7.
“You’re such a kind older brother.”
Isabel admired Clive, who had stopped by the book salon to buy a romance novel for his sister.
“I just wish Eleanor understood that too.”
Everything about his manner—his elegant response to Isabel, the way he picked up his wine glass and took a sip—felt refined. Was it because of the noble grace ingrained in his body? Or was it just the lens through which they viewed nobles?
Claire, absentmindedly watching the man’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed the wine, shook her head.
She forced herself to snap out of the daze and, resisting the alcohol that threatened to cloud her mind, emptied both her own glass and Isabel’s in quick succession.
“Can I call you Russell?” she asked.
“Of course, Claire. May I call you Claire as well?”
“Of course. Russell, I think we should be going now. It’s gotten quite late… and, well, we have work tomorrow.”
The truth was, she was trying to escape. Unconsciously, she kept glancing toward Clive.
“Then shall we all get up together?” Russell called for the server.
No, we wanted to slip out on our own…
She swallowed the words.
Everything unfolded against Claire’s will. The four of them left the restaurant together and—daringly—got into the Norton family’s carriage.
Of course, Claire insisted she could walk since her home wasn’t far, but Russell wouldn’t hear of it. It was too dangerous for two women to be walking alone at night, he said.
He was acting like Isabel’s personal knight. So courteous—with someone else’s carriage, no less.
Claire mentally lowered her opinion of Russell a bit.
Then, her request to ride up front with the coachman was also denied. What if she caught a cold, he said.
Frankly, she would’ve preferred the risk of getting sick to having to mind her behavior inside the carriage. But she couldn’t push the issue, not with Clive right there.
She could only quietly deduct more points from Russell.
Still, the man stayed silent for most of the ride. Only occasional small talk passed between Russell and Isabel—something about how beautiful Lake Lota was in Lota Park last time they visited, things like that.
When they finally arrived at Hesperos Street No. 32, Claire was already bracing to jump out of the carriage like an arrow.
But Russell, who was seated closest to the door, stepped out first and offered his hand to help Isabel down the high step. Claire’s escape plan failed.
A true gentleman indeed.
Just as she began reconsidering Russell’s score in her head, Clive quietly tapped the chair.
His violet eyes were fixed on Claire.
“Yes?” she asked, cautiously reading his expression.
“Stop trying to read the room so much.”
“…Sorry?”
Clive said nothing more, his face weary. Outside, Isabel was calling Claire.
Was it the constant glancing? Did that irritate him?
Claire’s gaze fluttered like a candle’s flame caught in a breeze, not knowing where to land.
It started pouring rain before dawn.
Claire hadn’t exactly woken because of the rain, but it hadn’t helped either.
I can’t live with this guilt hanging over me. I’ll go to the guardhouse after work and speak to Ed.
If I run into Clive… I’ll just keep my eyes down and act meek.
That had been her plan, but she barely managed to fall into a light sleep—only to be awakened again by raindrops tapping against the window.
She pulled the blanket over her head to try to fall asleep again, but with her vision blocked, the sound of the rain only became louder.
In the end, she gave up and sat up in bed.
She cracked the window open slightly, only for rain to blow in, and quickly shut it again. Pulling her knees up, she rested her chin on them.
Rainy days usually meant fewer customers. On such days, Brenda typically baked less bread.
Sometimes she even let them leave work early, worrying about accidents on slippery roads.
If the rain wasn’t too bad, Claire would stop by the guardhouse. Otherwise, she’d just return home and stay on alert—just in case the drainage didn’t hold and water started seeping inside. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen.
With all that on her mind, she dozed off again while sitting up.
“Claire.”
A faint voice.
“Claire.”
It grew clearer.
“Wake up, Claire.”
Ah. Morning.
She opened her eyes. Her curled-up body protested as she moved.
“You slept sitting up?”
“I woke up from the rain and must’ve dozed off again like that after looking outside.”
You could see outside lying down, too. Why sit?
Clicking her tongue at herself, Claire stretched her limbs. She felt unrested—like she had neither slept nor stayed awake.
“Do you like that raspberry jam Sandra gave us with the rye bread?”
Sandra, a generous neighbor on Hesperos 36th Street, often shared her cooking.
