Chapter 7
Seven
Clara found herself staring at a portrait of a young woman with vibrant red hair and soft features.
Of the same age as Clara, she was undeniably beautiful and somehow disarming.
Her green eyes seemed to smile on their own, a smile that was gentle and caring, and her lips wore one that was just a little bit playful.
I wonder who she is. Clearly someone of importance.
She was in the dining room, waiting for the duke to arrive.
Like the rest of the castle, the room was too large, the furniture too sparse to fill it.
Just the single long table through its center, two chairs only, even if it could hold a dozen.
Most oddly, when she had arrived, the places were set, but at opposite ends from one another.
It didn’t surprise her as it might have. The duke had made it so clear that this marriage was not to be companionable. And although he had agreed to sup with her, she sensed it would not be a dinner brimming with conversation or companionship.
The sound of footsteps approaching brought her attention from the portrait and back into the room. Clara stood just in time as the duke walked through the doors, only to pause at the sight of her. His brow furrowed, and he looked confused as if he had not expected her.
“Good evening,” she said with a friendly smile. “I was not certain if you would be joining me.”
He was hesitant. So strange; from the way he acted, one might think that he was afraid of her. Indeed, his grey eyes flicked from her to the place at the other end of the table, consideration hovering between them so that Clara wondered if he might just turn and leave.
“I told you I would, did I not?” he said briskly, striding into the room, walking right past her to the other end of the long table. “You were waiting long?”
“Only a minute or two.” She waited for him to sit before she did.
As was his way, the duke was dressed entirely in black.
But it suited him, Clara decided. His dark grey eyes.
His fair skin. The sharp lines of his face.
He was brooding, although that suited him nowhere near as much.
When Clara had first seen the duke, she had been naturally intimidated by him.
He seemed a man born to terrify. Only now, having gotten to know him better, she was starting to see beyond that exterior.
In her eyes, the sullen mood he carried with him was not as natural as he wanted it to be.
It felt forced, like a coat of ill-fitting armor that he refused to take off, despite the discomfort.
She studied him as they settled into their seats, wondering now why he was this way.
There must be a reason. One, I doubt he would gladly tell me.
“I have –” She caught her tongue when the duke stiffened. Waiting for him to rebuke her for talking, but he said nothing. This, she took as an invitation. It is not as if I have anything else to go off. “I have decided to excavate the back garden,” she said. “If it is fine with you.”
“I said you can do as you wish,” he responded simply. “You do not need my permission.”
“Just thought I should make sure all is in order,” he said with a casual air, not wanting to sound as if she were arguing. “Which means I will be in need of supplies. I expect it will be quite the task.”
“Mr. Winters can see to that.”
“I will ask him.” She let the comment hover between them, praying that he would pick it up.
But he frowned as he looked into the distance, seemingly determined not to make eye contact with her.
“I did a little exploration of the garden already,” she offered finally. “I already know where I will start.”
“Yes, I saw you,” he said.
“You did?”
His eyes widened, but he was quick to compose himself. “From my office. I…” He cleared his throat. “I noticed you walking in the garden.”
“Noticed? Or were you watching me?”
The duke finally looked at her. It was a warning scowl, clearly designed to convince her to move off the topic before she overstepped. But again, it felt forced. There was no anger behind it, unless she counted the anger he directed toward himself.
This had her smirking softly, happy to drop the topic. Such a small thing, but the idea of the duke watching her as she gardened… he refuses to be near me, but at least he will know that I exist.
“May I ask you something?” she started next, her voice soft and probing.
He considered her. “Perhaps.”
She shook her head and smiled. “As I waited, I could not help but notice that portrait.” She indicated the portrait of the young woman. “May I ask who she is?”
Clara realized immediately that she had said the wrong thing.
The duke stiffened where he sat. His expression turned dark.
A cold swept through the dining room and made her shudder.
The duke looked at the portrait, the darkness giving way to a sadness not-so-hidden in his eyes. He considered a moment…
“No,” he said finally. “You may not.”
Ah, so that explains who she is. In a fashion. Why does the duke act as he does? Why is he so guarded? The woman, whoever she is, must be the cause.
They spent the remainder of their supper in silence.
And where it was indeed awkward and tense, it was strangely comforting in ways that Clara had trouble clarifying.
She sensed in the duke someone who was as lost as she was.
She knew now that he wasn’t angry at her, nor was he someone to be feared.
He had his walls erected high and strong, but they were not impenetrable.
The duke was the first to rise from the table once they had finished eating. He did not look at her as he started around the table and made for the door.
“Good night, Your Grace,” she said after him.
He reached the door, hesitating on the threshold. She did not turn to watch him, sensing him there, a battle of some sort raging within. “You may call me Alaric,” he said finally.
“Excuse me?” she turned to him.
“Alaric,” he repeated. “Your Grace… there is no need for the formality.”
“Oh…” She blinked and then smiled. “If that is the case, I insist you call me Clara.”
It was subtle, but she saw a smile reach his eyes, then gone as quickly as it had arrived. He turned and strode from the room without another word, leaving Clara alone once more. A state of being I am getting used to.
The difference now was that for the first time, Clara was not feeling so alone.
And the foreboding that had sat with her since arriving had faded fully.
Still, she and Alaric were not companionable.
There was no comfort there. But she could sense it brimming beneath the surface.
He wants to get to know me; I have to believe that.
Why did he still refuse to do so? Well, that was the question that Clara was determined to figure out.