Claire straightened in her seat, but still didn’t look his way.
He tried again. “That’s not it.” He made himself take a breath and spoke as gently as he could. “You were saying.”
She hesitated and then faced forward once more. “I always imagined marrying, because, well, that is what every young girl is taught to expect and raised to believe. But I? I always wanted a love match.”
Oh, God, this was hellishly worse than he’d even anticipated.
“It is not something common here in England. Daughters are used to strengthen wealth or cement connections to other noble families.”
“Sounds sweet,” he drawled, infusing a droll amusement he didn’t feel.
Claire’s mouth quirked in an equally acerbic tilt. “My sentiments exactly.” Her smile withered, ushering in a darkness. “But then, after my family’s involvement in the disappearance of the Earl of Maxwell came to light, I found… any marriage was no longer an option.”
“Because Englishmen are cowardly, pathetic bastards,” he couldn’t keep from adding.
Her smile returned, the lone dimple in her right cheek appearing. “La, tell me how you really feel about the British, Mr. Gray.”
He grunted. “I said Englishmen. I’m coming to find there’s not a thing wrong with the ladies.”
“I’ll take that as a considerable concession from you, Mr. Gray.” She patted his knee. “But you aren’t wrong. Oh, my brother is honorable.” Her expression grew sad. “And my sister’s husband is, as well, but for the most part, finding a man of honor who can love freely and deeply without a care for scandals or a lack of wealth? That’s as elusive as a pot of gold at the end of some rainbow.”
“But you found one,” he said, and she deserved that. He knew that now. She might have used her influence to try to force his hand into instructing her. But he’d come to separate that one incident from who she really was. “You found that fellow able to love you and give you all that.” As she deserved.
“Oh, no. Just the opposite.”
The carriage hit a jarring bump, knocking them both up into the air, and as they each steadied themselves, his thoughts flew right out of his head, too.
“Whaaat?”
“Do you know what I have? I have a deal. An arrangement.”
Not entirely different from him. And as she’d pointed out, not at all different from what everyone else entered into.
She angled her head the tiniest bit, but not before he caught the lone tear she brushed back. “I have what every other Englishwoman has. A business partnering. He needs a wife.” And no doubt a dowry.
“What do you need, though, Claire?” he shot back. “Seems to me that’s more important here.”
Her gaze grew contemplative. “Independence. An ability to control my life as much as I’m able. A need to not be reliant upon my family.”
“You think they see you as a burden?” His was a rhetorical question. Caleb knew her family enough to say they’d never see her as such.
“I think I would see me as a burden, the poor, unwed, spinster aunt.” She shook her head hard, a light blazing to life in her eyes. “And I don’t want that, Caleb.”
“So you’d rather be unhappy in a different setting?” he asked gently.
Claire scowled. “You’re assuming I’ll be unhappy. I might not be.”
“You telling me that, sweetheart? Or yourself?”
“Me.” Her brow dipped. “No. No. I mean, you.”
“Sure.” There wasn’t a man on this cold, miserable island to match her passion, and as such, her light would eventually go out. And he was glad he’d not be here to see it.
“Furthermore, do you even believe in love anymore, Caleb?” She turned on him, almost tentative in that ask.
“No,” he said flatly, with an automaticity that came from life’s lessons and past betrayals. The depth of feeling that melded two souls and hearts was reserved for the pages of books and plays and captured on canvas. “Love ain’t real.”
Claire gave a nod. “Precisely, and as such, I might as well have”—she swept her arms wide—“the next best thing.”
“I said I don’t believe in love, sweetheart.” He leaned across the carriage and tweaked her nose. “You, however, have admitted to wanting romance.”
She swatted at his fingers. “Wanting romance and accepting one’s circumstances are altogether different things, Caleb. I have come to peace with not having the first and have openly embraced the latter.”
By the blunt, matter-of-fact way in which she spoke about her circumstances, the lady likely believed that, too. And yet, had she come to peace with the future she’d opted for? Had she embraced the latter, as she claimed? The lone tear he’d spied and her very words of what she’d wished for in a marriage spoke to the contrary.
Claire sucked in a shaky breath. “This is for the best. My sister Christina’s husband is dying,” she stammered, her words all rolling together. “Poppy and Tristan have accompanied Mother to Christina’s because they know what is coming.” Gavin’s death was inevitable. “and when her husband does pass, my brother and his wife will have not only their babe and whatever children they have in the future, to care for but Christina’s family, too. And there’s Faye.” She abruptly stopped herself. “And this man, he’ll leave me to my own devices, Caleb. I won’t have to answer to him.”
He roved his eyes over her strained features. She wanted more than that. “Claire,” he said roughly.
She waved a hand, dismissing him. “But perhaps there can also be more. It doesn’t mean I won’t necessarily find love with him.” Claire raised eyes brimming with hope and pain to his. “Right?”
The carriage stopped.
What the hell?
He and Claire stared at each other, her eyes stricken. Was it their parting or the uncertainty of what she was about to do? And why did he want it to be a mix of the two?
“We’ve arrived,” she said softly.
“Yeah.” Caleb glanced out the window, to the fountain ahead and the white stucco establishment. “It looks that way.” At some point, the trip he’d expected to be interminable had come to a quick and sudden end. Unlike the small, family-run establishment he and Claire had collided at, the King’s Crown was a larger coaching inn, a bustling one built around a central courtyard.
Caleb’s driver brought the team back into movement, guiding them at a slower pace through the archway leading to the yard within.
This time, however, when they rocked to another stop, it proved a final one.
Neither of them moved, but then Claire did. “I cannot thank you enough,” she said, gathering up her valise. Popping the embroidered article open, she fished out a small sheet of paper.
That was it? Just some thanks, and she’d be on her way? She thought he’d let her just be on her way?
Poppy. He had an obligation to Poppy. And because of that, he couldn’t leave Claire alone here. He’d not gotten word out quick enough, and—
And she is determined to control her own fate. And you have no right to control her.