Chapter 2
Two
"Maybe he is not coming?” Lady Alicia Marwood said hopefully. “Perhaps he has changed his mind.”
“Doubtful,” Clara sighed.
“It may happen. You do not know!”
Clara smiled softly at her best friend, appreciating the hope she was so desperate to instill.
She needed it. Anything to pull her from the depths of sadness that had wrapped itself around her like a cloak made of glass, cutting her carefully, slowly killing her where she stood as others looked on without notice or care.
“Maybe,” she said. “Perhaps he arrived, took one look at me, and then fled.” She laughed. “In this dress, I would not blame him.”
“Oh, stop it.” Alicia slapped her arm. “You look beautiful, and you know it.”
It was almost a shame that she did. The dress she wore had belonged to her mother; a classic gown of dark green with long sleeves, a high neckline, and a tight waist designed to give her lithe frame the appearance of curves.
Clara’s father was not rich by any measure, so most of her outfits were second-hand and not tailored to suit her. This one, as it stood, did.
Her alabaster skin was paired perfectly with the darkness of the dress.
Her hazel eyes, too, big like an owl’s, also stood out.
Chestnut hair worn in curls, sparse jewelry as she could not afford to cover herself in gems and stones, her appearance was elegant rather than flashy.
Which her father had assured her was to Lord Ayles’ taste.
“Thank you,” she said to her friend. “I do appreciate it.”
“I know,” Alicia said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “It is a look wasted on Lord Ayles…” Her nose wrinkled. “Urgh, honestly, Clara, what is your father thinking?”
“I suspect he is thinking about how fat his purse is sure to become once this marriage is confirmed.” She chuckled to herself. “And how much quieter the manor will become once I am free of it.”
“Oh yes, because you are such an agent of chaos,” Alicia laughed.
“A true menace. Perhaps when Lord Ayles comes, I will tell him so myself.” She flashed her eyes wickedly.
“Assuming that he does…” Then she looked about them, craning her neck to see past the masses.
“Truly, if he is not here yet, he may have changed his mind.”
“Here’s hoping.”
It was the Ashworth Ball, and the mood throughout the large ballroom was vibrant. Everywhere that Clara looked, she saw smiling faces, laughter coming from their lips, joy present in their eyes. Hundreds of guests, flocking to and fro as they ate and drank and socialized and made sure to be seen.
There were times when Clara would have been among them.
She had been to hardly any balls, as she was not allowed, always holding out hope that her father might change his mind one day and agree for her to begin attending them again.
It was the colors she loved most, every one imaginable, worn loud and proud by the various ladies as they used nights like this to show off their wares and garner compliments as if admiration were coin.
Sadly, Clara found herself toward the back of the ballroom as she waited patiently for Lord Ayles to arrive so that her father might make introductions.
And where she liked to think that perhaps Alicia had the measure of it, that Lord Ayles had decided not to come, one look at her father and she knew this to not be the case.
He was across the room, chatting to some friends of his, a rare smile on his face that told her he was not worried about Lord Ayles’ tardiness.
The man was coming, of that she had no doubt, otherwise she would know it.
My father is not exactly known for his subtlety.
“Should we have a drink?” Alicia asked.
“I… I do not think so,” Clara said carefully. “Father would not like –”
“Oh, who cares what he thinks?” she said, taking Clara by the hand. “After tonight, you will never have to concern yourself with him again!”
Still, she hesitated, so used as she was to following rules. “If he sees me…”
“What will he do?” Alicia said brightly. “Force you to marry Lord Ayles twice?”
Clara laughed, for she could not help it. “Perhaps one drink. At the very least, it should calm my nerves.” And hopefully dull my senses for when I am forced to meet Lord Ayles.
“That is more like it!” Alicia beamed and began to drag her toward a server.
However, they took but a few steps across the ballroom when suddenly the music that was playing from the stringed quartet cut out.
It was sharp and unexpected, as if the musicians had all suffered a heart attack at once.
This, of course, saw the humdrum of the ballroom stifle, heads turning, mutters rising to see what was the cause of the stoppage.
“What is going on…” Alicia looked about, brow furrowed. “Why did they…” She trailed off as a commotion broke out near the ballroom’s entrance.
