Chapter 18
Eighteen
Alaric couldn’t even say exactly where he was going, or what he intended.
So confused was he, so besieged with conflict and despair, that he rode as if he might never stop, his first thought to put as much distance between himself and Clara as was possible.
As if doing so might erase what had just happened.
But then, when he saw the outline of Wolfe Manor rising on the distant horizon like a mirage, he understood well enough where he had come and the reason why. For all his confusion, for how much he hated himself and what he was about to do, he knew too that it was the only way.
I would ask that Clara one day forgive me for this, but she won’t, nor do I expect her to. More than that, I don’t deserve such a thing.
He rode through the front gate as he forced his mind to focus on what it was that he was here for.
He approached the front door, content now with his future actions.
As hard as it would be, it was the only way.
Mistakes had been made. His weaknesses had been laid bare.
This might be the coward’s way out, but it was for the best. For me, and for Clara.
He did not knock on the front door. Rather, he threw it open and strode inside as if he owned the manor through which he walked. A sharp right turn, and he made for the dining room, as the hour was late and he was sure to find the master of the home feasting. And sure enough, he did.
“Alaric,” Lord Wolfe said when Alaric walked into the dining room. “This is a rather… unexpected surprise.”
“Uncle,” Alaric said, hesitating by the end of the table. He did not mean to sit, for his body was filled with adrenaline, and he needed it to keep his mind sharp and his emotions at bay. “We must speak.”
“I cannot imagine you came here just to watch me eat. Please…” Lord Wolfe gestured to a chair. “Sit. Shall I have the staff fetch you something to eat?”
“No,” Alaric said. “I would prefer to stand.”
Lord Wolfe studied him with brimming curiosity. “I would ask how the Merryweather garden party went today, but…” He chuckled with mirth. “That you are here tells me well enough.”
“It went fine,” Alaric said. “As expected, Clara and I played our part. Such that I am certain any lingering rumors existing after the Whitcombe Ball will be a thing of the past.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
That was the truth, Alaric knew. And it was largely why he felt confident that his uncle would agree to help him with what he had come here for.
Although the Merryweather garden party had been an awkward affair filled with tension, and its ending was not something that Alaric was proud of, the message had been made clear, and anybody who had seen him and Clara there was sure to think them a most happy couple.
Isn’t that the entire point? That which caused this problem. If only I had been able to control myself… laughable. As I have just now proven, control is the last thing I possess.
All Alaric had needed to do was get through that singular event. Doing so while reminding Clara that he and she were not truly a love-match, and that they never would be. Oh, how close he had come, able to feel her pulling away and resigning herself to the truth he needed her to believe. So close…
And then Lady Brickstone had gone too far.
Hearing her insults, forced to listen to her speak to the woman he cared for with such disdain, and Alaric had not been able to stand it any longer.
He had done the only thing he could think to do.
He had stood up for his wife, proving to her once and for all how much he truly cared. And then…
… Alaric’s body quivered as he remembered that kiss. Still, he could taste Clara on his lips. Still, he could feel her. It made his heart race, and his pulse quicken. It made him want to leave here and go to her. It made him want to admit how he felt, how he had always felt. No more lies!
He could not, would not. She did not deserve a burden like him.“Then why are you here?” Lord Wolfe asked simply. “To tell me of a job well done? I did not think you needed the applause.”
Alaric grimaced and bowed his head as shame took him. “I am here, Uncle, because… because I need your help.”
“Oh?” There was humor in his tone.
“You were right,” he said, wincing because he hated to admit it. “About me. About Clara. What you said…” A shake of the head. “Everything you said was right.”
“I am afraid you will need to be more specific.”
Alaric bared his teeth, keeping his temper at bay. Still, he could not look upon his uncle. “I care for her. This marriage… it has gone beyond a mere arrangement of convenience. I care for her deeply, and she seems to feel for me. That is why I am here.”
“Ah…” The sound of metal cutlery clanging against Lord Wolfe’s plate as he placed them down. “I see. And I take it that you understand the…” He clicked his tongue. “The danger this presents.”
“I would not be here otherwise.”
