Page 51 of A Dream of Redemption
Over dinner, the more she thought about the meeting Clary held with her brother, without her, she got mad. Was Clary punishing her for yesterday? Only one way to find out. She rose from the table on the excuse of needing the retiring room and went in search of Clary. It didn’t take her long to learn he’d slunk off home. Now she wasreallymad.
Pleading a headache, she waited for dessert to be served before stating she’d take the carriage home and send it back for them. Marisa escorted her out and at the front door she pressed some coins into Helen’s hand. “I’ve asked Brunton to flag down a hackney carriage.” Helen stared at her sister with an open mouth. “Just go and see him. I know you’ve had a fight; he’s been like a cat with a thorn in its paw all day.” She looked over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the others here for as long as I can.”
Helen felt dreadful about lying to Beatrice and Sebastian, but she needed to see Clary. She did not have a headache and she was not unwell, but where her heart was concerned perhaps fate needed a helping hand.
Claryhadrisked a lot to have a relationship with her, his livelihood and that of Simon’s. She needed him to know what was in her heart, so he could see there was no risk. She would love him and would never leave him to face the wrath of her family alone. She had to understand if he loved her enough to fight for them both.
The hackney carriage made her feel anonymous, and she grew more confident. With her cloak and hood covering her features she told the driver to wait, and slipped quickly down the stairs to knock on Clary’s door.
To her surprise and consternation it was Simon who answered the door. She had not considered Clary would not be alone.
“Lady Helen, what a surprise. Please, do come in.”
She swept past him and followed the corridor into the drawing room conscious of Simon’s eyes boring into her back. Simon did not look happy she’d come.
Upon seeing her, Clary jumped to his feet. He seemed alarmed to see her. It was not a good start to her visit. She drank in the sight of him. He wore no cravat, his shirt was hanging open, and his Hessian boots lay discarded in a heap by his stocking covered feet. His curls were askew, as if he’d been running his hands through his hair, and his chin was covered in stubble. He looked tired but still incredibly handsome. Her knees went weak, and her heart did that little flip in her chest. She gave him a tentative smile.
“I’m sorry I called unannounced but I had to see you.”
Simon immediately piped up. “I thought I might go out for a drink and catch up with a few friends. I won’t be back till late.” Clary merely nodded at his brother.
They remained silent, staring at each other until they heard the door close upon Simon’s exit.
—
Clary ran a hand through his wild curls, not sure where to look. “You shouldn’t have come.”
She stood tapping her foot. “I had to come because you’ve been avoiding me and we need to talk about—whatever this attraction is.”
“I have not avoided you successfully, it seems.” He sighed and motioned her to take the chair near the fire. “Perhaps if I tell you of my past, you’ll begin to understand the reasons why none of your family is ever going to approve of me.”
She started to protest, but Clary held up his hand. “No. It’s time you learned the type of man I am.”
“Why is it that you persist in focusing on the past, when we should both be focusing on the future?”
“Because the past haunts us, follows us, and no one lets you forget the mistakes you have made. It would be a misstep for you to marry the likes of me, and society would never let you forget that.”
He took the seat opposite her and her heart broke when she saw the sadness in his eyes. “If you tell me about your past, and I think it doesn’t matter, will you still consider opening your heart to me?”
“You already have my heart,” he said. “But I can’t give you anything else.”
She smiled. “I don’t want anything else.”
—
He simply shook his head seemingly annoyed that she would not understand his point. And he began his tale.
“I cannot remember my father. I must have had one. He must’ve been there for some of my early childhood, because there is Simon. But for all I know, Simon and I could have different fathers.”
“You don’t look very much alike, except around the eyes.”
“I can remember my mother. I used to be able to picture her face but that faded over time. I remember being loved, she used to always cuddle me and tell me stories before putting me to bed. She was a seamstress, taking in people’s linen to mend. We were not wealthy, but we had a clean warm room, a roof overhead, and at least one decent meal a day.”
He stopped and hung his head. “Christ, this is hard.” He stood and went and poured himself a drink. “Would you like anything?”
“A brandy please. I think I’m going to need it.”
Retaking his seat, he continued. “One day, I must have been around nine years old, Simon was only three, she packed up all our belongings, and we left the one room that I called home. She said we were going on a journey. I can remember I was excited. I’d never been more than a few blocks from our home before. We walked for an hour, before she sat me down on a street corner, told me to watch Simon while she ran an errand and to wait for her to return. She never returned.”
