Chapter 25 - Claire
Claire was still in a stupor when she returned to her bedroom late that night.
Oh no.
She’d fallen in love with Michael. How had this happened? She had been so careful.
She’d thought he was a rake. Except, now that she applied that definition to him, it didn’t fit at all. He’d been rightfully angry with her, but then he’d kissed her. Heavens, it had been wonderful. Or at least, she’d thought so.
Michael apparently hadn’t.
He’d found her wanting, perhaps. Been disgusted by her lack of morals for kissing him back, probably. Or maybe he’d been angry with her the entire time and the kiss had been some sort of punishment. But in any case, he’d left her standing in that garden alone.
All that night and the following day, Claire explored the depths of her own moroseness.
She sulked in her bedroom, pacing back and forth and wringing her fingers until they were sore.
To her sisters, she claimed she had a headache.
The truth was, they knew her better than most; they might have been able to see the truth of things if she’d faced them.
In the midst of her fretting, she often lost herself in daydreams about that kiss. She’d heard whispers about such things, of course. She was not a naive eighteen-year-old. Yet no one had ever properly conveyed the emotions that could be stirred by such a common act.
If she were more adept at lying to herself, she might have pretended the kiss meant nothing to her, or at least not as much as it did. But the truth of the matter was that the kiss revealed deep emotions that she’d long suppressed.
Claire had been suspicious of her feelings for Michael for a long time, but she’d not been ready to admit what she now knew: that she was hopelessly in love with him.
The more she pondered the possibility, the more she realized that she’d never gotten over him in the first place, not properly.
And what was she to do with this information now?
She’d insulted him repeatedly, and he’d been kind in response.
Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything she could do or say to rectify the situation.
After all, there was no way to say I’m very sorry I wrongly thought you were a rake for four years, and by the by, I love you desperately. At least, not without sounding like a lunatic.
Two days into her self-imposed seclusion, there was a knock on her door. She thought it was Mara bringing a lunch tray, so she carelessly called, “Come in.”
Instead, it was her brother William, who swept her from head to toe with a glance. “Your sisters are worried about you,” he said. “They think that you’ve been overcome by some sort of plague. Except for Beatrice, who’s insinuated that perhaps you have some sort of nervous disorder instead.”
Claire rolled her eyes. Beatrice would jump to such a conclusion.
He continued, “But you and I both know that you would have called for the physician by now if you weren’t ceratin as to the source of your complaint.”
He sat in one of the armchairs before her fire and stared at her.
Claire sighed. She knew he wouldn’t leave until he was satisfied with her explanation.
“What do you know of Lady Berkshire?” she said.
William’s brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“Typical of you,” she said, “to answer a question with one of your own.”
“Typical of you not to be honest about why you’re asking.”
Claire sighed. “Humor me, Brother.”
“Very well.” He threaded his fingers together and placed them behind his head. “No gentleman of any worldly experience would be caught alone with that woman, not unless he wanted his virtue stolen forcibly.”
“Truly?”
He scoffed. “You act as if only men can be lecherous, Claire, a position that speaks of lack of experience as well as a lack of imagination.”
“Are you saying that the dowager countess is—” She trailed off, not knowing how to finish such a sentence.
“I’m saying that, like many men whom you rightfully disdain, she is secure in her fortune, has no plans to marry, and toys with those who do. It’s not only young ladies who can be victimized.”
Claire frowned. He was right, though before Michael mentioned it, she’d never considered such a possibility. She found it difficult to believe such a thing, and yet she knew that Michael and William weren’t liars. They must be telling the truth in this matter.
William huffed a mirthless chuckle. “I know of one gentleman who only escaped her grasp because she had him by the cravat, and he was able to get free of the thing and leave the silk hanging in her fingertips as he made a run for it.”
She stood staring unseeing out the window as she contemplated the idea for long moments.
William finally said, “What I want to know is why you’re asking me about this woman. Has she injured you in some way?” William seemed equal parts confused and angered by the notion.
“Not me, no.” She shook her head.
“Lord Rutheridge, then.”
Claire’s frown deepened. She couldn’t bring herself to confirm it and betray Michael’s confidence, but she wouldn’t lie to William by denying it, either.
