Chapter 3
Three
“Isuppose you think that you are clever?” From behind her, Clara heard a voice she did not recognize. But only one man would speak to her that way—like an errant hound or a childish scullion.
She gasped and then caught her breath. She tried to stop her body from shaking.
Having adjourned to the balcony for some fresh air, she had found the cool breeze of the night a relief, for it did much to calm her, while slapping some reason into her senses also.
Now, she wondered if being alone like this had been such a smart move.
Not the first stupid thing I have done tonight, it seems.
“I do not know what you speak of,” she said without turning around.
She stood at the balcony’s rail, looking across the garden, even with the cover of darkness cloaking it, it was still a beautiful sight to her eyes.
Peace was what she found when watching it.
A sense of freedom, as if it offered her an escape.
“Do not play me for a fool,” the voice hissed. “And do not think your little performance changes anything!”
Clara forced herself to turn and kept her composure as her eyes fell upon Lord Ayles. Alone. “Where is my father?”
“Do not concern yourself with him,” Lord Ayles hissed.
He was an ugly man, both in temperament and physicality.
Short and overweight, balding, with blotch-stained skin that made it look as if half his face was covered in birthmarks.
"After tonight, it is I alone who should occupy your thoughts. And after what I have just witnessed…” His smile was malevolent.
“It seems to me that you will require considerable discipline.”
“I…” Clara’s body was shaking from fear. And frustration, as nothing had changed, save angering the man whom she would soon wed. “I must go inside.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“Excuse me.” She put her head down to walk past Lord Ayles.
“I said no!” He snatched her arm suddenly. She gasped and then winced from the grip; it was too tight, his nails digging into her skin. “The impudence. The… the arrogance. If you know what is good for you, I suggest you learn quickly that such things will not be tolerated under my roof.”
“And if you know what is good for you, you will unhand her immediately.” The words were spoken softly, as if the wind had carried them from afar. But that did not undercut their power.
Lord Ayles’ eyes widened, and he spun about to find the duke standing by the doorway of the balcony. Dressed in black, he was nearly invisible in the shadow, yet that made little difference as an energy seemed to exist around him, demanding attention.
Clara gasped when she saw him. What is he doing here?
“Your Grace…” Lord Ayles stammered, his hand still gripping Clara. “This does not concern you.”
“That is where you are wrong.” The duke did not move. He did not raise his voice. “The moment you laid your hands on her, it became my concern.”
“She is my wife!”
“Not yet,” the duke said simply. “Now, unhand her, or you may choose not to. It is your choice. Just as it will be my choice what to do with you if you refuse me.”
Clara could sense the fear in Lord Ayles as if it screamed at her. He was quivering. His grip loosened on her arm. A backwards step taken. And then he let her go.
“This will not be forgotten!” Lord Ayles cried. “Do not think it will be.”
“Do not think I will give you a moment of thought the second you are out of my sight,” the duke said. A beat passed between them, and although it was too dark to see, Clara could feel his warning stare tearing through the lord’s final act of bravery. “Go,” he growled. “Now.”
Lord Ayles yelped. Straightened. Took a breath as he adjusted his jacket. But then he fled, head down, making certain to keep his distance as he passed the duke and hurried inside.
The duke did not follow him. Nor did he approach Clara. He stayed in the shadows, watching her. What is he doing? Is he trying to frighten me? Or is he waiting for my thanks?
“I thought you did not save people?” she said.
“Is that what I did?” Through the dark, she could feel his eyes studying her. It made her shiver, and she hugged her body. “Perhaps I wished to be alone and knew that scaring Lord Ayles off was the quickest way to assure this.”
She frowned at the comment. At the rebuke. “That is not… I do not believe that for a second.”
“Perhaps you need to be scared off also?” He took a step toward her. “As I said, I came out here to be alone.”
She took a step back. “I am not afraid of you.”
His laughter was cold. “You should be.”
About to respond, Clara saw Alicia behind the duke in the doorway.
