Chapter 15
Fifteen
“Clara, if we might speak for a minute.”
When Clara looked up to see the duke striding towards her, she almost cried out in surprise.
Since moving into this castle, not once had the duke come to see her.
The only time he spoke with her was during supper, and even that was a stifled thing where little was said, and it was more about the feel of being near one another.
It caught her completely unawares, a moment of panic because she wasn’t prepared for such a thing.
There was always an atmosphere of tension surrounding her interactions with the duke, and she might have liked a moment or two to compose herself, to think of what to say, to try and assess the mood he was in so she would know how to approach him.
His mood… it is always the same. Somber and careful. Sullen and morose. From the look on his face, I cannot tell if he means to kiss me or chastise me. Perhaps both!
“Yo – Your Grace,” she stammered nervously, jumping to her feet. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Is it?” He reached her but stopped a few feet short. Then, he raised an eyebrow and looked her over in what she perceived as judgment.
As it was mid-morning, and it was not raining for a damn change, Clara was doing as she always did: tending the garden.
And although she wore an apron to try to keep some of the mud and dirt from her garments, it was a pointless endeavor, such that she wondered why she even bothered.
Covered in dirt. Face stained. Hair messy.
She was a filthy… another reason why I might have liked a warning before this approach.
“That depends…” She felt herself blushing, but she forced it down. “Do I have something on my face?”
It was a joke, but the duke did not laugh.
Although she did not expect him to. That he was here speaking to her at all was a sign she took to be a good one, proof that their conversation the previous evening was necessary and that it might have even helped their situation as they came to better understand one another.
Even if it does not feel like it. Although, where Alaric is concerned, nothing ever feels as it should.
“I do not know if you noticed, but my uncle, Lord Wolfe, has just paid me a visit.”
“Oh…” She looked past him, toward the front of the castle. “Is that who that was?”
“My father’s brother,” he explained simply, although there was a bite behind his voice, a tenseness to the explanation that suggested the relationship wasn’t nearly that simple. “He likes to check on me from time to time.”
“How nice of him.”
He scoffed. “I assure you that his motive is anything but nice. His visit pertained to the Whitcombe Ball and our reception as regards the ton.”
“Oh…?”
“According to my uncle, we did exceedingly well. Most who saw us believed our marriage to be a happy one. And many even agreed that together we made quite the pairing.” A slight flicker of a smile rose up the side of his face, but he was quick to dismiss it.
Clara was not so shy. She smiled brightly, thrilled to hear the assessment.
“That is good news. Albeit not a surprise. I did not want to get ahead of myself, but I, too, thought we made quite the pairing.” She laughed jokingly, praying that he would at least smile.
Which he certainly did not. “Which means that the night was a success. That was its purpose, no?”
“It was,” he said. He let that final comment dangle, the sense that there was something else he needed to say.
This announcement was good news, at least Clara thought so.
Oh sure, it was all supposed to be pretend, but she knew in her heart that it was not nearly that simple.
She had felt something between them that night.
For a moment, she had seen the real Alaric shine in ways that he fought so hard against. And that the rest of the ton had seen it too, and that they liked what they saw…
surely, this is cause to celebrate? Perhaps giving him a reason not to fight this marriage so terribly hard.
“Is there something else?” she pressed.
“There is…” He considered her still, nervous, it seemed, unsure of what he was about to say. “My uncle… although we did well at the Whitcombe Ball, he insists that we attend another event. A means to further press the narrative so there can be no question regarding the state of this marriage.”
Her heart began to flutter with excitement. “Did he now? And how do you feel about that?”
“It makes no difference how I feel,” he said simply. “He is correct in what he says. We must be seen in public together on one more occasion, under similar circumstances to the last time.”
Clara smiled, even if it felt a little out of place.
This was exactly what she wanted to hear.
Another chance to be seen in the ton with Alaric.
Another chance to grow closer to her husband, where he would be forced not to rebuff her but accept her advancements as he had at the ball.
And if things went as they had the last time, she was certain that by the time the event was through, their marriage would be transcending to a new state beyond the current dispassionate one that it currently existed.
That was her first impression, but it was quickly smothered and stifled because Clara could see right away that things were not nearly that simple.
Alaric did not look pleased by this declaration, as she might have hoped. If anything, he looked downright distraught. One would think he was telling her of a funeral they needed to attend, and not a day spent together among their peers.
He is still so damn careful not to appear as if he cares. Terrified, even. Was it so terrible to let his guard drop for only one night?
“Is that all?” she asked him. “Might I know what event we will be attending?”
“The Merryweather’s are hosting a garden party two days hence,” he told her. “A day event, it will be a rather simple thing.”
“I look forward to it.”
“It is important, Clara, that we…” He bit into his lip, at pains to say the right thing. “That we remember why we are doing this. You understand?”
“I do,” she said, still smiling. “To convince the ton of the blissful state of this marriage.”
“Just as it is important to remember that it is all an act,” he added next, his tone sharp so that she winced. “It is not real. And I do not wish to give you the wrong idea.” He looked at her pointedly. “We are pretending only, and I need you to remember that when we attend.”
“Oh…” She blinked, leaning back as if struck. “Well, yes, I know that. But that does not mean we cannot enjoy ourselves also. As at the Whitcombe Ball, I thought that you and I had a rather enjoyable –”
“It was fine,” he cut her off. “It was fine because I was playing a role. And that was all I was doing.” He looked right at her as if to hammer the point home. “I was playing a role, the same as you. A role we will play again, hopefully for the last time.”
This time, Clara did not smile. She felt her stomach squirm and tie itself into knots in a way that brought about a feeling of dread.
There was nothing romantic or even civil about the duke’s harsh words.
They were expected. Of course, they were; Alaric knew how a Duke should behave.
But it was the way that he said them that irked her.
Is it not enough that he simply reminds me that we need to be on our best behavior? Why does he insist on clarifying that if he is seen to be treating me well or with kindness, that it is an act? Is he trying to hurt me?
She knew that he was just being careful.
She knew that he was doing all he could to fight against whatever demons it was that he had been battling.
His walls, so high and sturdy, refused to come down, and he was at pains to keep them so.
And yet… it might have been nice if he could at least pretend that he was looking forward to spending time with her.
They had been through so much. Clara had felt that they were finally starting to make progress. And then moments like this happened, serving as a reminder that for all the progress they had made, there was still much to do.
“I will remember,” she said with slight mockery. “If I find myself having too good a time, I shall remind myself that it is all a show. I would hate to actually enjoy my time with you. What a horror that would be.”
His lip curled, but he straightened it. “Good,” he then said. “So long as you remember why we are doing this.”
“How could I forget, as you are so quick to remind me,” she responded coldly, hoping that he heard the hurt in her voice.
Whether he did or did not, she could not say, for he turned then and left her standing there in the garden. Alone, as was a state of being that she was all but too used to. Too many times now, Clara had thought that she was breaking through his walls, forcing him from his shell as they grew closer…
… only to be reminded in painful detail of how little progress they had made.
Would the Merryweather garden party prove to be another step forward in this marriage?
Would the duke be as he was at the Whitcombe Ball, free and fun, his true self as she saw it?
And would that finally see this marriage turn into something real?
Just as I know it can be. Or would the duke be even more guarded than usual, terrified to let that side of him show?
Time would tell, she supposed, and where Clara wanted to hope for the best, she had long since learned that where hope made a fine breakfast, it was a poor supper. Not to be relied upon, as it only led to misery.