“Maman!" Jonathan growled fiercely (though not with the guttural resonance that made Claire shiver). “If you desire to ever see me again, you will not complete that sentence.”
“You intend we should see each other again?” Her grace reached for him. “We’ll go back to the way things were?”
“No!” He recoiled, raising his satchel like a shield. “We can never go back. How can you suppose it possible after what you’ve done? How could I ever trust or confide in you again?” Though she looked crushed, he set his jaw and pressed on. “If we meet at all, it will be on formal terms. You’re not to come and go from my house nor meddle in my affairs. If I hear you’ve been spying on my servants or uttering one word of abuse toward my wi—er—toward Claire, whether or not she agrees to marry me?—”
“Yes!” Claire exclaimed heedlessly. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
If Jonathan appeared startled by her outburst, Claire was scarcely less so.
“Well!” he said loudly, his mouth slowly spreading in an ear-to-ear grin. “Well!”
Discarding his satchel, he grabbed Claire and pinned her to his side, making her fear (or perhaps hope) he intended to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her senseless, right there in front of his mother.
But he only kissed her hand and laced its fingers with his own. “Well,” he echoed one final time, turning back to the duchess and regaining his stern countenance. “There you have it. Er—where was I?”
“You shan’t hear one word of abuse toward your wife,” Claire put in helpfully.
“Right. Which is to say, maman, I expect you to treat Claire civilly. You’re not to snub her in company or in private. No veiled insults; no unflattering insinuations; no schemes to undermine her new position or restore your former one; no slandering her to the neighbors or your staff or anyone else. Have I forgotten anything important?” he asked Claire.
She stifled a laugh. “I think you’ve pretty well covered it.”
“Splendid. Have I made myself clear, maman?”
The duchess’s mouth hung open in a most uncouth fashion. “And this is how you speak to me?” she demanded shrilly. “The woman who gave up everything for love of you?”
“I never asked you to give up anything,” he burst out in obvious frustration. “You decided that all on your own; I was just a child with no say in the matter. And by the by, if I’d had any say, I’d have told you not to do it! I’d have said, ‘Maman, please don’t sacrifice your happiness. Please don’t give up your comforts. I love you too much to steal your life from you.’ But that hardly signifies, as you wouldn’t have listened. And I’m tired of carrying this burden you forced on me, this debt I can never hope to repay.”
“I see, mon coeur.” Slowly Jonathan’s mother rose, tucking her dog under one arm. “I am nothing more than a burden to you now. That’s all I shall be for the remainder of my days.”
Jonathan groaned expressively.
“It’s not too late, your grace,” Claire chimed in.
The duchess’s eyes flashed. “I beg your pardon?” she said through gritted teeth. “It is not too late for what?”
“To take your life back. You’re not a burden on anyone; you’ve got your own income, after all. You could travel the world; seek out new social circles or a new romance; settle in London or Paris or anywhere else you please.”
Her grace’s eyes narrowed. “That’s your aim, is it? You would ship me off to some ghastly city or across an ocean, the better to keep my son all to yourself and under your thumb?—”
“Maman!” Jonathan broke in.
She waved him off. “Don’t worry, mon coeur, I shall leave without a fuss. You will be happier without me.”
She turned to go, though in a rather dawdling manner, as though expecting to be stopped. When Jonathan moved to block her exit, she whirled back with a look of triumph—which dropped straight off her face as she realized he’d only been reaching for the bell pull.
The butler’s prompt appearance made Claire suspect he’d been listening at the door.
“Mr. Evans,” Jonathan said, “her grace is ready to depart. Would you please order her carriage?”
“I took the liberty of doing so some time ago.” Mr. Evans turned to the duchess with a bow. “Your grace’s carriage is ready.”
Though she greeted this declaration with visible astonishment (and horror), there was naught the Dowager Duchess of Rathborne could do but allow herself to be led away.
Fifteen
SILENTLY HOLDING hands, Claire and Jonathan stared at the door long after his mother had disappeared behind it.
It was Claire who broke the silence, for several unanswered questions had been flitting about in her head. The first she gave voice to was: “When her grace said she ‘knew what that meant’—regarding Andrews arriving on the Canterbury stage—what did that mean?”
