It took five days for Claire to break.

Five days of barely holding on to her composure by sheer pride, only to break down into tears the moment she was alone. Of enduring silence from Elizabeth who had been her constant companion in the years that she had become a widow. Five days of not being able to sleep for every time she closed her eyes all she saw was the damned haunted, hurt look on James' face as she had hurled such unforgivable, poisonous words at him.

She had been cruel, so unforgivably awful that she wondered what the point of an apology would even be. She would break the oath she had made herself; to never leave herself at the mercy of a man, and for naught. All she had left was her pride; was she meant to sacrifice it only to find that even that costly measure did no good?

And yet, she could not help but think of his smiling face, his innate grace, his incredible perception in seeing the part of her that she hid behind these impenetrable defenses. The part of her that yearned for love and family, the part of her she got so used to denying that she did not dare trust James when he tried to unearth it.

She could not bear hurting him. She could not bear the fact that he had not come to a single event in these last five days even though he had been invited to two balls, one dinner, and a musicale. All because of her. Every time she thought of the wounded expression on his face, it felt as if someone twisted a knife in her gut and her heart.

And so she found herself sitting in a receiving room at a fashionable hour, her heart thundering against her ribs, feeling as though she may start vomiting any time soon. She nearly jumped out of her seat when the door opened, her heart freezing for a moment in anticipation. But the man who entered the room was not the one she was hoping to see.

"Lord Carlisle," she greeted, her breath just a touch shaky and her legs trembling with anxiety as she dipped into a curtsy.

"Lady Northhaven," he bowed stiffly, the mischievous, intelligent glint in his eyes she had seen at other times was completely gone. In its place was cold, unwavering contempt. Claire's bile rose up her throat, but she willed herself to speak.

"I had hoped to see your father-"

"I find your audacity astounding," he prowled closer, taking the seat across from her. Even in that motion, she saw his thinly veiled anger; his usual strolling, casual gait was now controlled and severe. "Ah, where are my manners, would you care for tea? Our cook makes the loveliest biscuits, I am sure she has some on hand."

The polite offer was basically spat at her, the Viscount's smile doing nothing to alleviate her anxiety. The expression was mocking and cruel instead of welcoming and Claire repressed a shudder when he casually crossed his legs at the ankles and dissected her with that unnervingly observant gaze.

She felt like a bird in a cage, and he a big black cat just waiting for someone to leave the door open so that he could rip her limb from limb.

"I find myself without appetite, you needn't trouble the cook. Is His Lordship unavailable? If so, I shall come at another time," Claire rallied her strength, her pride, and stared him down in return.

"He is out, as a matter of fact," the Viscount waved an arrogantly dismissive hand. "You've rather successfully run him off to lick his wounds, well done you."

Shame and anguish rocked through her, she lowered her eyes, unable to face the open loathing in Carlisle's expression.

"I came to offer my apologies. I am not proud of what happened that night. I may only learn when he is coming back, I would-"

"You would what, My Lady?" He sneered at her. "Do you truly imagine a polite apology will suddenly undo everything?"

"I would make amends in whichever way he should prefer," she said finally, still unable to lift her head. "If you would only let me see him, or tell me where he is gone. I ask merely for five minutes."

"You couldn't make the appropriate amends if you had weeks," he snapped at her. "Do you have any idea......" He took in a sharp breath as if willing himself to keep a leash on his temper. "Do you know how much courage he needed to come to London, after all this time? Do you have any idea how long he has suffered his loneliness for he believed it to be appropriate penance for the hurt he caused my mother? Do you imagine that it was easy for him to come here knowing all the scorn and conjecture he would face? Do you imagine that it was easy for him to forgive himself enough to think that he was still worthy of loving? Of having companionship?"

"I.....I'm sorry."

What else was there to say?

How could she ever even remotely make up for her behavior? How did one atone for a slight so very severe?

The Viscount let out a derisive snort and gave her a slow, patronizing applause. The ruby in his earring glinted in the light. "She's sorry, ladies and gentlemen! What a concession! Everything has been fixed with those two pathetic words. Let's call the curtain on this pitiable performance shall we?"

"Please believe me," she whispered brokenly, her heart and pride both in tatters. "I know that just words won't fix things, but how else am I to make amends?"

"If there is any sincerity in your remorse," Carlisle's voice held no trace of kindness or mercy. "Then you shall leave him be. You shall quietly take yourself out of his life and let him find someone with an actual heart capable of giving him the kind of affection he deserves."

Tears threatened to spill over.

"Everything I feel for him is sincere."

