She scoffed. “Worse still! Yes, your father is cruel. And his plan to send you to a convent was…” She shook her head and sighed. “Not ideal. But you could have talked him out of it! I’ll admit the frying pan was intolerable, but did you have to jump straight into the fire?”
“Have you ever known my father to be talked out of anything?”
Alicia winced. “He might have changed his mind…”
“I appreciate your concern,” Clara said. “But this is my decision to make. I am the one who sought it, and I am the one seeing it through.” It was strange that this brought Clara comfort. All her life, she had been a leaf in the wind, pushed and pulled and told what to do and how to do it. That she was the one who made this happen, going over her father’s head as she had done so he could not refuse, instilled in her a sense of power that she’d never felt before.
“But the duke…” Alicia was trembling. “If half of what they say is true –”
“Rumors only,” she assured her friend. “I mean, if it was, do you think my father would have said yes?”Not that he had a choice. She smiled at the thought, taking pleasure in images of her father’s rage when he had learned what she had done, and then his realization that there was nothing he could do about it.
“I guess…”
“I will be fine,” Clara said assuredly. “I promise.”
The words were spoken for her as much as for her friend. Although Clara did not think the duke to be as bad as people said, he was certainly not as gallant as she might have liked either. He was cold and distant. Dispassionate and voidof emotion. Not wicked, she did not think, but there was a wickedness to him, demons which she could see haunting him. Even if she could not guess at their cause.
The only solace she could take was that their dwelling together had an end date, and with that end date, this marriage could only be one of convenience. He did not love her. He did not wish to keep her locked up. If anything, he wished for her to be gone.And when I am that, then my life will begin in earnest. Maybe I can still find a way for someone to love me.
Soon, her father knocked on the door and entered the room. He did not smile. He did not look pleased to see her. Anger brimmed behind his eyes, as he was still furious at what had happened. Never mind the dowry that the duke had agreed to pay. This was about power, of which her father had none.
“They are ready,” he said gruffly. And then he turned and left.
The chapel where they were to wed sat in a small parish not too far from Wolfe Estate, the duke’s home. It was an out-of-the-way chapel, by no means popular, nor was it lavish or rich as might be expected of one that served a duke. It was a simple little hut of a building, perfect for what this marriage signified.
Indeed, as Clara entered the chapel and cast her gaze about those who had come to see her off on her special day, she could not help but feel a sense of despondence at how utterly lacking the mood was.I have dreamed of this day all my life, and this does not come close to what I pictured.One more year, shereminded herself, one more year until she could at least taste freedom of a sort.
There were fewer than a dozen people, mostly on the duke’s side. There was no music. No decoration. No hushed gasps of awe when she appeared. No tears. No smiles of joy. It was closer to a funeral than a wedding.
And none of that was to mention the groom!
It was the first time Clara had seen him since the night she had gone to his home, and little had changed. He was dressed in black. His expression was severe. His grey eyes hinted at a warning, as if he was trying to silently scare her away.He is handsome, of that there can be no doubt. But what difference did it make if he did not smile or show any sense of joy?
Clara started down the aisle, her heart fluttering. She was not afraid. She was cautious. Optimism, she tried to embody, but it crashed and burned when she reached the duke, who looked at her with what almost appeared to be sadness, as if he was the one being forced into a marriage. She frowned at the expression, and he looked away.
However, as she came to his side and the priest directed them to take one another’s hands, the result was… interesting, to say the least.
All this time, Clara had been too distracted by the duke’s more menacing attributes to worry about such follies as attraction. And she doubted that he saw such things in her. But as theirhands intertwined, she felt a pulse erupt across her palm and then spread up her arm. It was warm. It was safe. It made her gasp, and she nearly tore her hand away.
Eyes wide, she dared a glance at the duke, noticing the way he bit into his lip as he stared purposefully ahead.Did he feel it too? Her heart was racing now, and it had nothing to do with nerves.
The ceremony was simple. The words spoken were hollow. But when it came toward the end, they were directed to face one another. Clara looked up and met the duke’s eyes. She looked through the sadness and into him, searching for a sign that he wasn’t dreading this, or that he wasn’t angry with her. And as she did, she saw something that again made her heart race. It was hesitation, a tight set to his mouth that told her he was doing all he could to not see her. And still she felt his hand wrapped about her own as if he would never let go.
Most ceremonies did not end with a kiss, and Clara suspected that this would not be the exception to that rule. But when they were pronounced man and wife, a hush fell about the chapel. Breaths were held. Eyes were trained on them. Clara, still looking at the duke, felt her eyes stray to his lips, and she stepped forward as if on instinct.
He stiffened at the gesture. He licked his lips as his eyes strayed to her mouth. She felt him squeeze her hand. She could see him hesitate, tempting himself to lean forward and kiss her…
But then he released her and stepped away.
Clara gasped at the action, torn from the moment. A deep breath taken. Her body was on fire, and she was shaking. This marriage, one which had felt so cold and formal, was suddenly possessed with a different kind of energy. A marriage of convenience…is there a chance it might be something more?
Those thoughts sat with her for only a few minutes. Until the time that she and the duke were being ushered from the chapel, which saw him walk ahead of her, purposefully so it seemed, which she thought might be so that he didn’t have to hold her hand again. And then into the carriage they went, watched on by their few friends and family members. No one cheered. No one clapped. They each knew what this was and weren’t going to pretend differently.
The atmosphere in the carriage was a return to normality.
The duke sat across the other side, his body half turned to look at the window, cutting her off, as if she wasn’t there. She sat awkwardly, caught between silence and wishing to talk.
He is my husband. And where this might not be a love match, it would do if we at least liked one another. Surely, he wants the same?
