[i]“I was about to say I forgive you, you don’t have to explain further.”[/i]

Claire flinched, realizing she really had been bothering him. Assuming so and being told so weren’t the same, and she sighed when he confirmed her worry.

[i]“I apologize for demanding a lot from you last night. I just got… I find it…. Yes, I was worried. It was late and none of the house staff knew where you went. And then you admitted to going to the prison, which made it worse. Anyway, I shall stay here for now. You may go about doing what pleases you, but please be a dear and allow me to sleep for a few more hours. My head is killing me right now.”[/i]

She nodded, leaning in to brush her fingers through his hair. He smelled of alcohol…he’d been drinking. Was it because of their fight, or was this normal for him? “As you wish. I didn’t know you’d been drinking or I wouldn’t have bothered,” she whispered, kissing his forehead before helping him move back into place and putting the blankets over his bottom half. She had opened up to him about the way she thought, how she had grown up with no one really there, and it had completely been pushed to the side. She allowed herself for a moment to imagine a world where they grew close enough where she could even ask for his advice on her current activities, but that was no reality. Nicholas cared not for the politics of England and their dealings with the world, unless it was going to profit his business. Bad timing, she told herself, not that he didn’t care.

Without another word Claire went back out into the hall, standing there for a moment as she decided what to do next. A part of her was eager to hear whether she had succeeded, but the other didn’t want to know. Lucy would be distraught, and would probably run to her for comfort now. They would be alike on some level, but Claire had no time to watch a woman cry on her couch. Her mind was filled with decisions and plans… She frowned, slowly making her way to the parlor with her brow furrowed in thought. They hadn’t been married very long, and already she felt like she was failing at that.

Claire was the type of person who, more than anything, wanted to be useful. Most found they could do this by taking up sewing or playing the piano, but none of those things ever filled her with accomplishment. She wanted very much to have the romance she’d been dreaming of since their first visit to the estate, but that was a lost cause. So, with nothing else to fill her time, Claire dove into working on the guest list, making sure to include the few high ranking officials that would be helpful in obtaining the information she desired. Name after name of people she knew and those she didn’t that would want to come were added afterwards, a bigger crowd making it easier for her to get away from Nicholas for the evening. Dinner would be a waste of time- the conversation she wanted would not be well for all ears to hear, so appetizers would be served in the ball…they might need to borrow a few of father’s staff for the night.

Just as she was finishing up a member of the house staff interrupted with a note from someone who had stopped by. [i]Your fabrics are ready, Mrs. Rochford,[/i] it read,[/i] Stop by and pick them up as soon as possible.[/i] Which really meant immediately. They just met…couldn’t he have sent a note telling her if they had heard anything yet? She sighed, telling the maid to have the carriage readied. She silently wrote a note for her husband as well, informing him she had to visit the tailor to have her dresses fitted. [i]The fabrics arrived early and I’m very eager to have them fitted. I’ll be at Olden’s Custom Tailors if you need anything, won’t be but a couple hours. You may not even wake before I come back! With love, Claire.[/i]

It was habit to write the ending signature, and afterward she stared at it, wondering if she should rewrite a new one altogether. She decided against it, telling someone to slip it on his bedside table before leaving. So much for a peaceful day at home.

*****

Claire had only met them at the business once before. They had been afraid her being seen somewhere new in broad daylight would give the girl away, but all she had to say was the shop was a client of her husband’s business, and it made sense. The details were never explained to her, of course, but everyone that worked there must have been on ‘their side’, because nobody questioned her contact and she speaking while a tailor fitted a gorgeous, top of the line dress on Miss Claire.

“Do I actually get a dress out of this? It would look silly if I didn’t, my husband might wonder,” she said, looking up at the man. He rolled his eyes, having enough of her snide remarks. “Fine. So, what am I here for? If you keep calling me out like this someone will truly start to wonder, you do realize that.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Mrs. Rochford, and you just do as you’re told. With Hawthorne dead, you-“

“He died? He actually died, he’s gone?” Claire looked at him with sadness, her hand going to her chest. Why was she surprised?

“Yes, during the night. I don’t think they’re suspicious, but they would be stupid for your visit to not seem a little odd.”

“So you bring me here? Why would you-“

“Calm down, woman…I wanted to know the date of this [i]brilliant[/i] ballroom party you’ll be holding,” he said, a sarcastic tone to his voice. “I need the information in a week, two tops,” he told her, slowly pacing around her as he spoke, looking up every few moments to make sure nobody was close enough to hear their conversation. It was a large store with a few employees, but it [i]would[/i] by like some ditsy woman to come fawn over what Claire was wearing while they spoke.

“That quick? My husband is still injured, Sir, I don’t know how you expect me to do anything with him in bed.”

There was a pause as the larger man thought to himself, the sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor stopping. “What the hell is keeping him bedridden for this long?”

“If you must know,” Claire sighed, “he was shot. Someone tried to steal money from his carriage the night before. Poor Nick, he went through the entire wedding without telling me.”

“Shot?” His eyes narrowed, but he said no more on the subject. He would have someone look into it, a woman would not believe his wonderings without stronger evidence. Surely he was wrong, anyway, and Claire could barely handle what he’d given her so far. She was so suspicious…speaking ill of her husband now, without proof, would give unwise. It would be just like her to go right out and ask him without thinking. “Two weeks, Claire. Give the information to Stephen here, at the shop when you get it. And be careful, Claire…I don’t need another ending like Hawthorne.

And that was that. Within a few minutes after he had left she was out the door and back on her way home, frustrated with her time constraint. Putting a time limit on things always made her antsy, but there was nothing to be done about it. Her only wish, with her marriage seeming completely hopeless to work on, was that this would go as smoothly as her visit to the prison had…her life depended on it.