"You'll find, madam, that I am rather hard-pressed to believe that. There is no true esteem in claiming what you feel when your actions belie them. If you cared for someone, then you could not ever bring yourself to use what you know to be their deepest insecurities like weapons to wound them."

How could she ever explain she did not know how to let go of these weapons? That she did not know who she was without them?

"You will not approach him, you will not engage with him. You will sit back and let him court whoever he damn well pleases. You will let him find someone capable of loving him as he deserves for you sure as the devil can't do it. Are we clear?"

"You don't understand," her voice shook with pain. "What I feel for His Lordship-"

"Is irrelevant," he cut her off smoothly. "You had your chance, you squandered it. Now, my father is a man with a good heart and he could be persuaded to act with mercy where you are concerned, but let's face the facts, shall we? I merely want my father to be happy, and you cannot make another person happy, miserable little harpy that you are."

Claire's eyes finally snapped up, her lips thinning into a line as she wondered if he had actually said that or if her ears merely played some trick on her.

"You overstep, sir," she warned, showing her own temper for the first time since she had arrived, but Lord Carlisle remained unimpressed. "There is no need to be so rude."

"Do I indeed? You feel as if I am needlessly cruel? That my words were unnecessarily hurtful? You agree that it is an uncouth, disgusting lapse of manners?" He jeered at her. "Pot, kettle, black."

Claire gaped at him, her cheeks flush with shame as it washed away her indignation. A subtle knock saved Claire from having to respond to that mortifying accusation.

"Apologies for the interruption," the slender, blonde woman entered, looking at the Viscount expectantly for an introduction. She wore a stately black woolen gown, indicating that she had recently lost a loved one. Still, she looked fresh and lovely, though perhaps she was not too many years younger than Claire herself. The most striking thing about her were her eyes; each pupil was a different color. "Jane has left Mister Rabbit in this room, and we simply cannot have a tea party without him."

"You are never an interruption, my dear," the Viscount said softly, and Claire could have marveled at the change the woman's arrival had wrought. The harsh, mocking sneer of his lips dissolved into a soft smile, the icy fury in his eyes banked, now replaced with a smoldering heat as he unabashedly ran his lecherous gaze over her figure.

Claire felt as if she were intruding upon a strictly private moment. The woman in question pinkened under his intent regard but did not seem to mind his behavior. Her own smile unfurled over her mouth, turning her from simply lovely to breathtaking. The two held their gazes for several long seconds, during which Claire wished she could somehow disappear, before he turned back to her.

So.

That was what it was like to have someone love you. That palpable affection, that kind of devotion.

"Miss Sylvia Heartwood is my ward's mother," The Viscount said by ways of introduction, though his eyes were glinting with mischief more akin to his usual style. "Sylvie, may I introduce you to Mrs. Sherman?"

Claire's brows creased in confusion as she watched Miss Heartwood's polite expression turn into one of shock, and then fury.

"I see," she said tightly, "good afternoon."

Without even waiting for Claire's response, she dismissed her completely and strutted behind the sofa, grabbing the aforementioned toy with stiff movements.

"Sylvie?" The Viscount chuckled as Miss Heartwood threw him an irritated glance. "I was merely joking. This is Lady Northhaven, she has come to see my father."

The irritation momentarily left her face only to return in full force. She hissed something at him as his amused grin grew wider. Claire's heart twisted at the obvious affection that flowed between the two.

"I apologize for him, My Lady," Miss Heartwood said sincerely. "Lord Carlisle often forgets that silly pranks are best left to schoolboys. Though, some days I wonder if he has matured beyond Eton's halls at all. I shall leave you to finish your visit."

She then leaned in to whisper something to him and he had the gall to look chastened, though that hint of mischief never did leave his eyes.

"I am always nice," he protested, looking absolutely unrepentant, though Claire would have liked to point out he had not been even remotely nice to her in their entire encounter so far. Miss Heartwood bobbed a polite curtsy and walked away from the room. Once she was out of earshot, the Viscount turned back to his less-than-kind self.

"Now, if you have wasted enough of my time, I shall have someone see you out."

It was as if they were two different people, the man who had appeared before Miss Heartwood and the one who was verbally flaying her.

"I shall ask you one last time," she whispered, "to please let me speak to the Marquess when he returns."

"And I shall ask you one last time, Lady Northhaven, that if you care at all for my father then you will do the right thing and leave him to someone who can care for him as he deserves. Because you have proven that you cannot."

Dismissing her with that final, heartbreakingly true verdict, the Viscount walked out and sent a servant with her coat.