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“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy.”

—Pride and Prejudice

GEORGIANA HAD DECLARED Lord Edling’s party the “best she’d ever been to,” and in truth, Clara had to admit it was quite enjoyable.

She pushed away the thought that it would have been more enjoyable had a certain sea-squeamish colonel actually been in attendance.

Though she liked her dress and her shoes and didn’t want them soiled.

It was a mighty good thing the man chose the army instead of the navy as his profession.

Georgiana had been one of the last to leave the night before and had declared she’d sleep in and accept no callers in the morning.

Which was just as well because Clara had a meeting she was loath to attend but one that had to be accomplished alone.

No one need recognize her at the public house at nine that morning near White’s and the post office. If a woman couldn’t attend the all-male establishment, at least the purveyors close to it were smart enough to provide drinking chocolate and scones.

“Good morning.”

She looked up from beneath her hood and set down her cup as she forced a smile. Speaking with her solicitor had proven a bad morning in the recent past.

Mr. Stockton was about fifteen years her senior, with thinning hair and shrewd eyes. From his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a few papers. “I have a lot to attend to today, so I’ll get right to it.”

“Thank you for meeting with me,” she said. “How much longer do I need?”

His mouth twitched to the side as he examined the papers. “I know you were hoping for good returns from your tenants, but sheep birthing has been poor. Most farmers have only barely broken even.”

“Mr. Stockton, I can’t afford that.”

“Neither can they, ma’am. It’s a tight year for everyone.”

Clara gripped the handle of her drinking chocolate. “Then, how long do I need to rent my properties not to lose them?”

He adjusted his glasses and scanned down the ledger. “At least six months, but probably more like a year.”

She tried to remember the previous figures on the ledger he’d shown her the last time they met. “Can I look at the numbers?”

He riffled through the papers. “Here, I’ve prepared a new summary sheet for you.”

She glanced at it, noticing how much worse it was than last time.

“And if I can’t keep them open that long?”

“You’ll need to sell. Both properties, and that will leave you with very little.”

She swallowed. “And then where would I live?”

“You could possibly rent a very modest room, but I’m afraid your creditors might call you on everything.” He bit his bottom lip and ran his finger across a few of the numbers.

“You are sure there’s no money left anywhere?

My father was so careful with his holdings.

His plan was for the Engsols, despite their lack of title, to rise to fame and, most importantly, fortune.

That was the main reason Father married me off to Hughes, the only man in the land who was rich, without an entail, and easily bullied. ”

She watched Mr. Stockton take a long drink of his coffee. With Hughes dead, she was left to manage everything by herself, with more properties to her name than almost any woman in England. Which apparently did her no good now.

“He may have been easily bullied, ma’am, but he was also quite good at spending money. He’s ruined nearly everything your father left you and that he himself gave you.”

She’d known the situation was bad, but not this dire. Apparently, the best thing she’d done was to secure Mr. Stockton as her solicitor, purported as one of the most tight-lipped men in England. At least he’d worked with her this long and no one knew of her terrible position.

Clara wanted to prove to the world that she could be a woman and be a profitable steward of property. She’d managed to live the past two and a half years, digging herself out of the deep chasm of debt she presently occupied. But it wasn’t enough.

If only Georgiana had taken longer to find a suitor she cared for and who seemed so right for her.

Then, Clara would have more time to try and save her own situation.

But she knew she could not let them not have their happiness.

She couldn’t stop a lord from wanting to court Georgiana if he so desired.

Not in good conscience, when it seemed like such a good fit.

Mr. Stockton finished his cup and stared at her as he rapped his fingers on the table. “What would you like me to do?”

“Stay the course,” she said quietly. “I will hold out as long as I can.”

“As you wish,” Mr. Stockton said. “But know that a marriage to a wise and hopefully rich man is most definitely preferable to becoming a destitute widow with a tarnished name.”

She wasn’t so sure.

Mr. Stockton placed a few coins on the table. “I’ll wait to hear from you,” he said.

Clara gulped down the rest of her chocolate, trying to wash away the reality that chased her like hunting hounds. She didn’t want to be destitute, but she didn’t want to give up her freedom either.