“It’s rainy, so I’ll make tea,” Isabel offered.
While Isabel prepared a simple breakfast, Claire brewed the tea.
Claire preferred her tea plain, but Isabel liked to add milk or sugar. Today, indulging her sweet tooth, Isabel added raspberry jam to her tea.
“How’s the hangover?”
Claire hesitated. She did have a slight headache, but it was hard to tell if it was from alcohol or lack of proper sleep.
“I’ve got a headache.”
“Did I do anything stupid in front of Russell last night?”
“Russell was sweet to you right up to the end.”
He had made sure they got home safely, even waving goodbye through the window before the Norton carriage departed.
It looked like something out of a dramatic love story—after just two dates, no less.
Poor Max, though. Still, that was the result of Max’s own choices.
“It’s Clive that’s the issue.”
Calling him ‘Captain of the Guard’ made him scowl. But calling him ‘Sir Norton’ wasn’t right either—there were two Sir Nortons, after all, since the eldest son, Connor, held the title too.
Calling him ‘Mr. Clive’ like Ed did felt too informal. So she settled on ‘Young Master Clive.’ Not that she expected to use it directly.
They’d just been bumping into each other a little too often lately.
“Oh!”
Isabel suddenly remembered something.
“He seemed to hate being called Captain of the Guard, and I called him that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. But I doubt he’d get angry over that with a woman his friend is interested in.”
He was strict, sure, but he could separate work from personal matters.
“Let’s just call him ‘Sir Norton.'”
“There are two of them.”
“‘Young Master Clive’ is too long. And really, there’s only one Norton we ever talk about.”
Oh. Fair enough.
“What did you talk about in the carriage yesterday?”
Isabel, chewing on a piece of rye bread, looked curious. Claire must have looked like she’d been lost in her own world, but Isabel clearly noticed she’d been alone with Clive.
“He told me to stop trying to read the room so much.”
“You were being cautious?”
Isabel took a sip of tea and swallowed the bread. Tea with raspberry jam, on bread with raspberry jam.
Just looking at it made Claire feel like her mouth was going numb from the sweetness.
“He’s scary. I still get chills thinking about how unlucky I was.”
“Yeah, finding out the pendant belonged to him just one day after putting it on was pretty unfortunate.”
Watching Isabel calmly spread jam on her bread, Claire felt a wave of something rise in her chest—but she couldn’t blame Isabel.
She had been the one who mistook the gem for colored glass, picked it up, wore it, and then got caught—well, by the heir of the pendant’s original owner, to be precise.
“He does have a cold expression, but I didn’t find him that scary.”
“That’s because you were tipsy.”
“I guess I did drink a bit much. Oh no, we’re going to be late.”
Cutting the conversation short, Claire and Isabel cleaned up the dishes.
Since long skirts would get soaked and be uncomfortable all day, Claire picked a shorter dress that reached just below her knees and layered a raincoat over it.
She chose worn shoes, knowing they’d get wet anyway.
Even with full rain gear, the downpour was so heavy it was hard to see ahead.
She dashed under the nearest awning she could find, only to realize someone else was already standing there.
The figure stepped aside to make space.
“Oh, Finlay!”
Claire pulled off her rain hood and shook the water from her hair, recognizing the person standing under the awning and calling his name with delight.
“Claire,” he replied.
Though it had been a while since they’d seen each other, Finlay greeted her with a calm face.
Finlay lived on Hesperos 36th Street. He was Sandra’s son.
As a carpenter, Finlay usually took rainy days off.
“Aren’t you off today because of the rain?”
“Got a table to make.”
That’s something you can do indoors. What a shame to miss a day off.
Claire gave him a sympathetic look, but Finlay didn’t seem bothered at all.
Although Claire had always been shy and slow to make friends, she wasn’t friendless.
Her mother had been close with Sandra, and Claire had spent enough time at Sandra’s house that not becoming friends with Finlay would’ve been harder.
As a child, Finlay had been small and skinny, despite having such a generous mother.
Now, though, he’d grown taller and built up his frame with carpentry work.
As Claire admired the way his arm muscles fit his frame, she realized—it was her, not her sister, who had been checking him out.
Haha! Seems like she has a type, too.