His Mistletoe Marchioness. Georgie Lee

brother is here,’ she offered, trying to lighten the mood with the kind of small talk she preferred to engage in with Lord Worth or any of the other guests. Except she’d never imagined she’d be chatting with Hugh of all people.

      ‘I know.’ Hugh faced her with the same stern countenance he’d worn when she’d first turned to see him. ‘He wrote to me and told me that he and you would be here.’

      This made her stiffen with surprise more than his having interrupted her private moment.

      ‘Did he now?’ She needed to end this conversation and have a very much needed other one with Adam and Anne as to why she hadn’t merited the same warning.

      ‘It was his letter that gave me a reason to come.’ The tender yearning in his eyes struck her as hard as a well-packed snowball, but it didn’t stun her enough to make her take leave of her senses.

      He hadn’t really loved her years ago. That he held a candle for anything more than perhaps her inheritance, which was now even more substantial than it had been before, was preposterous. Perhaps, having run through all the actresses in London, he was here for other, more lucrative amusements. The anger his grief had pushed aside slipped slowly back to her and she narrowed her eyes at him. ‘In search of another heiress to help fill the family coffers? Or did you think a widow would serve you better?’

      That wiped the tenderness off his face. She’d insulted him and she was glad, for the mistakes of six years ago along with Lord Westbook’s and Lady Fulton’s snide whispers were not experiences she wished to repeat. ‘My motives for being here are not as base as you believe.’

      ‘I’m sure they’re not as noble as you’ve convinced others to believe either.’ She marched up to him, fingers closed into fists at her sides. The humiliation of standing before him in this very room years ago while he’d told her he’d decided to marry another instead of asking for her hand was made sharper by the rich scent of his bergamot shaving soap and his stance. He didn’t so much as step back or flinch, but stood there, taking her disdain with irksome stoicism. She didn’t expect him to crumble in shame, but at least he could have the temerity to blush or look away in guilt. ‘Whatever your true reasons for coming here, be perfectly clear, they will not include me. Good day, Lord Delamare.’

      Clara stepped around him and out of the room, pausing in the hallway to drag in a deep breath and settle the nervous tremors coursing through her. It wasn’t like her to lob insults at people, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. Nor was it like her to reveal to anyone so bluntly the depths of the injury they’d inflicted, but Hugh must see that she was no weak widow all too ready to run into his arms and surrender her fortune and her person to his control. The sooner he recognised the futility of coming here, the sooner he might leave and she could enjoy her week in peace. Until then, there was the matter of Lady Tillman’s guests list to discuss with Anne.

      Clara marched into the dining room and up to Anne. She laid a stern hand on Anne’s arm, stopping her from taking another bite of her holiday delicacy. ‘Lord Delamare is here.’

      Anne peered at Clara from across the pastry before slowly lowering it to her plate. ‘Is he now?’

      Her surprise wasn’t convincing.

      ‘You knew he’d be here, didn’t you?’ Clara pulled her out of the dining room and down the hall to a secluded alcove adorned with a large vase filled with fragrant hothouse flowers.

      Ann hesitated, giving Clara her answer before she even managed to stammer out a few weak lies. ‘Well, no, not exactly. Adam told me Lady Tillman had said she’d invited him, but she gave him no indication that he’d accepted.’

      Clara glanced down the hall to make sure no one, including Hugh or anyone else, was listening. ‘You’re lying. I can always tell because your cheeks go red.’

      With Anne’s fair complexion and blonde hair it was difficult for her to hide even the slightest of blushes.

      ‘Yes, we knew,’ Anne mumbled, suddenly very interested in the button on her spencer. ‘Lady Tillman wrote to us about it a week ago, wanting to make sure there would be nothing awkward between the two of you. I assured her there wouldn’t be.’

      ‘Without consulting me first?’

      ‘I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn’t come and I wanted you to. I see the way you are at Winsome, and how lonely and sad you appear sometimes, especially while watching the children or when you think no one is looking, and it breaks my heart. I want you to be as happy as Adam and I are and to have children of your own and all the things you lost when Alfred died. You won’t find them sitting in your room at home, but here with people.’

      Clara swallowed hard. Only Anne could stop Clara from being angry at her when she should be steaming. She thought she’d been better about hiding her grief, but she hadn’t if Anne and Adam had gone to such lengths to make sure she came to this house party. Anne was right. Clara had travelled to Stonedown to take her first steps towards finding a new life. She’d already seen a number of new faces among the usual guests. Perhaps one of them would be someone like Alfred with caring eyes and a trustworthy heart, the kind of man who’d readily comfort a grieving and rejected young woman one Christmas morning instead of laughing at her. That man was not Hugh.

      ‘I realise Lord Delamare being here might be a little awkward,’ Anne continued, ‘but what happened between the two of you was a long time ago and since then he was happily married and so were you. There’s no reason why you can’t be polite and cordial to one another and no reason why his being here should spoil your week.’

      Except Clara had already been less than cordial to him because he’d reminded her of the worst embarrassment she’d ever endured. This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined this house party beginning. ‘Even if we can be cordial to one another, more people than Lady Pariston are bound to remember what happened and bring it up, especially Lord Westbook and Lady Fulton and you know how cutting they can be. I told you what they said about me the last time we were here once the entire household heard of what happened.’

      ‘And a great deal has changed since then.’ Anne laid her hands on Clara’s shoulders. ‘There’s no reason why they and everyone won’t see anything but the confident woman before me.’

      Clara wasn’t so generous in her perception of what people would see when they looked at her. She hoped it was a mature marchioness, but she feared, especially with Lord Delamare present to remind them, that they’d see nothing but the awkward young girl she’d once been. No, she was no longer an easily tricked country heiress, but a woman of experience and sophistication who would not have the wool pulled over her eyes by a scheming man and she would prove it to everyone, including Hugh. ‘Yes, you’re right. Just because he’s here doesn’t mean I have to speak with him or give him more than a curtsy and any required manners. In fact, if I can avoid speaking to him entirely, I will.’

      ‘Except that because of precedence, you’ll be sitting next to him at every dinner,’ Anne reminded, dropping her voice so as not to be heard by the gentlemen and ladies passing them as they went from the dining room to the billiards room.

      Clara let out a frustrated sigh. If the footman hadn’t already dragged her travelling trunk up the stairs to her room, and if Mary, her lady’s maid, wasn’t already busy arranging dresses in the wardrobe, Clara would order her clothes packed up and the trunk put back on the carriage so she could return home. Except there was nothing for her at home except more nights alone, more days spent in reading and solitude or watching James and Lillie play and regretting that she had no child to play with them. She could leave and allow the melancholy to claim her or stay and remain on this path to being out in the world and open to the possibility of love and a better life. That, and proving that she’d changed, was why she was here and she wouldn’t allow Hugh to steal this from her the way he’d tried to steal her faith in herself six years ago. She intended to enjoy the season and she would. What Hugh did was immaterial to any of that.

      * * *

      Hugh examined the pages of the illuminated manuscript, trying