* * *
The journey was a quick one,barely ten minutes, and much to Clara’s annoyance, it turned out that Lady Heatherbroke had her maid with her, so conducting a confiding talk that Clara had planned was restricted to her obliquely letting Prudence know that the engagement between herself and Mr. Goudge was at an end. She could not even bring up Woolwich at all.
“I am sure it will be much remarked upon,” Clara said. She knew she should be anxious. After all, it was a match she had initially hoped for. But the truth was she was more concerned about whether she might be with Woolwich’s child. If she were, then she would have no choice but to write to him and beg his assistance, and if she wasn’t, a solitary existence stretched before her. Hastily, she forced herself to smile, her hands smoothing over the soft pink rivets of her dress. They would soon be in the quiet of Hatchards, and Clara would feel her muscles calm in the presence of such precious books. She would place several on her account and take them with her today. Hopefully, after that was done, she might escort Lady Heatherbroke home, and then she would have an opportunity to unburden herself entirely.
“Here we are,” Lady Heatherbroke called out brightly, and Clara roused herself.
Climbing from the carriage, she took in the large shop with its glistening glass windows, dark green painted exterior, and gold lettering elegantly announcing its name. She felt happy, as if the last few frantic confusions and fears were nothing compared to her first love because, for at least an hour of time, nothing would distract her from the joys within this bookshop. She knew the well-stocked walls nicely, the handsome glass cases, the thick heavy carpets that would cushion her feet, as well as the occasional window seat where she could easily have whiled away many an hour.
“Come,” Lady Heatherbroke looped their arms together, and with genuine enthusiasm, Clara picked up her pace, and the pair hurriedly entered Hatchards.
There was something almost immediately amiss, Clara realised, as her gaze travelled around the innards of the shop. The booksellers moved effectively between stylish customers dressed in their most elegant bonnets or tall black hats, Indian silk shawls, and summery netted gloves. Brown leather-bound covers lined the shelves, and Clara’s feet carried her forward, her fingers eagerly reaching out to stroke the spines. She could almost feel the clamour of the voices within the novels calling out to her—in an attempt to drown out the noise of her breaking heart. Books had always been a balm to her soul, sheltering her when she’d suffered before, cast out as a bookworm or redhead, or ignored because her figure did not meet society’s expectations—those delightful pages were a place of solace in a turbulent world. Would her beloved novels be enough now?
Turning, she glanced over her shoulder, looking for Lady Heatherbroke, hoping to finally tell her about Woolwich, but nowhere could she make out her friend’s slim figure or bouncing brown curls. The downstairs area of the bookshop was full of sombrely dressed matrons and gentlemen and no young marchioness. Perhaps Lady Heatherbroke had gone upstairs?
Clara reached out and grabbed the banister, and walked up the stairs, heading to the second floor. One of the booksellers waved Clara on and up the stairs before Clara could ask him her question about whether he had seen Lady Prudence. The second floor was likewise barren of Lady Heatherbroke, so Clara continued up to the final floor.
On the whole, Hatchards smelt like rosewood, musk, and, of course, books: closely stacked blending ink and thick vellum pages. But there was a different scent colouring the air today, which blended floral flavours one on top of another. A battle of rich lily of the valley, honeysuckle, and lilac, and when Clara reached the upper landing, she saw there was bouquet after bouquet made of those flowers lining the edge of the room. There were lilacs and roses attached to the ceiling in garlands. There was such a vast cacophony of colours and smells that Clara’s eyes widened at the sight. She was so utterly distracted by the show of flowers that the man bent on one knee in the middle of the room made her do a double take.
Woolwich was watching her most closely. He was immaculately dressed, and his blond hair was beautifully ruffled. A slight smile curled his lips, but a frown cut between his brows. So, he was not at ease.
Clara tried to ignore the jewellery box he was holding and the unfamiliar ring nestled between the velvet which was offered up for her eyes. Annoyingly, there was a sudden swell of emotion, and she told herself most sternly that whatever the duke might say next, she would not cry.
