Chapter 5
Five
“Would it be a cliché to tell you how beautiful you look?” Alicia said from just over Clara’s right shoulder.
“It would be,” Clara said as she looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She forced a smile and then turned to see her friend. “But that does not mean it isn’t nice to hear.”
Alicia smiled, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Only, they were not tears of happiness or joy as one might suspect. Rather, there was a sadness trapped behind them. I do not need to ask why.
It was the day of the wedding, and Clara found herself in a small chamber behind the chapel with just her best friend for comfort and support.
Any minute now, she would be called to walk the aisle, a moment that she was both dreading and anticipating with feigned curiosity in equal measure.
Not scared, so to speak. Not worried for her safety.
Merely unsure of what the future might hold.
That she hadn’t spoken to the duke once since she had stolen away to his castle did not help the matter.
He had conversed with her father only, mostly through the writing of letters.
And when he did visit their home one time, she was not permitted to see him.
Whether this was her father’s request of the duke’s, she had no notion.
For now, all she could do was wait and wonder.
She was dressed in a simple blue-and-green gown that had belonged to her mother.
It fitted well but was in no way scandalous.
And where she thought she looked beautiful, as Alicia had said, she also knew it made no difference.
This marriage is not for that, so why would I even bother trying?
“You still have time to say no,” Alicia said, sniffing away the tears. “It is not too late.”
“Alicia…” She took her friend by the hands and squeezed them. “That makes no difference. As I told you, I am the one who sought this marriage.”
“It is madness!” Alicia cried. “The man is dangerous. He is…” She dropped her voice. “He is evil, Clara. You know this.”
“No more than my father.”
She scoffed. “Worse still! Yes, your father is cruel. And his plan to send you to a convent was…” She shook her head and sighed. “Not ideal. But you could have talked him out of it! I’ll admit the frying pan was intolerable, but did you have to jump straight into the fire?”
“Have you ever known my father to be talked out of anything?”
Alicia winced. “He might have changed his mind…”
“I appreciate your concern,” Clara said.
“But this is my decision to make. I am the one who sought it, and I am the one seeing it through.” It was strange that this brought Clara comfort.
All her life, she had been a leaf in the wind, pushed and pulled and told what to do and how to do it.
That she was the one who made this happen, going over her father’s head as she had done so he could not refuse, instilled in her a sense of power that she’d never felt before.
“But the duke…” Alicia was trembling. “If half of what they say is true –”
“Rumors only,” she assured her friend. “I mean, if it was, do you think my father would have said yes?” Not that he had a choice.
She smiled at the thought, taking pleasure in images of her father’s rage when he had learned what she had done, and then his realization that there was nothing he could do about it.
“I guess…”
“I will be fine,” Clara said assuredly. “I promise.”
The words were spoken for her as much as for her friend.
Although Clara did not think the duke to be as bad as people said, he was certainly not as gallant as she might have liked either.
He was cold and distant. Dispassionate and void of emotion.
Not wicked, she did not think, but there was a wickedness to him, demons which she could see haunting him.
Even if she could not guess at their cause.
The only solace she could take was that their dwelling together had an end date, and with that end date, this marriage could only be one of convenience.
He did not love her. He did not wish to keep her locked up.
If anything, he wished for her to be gone.
And when I am that, then my life will begin in earnest. Maybe I can still find a way for someone to love me.
Soon, her father knocked on the door and entered the room. He did not smile. He did not look pleased to see her. Anger brimmed behind his eyes, as he was still furious at what had happened. Never mind the dowry that the duke had agreed to pay. This was about power, of which her father had none.
“They are ready,” he said gruffly. And then he turned and left.
The chapel where they were to wed sat in a small parish not too far from Wolfe Estate, the duke’s home.
It was an out-of-the-way chapel, by no means popular, nor was it lavish or rich as might be expected of one that served a duke.
It was a simple little hut of a building, perfect for what this marriage signified.
Indeed, as Clara entered the chapel and cast her gaze about those who had come to see her off on her special day, she could not help but feel a sense of despondence at how utterly lacking the mood was.
I have dreamed of this day all my life, and this does not come close to what I pictured.
One more year, she reminded herself, one more year until she could at least taste freedom of a sort.
There were fewer than a dozen people, mostly on the duke’s side. There was no music. No decoration. No hushed gasps of awe when she appeared. No tears. No smiles of joy. It was closer to a funeral than a wedding.