His fingers drummed a slow cadence against the carved wood of the armchair. “I quite like Rutheridge, you know.”
“Do you?”
He gave a solemn nod that impressed upon her the seriousness of his words. “I’ve never heard a bad thing about the man. You seem to have painted him as a rake in your mind, but he isn’t one. Not that I can tell.”
“And how would you know?”
William gave a slow smile. “Do you honestly think that I would let a gentleman get within a league of this house without checking into him thoroughly? By the first time you took tea with his mother and sister, I had a very complete file on him.”
“I knew you were the reason behind Lily’s disappearing suitors,” she said triumphantly.
William’s smile turned kind. “Regardless of how strained our relationship might have been in the past, you are my sister, and I care for you.”
“So you don’t think Michael’s a rake like Richard was?” Claire winced; she felt she’d given too much away with the question.
“Rutheridge couldn’t be further from our thankfully departed brother if he tried. Indeed, he’s so far from that sort of character that I think Rutheridge certainly does try. Such an upstanding reputation cannot come about by accident.”
“But only weeks ago, a young woman appeared at his doorway, trying to bilk him out of child support. Such a thing wouldn’t happen if he didn’t have a licentious reputation.”
Claire didn’t know why she was arguing when she already believed Michael. Perhaps it was the dying vestiges of her own pride that made her protest.
“Good heavens, Claire,” William said, shaking his head.
“That sort of thing happens to every gentleman of nobility. That’s not a failure of reputation, but a failure of butler and footman.
There’s always a conniving element of society who’ll attempt anything to part a nobleman with his coins.
Why, Abeer has turned away four such women from my doorstep since I returned to London, and I daresay such a thing won’t stop, probably until I’m dead. ”
“Why on earth would these ladies do such a thing to men with upstanding reputations?”
William exhaled his incredulity. “Well, it must have worked at least once, and the idea spread. But for gentlemen like myself who’ve never visited the brothels, it’s easily enough remedied.
We don’t have to entertain such nonsense because there’s no possibility of it being the truth.
Rutheridge should have fired his butler on the spot. ”
“I think he had strong words with him afterward,” Claire mumbled.
“But you thought it was evidence of Rutheridge shirking his morals and duty?”
She shook her head. It was hard to admit to herself that she’d been wrong about everything for a large span of time. It was nearly impossible to admit it out loud.
William arched an eyebrow. “Really, Claire, you should have known better and given the man more credit.”
His gentle upbraiding served to do what nearly two days of rumination could not. Tears gathered along her lower lashes.
“Oh, drat it all,” William said, his eyebrows rising in alarm. “Don’t cry.”
Claire shook her head, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t quite make herself stop. Tears catapulted themselves over her lower lashes, one after another.
“Really,” he said, “whatever I’ve done to upset you, I didn’t mean it. I take it back. Would you like a pony? I will buy you several if you only promise to stop.”
Claire laughed through her tears, which only seemed to unsettle her brother more. “Not ponies, then. Diamonds? Diamonds are always nice.”
“I think I might have ruined everything,” she admitted.
“Of course not. Whatever it is can be remedied,” he said.
Claire shook her head. If only she felt as certain as William sounded.
“But seriously, Claire.” William waited until she raised her eyes to his. “If you don’t stop crying, I’m going to buy you something scandalously expensive.”
Apparently she hadn’t controlled herself quickly enough for William’s tastes, for the following morning, Mara presented Claire with a blue velvet box.
They both gasped when she opened it. Resting upon the navy satin was a diamond and sapphire tiara. Claire held a forefinger to one of the winking diamonds in wonder.
“I suppose William wasn’t joking after all,” she murmured.
That evening, they were to go to the theater. Claire would have cried off due to a headache or another small malady, but William had gone to the trouble of securing a box for the family.
She wore the sapphire and diamond tiara.
Claire thought it went very well with her navy velvet gown, and if nothing else, she hoped that it would distract from the bleakness of her skin, the wanness of her appearance.
Even when she tried smiling at herself in the mirror, something about the deadness of her eyes made the expression vaguely pathetic.