She hung back, her hand still on the banister rail, keeping her eyes fixed on Woolwich’s face, waiting for his opening speech which would probably be him continuing to remind Clara of her duty, her obligation to wed him.
“I am glad to see that Lady Heatherbroke’s understanding of you was so precise.”
“This was a trap?” Clara asked. She moved forward a little way, but not close enough to be within touching distance of him. Given how her body had betrayed her previously, it was wiser, she reasoned, to keep back.
“Hardly so malicious, more of what the three of us hoped would be a winning gesture.” Woolwich lifted his free hand and beckoned her closer. “I can, of course, remain on one knee for as long as you like, but I would prefer to address my remarks to you directly rather than to this bookshop.”
“If it is simply a repetition of what has been said previously…” There was a wobble to her voice, but Clara kept her body relaxed as she moved a fraction closer. “The change of scene and setting, lovely though the books and flowers are, will not—”
“That was not my intention.” Woolwich closed the distance and snatched hold of her hand, pulling her towards him. “I thought that the setting would demonstrate my willingness to embrace the things you loved.” A small, wry smile lifted the edge of his mouth. “And a public location would prevent…” he trailed off, but the implication was clear enough.
His attempt at a joke cut into her, and Clara wondered quite how much power the smile, the look, and the mind of the man before her had over her senses. With her free hand, Clara swatted at his shoulder, but Woolwich did not continue in such a light vein. She had never imagined it possible that someone could hold her in such a sway.
“You were right.” His grey eyes locked on her face with a depth of feeling that shocked her. “About so many things.” Woolwich’s hand pulled her closer, and spontaneously Clara’s knees buckled, and she folded down onto the carpet in front of him so they were on a level. In response, Woolwich’s hand enfolded her fingers, and hurriedly he said, “Let me speak, I beg you. I owe you the greatest of apologies. I do not know where to start on the list of things I should say sorry for. Certainly, for attempting to trick you… but for countless other things too. I have never found speaking or airing my thoughts to be the easiest, but for you, Clara, I would go on until you insist I stop or my voice dries up.”
Clara nodded hesitantly, so Woolwich continued. “It was a grave error of mine in thinking we might somehow be married without you ever realising what existed within me. Thinking I was cold and distant when what I was, was afraid you might know the truth of how desperately and hungrily I need and want you.” Woolwich pulled her hand closer to his chest, laying her fingers on his shirt above his heart. “I love you. God, you were right. I was a coward. I should have said it earlier, but I don’t think I realised it, not until I told Lady Heatherbroke I would rather argue with you than talk to another soul.”
An awareness grew that her eyes were swimming with tears, but it was odd, bizarre even, since Clara knew she was smiling too. Woolwich closed the small distance between them, his mouth kissing her cheeks, her forehead, to pepper her face with his kisses until she was laughing. He only pulled back when she let out a heartfelt sigh.
“Can you forgive me?”
“I thought you came here to ask me to marry you?”
“That, too, but I realise I need your forgiveness more. I suppose I should ask you a great deal of questions, but nothing can be gained without me having your forgiveness first.”
“You don’t deserve it,” she scolded, still smiling.
“No, probably not, but I will strain to throughout our marriage.” He had abandoned the ring on the floor but lifted it back up and showed it to her. “Lady Heatherbroke’s advice on your favourite stones was a great help. I would never have known moonstones were your preference.” Woolwich slid the ring from the velvet box and placed it onto her hand, slowly giving her time to say whatever she wanted.
“It is perfect,” Clara said once the ring was secure on her finger. “Yes, I will marry you. I want to marry you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Clara plundered his mouth with her own. His earlier kisses had been sweet and affectionate, all those promises of love fulfilled, but she was realising she wanted something more. Her hands stole beneath his shirt, delighting in the heat of his body. There was a passionate ferocity within her, ignited only by Jasper so that only he could satisfy her.
“Please,” she said. Awareness sparked within him as he maneuvered her backwards against the shelves behind them. His clever fingers darted in amongst the pink silk dress seeking out her wet heat. When he touched her, Clara gasped, but her moan was hastily captured by his mouth.
“We can’t do that here,” he said.
