But that would have been cowardly.
Instead, she’d sat at the table between Teddy and Mr. Finchley, talking to each of them in turn and smiling as much as she was able. After dinner she’d partnered Mrs. Bainbridge at cards, playing until nearly midnight.
In other circumstances it would have been a very pleasant evening. But Clara’s smiles had been brittle, and when she’d played her hand, her heart hadn’t been in it.
The tree stood in the hall, looking as grand as it had on Christmas, with all of its tinsel and glittering ornaments. Clara inhaled its fading pine fragrance as she passed it on her way to the library.
She didn’t know if Neville would be there. It was only a hunch. Lady Helena had mentioned that he’d returned from the stables, but he hadn’t come to join them in the drawing room.
The library door stood half open. She entered to find Neville leaning over the desk, applying a wax seal to a letter. Her heart gave an anguished thump.
But he wasn’t alone.
Mr. Archer was at one of the bookshelves, a leather-bound volume held open in his hand, showing something within its pages to Teddy. The two of them were talking softly.
Clara announced her presence with a delicate cough.
Neville turned his head to the door. When he saw her, he straightened to his full height. “Miss Hartwright.”
“Mr. Cross.” How civil they were to each other. How unfailingly polite. And all the while her palms were damp inside her gloves, and her stomach was tied into knots.
“You’re leaving us, are you?” Teddy asked.
“I fear I must. Mr. Thornhill says—”
“Yes, yes, the cliff road.” Teddy wheeled himself across the library. “I wonder that it’s passable at all. It looked rather treacherous the day we arrived.”
“It is rather treacherous.” Mr. Archer withdrew another book before coming to join them. “But I expect Danvers knows what he’s about.”
“All the same,” Teddy remarked, “take care you don’t get swept out to sea.”
Neville’s countenance was solemn. Almost stern. He didn’t appear at all amused by Teddy’s dark humor.
“I shall be quite all right,” Clara said. “I’ve only stopped in to speak to Mr. Cross about Bertie. And then I must go. Danvers is bringing round the carriage.”
“We’ll leave you to it, then.” Mr. Archer motioned to Teddy. “Shall we?”
“If we must.” Teddy flashed Clara a smile. “Safe journey.”
She smiled in return. “Goodbye. I shall see you again in Surrey.”
“Goodbye, Miss Hartwright,” Mr. Archer said. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will, sir.” Clara clasped Bertie more firmly to her chest, standing in tense silence as Mr. Archer and Teddy exited the room. She felt the weight of Neville’s gaze on her face—a physical sensation, as affecting as if he’d touched her cheek with his hand, just as he’d done yesterday in the moments before he’d kissed her.
She brought her eyes to meet his. A blush threatened. “I won’t keep you a minute. I only wanted to reassure myself on a few counts about Bertie.”
Neville remained where he was. His jaw was set, his hands clasped behind his back. She wondered how a gentleman who was so kind, so very warm, could suddenly look so cold and imposing.
“He sleeps most of the day,” she said. “And he prefers a place in front of the fire. If you could see to it?”
He nodded.
“And you won’t always be taking him to the stables, will you? I hate to think of him being subjected to the elements for any length of time.”
“I’ll look after him.”
Her throat tightened with emotion. “Of course you will.” Somehow she managed to smile, though she was certain it must look more like a rictus of pain. “What a ninny you must think me. Just like the day we met. All of my strictures about Bertie. As if you don’t know dogs better than I.”
“Clara…”
“I don’t regret any of it, you know. I daresay I should, but I don’t. If you—”
“There you are, Miss Hartwright.” Mrs. Bainbridge’s voice rang out from the doorway. “The carriage is in the drive. You mustn’t keep the coachman waiting.”
Clara forced composure on herself. “No, indeed.” She pressed a trembling kiss to Bertie’s head before passing him into Neville’s arms.
As Neville took him, his hand brushed against hers. He tucked something into her fingers. It was a small, folded envelope. The very one he’d been sealing at his desk.
She looked up at him with a start.
He stared back at her, an expression in his eyes that was hard to read.
“Come, my dear,” Mrs. Bainbridge said. “Time is of the essence.”
Clara discreetly slipped the letter into her sleeve. Her pulse was racing. “Goodbye, Mr. Cross.”
Neville stepped back from her, Bertie in his arms. “Goodbye, Miss Hartwright.”
It seemed as though he might have said more. But there was no time, and with Mrs. Bainbridge looking on, they had no privacy. Clara could do nothing but take her leave.
It wasn’t until later that she was finally able to open his letter. Alone at last inside the carriage, careening down the cliff road in the driving rain, she withdrew the small envelope from her sleeve, broke the seal, and began to read.
My dearest Clara,
I have thought and thought of what I might say on the day of your departure, but as with most unpleasant things, that day has come far too soon. I find myself wholly unprepared to bid goodbye to you, and as lacking in eloquence with a pen and ink as I am when I speak. I’m constrained by the limits of language. No words are adequate to express the light you have brought into my life. I can only say this:
The past weeks with you have been the brightest period of my memory. I shall treasure them always.
If you remember me down the years, I hope it will be as a man who was honored to know you, and to be in your company. And who might have loved you all of your days if things had been different.
Yours faithfully,
Neville Cross
Cambridge, England
December 1860
Clara stood inside the gates of Magdalene College. It was snowing in Cambridge, delicate flakes that caught on her cloak and bonnet, melting away to nothing. She scarcely noticed the cold. Her entire being was too consumed with the sights before her.
She stared in wonder at the imposing stucco-faced buildings. They were set along the sides of a quadrangle. To the east was the great hall. To the north, the chapel. And along the west side, a magnificent classical structure of creamy Ketton stone with a piazza of five connected archways at its front. She recognized it instantly from the descriptions in her brother’s letters.