The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott

all for him and he’d let her go. Or was it the other way around? Oh, yes, he remembered it correctly now. She’d let him go.

      He woke sweaty and aching, his head throbbing with that one truth at dawn. She harboured deep feelings for him—feelings that she’d been willing to forego in order to save his dreams. Maybe that sacrifice would be worth it, if he could in turn save Thomas. He found a valise in his wardrobe and began to pack for Dover, starting with his pistols. He’d been down this road before. It could be dangerous.

      * * *

      It was positively perilous to keep looking at the clock, watching the big hand snake towards the six in proof that Jonathon wasn’t coming. In fact, he wasn’t ever coming again. Lessons were over, her opportunity to attract his attention, over. Claire paced the small sun room, fighting the attraction to the clock, to the hope that perhaps she was wrong. It wasn’t too late yet. It was still possible that he might come. Even now Jonathon could be on his way, stuck in the traffic of London. But soon, she’d have to give up that little fantasy. Once the clock reached eleven-thirty, it would be a ridiculous pretence.

      Claire stopped in front of the big window that let in the light, although there wasn’t much light to let in today. The weather was still grey and rain threatened like it had the day before. She leaned her head against the cool panes of the glass. Had it really been only yesterday she’d received his note? That she’d gone to Soho? No matter how old she got, she would never forget the sight of Jonathon fighting in the street. For her. And what had she done? She’d let him go.

      No regrets. She told herself. She’d done what was right. He was destined for greatness and she was destined for nothing. She’d set herself on that course years ago just as assuredly as he’d set himself on his. She would only hold him back and he would come to resent her for it.

      If she’d known pursuing Jonathon would be this complicated, she would never have embarked on Beatrice’s mission to see each of them launched into happiness. She should have been more careful of what she wished for, but she hadn’t really believed she would succeed. The girls would be scolding her if they knew her thoughts. She could almost hear Beatrice now. ‘Well, you’ve got Jonathon Lashley, what are you going to do with him?’

      She desperately wanted to go to her friends and lay this latest burden at their feet, but she couldn’t. This was her relationship and only she could manage it. This new, adventurous Claire who’d come to life had to take responsibility for herself. She smiled a little to herself. She had changed. She’d taken back her life. Not because she had a man, she still never wanted to be a woman who defined herself through the man on her arm, but because she’d found herself again.

      It had been a relief to find her alive and well, buried beneath layers of a quiet woman who’d chosen withdrawal to engagement, a woman who was withering away in the dust of obscurity. Jonathon had not made that discovery happen, any more than her friends had made it happen. Ultimately, the choice to re-engage was hers alone, but Jonathon had given her the opportunity to make the discovery and she’d taken it. Jonathon wasn’t afraid of her intelligence. He admired it, respected it and, in return, he’d given her a safe place in which to be herself and try her wings. It was perhaps the greatest true gift any person could give another. That he had chosen to give that gift to her was worthy of examination.

      No one gave such a gift haphazardly. One would have to care for someone deeply to invest in that kind of offering. A little cry rose in her throat. Jonathon loved her. Oh, dear sweet heavens, what had she done? In her mind, she saw the taut outlines of his face the night he’d climbed into her room, waiting for her acceptance, the pain on his face last night, when she’d broken off with him. She saw other images, too, like his beautiful head thrown back in ecstasy as she pleasured him, the way he looked before he kissed her, as if she were his feast. She’d hurt him. He had been willing to fight for her, not just in the streets, but in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the ton. Claire, you are worth fighting for.

      He had been willing to take the risk, but she had not. She’d led him to believe he wasn’t worth fighting for when nothing could be further from the truth. She’d always believed that right and best were synonymous. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Was it possible that the right decision was not necessarily the best? She’d made a terrible mistake. She had to find Jonathon and tell him.

      * * *

      Everything seemed to happen in slow motion while she had speeded up. Nothing could happen fast enough to suit her; not the bringing of the carriage, not the journey through London through all the midday traffic. Three streets from the Albany, Claire gave up the last of her patience and hopped out. She could walk the remaining distance faster than her coachman could drive. At last, she stood in front of Jonathon’s door, breathless from excitement, from nerves, from the haste she’d made, and knocked.

      She heard footsteps behind the door and she drew a breath, ready to make her speech. The door opened.

      ‘Jonathon, I’ve made a mistake, I am sorry.’ The words rushed out before she realised. This wasn’t Jonathon. This was... ‘Preston! What are you doing here?’ Nothing made sense. This was Jonathon’s door. She’d come to see Jonathon. He should be here, not May’s brother.

      Preston gave her a considering look, arms folded across his chest. ‘What are you doing here?’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them. ‘Good heavens, Claire, this is a boarding house for bachelor gentlemen. Did anyone see you?’ He looked genuinely concerned.

      ‘I don’t think so.’ But she wasn’t entirely sure. Most gentlemen were either still in bed at this hour or out with errands. The halls had seemed empty, but in truth, her mind had been too occupied with other things to give much thought to the consequences of her actions. The only consequence she was interested in was finding Jonathon.

      ‘We have to get you out of here.’ Preston was striding through the room, looking for something.

      She peered around his moving form to the door leading into the other room. ‘I came to see Jonathon. Is he here?’ She fully expected to see him emerge any moment. Surely he would have heard her voice and the commotion by now.

      Preston stopped his searching. ‘No, he’s not here. He’s gone to Dover on business for Sir Owen Danvers.’

      ‘What?’ Claire felt her stomach sink, the whirling of her mind come to an abrupt halt. Jonathon wasn’t simply ‘not’ here, he was gone. She’d come to tell him she loved him and he was gone. It seemed the height of injustice. ‘Why? What kind of business? How long? When did this come up? He said nothing about it.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Claire. I can’t say anything more than that on the subject. His business is his own. It’s not for me to say.’

      Preston offered her a kind, brotherly smile. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think the business came up rather suddenly. I don’t think he had much advance warning.’ He touched her arm. ‘Let me take you home, Claire.’

      ‘No.’ Claire met Preston’s gaze with a determined stare, daring him to deny her. ‘I need to talk to Jonathon. Take me to Dover.’

Chapter Nineteen

      The Antwerp Hotel was as upscale of an inn as one would find in Dover and Jonathon was heartily ready to embrace its luxuries. It had taken a little over two days to reach the port city, thanks to a side errand Owen had asked him to run and the mud-churned roads from the recent rains. To say the least, travel had been a bear and he’d been anxious, perceiving every delay as adding hours to his arrival.

      ‘You are in room seven.’ The clerk at the desk gave him a warm, friendly smile, a glint of something akin to bonhomie in his eye. Jonathon couldn’t fathom it. The clerk didn’t know him well enough for such an assumption. ‘Dinner will be up shortly.’ Again, the mischievous glint. Jonathon gave a nod. He didn’t remember the service being quite so good. He hoisted his valise and headed for the stairs. A hot meal would restore his spirits. He’d had far too much time alone with his thoughts. Not trusting the weather,