“Not my place to say anything. I’ll have a note sent round, but as for the rest of it, I leave Master Hartwright to explain. Are you staying hereabouts?”

“At the Bell and Swan. I’ll await word from my brother there.”

“As you say, miss.”

Clara would have liked to question the man further, but she sensed the fruitlessness of the exercise. Better to wait for Simon to explain for himself.

Tugging her cloak more firmly about her shoulders, she exited the gate and made her way down the narrow thoroughfare to the Bell and Swan. It was a humble tavern but a clean one, and at present, fairly quiet. She saw only a few gentlemen in the taproom as she climbed the stairs to her room on the second floor.

It was comfortable enough, with a soft bed and freshly washed linens. Far superior to the room she’d stayed in last night, when she’d been obliged to break her journey in Basingstoke.

She let herself in and promptly discarded her bonnet, gloves, and cloak. Her back ached from the railway journey, and her legs were stiff from walking up one street and down another—always briskly, as if she knew exactly where she was going. A lady must never look uncertain when she was traveling alone.

The mattress beckoned. She couldn’t resist kicking off her boots and lying down upon it. She willed herself to rest awhile, but no sooner had she closed her eyes than her tired mind drifted back to the contents of Neville’s letter.

She’d reviewed it countless times since leaving Devon, and on each occasion she felt the same ache of emotion. The same prickling of anger.

He might have loved her if things had been different?

An infuriating statement.

She knew what he meant by it. He was referencing his limitations. As if she cared two snaps of her fingers for the fact that he couldn’t speak as easily as others. What did eloquence matter? Words only had value if they were honest and true. If a person actually meant them. She’d rather have had a dozen stammered meanderings from an honest gentleman who loved her than a pretty speech from a villainous cad.

But perhaps she was oversimplifying the matter.

He’d said he could never leave Devon. That there was no future with him.

She suspected he was afraid to leave. Afraid of what the world might hold for someone who was different from other people.

And perhaps that was an end to it.

It wasn’t her place to force him to do things he wasn’t comfortable with. No matter that he’d said he admired her. That he might have loved her. Love shouldn’t be turned into a cudgel. If you love me, you must do this, and this. She couldn’t imagine wielding her feelings that way.

With a weary sigh, she turned her face into the pillow.