Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Exhaustion weighed on Ernest as he looked around the gentlemen's club, constantly aware of the darkening sky outside the window.

He had wandered home late from the ball, avoiding the guests leaving the party, including his mother, and had left for the hospital early in the morning. He had stayed late, taking on his colleague's work as an excuse to stay longer to avoid returning home.

His mother was not someone he could face, and seeing Claire, knowing that his mother had likely already gloated about the scandal she was telling everybody she had caught, was incomprehensible.

A stronger man would have marched right home and spoke the truth. Ernest poured his only drink for the evening. Just one, he had promised himself. And then he would be dutiful and return home. He just needed some time. He had hidden away today, sequestering himself in the corner of the gentlemen's club. If he showed his face in Society, then there would be questions.

He had already fielded some of them at the hospital that day.

Will you now propose to Lady Samantha?

Lord Bannerdown, did you truly compromise the young woman?

Do you think yourself honouring the viscount by being caught alone with Lady Samantha?

They weighed down on him, and he had ignored every single one, sending only a scathing look their way before leaving for the club.

But he could not avoid them all forever, and least of all, Claire. She would know something, and he needed her to know the truth more than anybody. He would not be able to bear it if she believed the word going around about him.

The ton was calling him a rake.

Him!

He could barely even say hello to Miss Gundry the first time he had seen her, let alone flirt with another woman.

No, he needed to come up with a way to prevent Lady Samantha from entering into any obligation he was forced to present and had to find a way to prove his innocence. He swigged his drink.

I will curse my mother until the day this is all over, he thought bitterly. Fury was becoming something he was more and more familiar with lately, and he could not keep his emotions under wraps where his mother was concerned. She was doing everything to ignite his temper, and he did not know why. What was she doing? She spoke in riddles, smug, awful riddles that he did not know how to decode.

How could she expect him to go through with marrying Lady Samantha? That was what everybody now expected him to do. It would be honourable, to save her from being shamed out of Society and prospects.

And how could he even hope to guide Lady Florence into this labyrinthine society when he could not even figure it out for himself?

A man moved through the crowd, his eyes on Ernest. But it was quite possibly the only man Ernest would agree to see, for it was the only man who knew Ernest truly.

Graham.

He sat down and helped himself to a drink from the bottle Ernest had bought despite not planning to have more than one drink.

"You have had some isolated time long enough, dear friend," Graham said. "It is time for company now."

"Is it good company?"

Graham snorted. "It is honest company."

"Graham, I did not—"

"I know," he said. "Lady Samantha called upon me first thing this morning before I left for the hospital. I believe her, and I believe you. The only person I do not believe is Lady Katherine. I have never been fond of her, you know this. I believe she can be like a snake, slithering through the tall grasses, only to strike when nobody is watching."

"That I can see," Ernest muttered. "Thank you for believing me. I do not know what I would have done if you had not. I feared you thought I was encroaching on your admirer."

"My admirer," Graham repeated, clearing his throat. "You have expressed your distaste for courting Lady Samantha well enough for me to know you had no interest in meeting her in private. But what do you want, Ernest? It is time to admit the truth. What do you want from your life because I fear it is not this."

"It is not," Ernest agreed. "The truth is I admire Claire. I admire her so much I sometimes cannot think when she is not near me. The thought of her sitting in Little Harkwell wondering if I was indeed caught in a scandalous act with Lady Samantha tortures me, yet I am a coward and cannot go to her. Not yet. Not until I have a solution."

"A solution, you say?" Graham's smile deepened. "Well, as it happens, I might have one for you. As I mentioned, I saw Lady Samantha this morning. And I thought more about your words yesterday. She brings out a part of me I have not seen since before the war. A man that I thought I had lost on the battlefield. Myself. My old self, and she says I make her feel laughter again, the way she did before … before grief invaded her heart. I have grown fond of her over time, Ernest and I have already presented the idea of marriage to her, and she is very excited about the prospect. I have warned her I cannot offer her what another man with a title and an estate would, but I can offer her a life of laughter, affection, and dancing.

"For so long, I believed you and Lady Samantha should have been the two to court. But now I see it is me who can honour both my friendship with you and Archibald. I was a coward not to suggest it in the first place, but seeing how much the idea of you and Lady Samantha marrying crushed you, I can see now how strongly you feel for Claire."

Ernest shook his head. "But Graham, are you sure you not only say this for my benefit? You enjoyed Claire's company."

"And I still felt weary and grief-stricken. But with Lady Samantha, it is different."

"I warned you off her," Ernest muttered. "Are you sure you are not simply being agreeable to that?"

"I assure you," Graham told him, meeting his gaze seriously. "Lady Samantha is happy with the idea and agrees we can work on a future together where we shall honour Archibald. But, Ernest, in exchange, I beseech you to chase your own happiness."

"I do not know what that means anymore."

"Yes, you do."

Yes, I do, he thought.

"It is Claire," Graham told him gently. "And you really do need to chase her before she does something drastic in response to both the rumours about herself and the ones now about you."

It struck him like lightning, then. Claire would not leave for London without him, would she?

He stood up so fast he banged his knee against the table. "Thank you, Graham. You are the truest friend a man could have asked for."

"Do not wax poetic to me, you fool. Go on, go after her."

And he did. He raced from the gentlemen's club and made it back to Little Harkwell as fast as he could. He would start something real with Claire properly—he would make her see he was honest and true. He would lavish her with finery and riches if that was what she wished. He would give her comfort and long days in the summer and warm nights in the winter.

He wanted a future with Claire, and he would be damned if he let his mother take that away from him.

It was the middle of the night by the time he made it back home, and he heard the sound of a door closing in the basement. He paused, slowing his gait not to look odd to the staff, only to find Claire trudging up the stairs to the main floor of the house.

Her face was twisted in devastation, and tear tracks shone on her cheeks. Her mouth was sullen, and her eyes were downcast.

Ernest could not hold himself back anymore.

He went to her, his footsteps gaining her attention. She gasped upon seeing him, and a moment of relief crossed her face before he swept her up in his arms.

"Claire," he murmured, holding her close. He no longer cared who saw them. "Claire, whatever you have heard, I beg you not to believe it. It is not true."

He heard a sniffle pressed to his jacket. "I did not believe it. Not truly. You are an honest man."

"I am," he said. "And I am here for you; whatever has you so distraught, I am right here."