in weariness while he watched the game. He intended to some day hold a house party like this at Everburgh, but with no Lady Delamare to help him welcome his guests and no children to run with the guests’ children, he would have to live once again off someone else’s generosity. It was yet another dream that was on the verge of never coming true, especially if the court ruled against him in the last case concerning Everburgh.
He glanced at the brandy, wanting to knock the drinks to the floor, but he maintained his self-control. He’d done all that duty had required of him when he’d become the Fifth Marquess, paying off the last of the debts with Hermione’s money, using Lord Matthew’s connections to woo influential lords and hire expensive barristers to settle remaining court cases in his favour or on better terms, but still it hadn’t been enough. The estate was in danger once again from a Scottish lord who claimed that Hugh’s grandfather had signed over Everburgh to him in exchange for a life annuity and the payment of some debts. The Scotsman had a few letters indicating some sort of deal between him and Hugh’s grandfather, and receipts of payment to his grandfather, but he had yet to produce the signed contract. If he did produce it, it would become a matter for a judge to decide. If the court ruled against Hugh, then everything that Hugh, his parents and Hermione had done to save the estate would mean nothing.
Hugh stood up straight and greeted Sir Nathaniel with a hearty welcome, determined to remain polite and solicitous. He would face this unexpected challenge with the fortitude his parents had always shown during their trials, the one he’d demonstrated, too, until Hermione’s death had sent him into a dark spiral, but those days were over. He’d made a number of mistakes since Hermione’s death, but they and the damage they’d done would soon be behind him. He would enjoy the respect and esteem of these men again, and, if given the opportunity, Clara’s, as well. He was the Marquess of Delamare and he would bring dignity to the title and himself once again.
‘My dear, are you sure that’s the dress you wish to wear tonight?’ Anne asked, entering Clara’s room to collect her for dinner. In a short while, everyone would line up according to precedence on the main staircase before going into the dining room. Clara prayed someone had arrived to outrank her, a dowager duchess or a dowager marchioness with an older title than hers who would bump her back a place or two in the line away from Hugh. As much as part of her wanted to be at the head of the line where everyone might see her, she didn’t wish to be there beside Hugh.
Given that this wasn’t likely to happen, she’d dressed as she would for any other dinner at Lord and Lady Tillman’s, careful to pay no special heed to her attire. She didn’t wish Hugh to think she’d changed her manner of dress simply because they happened to be beneath the same roof. If Anne’s half-frown were any indication, Clara had succeeded a little too well in her desire to under-dress. ‘What’s wrong with my dress?’
‘Nothing, except it’s a tad dark.’
‘It’s winter.’ Clara opened her arms and looked down at the black velvet dress devoid of any decoration, trying to sound sensible and failing.
‘But the season is so cheerful and you don’t want to come across as dour. Perhaps your green dress would be better. You want people to speak with you, not offer consolations.’
Clara dropped her arms in defeat, her desire to be seen as a refined and chic lady fading in the face of her current wardrobe. This dress might be fine and of excellent material but it bore the hallmarks of her grief, as did most of the dresses she’d brought with her. The bright gowns she’d worn before Alfred’s death were still packed away in trunks at Winsome Manor. She wished she hadn’t left them behind.
‘You’re right. I appear as if I’m going to a memorial, not preparing for a festive week. I’ll wear the green dress.’ She waved for Mary to undo the buttons on the back so Clara could change. ‘I don’t want to scare whomever I’m paired with for the week’s events or give them the impression that they’ll be stuck with a stick in the mud.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Anne laid a finger on her cheek, her frown drawing up to one side in a smile that made Clara suspicious. ‘Especially since you’re sure to be seated beside Lord Delamare.’
‘You needn’t remind me.’ He was the reason she’d already devoted too much time to preparing for dinner. Her inability to find an appropriate dress reminded her of the many times she’d stood before this mirror six years ago, feeling heavy and uncomfortable in all her country finery and inherited jewels, the reflection staring back at her one of a young lady who used to turn down dances for fear that she would step on toes and embarrass herself. Every evening before dinner, she would try on all her dresses, lamenting to Mary about her inability to look like a refined London lady. She’d once thought this was the key to securing Hugh’s heart. Instead, the way into his affection had been through more pounds and political influence than her family had possessed.
‘I think you should consider yourself very lucky,’ Anne said, drawing Clara back to the conversation.
‘Lucky? I am far from lucky.’ If she were lucky, then Hugh wouldn’t be here and she wouldn’t feel the need to prove herself to the likes of him or Lady Fulton. She had changed a great deal since the last time she’d been here—now the trick was proving it to everyone else, including herself at times.
‘Of course you are. If you forgive him, then there are no barriers to anything happening between the two of you this Christmas.’
Clara gaped at her sister-in-law, unable to believe the words that had just come out of her mouth while Clara was standing in her shift and chemise of all things. Clara stepped into her green dress, yanked it up and stuck her arms in the sleeves. ‘Life in the country has become quite dull if you’re suggesting something between me and Lord Delamare, a man who is nothing more than a fortune hunter who’d go through my money faster than he does actresses in London.’
‘He isn’t as bad as you and so many others think,’ Anne responded with surprising seriousness, having seen and heard a great deal more of Hugh than Clara had when she’d followed Adam to London every Season. But while she’d been discreet with her tales of him, others had not and a very different picture of him had emerged for Clara.
When Hugh had been a student at the Reverend’s school with Adam he hadn’t been so bad, but it wasn’t the case any more as she sadly knew from experience. During Hugh’s many visits to Winsome when she was a girl, he’d seemed so friendly, straightforward and predictable, enjoying riding and hunting like any young gentleman, but the candlelight had never caught in his eyes or his smile been as wide or charming as it had during that Christmas week. Some time between their meeting in the sitting room on the first day and the snowball fight in the garden, Hugh had stopped being simply her elder brother’s friend and had become very much more.
It wasn’t until the morning that he’d told her he would marry another that he’d suddenly become someone Clara didn’t recognise. After that disastrous Christmas, Adam and others had tried to convince her that Hugh wasn’t the rake Clara believed him to be. Hugh’s behaviour in London had proven them all wrong, making her brother’s continued faith in his old friend perplexing. Adam had always had their father’s gift of seeing the best in even the worst people. It was a trait she didn’t often share and Clara wondered what Hugh hid from Adam and Anne to keep them so enamoured of him. ‘What about the duel he fought? Only a true wastrel resorts to that kind of theatrics to resolve a dispute.’
‘You know how men are when it comes to their honour. Even the best of them can lose their heads at times.’
‘He isn’t the best of them, as proven by the tale of him and Miss Palmer at the theatre, the one that was in all the London papers that Lady Bellworth was kind enough to send us as if I’d wanted to hear news of Hugh, good or bad.’
‘According to Adam, the story is quite overblown. I think once you speak with him at dinner you’ll see that he isn’t the rake those rumours make him out to be.’
‘I