“He did not need to; my coachman encountered him coming off the stage from Canterbury. I knew what that meant.”
Jonathan’s eyes blazed. “Spying on my servants is as bad following me, maman.”
“What other choice had I?” she cried. “You refused to see me.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said coldly, “but you had the choice to respect my wish to be left alone—which I made quite clear.”
“You made nothing clear! Voyons, you vanished without a word! I had no idea where you went, when you were coming home, why you left?—”
“Why? You dare ask why?” He laughed without humor. “If ruining my wedding—three times!—wasn’t enough, perhaps we might add in the repeated lies, dragging me to another country under false pretenses, and oh, let us not forget locking me in a closet?—”
“It was a dressing room! And I did not lock you in! I merely took advantage of a f-fortunate…accident…”
She trailed off, eyes wide as she took in her son’s thunderous expression. Silence reigned for a long, tense moment.
“Mon coeur,” she began again in a much less strident tone. “I may have gone too far at times, but you must understand I did the best I could with what means were available. I desire only to help you—to save you from an ill-considered marriage?—”
“What could possibly be ill-considered about Claire?” Jonathan burst out. “She’s an earl’s daughter from an irreproachable line! Her family counts kings as friends?—”
“It is not her family I object to. Just look at her! Her hair, her dress…”
When they both wheeled round to do so, Claire discovered it was impossible to die from embarrassment, for otherwise she would surely have perished. Which might have been preferable to enduring their scrutiny whilst attempting to flatten her windswept hair and conceal her stained gown.
Contempt deepened the lines around the duchess’s mouth. “These English girls,” she muttered. “I had hoped to introduce you to some suitable young women during our time in France, mon coeur, that you might see what is lacking here. No élégance, no dignité, no humilité. Nothing but vulgar Protestant pride! I am sure Lady Claire is a nice girl, but she will not make you a good wife. She is too willful, too strong-minded to be ruled by her husband as she ought. She will never learn her place.”
By this time, tears—of shame or rage, she didn’t know which—were beginning to prick Claire’s eyes. She needed to escape before she either lost her temper or broke down in sobs. But as she staggered to her feet, Jonathan’s next words brought her to a standstill.
“You’re right, maman.”
Fourteen
SHOCK AND PAIN knocked the wind out of Claire.
She’d heard Jonathan say hurtful things before—thoughtless things, unjust things, cold and bitter and resentful things. But never had she heard him speak of her with contempt.
Did he hate her now? In less than forty-eight hours had she managed to quash not only his faith in her, but all affection for her as well?
When she sought the answer in his gaze, what she saw there deepened her confusion. She found no trace of contempt to match his words. Instead she saw laughter in his eyes and a wicked half-smile curving his lips.
That wicked half-smile she hadn’t glimpsed since last Christmas—except in her dreams every night since.
She tried to quell her heart, for it had begun to hammer against her ribs. Hush, she told it sternly, the smile isn’t for you. It’s mocking you and your English vulgarity. He agrees with all his mother said of you, remember? He just told her she was right.
“Or rather,” Jonathan continued as though he’d read Claire’s thoughts, “you’re right about one thing, maman. But as to everything else, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
He grasped Claire’s hand, and now in addition to the hammering, her heart began expanding in her chest. Though he went on addressing the duchess, his fathomless eyes locked on Claire’s.
“No elegance, no dignity?” Jonathan made a derisive sound. “If you had seen how Claire acquitted herself today, you’d never say so again. Of humility, I only worry she may possess rather too much. And as for how she looks…” His gaze raked Claire from top to toe. “I’ve never beheld a more beautiful sight.”
Her grace made some scornful reply that Claire couldn’t be bothered to absorb. Her swelling heart had begun to crowd the breath from her lungs.
“Yet in one instance, maman, I must credit your keen perception. You’ve seen Claire’s pride—her strength—her indomitable spirit. I suspect she has more spirit in her little finger than I have in my whole body. That’s why I need her at my side, and why I hope she’ll never be ruled by her husband. What use have I for a wife who submits to me in all things? Who would shut her eyes to my foibles instead of challenging me to become the best man I can be?”
“I cannot believe what I am hearing!” Her grace’s voice rose in pitch. “You are a duke, the descendant of two ancient noble families. What use have you for this unnatural sort of woman, who would dare to question a great man’s wisdom and seek to supplant his will?”
Laughing low, Jonathan finally looked from Claire to his mother. “If I am habituated to such a woman as you describe, maman, I fear you must lay the blame at your own feet.”
The duchess was incandescent. “The cases are not the same! It was I who brought you into this world, I who sacrificed all for you. In thirty years, have I done one thing for my own good? No, all I’ve done has been for you! I made you the man you ought to be, and I alone know what is best for you. I have earned my place at your side, whilst this”—she gestured rudely to Claire—“this shameless disgracieux?—”
