Chapter Four
After leaving the study, Amelia took charge of Clara and supervised as she removed her ruined gown and prepared for bed. The shock of the situation finally fully set in once her maid left them alone.
“I cannot do this,” Clara said shakily and found Amelia’s eyes, slightly disconcerted when her form was distorted by her welling tears. “It is all a misunderstanding. There must be another way to remedy this. I cannot marry Brinley—I cannot!”
Amelia shook her head and wrapped a comforting arm around Clara’s shoulders, settling in beside her on the vanity bench.
There was an apology in her warm green eyes when she explained how she’d already heard some of the whispered rumors herself before she’d managed to waylay Dorian.
There would be no graceful exit from this conundrum.
“As much as it pains me to force you into this, there is no way out of it now.” When Clara would have protested, Amelia forestalled her.
“Brinley is correct. These are the consequences of your choices.”
“Dori always told me I would have some say in choosing my future husband,” she’d whined uselessly, knowing how futile it all really was.
“You have forced his hand,” Amelia said apologetically.
“I do not have to marry Brinley. I do not ever need to get married.”
Amelia tilted her head. “And become a social outcast? You are far too outgoing to survive a life such as that. Your unwed friends will not be allowed to see you, and everyone will stare down their noses at you. Do not resign yourself to that life—or your brother to watch helplessly as that happens to you, for that matter.”
Clara experienced a stab of guilt at the mention of Dorian. He’d always been a loving brother—far more tolerant and understanding than he probably should have been—but it seemed that Clara had finally located the boundaries of their relationship.
Thinking of all the times Brinley had talked down to her and treated her with derision, mocking her for the superficiality of her accomplishments in Society, she knew the marriage was doomed long before it ever began.
“He hates me…” Clara whispered, toying idly with the lace decorating her nightshift.
“Oh, dear. I do not believe Lord Brinley hates you at all,” Amelia said, covering Clara’s hands with her own.
Her sister-in-law looked at her quite thoughtfully, then.
Her eyes danced over her features, analyzing and calculating.
“As a matter of fact,” Amelia added confidently, “I am positive he does not hate you.”
“How can you be so certain?” Clara questioned skeptically.
“I have a very good feeling.”
When Amelia made to leave, Clara asked if she would stay with her that night. “I would prefer not to be alone…” The request was made with downcast eyes.
“Certainly,” Amelia said without the least bit of condescension. “I will return once I change from this gown.”
Alone, Clara stared at her reflection until that, too, began to melt and swim in her watery vision.
*
As she traversed the hallway and headed toward the chamber she shared with her husband, Amelia recalled the conversation she’d had with Brinley several months earlier, after she’d felt betrayed by Dorian.
The man was fully aware of his own sordid reputation, but there was something to be said about a man who remained by his friend’s side, yet was unafraid to tell him when he was wrong.
Perhaps more telling had been Brinley’s reaction when Amelia had confronted him about kissing Clara.
He’d been adamant that he was not a good man—that he was far from admirable and he was not about to change his ways or his lifestyle.
Though he’d refused to truly repent for his actions toward Clara, Amelia suspected there was more to it than stubborn arrogance.
There had been something carefully modulated about him.
Despite his assertions of unworthiness, he seemed to have discredited himself entirely over the last few hours.
He’d proven himself good and honorable, admirable and willing to put others before himself.
How easily he could have turned his back upon Clara and chosen to relinquish his friendship with Dorian rather than give up the lifestyle he’d proclaimed to love.
Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
Amelia hoped she was right and that this boded well for Clara’s marriage to Brinley.
When she opened the door to her chamber, she found Dorian already there.
He sat on a chair near the flickering hearth, knees spread, elbows propped on his knees, hands and head hanging limply.
He looked up when he heard her shut the door behind her.
He gave her an exhausted smile in greeting, and Amelia walked into his arms. He hugged her waist, burying his face in her abdomen, inhaling for a deep sigh.
She stroked his dark hair tenderly and chuckled when he mumbled, “I never should have allowed you to talk me into throwing this grand party for Clara.”
