His hands covered hers possessively. She shook him free.
‘Yes. I could make a fine life for us both.’ He glanced away in a moment of reflection. ‘I have not done as well as my family hoped here in the new world, Claire. I have not always been true in my life course.’ He looked at her. ‘However I believe I have found it now.’
Claire moved away from him. She felt she could be ill at any moment. ‘If I have given you cause to think –’
From his pocket Wetherly took a gold signet ring. ‘I have money coming to me soon for services rendered.’ The bloodstone centre was set with a horse rampant. He placed it in her palm, folding her fingers over it. ‘Here, take this as a keepsake.’
‘Wetherly, I can’t possibly –’
He wrapped her hands around the ring. ‘When King Edward VII granted New South Wales a coat of arms in 1906 I took no interest in it. Now I understand the importance of the motto: Newly risen how bright thou shinest. You are my evening star, Claire, and you will guide me home.’ He kissed her hand. ‘You do not need love initially to be happy. It will grow. Think about what I offer you. I will send word very soon.’
Claire glanced at the ring as Wetherly mounted his horse.
‘And you know not where your husband is?’
Claire shook her head, stunned by Wetherly’s audacity. He spurred his horse and rode down the gravel path, breaking into a canter.
An osprey-feathered hairpiece entwined with seed pearls sat in the partially packed trunk. Claire ran her finger along the finely stitched length of pearls, recalling her presentation at Government House in Sydney years earlier. Having arrived by carriage fashionably late, Hamish and she were announced to the assembled throng with the maximum of attention. Her black hair, dressed by a maid recommended by Mrs Crawford, contrasted superbly with the pale blue satin of her gown; an effect noticed and remarked upon via a series of polite nods and indiscreet whispering behind ostrich-plumed fans. Their walk to the farther end of the ballroom was the longest and most important promenade of Claire’s life.
When the musicians resumed their places and the violinists, pianist and harpist filled the room with their lilting melody, Hamish took her in his arms. He encircled her slight waist, she rested her gloved hand in his and they stepped out in time to the strains of a waltz. There was a blur of magnificent oil paintings and the rich fabrics draping the windows, a rainbow splatter of gowned women and her Hamish, tall and imposing. Light on his feet, with a steady grip that at times caused her toes to barely touch the floor, theirs was a heady evening. They twirled until breathlessness made her plead for rest, then when they retired for supper Hamish’s moustachioed lips touched the pale skin of her neck. That night Claire understood what it was to be admired, what it meant to be loved. Four years later Angus was born. Long after supper, with many of the guests retired for the evening, Claire played a little Chopin on the perfectly tuned piano to a select gathering of the wealthy and the titled. It had certainly been the high point of her life.
In retrospect it was a shallow thing to lay claim to in middle age, but perhaps her time in the spotlight would assist her re-entry into Sydney society. Of course Mrs Crawford would undoubtedly prove both loyal and formidable in her support and would assist with recommendations as to household staff and a woman of standing to be her companion.
Claire reread her letter to Mrs Crawford and sealed it. Once she’d begun the correspondence she’d found it a remarkably easy thing to gild her less-than-happy ostracism from Wangallon. Residing in Sydney while her only son attended school at Parramatta was a worthy excuse, one that would have little bearing on her marital conundrum. If it were not for her frequent headaches and her predilection for conversations with herself, Claire would have considered herself to be handling her recent stresses quite well; in fact she was not. After her interview with Wetherly she could barely hold a glass of water for fear of the contents shaking to the floor. She examined the bloodstone ring where it sat near the inkwell and pondered over their few conversations. Claire was certain she’d done nothing to give him any hope of an attachment forming between