The Lady of Bolton Hill (27 page)

“This isn’t about Daniel, this is about your career as a writer. Clara, you have a talent for communicating to an audience that is astounding. You must not shove this gift away.”

“I’m not shoving it away. I just don’t want to exploit this situation for my own gain. Daniel would not want his friend’s personal tragedy splashed around in public any more than is necessary. I won’t invade that family’s privacy by taking advantage of my connections. I won’t ever write
anything
that will exploit my connections with Daniel again. I learned my lesson the last time I tried to meddle in his business.”

Her father raised one eyebrow, a single action that could always quell her into obedience when she was a child. “Clara, the true romance of your life is your
writing
, not Daniel Tremain. Your flair for communicating to the people and influencing public opinion must not be squandered.”

Clara stared at her father. All her life she had sat at his feet and absorbed the words he spoke as though they were from on high. What an enormous force for good her father was, and what an odd sensation to realize that sometimes he could be wrong.

“Father, I admire you and I respect you for all the tireless work you have done, but I am not a lump of clay you can mold into one of your masterpieces. I’ll write when the spirit moves me.” She turned back to the wrens working a piece of ryegrass into the lining of their nest, and smiled at the simple domestic task that was a universal trait among all living creatures. “And you are wrong about the love of my life. Writing is important to me, and I don’t think I’ll ever give it up . . . but I met the love of my life when I was eleven years old. It might be nice to have international acclaim like Aunt Helen, or be as valiant as Clyde . . . but if I strip all the trappings away, what I truly want is to be Daniel Tremain’s wife. I feel as though we have been called to be together. No other yearning in my life has been as strong or as sustained as that.”

Skepticism was written across her father’s face. “If this man is your destiny, then where is he?”

Good question!
Clara straightened her shoulders. “Daniel has a few issues he needs to work through. His house burned down . . . issues with Ian . . .” Her voice trailed off. Daniel ought to be here beside her, and his continued absence was making her want to tear Baltimore apart in search of him. She had already been to Lorna’s house, where she had been told that Daniel had moved out last week. She had tried his office, where the employees told her he had stayed a few nights, but they’d seen precious little of him since. She was tempted to camp out in his office and wait for his return, but somehow that seemed a tad desperate. Daniel knew where she lived and was perfectly capable of finding his way to her door when he was ready.

In one hand she held the still-wriggling fish, and with the other Clara tried for the third time to extract the barbed hook from its mouth. Such a tiny little hook, but getting a grasp on the thin piece of metal as she pulled it through the rubbery fish was beyond her. She winced and turned her face away as she tugged one final time, but it was useless. She was a pathetic failure at fishing.

Clyde would be visiting for another week before returning to the Southwest, but lately he had been complaining of feeling hemmed in by town life. He had dragged her to this park for what was supposed to be a relaxing day outdoors, but Clara had forgotten that Clyde’s boundless aptitude for country living was not a transferable skill.

She met Clyde’s gaze in desperation. “I give up. Mercy. I’m waving a white flag.”

Clyde took the fish with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Since the dawn of time, mankind has been snatching fish from the waters and managing to get them into the cooking pot. Our entire civilization would have ground to a miserable death through starvation were it up to you.” Clara watched in amazement as Clyde removed the hook, flashed a tiny paring knife across the side and belly of the fish, and quickly filleted the trout before he had even completed his annoying little speech. “Think of that, Clara. All of mankind . . . dead, just because you’re a squeamish girl.”

Clara dried her hands on her skirt. “I’m a girl who knows where the nearest fish market is and how to purchase exactly what I need to put food on the table. Far more efficient than this venture into the wilderness.”

Clyde eyed the park benches, the manicured pathways, and the low brick wall that rimmed the park. “
Wilderness
, is it?”

Clara had to hold back a smile. Perhaps a walled park on the outskirts of Baltimore was not such a terrible wilderness compared to the jungles and deserts that Clyde had mastered, but it was the limit of what Clara was capable of handling today.

Clara let Clyde bait her hook with a minnow before she cast it back into the stream. She had come with him today to get her mind off Daniel, whose continued absence was no longer worrying; it was infuriating. It had been a week since he had left her on that sidewalk. Reading the newspaper brought a fresh torrent of thoughts about Daniel. The stock price of Forsythe Industries had almost doubled when it was announced they would begin replacing their rails with the steel manufactured with Daniel’s technology.

Not that she could share her concerns with anyone. Her father was convinced Daniel would only prove a distraction from her true calling in life, and Clyde was suspicious of any man who showed a romantic interest in her. Even though Clyde and Daniel had formed a truce during the horrific few days while she had been kidnapped, Clyde still had the irrational belief that no man was good enough for his baby sister.

Clara felt the distinctive tugging at the end of her line and sighed. “I had hoped it would be at least another ten minutes before I would have to go through this ordeal again.” She pulled up the fish and watched it flop on the grass.

Clyde knelt beside her and guided her actions. “Get a good grasp on the fish,” he said. “That’s half your problem, which is causing . . . Well, here, why don’t you let me do it.”

“That’s okay; I want to learn,” she protested. All morning she had been trying to foist it off on Clyde, and now when she was finally ready, he took the fish from her hands.

Not that Clyde was making much progress, either. He squatted down beside her on the bank but seemed unusually distracted as he fumbled with the fish. Twice he started to remove the hook, but then hesitated and kept glancing behind her. Finally Clara turned around. It was hard to see because she was looking directly into the late afternoon sun, but it looked like a man on horseback was headed straight for them.

And the man on horseback looked like
Daniel
.

Clara stood, her heart surging in relief.

