Prologue #2
"Then I am overwhelmed," he murmured, squeezing her fingers before lifting her hand and pressing it to his mouth, his eyes glowing gently.
"The time that I must wait will frustrate me a good deal, I confess, but you must enjoy Christmas Day with your family and I must endure my aunt and cousins for a sennight longer --- although Miss Jennings has taken her leave, so that is one less person.
" He tilted his head. "Then I will speak to your brother. .. if you would wish it, that is."
Clara's eyes flooded with joyous tears. "I cannot think of anything I want more," she answered, as he smiled at her. "To be yours and yours alone is everything my heart desires."
The memory faded as Clara set her quill down, though the warmth of it lingered like the last embers of a fire she could not bear to let go out.
She had been writing to cousin Beatrice --- or trying to --- but the words on the page had blurred before her eyes as the memory of last evening's ball had overtaken her.
Lord Rutland's kiss. His whispered promises. The steady certainty in his dark eyes.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, and smiled to herself.
"Clara?"
The half-finished letter slid beneath a clean sheet of paper as Clara straightened, composing her expression as though her mother might somehow read the happiness radiating from her very person. "Good afternoon, Mama."
"You are writing, I see."
Clara glanced at Lady Tyrone and then set the quill down properly.
"Yes, I am. I thought to write to cousin Beatrice.
I do not think that my letter will arrive until after Christmas Day given the weather, however!
" She smiled at her mother. "Did you enjoy the ball last evening?
It seems to me such a great shame that Thomas must miss it all. Do you know when he will return?"
Her mother shook her head. "Your younger brother has some matters of business to attend to," she said, seating herself in a chair but perching on the edge of it, her hands clasped in her lap.
"I have asked David about it but he states that Thomas will not return until after Twelfth Night.
It seems we will be forced to endure his absence over this festive period. "
Sadness crept over Clara's heart. "I am sorry for that. I will miss him. Whatever affairs it is that he must attend to, they must be very urgent indeed." She paused, frowning. "It is not like David to send Thomas away at Christmas. Did he say nothing of the reason?"
Her mother's expression tightened, just for a moment. "He did not. You know how your brother can be. Since he inherited the title, he does not always see fit to explain himself."
Clara sighed. It was true enough. David --- her eldest brother, David Frankton, Marquess of Tyrone --- had changed a good deal since their father's death.
The weight of the title had sharpened him, made him harder, more certain of his own authority and less inclined to hear counsel from anyone, least of all his mother and sister.
Thomas, who had always been the gentler of her two brothers, seemed to bear the brunt of David's new imperiousness.
And now to be sent away at Christmas, with no explanation given. ..
Her mother nodded, sighed and then cleared her throat. "Clara, you must write another letter."
A trifle confused, Clara looked from her letter to her mother and back again. "To Thomas? How can I do so when I do not know where he is at present?"
"I do not mean for you to write to Thomas, no," her mother replied, rising to her feet and coming to stand over Clara, her hand on her shoulder. "You are to write to Lord Rutland."
Her heart leapt up as she flushed, her head twisting around as she held her mother's gaze. "To Lord Rutland?" she asked, wondering if her mother had seen their connection during the previous evening's ball. "Mama, why would I do such a thing? What would I say?"
Lady Tyrone did not smile. Instead, a paleness washed the color out of her cheeks as she closed her eyes and pressed her hand lightly on Clara's shoulder. "You will write to him and inform him that you cannot continue on with your connection."
Clara pushed herself up out of her chair, her eyes going wide. Sorrow clutched at her heart, her whole being burning with a sudden, desperate fear. "End our connection? Why ever would I do such a thing?"
"It is your brother's requirement." Lady Tyrone shook her head. "I have tried to convince David to let you be, to continue on with what I hoped would be a happy marriage but he has insisted."
David. Clara's hands curled into fists at her sides. "I will not," she replied, stoutly, lifting her chin as she held her mother's gaze, seeing the sadness there. "Lord Rutland and I --- we... we care for each other. Why would I end such a happiness?"
Lady Tyrone closed her eyes. "I do not know," she said, bleakly. "David will not tell me of it but has insisted that I make certain the letter is written and sent."
"I refuse." Clara lifted her chin a notch, folding her arms over her chest as tears burned in her eyes. "I will not write that letter to Lord Rutland. Mama, he wants to marry me! Why must I turn from him?"
"You will have to ask your brother," came the reply.
"But recall, Clara, he is the Marquess of Tyrone.
He holds your father's title now, and all the authority of the Frankton name.
Even if you refused to write this letter, he would find a way to end the connection between you. He will not give his consent."
"But what are his reasons for that?" Clara cried, tears splashing onto her cheeks, sobs threatening to take a hold of her. "Why would he demand that I step back from Lord Rutland? There is no good reason for him to do so. Lord Rutland is an excellent gentleman with superb character and ---"
"I know, I know, my dear." Her mother stepped forward and enfolded Clara in her arms. "If there was an explanation, then I would be glad to give it but there is not. For that, I am terribly sorry."
The tears came with ever increasing strength as Clara was held tightly in her mother's embrace.
Her whole body shook with sobs, the quiet determination she had to refuse her brother's demands fading away.
Yes, she could still speak to David --- she could demand an explanation, plead with him, rage at him if she must --- but her mother was right.
He was Lord Tyrone now, head of the Frankton family, and he had all the authority.
If he did not wish to share his reasons, then he would not.
If he insisted that Lord Rutland was not to be considered, then she would have no choice but to step back from him, even if it was to break her heart in the process.
I love him, she thought to herself, as her mother soothed her as best she could. But now, it seems, I am never to be in his arms again.