Chapter 18

Clara had been told to go away, to make herself busy with the mistletoe and the greenery and the decorations, the preparations for Christmas currently occupying Franny and Matilda. But as soon as Alfie and Atlas had closed the door to the room that the marquess oddly called the Purgatorial Painting Parlor, she crept out of her hiding place and pressed her ear against it.

Whispers, low chuckles, short joyous whoops. She heard a long moment where Alfie sounded like he was rolling on the floor laughing as if he would never stop. Then the plonk of pianoforte keys badly played.

What were they doing? And why was she not allowed?

She knocked. "Atlas? Alfie?"

Silence inside, and then the door flung open. Alfie appeared. "Go away, Mama." The door slammed closed.

"Well." Clara knocked again. "What is going on in there?"

Silence, then the door flung open a second time. Atlas appeared, hands on hips, one eyebrow raised. "I'm afraid, Clara, you will have to go away." Softly, he shut the door.

She knocked one more time because really this was enough.

Silence, except for the rumblings of movements, and then the door opened a third time. She looked up, up, up at her son sitting on her husband's shoulders.

"Go away," they said together. Atlas gave her a pointed look and closed the door.

"Fine," she grumbled. "I'll just do something fun without you."

"Good," they said together.

Easy for a mother to feel replaced, but she did not. She would miss this when he left. And no matter how stout and brave Alfie sounded, he would miss it, too. But they would survive, and Atlas would return. She must remind herself of that.

She rested her forehead against the door.

She should not have fallen in love with him. Had not given a single thought to it when they'd married, what with the circumstances and all. Everything Atlas was and did had simply landed upon her like snowflake after snowflake until she stood in a drift, a snow bank of love.

She chuckled as she wandered down the hall looking for Franny and Matilda. Snow not a good metaphor. Perhaps she stood in a pile of feathers or next to a well-tended fire, something softer and warmer for how Atlas made her feel. Protected, safe, loved. The second time she'd fallen in love. Hopefully this time turned out better.

Atlas fell in love all the time, by his own admission. It was not a momentous thing for him. Perhaps he thought of her and Alfie as he thought of the sunset—something he enjoyed now but that would fade. He would move on to some other beautiful thing to admire after that.

No. His love for his family remained steadfast. But did he feel for her, for Alfie, a temporary type of love or a forever one? That question settled like a midnight monster in her chest, scratching at her ribs. Because if they were a temporary love, would he remember to come back? He would for his family, but would he still possess the easy playfulness he shared with Alfie, the heated passion he expressed for her?

Voices from downstairs dragged her toward them, and when she entered the family drawing room, she stifled a gasp with a palm flying over her mouth.

Matilda saw her first. And with hands on her hips, she said, "Tell Franny it's too much."

"Franny," Clara said, "it's too much."

"Don't see how." The dowager dropped into a chair by the fireplace and stuck out her legs before the flames, raising her skirts to warm her stockings.

"There is a bit of mistletoe," said Matilda, glaring up at a particularly large bit of white-berried greenery, "in every single window and doorway. There's one in the middle of the room."

"I do not see a problem." Franny tilted her face to the ceiling.

"I think the problem might be," Clara said, stepping carefully into the room, "that one cannot avoid the mistletoe, and that one might not be able to avoid kissing someone one does not wish to kiss."

Matilda threw her arm out in Clara's direction. "Precisely. I don't wish to kiss Zander." She shivered. "Or Theo or Andrew." Another shiver.

Franny set up right, her gaze darting from one bushel of ribboned mistletoe to the next. "I did not consider that."

"Let us remove some," Matilda said, "please? We shall think more strategically about it. Let us put some in that corner and put a fire screen over the corners so that anyone who wishes a private kiss may dart behind there."

Franny scowled at the corner Matilda indicated. "But then I can't see."

"You do not need to see." Matilda's fists found her hips.

"You know exactly how to ruin an old lady's fun." Franny sank back into her chair.

"So I have been told before, numerous times." Matilda did not seem to mind.

"What's this?" Raph stepped into the room. Looking up at the mistletoe in the doorway, he grinned. "Matilda, darling, come here."

"No." She stuck her feet to the other side of the room. "I don't think I will give your mother a show."

He scowled, and then he seemed to have spotted another piece of mistletoe and another and another, and then his wolfish grin returned. And he strolled across the room to his wife. He glanced up once he had her in his arms. She glanced up, too.

Right at the large bundle of mistletoe above them.

"Bother," she said, but with no real heat.

And then he kissed her.

Clara looked away.

"See," Franny said, "it's perfect. No need to rearrange. Raph likes it just as it is."

When Raph came up from the kiss, Matilda leaning weak-kneed against him, he said, "Oh yes, I had a reason for seeking you out. Mother, your children have arrived."

"Your favorite children." Theo stood in the doorframe, his wife, Cordelia, on his arm.

Behind him stood Lord Andrew and his new wife, the secretary Clara had met before.

Franny jumped to her feet and gathered her sons into her embrace. "All of you at once! Why, you never let me know!" She bounced up on tiptoe and pinched Lord Andrew's cheeks. "We did not expect you so soon, dear. My dreams said not a word on the matter."