“I am surprised by you, Alaric,” Lord Wolfe said. “Truly…” He chuckled with amusement. “I would think the world might end before you admitted such a thing as me being right. Is the sky falling? Shall I look outside and –”
“This isn’t funny,” Alaric snarled, snapping his head up and glaring a warning at his uncle. He needed him… a good thing, because if he did not, there was no telling what Alaric might do.
“A truth.” The humor left his uncle’s tone. “This is decidedly not funny. I warned you, did I not? I told you what would happen if you let her get to you.” He scoffed. “And after everything I have done, that you would think to risk it all again. And why?” He scoffed again. “For love?”
Alaric winced. He had not admitted such a thing to himself yet. That he… that he loved Clara. He could not say it, for to admit such feelings would see him break. And he was not as strong as that.
“I know you did,” Alaric said. “Which is why I am here. I cannot allow myself to grow close to her. Not…” He winced. “Not after the last time. She needs to see that I am not one to waste her time on and be convinced to leave.”
“And you wish for me to do this?”
“That is why I am here.” His expression softened, turned pleading because he knew his uncle would appreciate it. “I need you to go to her. To tell her that she must leave my home at once. She cannot wait the year – we cannot risk it.”
“And what will people say?” Lord Wolfe asked. “If it is learned that your wife has fled.”
“That will not be a problem,” Alaric assured him. “After today, no one will doubt our happiness. That gives us time. Enough that we can come up with a lie… I know not what, yet. But Uncle…” He could not have looked more pitiful. “She needs to leave. Tomorrow. As soon as possible.”
Lord Wolfe nodded his agreement. “What shall I tell her? The way you made it seem, she will not go easily.” He scoffed. “Despite your less-than-admirable skills as a husband, you have given her hope, Alaric. What if she refuses?”
That made Alaric smile, if only for a moment.
He knew Clara well enough to know that what his uncle said was the truth.
Clara would not simply believe that Alaric wished for her to leave him.
That he did not love her. That he hated her enough to cut this marriage short.
If anything, she would see this for what it was, digging in her heels as she so often did.
She truly did care for him. More than I deserve. And that was why Alaric was left with one option. An option that made him want to retch, but the only one left to him.
“Tell her the truth,” he said, fixing his uncle with a determined stare so he would know this was no joke. “Tell her…” He shuddered. “Tell her what happened with Helena.”
Lord Wolfe leaned back in surprise. “Truly?”
“It is the only way.”
“And what shall I tell her, exactly?”
“Tell her…” he swallowed. “Tell her that Helena is dead because of me. Tell her…” His stomach twisted into knots, and he thought he might be sick. “Tell her that I killed her.”
Lord Wolfe did not speak at first. He studied Alaric with a sense of what might have been sadness, had it been anyone else. No… it was the realization of how desperate Alaric was. That he would go this far meant that he was truly broken.
“It shall be done,” he said finally.
Clara was tending to the garden when she saw they had a visitor.
At first, she hoped it would be Alaric, as she had not seen him since he fled the house yesterday.
Times were that not seeing Alaric was normal fair, as he spent most of his time in this house avoiding her. Only now, it felt purposeful.
I need to see him again. I need to speak with him. I need him to know that he doesn’t need to run from what this is. Why is he so insistent on running?
It wasn’t Alaric. Her stomach dropped with sadness, and then her hackles rose when she realized who it was.
“Your Grace…” Lord Wolfe walked through the garden toward her.
“I thought I might find you here.” He looked about the garden, noting the freshly bloomed flowerbeds and planted tracts of grass.
“I must say, this is marvelous. Alaric told me you had been working on the gardens, and all on your own! Truly, a feat deserving of praise.”
“Alaric is not here,” she said. Covered in dirt, Clara did not care how she looked. She cared about little right now, especially the opinion of a man who she sensed was here for a purpose that she would not appreciate.
“Oh, I know.” He came to a stop several feet from her, as if worried to get too close. “It is you I have come to speak with.”
“Oh…” She blinked. “Ah…” She looked back toward the castle. “Shall we head indoors? I can have the staff –”
“That will not be necessary,” he cut her off. “This will not take long.” His eyes flashed, and she felt her stomach drop further as if in warning.