Page 28 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 28

W hy had Hugo’s words scared her? Weren’t they the ones she had wanted to hear for ages? He loved her.

He loved her. So why didn’t it feel good? Why hadn’t she been overwhelmed with happiness and relief? All the emotional mountain climbing they’d done since that house party had exhausted every explanation until nothing made sense.

Attraction was not their problem, and if she were to know her own heart, then she needed to know him outside of the physical pull he had on her. Last night, he’d held her until they both slept, but she wanted more. He wanted more. That much was obvious. Which begged the question of how she would come to a relatively honest conclusion concerning her feelings when the physically intimate part of the relationship was what she hungered for now. They’d cut their marital teeth on the magnetic pull between them and had ignored, or skipped, the part where friends fall in love. When Stratford told her to flip the opposing magnet in favor of the match, she hadn’t expected such a strong connection.

Hugo was already up and gone before Clover woke. With the help of a maid, she dressed quickly, throwing her hair over one shoulder in a twist, and hoped she hadn’t missed breakfast. Not that she was hungry, but she knew his family would find it odd he might be there without her. Heaven forbid they thought she needed the sleep.

Before stepping over the threshold of the sunny breakfast room, a place that had been a cheery part of her day for over a week, she saw Hugo at the family table. In midsentence with his mother, he stood when Clover entered the room. He offered her a chair. His sisters were there as well. The only family member absent was Hugo’s father. Nothing unusual about that.

“Good morning, Lady Clover,” Mrs. Darrington said pleasantly with the morning sun shining behind her. Clover swore she saw a mischievous glint in her mother-in-law’s eyes. She feared the soft blush on her mother-in-law’s cheeks was more than a trick of sunlight.

Clover tipped her head. “Good morning.” She tried to sound conventional and confident, but those were two forces at war inside her.

Hugo strode to the sideboard, ignoring the footman whose usual job was to serve the plates. “What can I get you, love?”

Keeping her eyes on Hugo and away from everyone else at the table because she could feel them gazing at her, she replied, “Just a scone, please. Thank you, Hugo.”

He brought her the scone with cream and a cup of hot, freshly brewed coffee. After serving her, he crossed behind her chair, grasped the intricately carved finials, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The formal gesture felt too intimate, with his family staring at them. She cleared her throat and forced a smile.

“I’ll be with my father today if you need me. Is there something you’d like to do this evening? Or tomorrow?”

Heat seeped into her cheeks. Every word he said felt like an innuendo. All his affection branded her as a Darrington in the eyes of his family. And rightly so, under normal circumstances. However, none of it felt normal. “Enjoy your visit. There’s plenty to occupy my time.”

She nibbled at her scone and was thankful Hugo had not brought her an entire plate of eggs, ham, and buttered toast because every eye was on her. Their breakfast had all but ended before she arrived. When friendly scrutiny was over, they all left the room in tandem while Clover held a step back, enjoying the sight of family camaraderie. This was a side of Hugo she had never witnessed. A side absent from her own life, not that she and Stratford didn’t enjoy a strong sibling bond because they did. Circumstances alone made them close. Losing their parents had made them both more responsible. Too responsible, perhaps.

Inwardly, she smiled, knowing her children would have a wealth of family surrounding them, bleeding warmth and love into their little souls. She wondered if she was pregnant now. She didn’t feel any different, and a part of her hoped she and Hugo would have more time to know each other before little ones pulled their attention away.

Phoebe looped her arm through Clover’s. “Lady Clover, can I steal you away for a minute? Unless you have pressing business somewhere else.”

Truly, it felt like a reprieve because Clover had nothing planned, except to wonder what Hugo and his father were discussing. “I would love that.” Clover squeezed Phoebe’s arm and felt an unhindered smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “I hoped to spend some time with you before you and your husband returned home.”

“Actually, I think we’re staying for a few more days at least. Mama and I have been making some plans since Hugo arrived,” Phoebe leaned close, whispering the last part in case Hugo was not out of earshot yet.