Clara saw it too. Or rather, she saw the masses of lords and ladies hurriedly part, creating a walkway as if a horse was about to tear through the room.
There was no such thing, of course. Rather, the reason for the commotion and the music ceasing, from surprise, it must have been, was the arrival of a single lord whom Clara had never seen before. If I had, I would certainly remember.
“No,” Alicia gasped from beside her. “It cannot be…”
“What? Who is it?”
“His Grace,” she said in a hushed whisper; awe filled her voice. “The Duke of Ravencourt.”
Clara had met powerful men before. She had met men of importance, of worth, who carried themselves with an air of sophistication and righteous propriety that gave them a natural air of superiority.
That was nothing new to her and could be true of half the men here.
But as she watched the duke enter the ballroom, noticing how the crowd parted for him, gaped and stared, whispered behind their hands while leaning away as if fearing that he might overhear them, she realized that she had never seen one of his like before. Ever.
Dressed entirely in black, he was tall and thin but by no means frail.
Like a sword wrought from iron, power emanated from his frame—danger, too, as if just looking at him might see you cut.
Sharp lines made up his face, and deep grey eyes judged and looked down upon everything that they saw.
Handsome he undoubtedly was, but that hardly seemed important; such was the aura of the man.
“Who is he?” Clara breathed. She stared at him, but she did not care.
“I just told you,” Alicia said, also staring. Everyone in the ballroom was happy to gape, while just as happy to keep their distance. He was a tiger released in their midst, calm for now, but who knew when he would choose to pounce?
“No…” Clara tore her eyes free and looked to her friend. “Who is he? Why the commotion?”
Alicia gave her head a shake and focused back on Clara. “You have not heard of the Duke of Ravencourt?”
“Would I be asking if I had?”
She sighed. “Sometimes I forget how your father has locked you away.” She glanced across the room, taking note of the duke’s trajectory, and then took Clara by the hand and dragged her further away. “You are not going to believe it when I tell you,” she began, her voice low.
“Surely it cannot be that bad…” She looked over Alicia’s shoulder, and still the duke walked casually as people watched him. None approached. None got too close. Stranger still, he did not seem to care.
“Worse,” Alicia insisted. “To begin with, it is said that he…” She looked about quickly, her voice turning even lower. “Murdered his own wife!”
Clara’s eyes turned wide. “No.”
Alicia nodded. “Furious that she would not take with child, he poisoned her. Although some say that he smothered her with a pillow, laughing as he did so.”
“That is…” Her eyes drifted past Alicia. The duke was now sitting alone across the back wall of the room. He appeared bored. Disinterested, even. Why is he here?
“To make matters worse, when his father found out, he was forced to murder him as well!” she continued excitedly. “It is said that he pushed him from the window of the tallest tower, right into an open grave.”
“There is no way.”
Alicia shrugged. “Then why does he never leave his home? That is what proves it! Since then, he has been seen in public only a handful of times. Less than that! I once heard someone claim that his wife and father are not even dead, that he keeps them locked away as prisoners. His wife to give him children, his father to beat and bloody when his temper turns…”
A chill ran through the ballroom suddenly, and Clara felt it wrap her body and touch her bones. She shuddered, unable to keep glancing at the duke, even if each time she did, that feeling of dread rose inside of her so that she might scream.
And yet there is just something about him that I cannot stop looking at.
Past the rumors. Past the terror. I do not know what it is, but…
she found him again, biting her lip now as she studied the man who sat alone, looking bored, avoided by everyone as if he were a snake lurking in the grass.
Despite his power and her vulnerability, she could understand his isolation.
“What are you looking at!” Alicia grabbed Clara. “Stop!”
“Oh!” Clara gave her head a shake and turned from the duke. “Sorry, I was just…” She trailed off as she cast her gaze across the ballroom, spying on something else that brought her even more dread than what the duke had done. “Oh no.”
It was her father, and he was coming right for her. Worse still, walking by his side was Lord Ayles.
“He’s here,” Clara said, panic rising. “Lord Ayles, he is…” Her chin trembled, and her stomach began to knot. She thought she might be sick.
It is done. Any hope that I had. Any dreams I might have wished on. No… this is… I cannot believe that…