The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War), Eva Devon [e textbook reader .TXT] 📗

cheer as she could manage. “But I suppose I’ve already begun a scandal, so we might as well go on with it.”

Clara nodded firmly. “I am so proud of you and your scandal. I only hope I shall be able to act as boldly one day. If given the opportunity.”

Phillipa groaned. “Oh dear, that was your brother’s great concern in sharing this with you, that you might go and do something as rash as I.”

“I only hope that I do,” Clara said, arching a brow before she took a long drink of her wine. “Look at the happiness you’re grasping for yourself.”

“I’m not entirely sure yet that it’s happiness,” she replied honestly, taking a deep drink. She savored the rich notes slipping across her tongue before adding, “But I hope it is.”

“It is,” Clara said firmly, raising her glass in a salute. “You make each other happy; there is no question about it. I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. It is only other circumstances that are making your lives difficult.”

“Yes,” Phillipa allowed, trying not to grow disheartened. “But other circumstances are always about. We are surrounded by difficulties, and I fear those shall prevent your brother-”

Clara shook her head and rushed in, “I can’t agree with your fears. Do not wait for the perfect moment. Your love will sustain you through all difficulties. While life is happening, the two of you shall always be able to look at each other and feel that love which so few get to experience.”

Phillipa gazed at her friend, feeling awe at the intensity of Clara’s proclamation. “Is our love really so very obvious?”

“Yes,” Clara replied frankly, her eyes wide with determination to make her point plain. “I cannot tell you how much so, and I am so glad I’ve gotten to witness it because. . . Well, I knew you two were writing letters and that you had an affection for each other, but I had no idea the extent of your passion.”

Clara blushed and batted her lashes. “Goodness, when I saw you two together this morning, it was as if there was a crackling fire between you two, and nothing could put it out.” Clara cocked her head to the side and declared as if she would not be gainsaid. “You belong together, Phillipa, and I am so glad you did not give up on him.”

“As he gave up on me?” Phillipa queried, arching a brow, finding it difficult to trust just now, with things in such chaos.

Clara stilled and contemplated that seriously. Her gaze grew dark with recollection.

“I don’t think he gave up on you; I think he gave up on himself,” Clara whispered, her voice shaky with emotion before she cleared her throat and continued, “And you being here reminded him he had something to keep going for, to live for, beyond just vengeance. Because if he’s living for revenge for a boy who’s died. . .”

“Oh, that poor boy,” Clara lamented. “Just vengeance? That will not sustain him in this life, not for years, and once he has that vengeance? What will he do then? He must have something more, something greater to live for, and I think it is you. I think it is the love you share. It makes him more, and it makes you more too.”

Phillipa eyed her friend, Clara, as if she had suddenly become a sage. She and Clara had gotten along well for years, but Clara had never spoken quite so boldly to her, so passionately.

“I’m glad you think so, Clara,” she said, her heart full and yet so vulnerable. “I hope it’s true, but I am afraid he may not be able to embrace or accept it.”

“We cannot know the future, dear friend. But I’ve never believed my brother to be a total fool,” Clara said firmly, as if assuring the both of them. “To forgo a future with you? Such a thing would be the height of foolishness and privilege on his part. How many people get to have a love like yours and his? And I do declare it to be love. I don’t think it’s a temporary passing or fancy or just the mere passion of a love affair. It is more. So much more.”

“Thank you, Clara. I think. . .  We all need support and understanding, and Anthony needs someone to believe he can achieve his justice, but also to know he can have love. It is not one or the other. He needs to know that if he is not perfect, he is still worthy of love and that I shall love him whether his body is wounded or not.”

She scowled, looking for words to describe her tangled thoughts. “It’s as if he’s just picked one narrow path and refuses to see it’s actually quite wide and that it will take him to many possibilities and beautiful things and not just to one destination.”

Clara cocked her head to the side. “What an interesting thing to say, and how true.” She blew out a breath. “Don’t we all do that? Our narrow little paths, going to one little place? And we don’t realize how many remarkable things we will be exposed to and see along the way. Yes, we may trip and fall. There might be curves, there could be hills and valleys, but the wonders we will get to see even amidst the sorrows? This life is grand, and we must not focus on just the painful things. We must also focus on the sunrises and the sunsets and the rainbows that breathtakingly summits and the flowers that bloom before our very eyes. It is not all just storms,” Clara firmly.

“Why, my friend,” Phillipa observed, feeling terribly proud. “You are very wise. How did you become so?”

Clara laughed. She shook her head, blinking as if she’d been entirely lost in the declaration of her feelings. “I have no idea. I suppose it is all the novels I read.”

Phillipa laughed