Page 29 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

C lare dipped the quill into the inkwell, then pressed it to the crisp vellum. The letter to the innkeeper along the shores of Calais had to be brief—just enough to confirm her arrival, nothing that could be traced back to her if someone got curious.

She’d heard about the place from one of the servants, made discreet inquiries, exchanged coin for whispered directions. She couldn’t afford too many detailed plans—couldn’t risk anyone catching wind of what she was about to do. Some things would have to fall into place as she went.

The mail coach out of London would be simple enough. Then more coaches to the coast, which would be easy enough. A berth on a ship heading to Calais—not a problem.

Her maid had agreed to come with her. Turns out she didn’t enjoy living in near exile in the country under Mama’s watchful gaze any more than Clare did.

Everything was in motion. Everything was almost done.

So why did she feel like she was coming apart at the seams?

She exhaled slowly, sealing the letter. Next, she wrote her good-byes.

One for Meredith—brief, apologetic, loving. A promise not to worry, though she knew her friend would. Meredith had a baby to think about. That had to come first. Clare just hoped, one day, after the child was born, that Meredith and Griffin might find their way to France for a visit. The thought was the only thing keeping her afloat at the moment.

Another letter for her mother—colder, more final, indicating that she would not return.

No doubt, once the initial shock wore off, Mama would be relieved. Keeping a ruined daughter under her roof had not been ideal. This way, Clare would be giving her mother her freedom as well. And wasn’t that what everyone wanted?

She swallowed against the lump rising in her throat.

The hardest part—the part she hadn’t yet been able to face—was the last letter.

To Ash.

She had tried. She had started it half a dozen times, but every time, the words felt wrong. Too formal, too detached, too ridiculous.

She’d scratched through every pathetic attempt, finally giving up and tossing the damned vellum into the fire.

She didn’t particularly like how they had ended things, but there was nothing left to say. Nothing that wouldn’t make leaving harder than it already was. No doubt by now, Ash had realized she had been right all along.

She had saved him from himself—from whatever strange, impulsive madness had made him offer marriage in the first place. He just didn’t know it yet.

Oh, how she had wanted to believe him.

Her heart had clenched the moment he’d said it, his voice raw with something that had almost convinced her. But when she had pressed him, he had hesitated.

And hesitation was not enough.

Not for marriage.

Not for a lifetime.

If there was one thing she knew, it was that a forced proposal, a reluctant proposal, would ruin both of them in the end.

She had never wanted one from Marsden. And she couldn’t— wouldn’t —accept one from Ash either. Especially not from Ash.

A soft knock at the door made her jump.

Heart pounding, she shoved the letter she had just finished into the drawer of the writing desk, smoothing her hands down the front of her gown.

“Come in,” she called, just as the door pushed open.

Meredith stepped inside, her brows drawn together in concern. “I came to check on you,” she said carefully.

Clare forced a bright smile, one that felt like it might shatter at the edges. “What do you mean? I’m fine.” She gave her head a little shake.

Even to her own ears, the words rang false.

Meredith’s gaze sharpened. She stepped closer, watching her too closely.

“You haven’t seemed yourself lately,” Meredith said gently.

Clare turned away.

She didn’t want Meredith to see the guilt on her face.

“Oh, perhaps I’ve been a bit tired,” she deflected, standing and moving toward the bed, brushing an invisible wrinkle from the sheets. “But as I’m not the one carrying a babe, I’m loath to complain.” She turned, forcing another too-bright smile.

Meredith rubbed her belly with a soft chuckle. “Oh, complain all you like,” she teased. “Heaven knows I intend to.”

Clare huffed a laugh—one that wasn’t entirely real.

Meredith’s smile faded slightly as she stepped back toward the door, but then she hesitated. “Are you certain there’s nothing bothering you?” she asked. “Griffin and I both got the distinct impression that you and Ash had…words the other night.”

Clare’s stomach dropped.

Oh, no.

Of course Meredith had noticed.

It wasn’t the first time she and Ash had left dinner at the same time—had disappeared into a dimly lit corridor or an empty room. Her friends weren’t fools.

Clare swallowed hard, forcing her voice into something steady, if not entirely believable. “I’m fine. Truly.”

No matter how much she might want to, she couldn’t tell Meredith the truth. Couldn’t tell her that she’d been sleeping with her brother, that she was leaving forever, that Ash had asked her to marry him, and she had refused. Meredith didn’t deserve the burden of any of that news. Especially not in her condition.

Guilt clawed at Clare though. How would Meredith feel when she learned the truth? The part about her leaving, at least. Meredith would try to talk her out of it. Clare knew that much. It was another reason she’d decided not to share her plans.

Meredith sighed. “I expect you’re not looking forward to going back to the countryside with your mother.”

Clare let out a relieved breath. A perfect excuse.

“You’re right,” she said quickly, exhaling in a rush.

“Well, at least she said she won’t fetch you until Sunday, which means you can still come with us to the Merriweathers’ ball on Friday evening. You are still planning to attend, aren’t you?” Meredith pressed, eyeing her carefully from the side.

Her friend had spent the better part of the last fortnight begging Clare to attend just one social event. She had finally capitulated, but she was hardly looking forward to it. Being gossiped about all evening was not something she relished.

“I’ll go,” Clare allowed, feeling entirely numb inside.

“Excellent.” Meredith watched her closely for a moment longer, as if she still wasn’t quite convinced. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” Meredith pressed. “If you weren’t all right?”

God, the guilt was unbearable.

Clare nodded too quickly, too forcefully. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

Meredith still looked doubtful, but she let it go. “Very well then. We’ll see you at dinner?”

“Of course.” Clare somehow managed another smile.

Meredith lingered for only a moment before slipping out the door. The second it clicked shut, Clare’s entire body sagged.

She lowered herself to sit hard on the bed, her limbs boneless, heavy, exhausted.

She was the worst liar in the world.

And Meredith knew it.

Maybe she hadn’t figured it out yet—maybe she wouldn’t until it was too late—but deep down, Clare knew her friend could see right through her.

And that was almost as unbearable as the thought of leaving Ash behind.