CHAPTER 17 #2
"There are worse ways to go," Gabriel said, stroking her back. "Though I'd prefer you survived long enough for us to be wedded."
"How are you so calm about this?"
"Because I'm deliriously happy and I don't care who knows it. Also because I'm a duke and eccentricity is expected of me."
"Eccentricity is one thing. Scandalous debauchery is another."
"Is that what we're calling it? I prefer 'enthusiastic celebration of our betrothal.”
“You are utterly unreformable.”
"I'm in love. It amounts to the same thing."
Clara lifted her head to look at him. "We really need to face your aunt again, don't we?"
"I am afraid so. Though this time we have several advantages."
"Such as?"
“You are my betrothed, at last! You have an inheritance that makes you respectable, and we've already thoroughly compromised each other so that matter is no longer pressing.”
“Not to mention, she cannot object to the match when the bride might already be in a certain condition.”
Clara's eyes widened. "Gabriel, we don't know…"
"No, but Aunt Agatha doesn't know that we don't know. The possibility is enough to force her hand."
"You're going to weaponise our potential offspring against your aunt?"
"I'm going to use every weapon at my disposal to ensure we get wedded without further interference."
A knock at the door interrupted them. "Your Grace," Peter's voice was carefully neutral. "Lord Hartley has arrived and says it's urgent."
"Edmund has terrible timing," Gabriel muttered, then louder, "Tell him I'll be down shortly."
"He says to tell you that Lady Agatha has brought reinforcements, and you should probably prepare for battle."
"Reinforcements?" Clara asked. "What kind of reinforcements?"
"Knowing my aunt? Legal, social, or possibly military. She has connections everywhere."
"Wonderful. So we're facing a full siege."
"At least we're facing it together. And fully compromised. And possibly creating an heir."
"Stop looking so pleased about theoretical offspring."
“I cannot forbear it. The idea of you carrying my child is remarkably motivating."
Clara kissed him, quick but thorough. "We should get dressed. Separately, or we'll never make it to breakfast."
She fled to her own room, leaving Gabriel to face the complex task of making himself presentable when all he wanted was to follow her and continue their enthusiastic celebration of their betrothal.
Twenty minutes later Clara had managed to make herself presentable through sheer force of will and Mary's assistance, though the lady's maid couldn't quite hide her knowing smirk as she helped pin up hair that had clearly been thoroughly missed.
“Utter not a syllable.” Clara warned as Mary fastened the last button.
Before Mary could respond, another knock came at the door.
"Miss Whitfield?" It was Peter again. "His Grace requests your immediate presence in the morning room. Lady Agatha has arrived with... complications."
"What sort of complications?"
"The legal sort, miss. And possibly the clerical sort. It's hard to tell, there are quite a lot of official-looking people."
Clara and Mary exchanged glances.
"Into battle then," Clara said, smoothing her skirts.
"You'll be brilliant, miss. You've already conquered a duke. How much harder can his aunt be?"
"Lady Agatha doesn't look at me the way Gabriel does."
"No, she looks at you like she wants you to spontaneously combust, which is its own kind of intense."
"That's not reassuring, Mary."
"It wasn't meant to be, miss. But His Grace won't let anything happen to you. He would vigorously defend your good name.”
Clara made her way downstairs, trying to project more confidence than she felt. The sound of voices from the morning room suggested quite a gathering, and Edmund's presence in the hallway didn't bode well.
"Ah, the intended bride," Edmund said with a grin that suggested he knew exactly how she'd spent her night. "Looking remarkably well for someone who got very little sleep."
"Edmund, if you value our friendship—"
"I value it enormously, which is why I'm here to warn you that Lady Agatha has brought a bishop."
"A bishop?"
"Her second cousin once removed or some such connection. Apparently, she wants to discuss the theological implications of your betrothal.”
"The theological implications?"
“Whether it is fitting in the eyes of the Almighty for a man of his Grace's rank to wed beneath him.
Gabriel appeared in the morning room doorway, looking like thunder personified in perfectly tailored morning clothes that did nothing to hide his mood.
"Clara, there you are. Come meet the firing squad my aunt has assembled."
She entered the room to find not just Lady Agatha but indeed a bishop complete with elaborate vestments, a man who could only be a solicitor given his predatory expression and excessive documentation, and surprisingly, Lord Pemberton.