“She was always going to marry and move on with a life of her own. Think of this as expediting the process.”
“But she is still so young,” he groaned.
“She only seems that way because she is your sister. We were first engaged when I was her age,” Amelia gently reminded him. “In fact, I was carrying Archie at her age.”
He sat back and grumbled, “You needn’t remind me.”
Amelia and Dorian had been betrothed in their youth, but a terrible misunderstanding had shattered their love match.
Shortly thereafter, Amelia had married her first husband and bore him a son before his untimely death.
Years passed, and Dorian and Amelia had reconnected, though not without their challenges, and they had rediscovered the love that had once drawn them together.
Dorian scrubbed his face as Amelia went to ring for her maid. “At least she is marrying someone you know and love,” she said, attempting to console him as she undid the pearl-capped buttons of her gloves.
“I don’t know if that’s as beneficial as one might first think.”
“Oh?”
“I grew up with him. Men talk. I know every one of his preferences, every sordid detail of his affairs. I don’t need images of him and Clara…doing those things.”
“Ah…” Amelia replied gravely, barely able to suppress a grin.
She understood Dorian’s disinclination, but it was a bit amusing, nonetheless.
Men were such squeamish, contrary creatures.
They were shameless about their own pleasures, but when it involved someone—a woman—they cared for, it was an entirely different story.
A little bit of her smile must have slipped through despite her efforts because he asked, “Is this amusing to you?”
“Not especially. Clara has found herself in a predicament. It is not pretty, but it really could be so much worse. We will see her often, and she’s marrying someone you trust. Correct?”
He was forced to offer a conceding tilt of his head.
Scrubbing his disheveled hair back from his forehead, he detailed some of what he and Pearce had discussed once the Great Hall had emptied.
“Brinley plans to leave at dawn to make the necessary preparations. He has a townhouse in Edinburgh, and it was decided they will spend a month or so there until the gossip in London dies down. The hope is to shield Clara from the worst of it by keeping her away from Town. The house has apparently been vacant for some time, so it must be opened and prepared; not to mention, Brinley must notify his father of the wedding. Though he’s well into his majority, it is only right that he sends word to the old man. ”
“And this can be completed in time?” Amelia asked, removing her emerald-and-sapphire jewelry piece by piece and carefully laying it atop the vanity to be returned to the rest of her collection.
“Out of necessity, the ceremony will be pushed two days hence to allow for the preparations. Besides, it seems only right that we give Conner enough notice about the ceremony.” Even with Amelia and Dorian’s sway, convincing a man of the cloth to wed Clara and Pearce on such short notice—especially given the circumstances of the abbreviated engagement—was not feasible.
Since they were in Scotland, it only made sense that they take advantage of the unique stipulation that a man and a woman might be wed over a blacksmith’s anvil by declaring their intent to wed.
The local blacksmith was brilliant at his job but he was also notoriously reserved.
Poor Conner might expire from the pressure of presiding over the ceremony.
“Yes; he’ll need at least a day to panic and another to collect himself.” She caught her husband’s eyes and watched them darken, sending a delightful little chill from her head to her toes.
“It is sweet you are so concerned for Conner’s sensibilities, but I’ve something more pressing on my mind at the moment.” He stood and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body flush with his. “For now, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with my beautiful wife.”
“About that…” Amelia kissed him lightly. “I promised Clara I’d return to her rooms once I changed.”
“Clara ruins everything,” Dorian groaned dramatically and dropped his forehead to her shoulder in despair.
“Not everything,” she said, patting his cheek before walking back to her vanity while she began removing pins from her hair. “We would not be here right now were it not for her.”
Dorian could not argue with her over that.
Had Clara not maintained a secret friendship with Amelia, they would have continued with their separate lives, never aware of just how wonderful things could be.
It was remarkable how many ripples Clara had caused; how many lives she’d changed.
Now, the echo of Clara’s actions had reverberated back to her, forcing her to experience her own machinations.
Amelia could only hope Clara would not one day regret what she’d done.