Three

The fourth time he visited it was raining lightly when Ernest left Vincent's home. He had stopped at Clara's home as he knocked on her door, but nobody ever came. Frowning he knocked again before he heard her voice behind him.

"Mr. Sinclaire," she said as he turned to look at her a little shocked. Her green dress with tiny flowers all over it nearly all covered in mud. "I didn't expect you today, I was taking care of the animals." That was when his eyes settled on the basket of eggs on her arm. "If you just give me a minute I can change."

"Of course," he said as he held his hand out. "I can put the eggs away."

"Would you even know where they go?" she asked as a giggle escaped from her lips. Of course, she was teasing as Ernest just shook his head.

"I believe I do, they go in your cupboard," he said as she nodded with a cheeky grin on her face. She opened the door as held it open for him. Ernest looked around as she changed for the place the eggs went. Ah, he thought, as he spied the others and filled it accordingly. Perfect.

He hummed to himself as he went to her sitting area and found a spot as he made himself comfortable. This was his third time at her home as Ernest wondered what she did around here for fun. Of course, she had her chores and possibly work, but what else was there? That was when Clara graced him with her presence as he saw her standing there in a plain maroon gown.

"I must say Mr. Sinclaire I thought after last time you wouldn't be coming," she said. "The weather hasn't been letting up all week."

"I think it would be hard not to, your home is right between mine and where I need to be." Ernest noticed a few books by the fireplace that he had noticed before as he casually looked at the spines. "I didn't realize that you read so much."

"Just a few books here and there, the last newest book we acquired was Sense and Sensibility," she said as he raised a brow at that. That book was published five years ago. "I've always entertained the idea of finding this epic romantic love the writer talks about. I suppose one day I will marry a man who truly loves me as they do in books."

Ernest nodded his head as he pretended to listen. Honestly the thought of marrying for love was a silly notion. Love was never truly present in a relationship, but he supposed that someone of her stature could do it. He felt a small sting in his chest that this person would probably never be him. He shook that thought away from his mind, they were worlds apart and he hardly knew her.

"To be frank I really don't believe in that, it's silly" he said unable to not voice his opinion.

"Romantic love?" she asked incredulously. "How is it silly? I believe there's the right person out there for everyone."

"Until you realize their true motivations," he said as he paused, that really shouldn't have come out. Clara stopped and stared at him as she looked confused.

"And what does that mean Mr. Sinclaire?" she asked coolly as she stood close to him as she pulled the book off the shelf. "If I could but know his heart, everything would become easy."

"I've been hurt before," he said as his thoughts went to Roselyn as he could easily picture the duke on top of his wife in the dining room. His face grew hard as his hands balled into a first. Clara didn't seem to notice as she put the book back on the shelf.

"It seems as if you didn't find the right person," she said as she noticed his stance. "Mr. Sinclaire is something wrong?" she asked.

"Romantic love is something that cannot be easily found as you think," he said nearly snapping at her. "I should know my wife never really loved me. And yet once I did love her."

Clara was a little shocked by that response. She didn't know that he was married and yet he was seeing her. What did that make her? A wanton that was only trying to get into his trousers according to his wife? She composed herself as she was hearing what he said. Everything he was saying was past tense. "Your wife sir?" she asked her eyebrows raised.

"I was married once before, she passed away in birth because of that man," said Ernest unable to help himself. Clara's jaw dropped slightly as she gently took his hand. That much she could understand as she pieced it together. He was married but his wife never truly loved him. And she passed away giving birth to another man's baby.

She sighed as she reached up and brushed her knuckles across his cheek. "This woman was very undeserving of you," said Clara sincerely meaning every word. "Every man deserves the same kind of respect that he gives his wife as much as a woman gives her husband. It's clear that she did not love or respect you. There is someone that will one day, you just need to find the right person."

"I'm sorry Clara you didn't need to know that," said Ernest in a quiet voice as he found himself stroking the back of her hand. "I don't think there is anyone there for me. I must go." He had stepped out of the firelight as she put her foot out in front of him to stop him. He glared at her as he couldn't help but wonder why on earth she would stop him.

"Ernest," she said her voice light and airy. "There are people like that regardless of social class. There is someone that much I know. Love can blossom in the most unexpected of places. If you wish to stay, and I hope you do, I can read you the first chapter in my book. At least until the rain stops."

He found himself breathing slightly more erratic as usual as Clara was holding his hand and her body close to his. Ernest had told her a secret that he told no one else and she still cared about him. Not only that but she used his first name. Part of himself knew that in this moment he could love her, social class be damned.

"Alright," he said. "I'll stay and hear you read."

"And if I'm right you'll come back next week to hear the rest," she said smugly as she found a seat in the best chair as she opened to the first page as she began to read. "The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex…"