“A surprise?”

“Yes.” Phoebe led her in the opposite direction of Hugo. “Let’s take Papa’s study. The girls aren’t allowed in there without a good reason.”

Mr. Darrington’s study was immaculate, which spoke more of his absence than anything since his workshop had the feel of a chaotic genius about it. Clover inspected the bookshelf behind the large oak desk, thankful that Hugo had dragged her into a jeweler’s for eyeglasses.

Most of the books were business-related with the exception of Robinson Crusoe . She sidled up to the shelf, her shoulder barely brushing the spines as she ran a hand over the leather binding. She stroked the raised, gold-leaf lettering of Defoe’s name. In some ways, it made sense. Mr. Darrington must have felt like a castaway when he returned from fighting too many wars, seeing too much violence, back to a family with too much to lose. Even love can feel overwhelming at times. Like Crusoe, Mr. Darrington had been surviving on an island for decades. Clover wasn’t far behind.

“That was one of Papa’s favorite books when we were children. Hugo and I would beg him to read it to us during the holidays when everyone was together. Sometimes, we would sit right here in the middle of the floor, and Papa would do his best to sit beside us. He never looked quite comfortable, bless his heart.”

“What a lovely memory.” She slid the book back into place, enjoying the rich smell of bonded leather and paper. “Did Hugo go away to boarding school?”

“He did. Mama thought it best not to saddle Papa with a strange schoolmaster in the house. The governess taught us all, but when Hugo was ten, he moved to school and came home for breaks.”

The practice wasn’t unusual, but it still made Clover sad. Her own brother had gone away at the age of fifteen. At the time, she thought nothing of it. Now, she considered what Stratford must have felt when he left home. Perhaps that was one thing which contributed to his cold public visage. At home, he was kinder, more flexible, and pleasant. But outward, he honed the same passionate involvement as Hugo did with his special projects.

“I wanted to speak with you privately because I cannot trust Grace to keep her tongue. She gets excited, and before we all know it, she’s said something completely outrageous. You’ve witnessed your share already, I’m sure,” Phoebe said.

“She’s still young and finding her voice.”

“She’s found it plenty.” Phoebe’s eyes widened, and she chuckled. “Come sit with me.” Phoebe motioned to a beautiful leather sofa, large enough for a tall man to stretch out upon. She pulled Clover down beside her, seated at an angle, their knees almost touching. “Mama and I would like to have a small party for Hugo’s homecoming. We don’t usually make such a fuss, but he’s brought a bride.” Phoebe’s excitement warmed the study, and Clover could feel the energy that must have been present when children sat on the floor listening to their father read.

Clover couldn’t blame them for wanting to celebrate, especially since they could not attend the wedding. “Whatever you need from me, I’m available.”

“Just your silence. I’m afraid it’s coming rather quickly.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night. You needn’t worry about a thing, though. I have Tobias taking Hugo to see his crops. Hugo loves anything with a hint of coin about it, and Tobias can make a field sound like a bucket of gold sovereigns spilled on the tile floor of the London Exchange.”

“That is a fair description of Hugo. Are you sure one day is enough?”

“It’s a small affair. Neighbors, some townsfolk, family. That kind of thing. Mama will speak with Papa, and hopefully, he’ll join us for a dance or two. Nothing fancy, but if you need a dress, I can arrange that.”

“I’ll manage. I didn’t bring a ball gown, but I’m sure I have something nice which will do.”

“Lovely.” Phoebe shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “Now that’s settled, may I ask you something private? No is a perfectly acceptable answer.”

Clover feared personal questions, but she did not fear this family. “Please. I’m happy to answer what I can.”

“You didn’t expect Hugo to come, did you?” Phoebe’s brows were pinched together, and the concern was clear.

“I… don’t believe I did.” Clover feared if Phoebe noticed the awkward atmosphere when Hugo arrived unexpectedly, the others must also have felt it.

“So, you were simply surprised when he showed up?” Phoebe sounded relieved.