Clara's blood turned to ice at the sight of him. He was exactly as she remembered, florid, self-satisfied, and looking at her with the kind of interest that made her skin crawl.
"Miss Whitfield," Pemberton said with oily charm. "What a delightful surprise to find you here. And betrothed to His Grace, I hear? How remarkably... ambitious of you."
Gabriel moved immediately to Clara's side, his hand finding hers in clear possession. "Lord Pemberton. What an undelightful surprise to find you anywhere near my home. I wasn't aware my aunt's taste had deteriorated so thoroughly."
"Your aunt was kind enough to inform me of your... situation," Pemberton said, his eyes still on Clara in a way that made Gabriel's hand tighten dangerously. "I felt it my duty to share what I know of Miss Whitfield's character."
"Her character is unimpeachable," Gabriel said coldly.
"Is it? Because I have rather different memories of her time in my household."
"Your memories are likely colored by your wounded pride when she refused your advances," Gabriel said, his voice deadly quiet.
The room went silent. Even Lady Agatha looked shocked.
"That's a serious accusation, Your Grace," the bishop said carefully.
"It's a statement of fact, Your... Holiness? Eminence? I'm not entirely clear on the proper address for someone who's been dragged here to provide religious authority to a social ambush."
"Bishop Hartwell," the man supplied stiffly. "And I'm here at Lady Agatha's request to discuss the spiritual implications of this hasty betrothal."
"The only spiritual implication is that Clara and I have been blessed to find each other again after years of separation. Unless you're suggesting love is not approved?”
"I'm suggesting that matrimony is a sacred institution that shouldn't be entered into lightly or for the wrong reasons."
"The wrong reasons being love, mutual respect, and a physical compatibility that I'm happy to describe in detail if you'd like evidence of our commitment to the union?"
"Gabriel," Lady Agatha warned.
"What? The good bishop is concerned about our spiritual connection. I'm offering to explain exactly how connected we are. A profound shared closeness that has been frequently indulged.”
Clara squeezed his hand in warning, though she was fighting not to laugh at the bishop's expression.
"This is exactly the sort of behavior that concerns me," Lady Agatha said. "You're being deliberately provocative."
"I'm being honest. Something this family has very little experience with, I understand."
"Your Grace," the solicitor spoke for the first time, "I'm here to discuss the legal impediments to this matrimony."
"What impediments?" Edmund asked from his position by the window. "They're both of age, neither is currently wedded, and I'm fairly certain they're not related. What other impediments could there be?"
"The impediment of mental capacity," the solicitor said smoothly. "There are questions about His Grace's state of mind that suggest he may not be competent to enter into a matrimonial contract."
"Based on what evidence?" Gabriel demanded.
"Based on your erratic behavior, social withdrawal, excessive drinking, and now this sudden decision to wed a woman of no standing who appeared under mysterious circumstances…"
"Mysterious circumstances?" Clara interrupted. "I arrived seeking employment. There's nothing mysterious about poverty and desperation."
"Ah, but there's the inheritance, isn't there?" Pemberton said silkily. "Quite convenient, discovering you're an heiress just as His Grace proposes matrimony."
"We didn't know about the inheritance until yesterday," Gabriel said. "And I proposed before we knew about it."
"So you say. But who's to verify that? It could all be part of an elaborate scheme…"
"The only scheme here is yours," Edmund interrupted. "What did Lady Agatha promise you, Pemberton? Money? Connections? Or just the chance to revenge yourself on a woman who had the temerity to refuse you?"
Pemberton's face flushed. "I'm simply providing character testimony…"
"You're providing lies and implications because you can't bear that Clara chose poverty over your advances," Gabriel said. "And now you're angry that she's chosen me over whatever sick fantasies you've been harboring."
"How dare you…"
"I dare because it's true. You tried to force yourself on her, she refused, you had her dismissed, and now you want to punish her further for the crime of finding happiness despite your attempts to ruin her."
"You have no proof of any of that."
"Actually," Edmund said cheerfully, "I do.
Amazing what servants will share when properly motivated.
Your former footman, Thomas, was quite forthcoming about your behavior toward the female staff.
I have sworn statements from three former housemaids describing your 'wandering hands' and 'inappropriate advances. '"
The room went silent again. Pemberton had gone from red to white.
"That's... that's slander."