BENJ STRODE TOWARD the post office with the force of a cavalry charge. Up ahead he could see White’s, but he had no intention of visiting there this early in the morning. The missive he’d been given last night after he’d failed to attend Edling’s party burned in his hand.

This needed to get passed on to the next secret courier without delay.

Right on time, he saw the man who fit the description, ready to take the letter on to the coast. He knew him as another officer-turned-spy like himself.

Without a word, he tucked the letter into the other man’s coat. He wished he had a solution to the question at hand, but at present, all he could do was relay the message.

Benj had just turned on his heel when a beautiful young lady in a thick hood came out the doors of the establishment a few businesses over.

“Good morning,” he said in passing. But then the eyes below the cape caught his.

“Good morning,” she said back.

Clara was notably alone again, but this time, it was she who mentioned why. “Georgiana expressed the desire to sleep in after last night’s festivities. I was just meeting up with a friend for a scone.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled. He looked purposefully at his pocket watch. “Mrs. Hughes, I wish you a lovely day.” He had just tipped his hat toward her when he made the mistake of really analyzing her countenance.

He knew those eyes, and he’d never seen them so sad and conflicted. If anything, Clara always presented a strong persona, especially in front of a man. So, what did that pain mean?

A woman’s emotions always seemed to plunge him into the deepest chasms of obligation. Plus, she wasn’t moving yet.

“Are you walking this way, then?” He pointed in the direction he was sure they were both headed for.

“I am, but you don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“It . . . would be no trouble at all,” he said, extending an arm to her. She took two breaths before she slipped her arm into his and he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not that told him the pressure she put there was because she needed strength.

“Mrs. Hughes—”

“Benj, it’s Clara, or have you the memory of an ant?”

“Clara—forgive me.” She’d spoken his name so freely, as though they were longtime acquaintances.

But he was supposed to be spying on her for Darcy.

Learning her secrets. Benj, too, was one of Georgiana’s guardians, and it was his sacred duty to keep her safe.

“Might I be so bold as to ask what is bothering you?”

“There is nothing amiss, I assure you.”

“Do your friends usually make you this sullen when you take breakfast together?”

“Excuse me?" She glanced away, her arm drawing tighter.

“Have you been crying?”

“I never cry, Benj.”

“Ah, I see. Never?”

She stared at him, and there were definitely no tears there.

“Would . . . you have me speak of the weather?” He gestured out to the sky. It was something akin to medium cloudy, which he thought hardly worth mentioning.

When she said nothing, he sighed. “You can continue with your prickliness if you must, and we can walk in silence, but know that I am listening if you tire of your stubbornness.”

This, of course, did not bode well for him. He felt her arm stiffen as she stared forward, surely determined to ignore him despite the fact it was quite a long walk along the riverfront toward their various residences.

A minute passed. “You know, perhaps I’ll just ask you questions all the way home.”

“I would prefer you didn’t,” she managed. “I won’t answer.”

“Ah, but I have found that if I irk one of my sisters enough, she’ll usually turn silent, too, and then can’t stand it and decides to speak to me.” He couldn’t help grinning down toward her.

A chuckle actually escaped her lips, and it made him more pleased than it should have. But perhaps she thought of him only as a sibling.

“And then there’s Matlock. Between us, there’s hardly ever silence. We usually end up disagreeing on everything.”

“You and your brother are quite different.”

She turned, and her eyes appraised him from his crown downward. He wondered if she found him lacking. Compared to Matlock, anyone would. He knew who he was, but he’d never be as handsome, wealthy, or naturally charismatic.

“Benj, are you everything everyone expects you to be?”

There was a slight tremor to her voice that matched the ripple of the river before them.

So, was that it? Clara felt she wasn’t measuring up to Society’s expectations of her?

He didn’t understand in what way she could have failed anyone, but his heart went out to her. He knew that feeling all too well.

“Perhaps I could tell you a story from my travels.”

She nodded.

He turned toward the little fence that separated the walkway from the river. “During my time in the Far East, I became enamored with an ivory brooch. The carving was intricate, the design flawless. I had to buy it for one of my sisters.”