so grave, she immediately wondered if something terrible had happened.

She glanced at Carlotta, and her anxiety eased, for the other woman was still smiling.

She turned to Rex again. “What is this about?”

Instead of answering, he gestured to the path. “Take a turn with me?”

Carlotta’s arm slid away, and to Clara’s astonishment, her sister-in-law gave Rex a nod, turned around, and departed, leaving them. “Carlotta?” she called, but the other woman kept walking away. “Where is she going?”

“Out of earshot.” He slid his arm through hers. “Walk with me, please.”

He pulled, urging her gently into the rose garden, but even as she walked with him, she was looking back over her shoulder. “What on earth is she thinking? She can’t leave us alone out here. She’s my chaperone.”

“We’re a bit past the point of chaperones, don’t you think? Clara,” he went on before she could reply, “I asked Lady David to arrange a private meeting between us, and when I explained my reasons, she consented.”

Reasons? There was only one reason a man would make such a request of a chaperone.

With that thought, a torrent of emotions surged through her all at once. Disbelief, dismay, jubilation, trepidation, joy, hope—in a flood, they came, simultaneous yet distinct, each one powerful enough to overwhelm her. She stopped walking, unable to take another step, and yanked her arm out of his hold.

He stopped as well, turning to face her. “Surely you can guess what my reason is?”

One emotion nudged upward past all the others, rising above the tide, threatening to carry her utterly away. It was hope.

And yet, hope of what? Not happy matrimony, because he wasn’t the marrying sort, and she’d always known that. Just as important, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to marry him, for she’d never contemplated it, not once until this very moment. So, why was hope rising inside her, wrapping around her heart, squeezing her chest with such dizzying excitement? What was she hoping for? She honestly didn’t know.

She looked down, staring at the gravel path under their feet, trying to set aside any romantic notions and remind herself of realities. This was Rex, which meant the idea of marriage was absurd anyway, so—

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