//CLARA//
The morning light was pale again, and the space beside was empty again.
I felt him crawl into bed beside last night, but I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. He did not try to wake . He simply pulled closer, cradling against his chest, and held through the night. Nothing happened—aside from the small nips he left on my collarbone and throat.
I was not ready to face him after everything I had heard the night before, so I settled into his arms and let his warmth pull back under. I had stopped expecting him to stay past dawn. It was safer that way—fewer questions, fewer risks, fewer reasons for the servants to whisper.
But knowing sothing was safer did not make it any less lonely. I pressed my face into the pillow that still slled faintly of him and allowed myself exactly one minute of self-pity.
That’s all I can get today. In my ti, I’d be texting Lola about this—situationship—over mimosas. Here, I just have a cold bed and a corset that’s too tight.
Then I rang for Hattie.
Breakfast was a study in tension disguised as routine.
Aunt Cornelia sat at the table with the sa sour expression she had worn since Adelaide Chase departed. Her fork moved chanically through her eggs, but her eyes were fixed on Casimir with the kind of focus that ant she was not finished.
"I received a letter from Miss Chase this morning," she announced, setting down her fork with deliberate care. "She sends her regards. She found our dinner most agreeable."
I kept my face neutral and reached for the tea. Most agreeable. That was certainly one way to describe watching your future husband ignore you for an entire evening.
Casimir did not look up from his newspaper. "How fortunate for her."
Aunt Cornelia’s jaw tightened.
"Adelaide is a sensible woman, Casimir. She understands that first impressions are not always accurate. With more ti, she is certain you would find her company—"
"I found her company perfectly adequate," Casimir said, turning a page. "Which is precisely the problem."
That was the most devastating thing I had ever heard anyone say with the word adequate—a perfect Gilded Age equivalent of calling a woman boring to her face. I made a ntal note.
Aunt Cornelia’s face cycled through several shades of displeasure before settling on sothing that resembled patience.
"You cannot dismiss a woman for being adequate, Casimir. That is the foundation of every successful marriage in New York."
"Then perhaps I do not want a successful marriage by New York standards."
He finally looked up, and his eyes t mine across the table. I looked away first, busying myself with the marmalade.
Aunt Cornelia noticed the exchange. Her eyes sharpened, but she said nothing. She simply picked up her fork and returned to her eggs with renewed aggression.
I found Casimir in his study an hour later.
He was at his desk, surrounded by ledgers and correspondence, but he looked up when I entered. His expression shifted slightly.
"I need to discuss sothing with you," I said, closing the door behind .
He set down his pen. "That sounds ominous."
"Only if you say no."
I crossed to the chair across from his desk and sat, arranging my skirts with the kind of calm that suggested I was not nervous. I was not nervous. I was strategic. There was a difference.
"Oliver has written about the Linotype," I began. "He needs my input on the next phase. I would like to et with him to go over the details."
Casimir’s expression did not change, but I saw his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.
"You want to et Whitfield. Alone? You know what I would say to that, Clara."
"I know." I kept my voice even. "But if you are uncomfortable with that arrangent, I could ask Miss Sterling to accompany . She has shown interest in the Linotype, and I am certain Oliver would not object to her presence."
I watched him process this. Beatrice Sterling was a respectable chaperone—good family, unimpeachable reputation. Never mind that her money was new, that her father had built his fortune rather than inherited it, that it should have been a mark against her in a house like this.
But Casimir did not care about such things. And he could not object without looking unreasonable.
He leaned back in his chair, studying with an expression I could not quite read. "You have thought this through."
"I always think things through."
"You asked to trust you."
"I did."
He was quiet for a mont. Then he nodded slowly. "Take Miss Sterling. I will have Higgins arrange a carriage."
I smiled, genuine this ti. "Thank you."
I stood to leave, but sothing made pause at the door.
I turned back. Casimir had already returned to his ledgers, his pen scratching against the page. I crossed to his desk without quite knowing why.
He looked up when I stopped beside him. "Did you forget sothing?"
I did not answer. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. It was quick, fleeting, a kiss that was over before he could react. I pulled back before he could deepen it, before he could turn it into sothing I would not be able to walk away from.
I smiled. Too wide, probably. I straightened his lapel, smoothing the fabric like it owed money. If I kept him looking at my smile, maybe he wouldn’t look too closely at the gears turning in my head. I wasn’t just eting Oliver for the sketches. I was going to find out who Thurston Holdings was.
"You look very handso today. Have I told you that? You should wear this color more often. It brings out the gray in your eyes. Very stormy."
His eyebrows rose. He was watching now with the expression of a man who had just found a horse in his study and was trying to figure out who had put it there.
"What are you doing?"
I laughed, the sound too bright, too loud. "Nothing! I am just being grateful. That is all. I just wanted you to know."
He did not answer. His mouth curved skeptically. He was trying to figure out what angle I was playing, what I wanted from him, what cri I was about to commit that required this level of buttering up.
Too sweet, Clara. Too sweet. I can feel the ants crawling up my legs.
I cleared my throat and stepped back, dialing it back to sothing closer to normal. "I am going now. I cannot have Oliver waiting for with Beatrice. As we discussed."
"Mmhm."
I was already backing toward the door.
"I will be back before dinner. Do not wait up. I an—do wait up. For dinner. Not for—" I stopped. Took a breath. "Goodbye."
I turned and walked out before I could make it worse.
Behind , I heard him laugh, entirely too amused. I knew, with absolute certainty, that he would be insufferable about this later.
Aunt Cornelia caught in the foyer before I could make my escape.
Her timing was too precise to be accidental, like a trap snapping shut. Her eyes swept over with an intensity that felt like acid on skin.
"You are going into the city today, I hear."
I stopped, keeping my expression neutral. "I am eting with Mr. Whitfield. Miss Sterling will accompany ."
"Mr. Whitfield." She said the na like it tasted unpleasant. "I heard you have been quite involved in his business affairs."
"I have."
She stepped closer, and I caught the familiar scent of lavender water and disapproval.
"It is not proper for a woman to involve herself in matters of comrce, Eleanor. It is degrading enough for Mr. Whitfield to require a woman’s assistance with his tinkering, but to drag Casimir into it as well? What will people say when they hear the Guggenheim ward is playing at business?"
I waited a beat, letting her words settle.
"Fortunately, Auntie, the bank does not care about propriety when the checks clear. And no one requires your advice."
Her mouth opened. I did not give her the chance to fill it.
"Now, if you’ll excuse , my carriage is waiting."
I stepped around her before she could recover. Her silence followed down the corridor, and I let myself enjoy it for exactly one breath.
But I knew better. This was only a battle. The war was far from over.
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