“Very much.” Clover had little else to say, but she was sure her short answers would not suffice.

“Then you weren’t disappointed?”

Clover looked away. “Phoebe, what do you know of our marriage?”

“Nothing, really. Hugo’s letter was short and came too late for us to attend.”

Clover took a deep breath. “Do you know if he’s ever been in love before me?” The question was too big a subject, but Clover didn’t have time for subtleties. If Hugo had ever been in love, then what he felt for her may not be true.

“Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask? I’m sure he loves you. Anyone within a pace of him can see it.”

Clover wrung her hands. “I am simply trying to understand him, and maybe myself as well. I feared Hugo had not told his family the circumstances of our marriage. If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you now.”

Phoebe nodded, a look of gentle concern on her face.

“The circumstances that brought us here happened at a weekend house party. It started with a scandalous joke about me. One which Hugo and I overheard, bellowed by two drunk men.”

Phoebe reached for Clover’s hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Sometimes women have few choices. Is that what happened to you?”

“Yes, in some ways. Hugo and I were the only ones who witnessed it, so the damage was all on me. But later, it escalated into an overwhipped sour froth when the same talk turned up at one of Hugo’s clubs. He defended me.”

Phoebe made a sound of relief. “I hope he laid them out,” she said forcefully, with pride.

“I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Why not? They deserved it. To besmirch a woman’s name, especially the sister of a duke would be enough to cause a frenzy.”

“Exactly, and pouring fuel to the fire was not the answer. Hugo was kind enough to listen to me, but he did do something ill-planned. I won’t bother with the details, except to say I was angry with him for his interference. He was consequently caught between a duke and honor. He had made a comment at the club, which my brother took for a proposal of sorts.”

“You were forced to wed.” Phoebe’s tone was a sigh of defeat.

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have a deep affection for one another.”

Phoebe looked up. “He loves you. I can see it.”

“For the first time since our wedding, I feel you may be right.”

“You doubted he loved you.” It was a statement, one filled with a measure of sisterly understanding. This warmed Clover’s heart and made her more comfortable with the subject.

“It all happened so quickly, and Hugo tends to weigh the risk of everything like an investment.”

Phoebe looked at the ceiling, making a grunting sound in her throat. “Did he call you an investment, the idiot?”

That made Clover chuckle. “He’s far from an idiot. He’s as much a genius with investments as your father is with music boxes. Our marriage was a lifetime risk neither one of us was ready for.” Clover leaned in. “But I’m getting there. And meeting Hugo’s family has helped me know him better.”

“We all adore you.”

“And I you.” Clover patted Phoebe’s hand, feeling more accepted than she could have imagined. “The girls say Hugo has a music box here, but I’ve yet to see it. Do you know where it is?”

“It’s in his room. Has he not shown you?”

Clover shook her head.

“Ask him. I have a feeling the two of you could use a good private conversation about something innocuous.”

Clover knew Phoebe was right. She and Hugo needed time to explore who they were together, and who they were apart. No person is whole without knowing themselves or loving themselves. She’d been following rules, dictates of protocol, and precepts for too long. The only people she really knew anymore were Evelyn and Adeline. She wanted to know her husband because she feared she loved him more than her heart could contain. Perhaps staying out of his bed would help her know him better. Because being loved by him was almost too good to be true.

Hugo wondered if Clover’s nervousness around his family at breakfast had something to do with his arrival because last night, she looked completely comfortable playing chess with his father.

Hugo forwent the knock and let himself into his father’s second home. That’s what Hugo called it despite everyone else describing it as a workshop. His father might work there on his hobbies, but he stayed there because sometimes he lacked the ability to have a fluid conversation.

“Hugo,” his father bellowed from the kitchen. “I thought you’d come.”

“I told you last night I would. I’ve left the ledgers in your desk drawer if you’re interested.”

“You have a family now. You shouldn’t be taking care of an old man’s responsibilities.”

“You’re not an old man,” Hugo said, taking the cup of coffee his father had offered.