“Your father said you would be here,” Daniel said as he dismounted. Clara’s gaze swept across his broad shoulders and his skin flushed with health. Daniel was smiling broadly and his eyes were brimming with mirth as he glanced at the pile of fish at her feet. “Why, Clara, are you responsible for that massacre?”

She was absurdly relieved to find him among the living, but her ire quickly resurfaced and Clara tossed her rod on the ground. “Clyde slaughtered the fish,” she said casually. “I’ve been sick with anxiety over you, but since it appears you are bright-eyed and the picture of health, I suppose I should stop worrying.”

At least Daniel had the good grace to appear a bit embarrassed. He shifted on his feet and his gaze flicked to Clyde, then back to her. “I told you I needed to be on my own for a bit.”

“Seven days,” Clara muttered. “The entire earth was created in seven days, but I’m glad it was sufficient time for you to accomplish what you needed.”

Daniel’s grin broadened. “Thank you, it was!” He moved closer to her, and Clara felt a little of the strength go out of her knees. His face was radiating optimism, and that reckless smile made it so hard to resist him. “Let’s go for a ride, Clara. Your brother’s knife is making me nervous.”

“Clyde’s little paring knife has you spooked?”

“Not really, but courting the woman I love in front of her brother tends to put a damper on things. I thought we could ride over to the old Music Conservatory. You heard they are tearing it down today, right?”

She had seen the preparations for demolition all week as a work crew had lined up equipment and began stripping the old building of its valuables. A pang of nostalgia tugged at her. “Yes,” she said slowly. “The thought of watching it being torn down is rather sad for me. I don’t think I can bear to actually watch.”

“Are you telling me you would not go to the funeral of an old friend?” Daniel asked.

“Funeral, yes,” Clara said. “Execution by wrecking ball, I’d rather pass.”

And yet that enigmatic gleam was back on Daniel’s face. The sheer joy that was radiating behind Daniel’s eyes was curious . . . and Clara realized she had not seen him so unabashedly happy since before his father had died. “Clara, I’m trying to sweep you off your feet and carry you away somewhere we can be alone for a moment. You are being terribly uncooperative.”

Clyde sighed in exasperation. “Just get on the horse and go with the man. If I thought for one second his intentions were not honorable, he would not live to see another sunset.” Clara looked at the growing pile of fish along the side of the stream, then at Daniel’s magnetic smile.

“I suppose it beats gutting fish,” she muttered as she shrugged into her jacket, “
but just barely
.” Especially since leaving with Daniel meant a ride on his enormous black horse.

“Excellent.” Daniel mounted his horse and Clara tamped down her anxiety as he leaned down to pull her up behind him. She wrapped her arms around Daniel’s lean waist as the horse’s gait picked up into a trot. Somehow she always felt safer when she was snug against Daniel. There would be time later to rake him over the coals for the seven days of sheer anxiety he had caused her, but for now she let relief trickle through her knowing that he was safe. She leaned up to whisper in his ear. “I really did miss you, Daniel.”

One of his warm hands covered hers. “I missed you, too. Lately I’ve been plagued with the strangest urge to do something really nice for you.”

She tightened her arms around him. “That must have been a shock to your system.”

“Yes, and it took a little time to arrange, so pardon my tardiness.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Clara, where would be the fun in spoiling your surprise?”

She nudged him in the back. “I’m surprised I’m sitting with you on this horse at all.”

“Patience is a virtue, Clara.”

The conversation continued in such a fruitless vein for several miles. As they traveled down the thoroughfare toward Bolton Hill, the wide swaths of grassy meadow that lined the road became dotted with shops and homes. Riding double on a horse was simply not proper, and a few matrons looked askance at Clara clinging to Daniel as they trotted down the street. Clara had been through too much over the last few weeks to care about the opinions of others, and she pressed her face closer against Daniel’s back.

At last they were back in Bolton Hill, and Clara could see the Music Conservatory at the end of the street. Several empty wagons were already lined up in front, probably to begin carting the rubble away as the demolition progressed.

As soon as they both dismounted, Clara stared at the old building. Beneath the steeply pitched roof she had spent the best hours of her life, and she tried to etch every line and detail of its beloved image into her memory. There was pounding coming from inside the building. No doubt they were knocking down some of the interior supports before the major wrecking would commence.

“I don’t think I want to watch this,” she said.

Daniel clasped her hand in his. “Let’s go inside.” He gave her no chance to refuse as his long legs went striding toward the building, pulling her along behind him. Before they had gone even five steps she heard crashing sounds coming from within. She winced, wondering which of the cherished old walls or beams had just been torn from its moorings.

“Daniel . . . do you think it is safe?”

“Trust me” was all he said. There was no front door—it had already been taken off its hinges and removed, making it easier to cart rubble through the opening. “I loved that old door,” she said. It had been a gorgeous door, with leaded windows set inside elegantly wrought iron scrollwork. The way the sun used to flash prisms of light off those beveled windowpanes each time she entered the building made her feel like the old building was welcoming her inside.

“I know you did; that was why I had them remove it so it would not get damaged. The workers will hang a temporary door by nightfall for the duration of the renovation.”

They stepped into the foyer, and Clara’s gaze was amazed at the activity inside the building. It was swarming with workers, like bees inside a hive. So distracted was she at the sight of a man pulling out a section of the hand-carved staircase that it took a moment for Daniel’s words to penetrate. Her gaze flew to his face.

“Renovation? Don’t you mean demolition?”

Daniel turned her to face him, both his hands resting on her shoulders and the softest, gentlest look gleaming in his eyes. “I meant renovation. I’ve bought the place.” Her mouth fell open and she couldn’t even draw a breath to speak, but her heart filled with relief knowing that Daniel cared enough about those golden memories of their youth to save the building.