And none of that was to mention the groom!
It was the first time Clara had seen him since the night she had gone to his home, and little had changed.
He was dressed in black. His expression was severe.
His grey eyes hinted at a warning, as if he was trying to silently scare her away.
He is handsome, of that there can be no doubt.
But what difference did it make if he did not smile or show any sense of joy?
Clara started down the aisle, her heart fluttering.
She was not afraid. She was cautious. Optimism, she tried to embody, but it crashed and burned when she reached the duke, who looked at her with what almost appeared to be sadness, as if he was the one being forced into a marriage.
She frowned at the expression, and he looked away.
However, as she came to his side and the priest directed them to take one another’s hands, the result was… interesting, to say the least.
All this time, Clara had been too distracted by the duke’s more menacing attributes to worry about such follies as attraction.
And she doubted that he saw such things in her.
But as their hands intertwined, she felt a pulse erupt across her palm and then spread up her arm.
It was warm. It was safe. It made her gasp, and she nearly tore her hand away.
Eyes wide, she dared a glance at the duke, noticing the way he bit into his lip as he stared purposefully ahead. Did he feel it too? Her heart was racing now, and it had nothing to do with nerves.
The ceremony was simple. The words spoken were hollow.
But when it came toward the end, they were directed to face one another.
Clara looked up and met the duke’s eyes.
She looked through the sadness and into him, searching for a sign that he wasn’t dreading this, or that he wasn’t angry with her.
And as she did, she saw something that again made her heart race.
It was hesitation, a tight set to his mouth that told her he was doing all he could to not see her.
And still she felt his hand wrapped about her own as if he would never let go.
Most ceremonies did not end with a kiss, and Clara suspected that this would not be the exception to that rule.
But when they were pronounced man and wife, a hush fell about the chapel.
Breaths were held. Eyes were trained on them.
Clara, still looking at the duke, felt her eyes stray to his lips, and she stepped forward as if on instinct.
He stiffened at the gesture. He licked his lips as his eyes strayed to her mouth. She felt him squeeze her hand. She could see him hesitate, tempting himself to lean forward and kiss her…
But then he released her and stepped away.
Clara gasped at the action, torn from the moment. A deep breath taken. Her body was on fire, and she was shaking. This marriage, one which had felt so cold and formal, was suddenly possessed with a different kind of energy. A marriage of convenience… is there a chance it might be something more?
Those thoughts sat with her for only a few minutes.
Until the time that she and the duke were being ushered from the chapel, which saw him walk ahead of her, purposefully so it seemed, which she thought might be so that he didn’t have to hold her hand again.
And then into the carriage they went, watched on by their few friends and family members.
No one cheered. No one clapped. They each knew what this was and weren’t going to pretend differently.
The atmosphere in the carriage was a return to normality.
The duke sat across the other side, his body half turned to look at the window, cutting her off, as if she wasn’t there. She sat awkwardly, caught between silence and wishing to talk.
He is my husband. And where this might not be a love match, it would do if we at least liked one another. Surely, he wants the same?
Her heart was racing again. She studied the duke as the carriage began to move.
She no longer feared him in the traditional sense.
But that did not mean she was not cautious of angering the man.
She suspected there was another side to him that she had not seen yet.
But was that side to be cherished or feared?
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a little silly once she did.
“Excuse me?” He turned to look at her, confused by the comment.
“Thank you,” she said again, this time with a smile. “For doing this. I know you did not wish it, but that you did is…” She laughed softly. “A relief, to be true. You saved me.”
He stiffened at the comment. “I told you that was not my intent.”
“What was your intent?”
He considered the question, the harsh lines of his face tightening. “A convenience. I did not wish for a scandal any more than you did. That is all this was. A…” His jaw set. “A means to an end.”
She scoffed before she could help herself. “How romantic.”
“It was not supposed to be. We both got what we wanted. Let us leave it at that.” There was a shadow passing behind his eyes, again that sense that there was more to this than he was letting on.
“Did we?” she asked him. “Both got what they wanted?”
He did not answer her, turning to look out the window as the carriage slowly made its way toward her new home.
Although the word home was suddenly feeling like the wrong term to use.
Not a prison. Not the cage she had come from.
But a home suggested warmth and comfort.
Even love. And none of those things were what she expected to get from this marriage.
One year, she reminded herself. In one year, I will be free. That is what matters most. And as for the duke and what he really wants? As far as I can see, why should I even care?