“Your Grace, there is a letter addressed to Lady Claire,” the butler announced.
Claire glanced up from her sketchbook, her brown eyes shining. “Who is it from?”
“It appears to be from your father’s solicitor,” Oliver frowned, handing her the sheet of paper with the solicitor’s seal. In his experience, solicitors rarely wrote to the family unless something dire had happened.
He sincerely hoped that all was well with the Viscount. He had even sent word just a few days ago, informing him of Claire’s progress in Society.
Lord Rowley was yet to reply.
“Oh! Finally!” Claire eagerly received the letter and opened it. “He must be coming here to London! Perhaps he is done with whatever has kept him.”
As her eyes scanned the pages, she turned pale. Her hands trembled visibly and the paper fluttered to the floor.
Lady Suzanna was immediately alarmed and rushed over to her. “Dear heart, what is it?”
Oliver picked the piece of paper, his features turning somber as he quickly read the words printed on them.
“Lord Draydon, I apologize, but we cannot attend to you right now,” he said quietly. He turned to Suzanna. “The Viscount will not be coming to London.”
“Lord Rowley is dead.”
Chapter 11
Claire stared out of the window, her brown eyes seeing nothing as she leaned her head against the cool glass. Below her, she could see the carriages passing by, the horses’ hooves clacking against the street.
How could a day that seemed to go right suddenly go so wrong?
One moment, she was showing Lord Draydon her drawings—finally opening herself up to another human being and inviting him to take a glimpse into her world.
How her heart soared when he declared that she had talent!
Only to be swiftly dashed against the rocks when they brought news of her father’s demise.
How she wished she had never opened that letter, that she could go on thinking that her kind, handsome father would be coming to London to join them for the Season.
Now, he would not even get to give her away at her wedding. She and Trixie had been left to the care of the Duke of Minsbury and he and Lady Suzanna were in mourning over the demise of the Viscount.
“Hang the black curtains and the wreath,” Lady Suzanna had instructed the servants, her normally vivacious personality turned somber and bleak. “Lady Claire and I shall not be attending any events whilst we are in mourning.”
“No doubt there will be a deluge of callers,” Oliver reminded her quietly.
She nodded towards the butler. “Tell them that we are indisposed as of the moment. Lady Claire and I shall not be accepting calls for the time being.”
It was just as well because Claire could not find it in her heart to hold a proper conversation.
The hardest part had been to tell Trixie their tragic news. Her younger sister had been devastated and her governess understood the need to postpone her studies while she mourned the passing of her father.
“No, Miss Ellis, give me my books,” the younger miss told her governess. “Father always reminded me to study and I shall do just that. It will at least give me something else to attend to besides the heaviness in my heart.”
While Trixie grieved in her own way, Claire wandered the hallways of the townhouse aimlessly until she came to the window seat.
It was how Oliver found her two hours later, still staring at the streets, seeing everything yet nothing in particular.
He sat across from her, his own eyes swimming with immense grief as he took in her forlorn figure.
She had traded in her colorful gowns for mourning black, which made her look thinner and paler—a sight that tugged at his heart and caused his chest to ache.
“How are you doing, Claire?”
