that or a guard on your door to keep you here. I don’t think you want to leave him.”
Sam clutched at the fragile teacup in her hands. “That’s...” She swallowed a quick gulp of the hot liquid. “That’s—”
“The truth. Don’t bother denying it, sweetie.” Clarice sighed. “You’re not the first pretty young thing to fall for the charms of Sir Nicholas. I came here to warn you about that.” She shook her head mournfully. “Samantha, that man can’t even say the words ‘I trust you,’ never mind ‘I love you.’ If that’s what you’re hoping for... you could spend the rest of your life hoping.”
Sam’s cheeks burned. How could her feelings be so transparently clear when she barely understood them herself?
She also realized suddenly that Clarice spoke as if from experience. She felt foolish for not seeing it earlier. “You and he...”
“Let’s just say, a very long time ago, I was one of those pretty young things who fell for the charms of Sir Nicholas.” Clarice grimaced. “One of many.”
“Many,” Sam repeated in a whisper, remembering what Foster had told her about Nicholas Brogan having numerous mistresses.
“I have no regrets,” Clarice continued with a shrug. “I’ve learned my lesson, Samantha. Love may be a wonderful fantasy. It makes for pretty fairytales to amuse children. But it’s not something that we adults find very often in the real world. Learning that lesson is part of growing up.”
“I see,” Sam said, not seeing at all.
“It’s better to be realistic.” Clarice rose, carrying the lamp to the mantel opposite the bed, using it to light another lamp there. “Take me, for example. I’ve got myself a lovely house, lots of rich friends, a man who takes care of me.”
“A very nice life,” Sam said hollowly.
“Very nice,” Clarice agreed. “And my gentleman friend is quite kind. He’s sweet and thoughtful. He pays for my home, gives me gifts—”
“But he says nothing about caring or love? This benefactor of yours doesn’t love you?”
Clarice laughed, a sophisticated, sparkling sound. “I’ve never asked. I’m too old for that sort of thing, sweetie. And too smart.”
But something in Clarice’s voice and her laughter sounded forced. It made Samantha wonder whether any woman could ever truly give up on love.
And made her suspect that Clarice wasn’t following the very advice she was trying to give. “And do you love him?” she asked softly.
Clarice didn’t answer at first. She ran one finger over a porcelain figurine of a dancing lady on the mantel. “He... he comes from a wealthy and distinguished family, Samantha. I was born gutter trash in a hovel in the East End the likes of which is beyond your imagination.”
“But that shouldn’t matter if—”
“We’re from two separate worlds,” Clarice said more firmly. “And even though I can play at being part of his world, I’ll never truly belong in it. It’s impossible.” She walked back toward the bed, her smile a bit too bright. “I’ve accepted that.”
Sam felt a surge of empathy for this woman she barely knew. She understood exactly how it felt, to love the wrong man.
And to know that he did not return that love.
“I’m happy with what I’ve got.” Clarice indicated the lavishly decorated room with a sweep of her hand. “This is the best I could hope for. I’ve not done too badly for myself.”
“No,” Samantha agreed, not feeling it. “You haven’t.”
In a purely financial sense, it was true. But without love, she felt, all the riches in the world would be worthless.
“But I didn’t come here to talk about me,” Clarice chided gently. “I came here to help you.” She sat on the bed and placed a hand on Samantha’s arm, the gesture almost sisterly. “Take some advice from someone older and wiser, sweetie. Put this behind you as soon as you can. Learn from it. Find yourself a man who will treat you right. Someone stable and reliable.”
Sam sipped at her tea, not tasting it.
“A nice merchant or a barrister or an apothecary,” Clarice advised. “He won’t set you on fire, but so what? A rogue will set you on fire, all right—and burn you to a cinder and be gone before your ashes cool. Without so much as a by your leave.” She gave Sam’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Take it from me. Stay away from sailors, soldiers, actors, musicians, and outlaws of all sorts. It’s a rule of thumb to live by: never love a rogue.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Good.” Standing, Clarice set the dishes of food on