“Perhaps not, but I am an unhinged one.”

Every time Hugo returned home, his father made the same statement. Sometimes, he used the word crazy. Sometimes lunatic. He would call himself the mad music maker. Not one of the statements was true. Hugo refused to join him in his self-deprecation. “I have plenty of time to take care of the books, the planning, the bills. I only leave the ledgers in case you ever wonder where the finances go.”

“I know where they go. For frippery.” His father smiled despite the false harsh tone.

“I also don’t want you to ever worry I’m behaving irresponsibly again.” Hugo followed his father to the room he used for a workshop.

“No one blames you for that. You were a boy.”

“I was a young man.”

“Young. That is the word. You’re still young.” His father winked at him. “How’s your Belgravia project going?”

“Signed and in the hands of the project architects. Clover’s brother teamed with me along with Rochester.”

“Where’s Winn? You three are never far apart.”

“Winn is married and has a child. His wife is one of Clover’s dear friends.”

“That’s how you met.” It wasn’t a question. His father made the statement while he took gadgets from shelves and spoke without looking Hugo in the eye. When his hands were busy, he seemed to have an easier time sharing himself and communicating.

“On the outset, yes. But until recently, we were distant friends.” Hugo picked up a tiny gear with prongs set to it. He examined it without much interest. “I need to confess something, and I don’t wish to be the center of Mother’s wrath.”

“You want me to tell her?”

“If you would, but please wait until after Clover and I leave.”

His father stopped and turned to look at Hugo. “That bad? Does it have anything to do with your hurried marriage?”

Hugo nodded.

“A love match?”

“No,” Hugo said with a long sigh.

“Ah, then, not the fun kind of quick marriage.”

“No fun at all. And that’s why I sent the invitations so late because I didn’t want the girls there. Not because the circumstances were unfixable, but because I wasn’t in a place to explain, and I didn’t want to put that on Clover.” Hugo put down the gear and sat on a wooden stool by the window. He told his father everything because he’d never tell his mother the truth.

“You made a wager on her?”

“ For her. I know it sounds…”

“Crazy?”

“Yes.” Hugo grinned, and his father looked at him sheepishly. “Your word. Not mine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He needed to work out the pulled tendon in his shoulder. A nice little gift for the hellbent horse ride he and Rochester made over hill and dale. They should have taken advantage of the post stops to stretch, but he was in such a hurry to see Clover.

“I think it worked out nicely. Maybe even just as you planned.” His father glanced at him under his brow.

“I did not plan this. But I can’t say I’m unhappy about it either. Not now. Possibly a week ago.”

“Just before Lady Clover came here. You didn’t plan to come, did you?” His father worked as he talked, an oiled cloth in his hands now. His fingers were as stained with grease as Hugo’s were with ink.

“I expected she’d return in another week before the weather turned. There were business matters to see to, and I couldn’t get away.”

“More like she didn’t want you to, ay? Just tell me you came to win that dear woman over.”

“I’ve… fallen in love with her.”

His father stopped what he was doing to smile. Hugo could see a light in him which he hadn’t seen for many years. “I think she loves you, too.”

“We’ll see. She needs time.” Hugo took a deep breath and stood. “Tell me something, did you let her win at chess last night?”

“No, no, no. She’s not a bad player. I got sloppy, and she trounced me. That’s usually the way, isn’t it? Are you curious if you can still beat me?”

“Are you asking for a game?”

“Obviously. I’m finding the house rather cheery lately. And comfortable.”

“How are your nightmares, Papa?” Hugo asked seriously, swallowing down the lump in his throat which this conversation brought out.

“You haven’t called me Papa in an age.”

“I’m feeling a little boyish, I suppose.”

“Women will do that to you. But only the good ones.” His father stopped tinkering. “They’ve been manageable this year. I’m grateful for that. I’ll be at the house later, and we’ll have that game.”

That was Hugo’s cue to leave. There was a catch in his father’s words, and he suspected he needed time to himself.