Page 81 of The Untamed Heart

She returned a pained look, though her lips twitched. “You look like a duke in disguise.”

Alex snorted. “Yes, that’s what Lucius said.”

“Lucius?”

“Lord Darenth, and as for this morning, we were helping a friend out of a bit of trouble.”

Her brows tugged together, the worry back in her eyes again. “A dangerous bit of trouble, by all accounts.”

Alex nodded. “It was. But it’s done now. Lucius came off worst, though Mr Foxworthy suffered quite a blow to the head.”

“Sebastian!” Clara exclaimed in horror, her hand going to her heart. “Is he all right?”

Alex frowned at her, not liking the familiarity he heard there. “He has a concussion but according to Doctor Arkhurst, he will make a full recovery.”

“Oh, thank heavens. Poor Eustacia must have been worried sick. This involves her, doesn’t it? Is it true she is to marry Colonel Hamilton?”

Alex nodded. “It is. But you must not worry any more, Clara. Miss Foxworthy, her brother and everyone else are all safe, and the villain is in gaol. I must say, I think Miss Foxworthy and Colonel Hamilton will deal admirably together.”

“It’s all rather sudden,” Clara said, though her smile was warm and wistful. “They’ll make a handsome pair. I hope they’ll be very happy together. I wonder if this means they will leave Little Valentine?” she added, looking bereft at the idea.

“You are good friends, you and Miss Foxworthy,” Alex said gently.

Clara smiled, wrapping her arms about herself. It was a gesture she made often, he realised, as if protecting herself and making herself smaller. He did not like that she felt the need to do so, even in his presence. “Yes. Very good friends. She saw something in me when I believed there was nothing to see. I owe her a great deal.”

Alex hesitated, wanting to tell her there was a great deal to her, more than she realised even now, yet he was still aware of their recent rift, and everything felt too fragile, too unstable for him to speak.

An awkward silence settled between them and, try as he might, he did not know how to disperse it.

“Well, I suppose I ought to go,” Clara said with a smile. “I have indulged my curiosity, and I must get back, for Auntie will be wild with impatience at me being gone so long. Good day to you.”

“And to you,” Alex replied, wishing she would not go yet, but there was nothing he could say. Everything was all wrong, and he did not know how to mend it, or what it was he was mending. What did he expect of her, from her? From himself?

He stood in the music room for some time after she had gone. His life must change very soon, and he felt as if he stood on the edge of a precipice, where one wrong move would spell disaster.

Seagull Heights, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 1st October 1816

Sebastian Foxworthy sat in bed and stared at the ceiling. The curtains were closed despite the early hour, for his head throbbed like the very devil.

How absolutely typical. All the men had spent the morning running about performing heroic and manly deeds, and he’d got tied up and bashed over the head like a swooning heroine in one of his bloody novels.

Well, he supposed he just wasn’t the heroic sort. It had never really occurred to him until now. He’d never suffered from a lack of confidence in real life. With his writing, certainly. His success as Mrs Wildblood had always seemed more luck than judgement, and he lived with the certainty that one day someone would call him out and explain that his writing was dire and that would be that.

Wilbert Avery was the prime example of everything he suspected he ought to be, and yet the man’s books were so horrifically dull and insipid. Well, at least they had been. The last three had been rather good. Excellent, actually, and totally different from Mrs Wildblood. The man’s style was more literary and cultivated and appealed to readers of intellect, which was why he sold a lot fewer books than Sebastian did.

Yet, he’d been happy enough with who he was and whilst his life was, despite his best efforts, rather uneventful, he’d been content. Then Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton had marched into their lives and he’d suddenly felt rather… inadequate.

The colonel was a jolly decent fellow, and the way he had described how Sebastian’s work had saved him and helped him through the pain of his recovery had touched him deeply. But after all, they were only foolish stories. They weren’t important.

He wondered what it would be like to feel important.

He’d been important to Eustacia once. When their parents had died, she had relied upon him entirely. But whilst she might still depend on him financially until the day of her marriage, she had made a life of her own, had friends of her own, and a career that promised to make her a celebrated artist. For Eustacia was the real deal. She had talent, the kind of which he could only dream of.

It had taken him years to pay off their parents' debts and to secure a future for them. Eustacia had found and fallen in love with this house, as he had, and it was their fresh start. They’d been happy here, and he’d had plans to restore the stables and convert the outbuilding to make her a proper studio, but now it would all change.

He supposed he should make the house over to Eustacia, a wedding present perhaps, for she would no longer need his support, and he did not have a dowry as such put aside for her. He’d hoped to do that next, now the debts were all cleared, though he knew Marcus would take her in her shift and think himself a lucky man. The poor fellow had it bad.

Ah, well. It was nice to see a real-life love story with a happy ending. A pity they were so rare.