Miss Amelia Dart, Lady Andrew Bromley now, grinned. "I apologize for not letting your dreams know our travel plans."

"A sudden change to the schedule," Lord Andrew said. "And more efficient to travel with Theo and Cordelia." He looked away from his mother, his sharp gaze scanning the faces of all assembled. And stopping on Clara's. "I have a new sister-in-law to greet." He left his wife's side, but she followed after, a bounce in her steps, her feet lively beneath her berry-colored skirts. He stopped just before Clara, and his new wife looped her arm through his.

"We've met before," Clara said. "No need for introductions."

"But we were not sisters then." The secretary beamed. "Then, I was Mrs. Amelia Dart to you, but now, I am just Amelia." She folded Clara's hand between her own.

And Clara felt the welcome so completely, she almost could not speak. "Clara." Her name a bark she forced from her throat. "You must call me Clara."

"Naturally, I will." Amelia released Clara's hand, the stern Mrs. Dart returning in her raised brow. "I know how things go in this family."

Lord Andrew, behind her, cleared his throat, and when Amelia turned around to see what he wanted, he shot his gaze directly upward. Amelia looked up, too.

"Oh." She raised a brow. "I suppose you think that bit of mistletoe above your head means something."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and the face she knew from before—a placid mask of no-nonsense—melted into a smile meant, in Clara's experience, purely for bedchambers.

Amelia inched closer to her husband, and Clara tried not to watch, though she could not help but hear.

"In front of your family?" her sister-in-law asked.

"Your fault, Amelia. There's no controlling my emotions with you."

The silence. Not quite silence. Rather, sounds that made everyone ignore the particular bit of room.

Except for Franny. She sighed then stood. "Tea. Everyone needs sustenance. I'll fetch some." She patted Lord Andrew's back as she slipped past the kissing couple and toward the doorway.

They startled apart, and red-cheeked, Amelia bounded across the room to where Matilda stood in the crook of Raph's arm. "Oh! Drew told me, but to see you so…" Her gaze darted to Matilda's belly. "May I hug you?"

Matilda laughed and hugged her first.

"My turn now." Cordelia joined them, a large, leather portfolio tucked under one arm. She inhaled, exhaled deeply, pleased as her gaze swept up and down Matilda's frame. "You're a picture of loveliness, Matilda. Which do you hope for? Boy or girl?"

"Whatever it pleases," Matilda said.

Cordelia laughed and hugged her sister-in-law with her free arm then turned to Clara. "Good to see you, Lady Atlas Bromley."

"Clara, please."

The corner of Cordelia's lip lifted. "I was irritated with dear Atlas for stealing you away. And at my weakest moment, too. Can't a lady enjoy her nuptials without men plundering her employees for wives?"

"Have you found a cabinetmaker to replace me?"

Cordelia sighed. "None so good as you, I'm afraid. But your talents are put to good use here. Will you show us the dower house this afternoon? I'm anxious to see the work you've done."

"Me as well." Amelia pulled Matilda from Raph's embrace. "You boys find something useful to do." She sat Matilda on a comfortable sofa near Franny, and they all sat with her.

"I suppose we should unload the coach," Raph said. He hooked his arms around his brothers' necks. "You two are helping."

"Don't see we have an option," Lord Andrew drawled as his older brother dragged him from the room.

Cordelia laid her parcel on the floor against her chair. "We musn't let Franny see this. It's a Christmas present for her. From Fee and Zander. A painting of some sort, I suppose. Oh, Clara, someone was looking for you. In London. At the school."

Clara froze, mouth slightly agape. With numb hands she smoothed her already tame hair back to give her shaking hands something to do. "Looking for me? Surely not." Those last two words not much more than a whisper.

"Yes." Cordelia removed her bonnet and gloves. "A baron. Don't remember his name. I didn't speak with him directly."

"Baron… Tefler?" How Clara pronounced the name, she did not know, but with heavy tongue it came tumbling from her lips.

Cordelia shrugged. "I cannot say. But he said he was family. I did not know you had any remaining family."

"None I've seen in quite some time. He must have been mistaken." She turned and climbed the stairs, the hot curiosity of her sisters-in-law's stares boring into her back. She found her room and let the tremors come, let her muscles collapse, and let the hot tears streak her cheeks.

Had she thought she and Alfie safe? She should have known better.

No, no. She'd taken steps to ensure their safety. She'd married a man to do so. Lord Tefler could not take Alfie from her now, not with Atlas at Clara's side.

But what would happen when Atlas left?

He wouldn't leave, not if she told him about Baron Tefler. He'd remain by her side, her stalwart protector until the threat diminished entirely.

She wouldn't have to lose him, wouldn't have to wait for him to return, if he never left.

Cordelia had tumbled a way to keep him into her lap.

But now she knew exactly how deep the pain etched into him during the wars went, how much he needed to purge those battles from his soul. Asking him to give up his plans, to stay home instead of confronting his demons…

Could she ask him to make such a sacrifice?