She watched the scene unfold with her mouth open and her eyes widened in surprise and worry.
More than a few of the guests hovered by the door with curiosity, no doubt having watched where the duke went, only to see Lord Ayles flee a moment later.
Oh no…
That was twice now she had found herself at the center of a scene. Two times too many.
“I… I must go.” She started toward the ballroom.
“For the best, I think,” he said.
She tried to find his eyes in the dark as she passed him. She wanted to see if she could read them, his true purpose, for she did not believe a word he said. But he kept them hidden from her, and she could have sworn that ice prickled over her skin as she passed him by.
“Clara!” Alicia grabbed her by the arm the second she stepped inside. “What are you thinking!”
It is a good question, she thought as she noticed all the stares and the whispers that were starting to build. A question to which I once again have no answer.
The first time she had attended a ball, Clara had been invisible and so easily forgotten that her father had refused to allow her to attend another.
This second time, the result was the exact opposite, and she knew without even having to find her father in the crowd that the punishment was surely to be even more severe.
If I know my father…
“I can barely bring myself to look at you!” Her father’s glower was as fiery as Clara had ever seen it. “What were you thinking!”
“I –”
“Do not speak!” he snapped at her. “Listen, if you are capable of such a thing.” He raised both eyebrows, daring her to disobey him.
Clara did no such thing, keeping her head bowed and her posture withdrawn.
Rarely had she seen her father this angry, but she knew him well enough to know that the best way to weather such a storm was through saying little and doing even less than that.
It was two days after the Ashworth Ball, a period which was as tumultuous a time as Clara had ever lived through. Her actions at the ball had spread across the ton like wildfire so that her name was on the lips of every lord and lady within a fifty-mile radius.
Worse still, these words were not of a kind nature. When are they ever?
It was she and the duke whom everyone whispered about.
What had happened between them on the balcony?
How did she know him? For she must have approached him as she did.
And why was Lord Ayles seen fleeing them as if his tailcoat had caught fire?
Oh, the people were happy enough to guess the reason, for that was what they did.
And each tale that Clara heard was worse than the previous.
The natural consequence of this was Lord Ayles ending his courtship at once.
A fact I might be grateful for, did it not see my father’s wrath rise to heights yet unknown.
For two days, he had stormed the manor, cursing and shouting and breaking whatever his hands could find.
For two days, he had tried to soften the rumors and dismiss them.
For two days, he had sat with what was to be made of this outrage.
And now, two days later, it seemed to Clara that a decision had been reached.
“What am I to do with you?” he snarled across the office. He was seated, thank God, for it forced him to keep his distance. “Lord Ayles refuses to see reason or speak to me – he thinks I planned this!”
“Father, I am –”
“Silence!” he bellowed. “You have done enough, and now it is on me to save you. To save myself,” he growled.
“As I see it, we have two options – two which you should be grateful for!” He widened his eyes at Clara as if she might rebuke.
“The first is to wait for this to blow over, which is unlikely. And by the time it does, you will be a withered old maid, good for little, a burden until the day I die. Or the second…” He took a deep breath.
“If I were to send you to a convent to take up residence with the church –”
“Father, no!” Clara cried, not caring if it angered him further. “You cannot do that!”
“I can and I will,” he snapped. “Although it will be seen as an admittance to some wrongdoing, it will also be viewed as an acknowledgement of repentance. If I am lucky, it will do much to save our name from the stink that you have brought upon it.”
Clara was left speechless. Her world was crashing down around her. Standing there as she was, her father continued to speak, but she did not hear a word. What does it matter what he says? The decision is made, and I know him well enough to know that fighting him would make things worse.
But how could they possibly be worse? Although she did not truly enjoy her life in its current state, it was still a life that had been her own.
A life that had existed with hope, for so long as she was the daughter of a lord, there had always been a chance that one day things might improve.
That she would marry. That they would fall in love.
That she would find happiness in a world of darkness.
A dream… one that she was now forced to wake from, faced with a reality from which there was no escape.