“Is that so?” Lord Wolfe cocked an eyebrow. “I have known you since you were a baby, Alaric. I know you better than most. And even I have been forced to stop and question the truth behind these rumors.” He scoffed. “This here is a perfect example! Tell me, where is this lovely wife of yours? Where are you hiding her?”
“I am not hiding her.”
“So you say,” he continued. “But until it is proven that this marriage is beyond a mere attempt to cover a scandal – and that you have not locked your poor bride up in a dungeon or fed her to the dogs –”
“Oh, please.”
“ – people will continue to chatter,” he spoke over Alaric. “By trying to cover one scandal, you have opened yourself to another. And where you might not trouble yourself with the ton,” He widened his eyes, and spittle flew from his mouth. “I do! Now, tell me. What are you going to do about it!”
Alaric had guessed when his uncle arrived on his doorstep that the visit would not be a pleasant one. What he hadn’t guessed was just how right he would be.
Having cut himself off so fastidiously from the outside world, Alaric was not privy to the gossip that sang through the ton. Truly, he cared little about it. Even where his name was concerned, he had grown so used to what people said of him that he had learned to live with itbecause words could not hurt him. Not when the pain he lived with each and every single day was so ruinous.
His uncle was of a different mind.
It had been two weeks now since he had wed Clara, bringing her back to his house and proceeding to live as he had done before the wedding. This, as it turned out, was not good enough for his so-called peers. Having seen neither hide nor hair of Alaric or Clara since, fresh rumors had started up again, each more troubling than the last.
He had locked Clara in a dungeon, people said. He was torturing her daily, others agreed. She was dead. He had fed her to his dogs. He did to her what he had done to his last wife and then his father. And on and on the rumors went.
“Let us not waste time, Uncle,” Alaric sighed. “You did not come here because you wished to hear what I had to say. You know what it is I need to do, so why don’t you just tell me and get it over with.”
His uncle scoffed. “Ever perceptive, aren’t you. You are right, however, I have not come unprepared. And as it so happens, the cure is an easy one to swallow. The problem, as you know, ishow damn isolated you are. If people could just see you and Her Grace together, then what is being said will be proven as false.”
“So, what?” Alaric sighed. “We are to go for a promenade? Is that your marvelous idea?”
“Better than that,” his uncle dismissed. “In two nights’ time, Lord and Lady Whitcombe are hosting a ball, and it would look well if you and Her Grace were to attend.”
Alaric groaned. “Anything else, please.”
“It is the only way,” his uncle insisted. “If not for me, for your father. What would he say?”
If my uncle thinks that mentioning my father is what will change my mind, perhaps he does not know me as well as he thinks.
Alaric curled his lip in disgust at the idea. He did not like socializing. He did not like balls. And above all else, he did not like being told what to do.
He almost said no, if for no other reason than to see his uncle writhe in agony. What stopped him was a thought which made him feel sick with guilt, a sudden realization that none of this was about him and his own name, for he did not care about that. Rather, it had everything to do with Clara.
Was that not the point of this marriage? To protect Clara and her name? He had agreed because he did not want her life ruined by scandal, and he was serious about her being free to leave him once the year was at its end. But what good would that do if by then everyone assumed the worst of this marriage? Her name would be as ruined as his own, and all of this would be for nought.
But why do I care? I don’t care about anyone. That is the point! To shut myself off. To ignore my emotions. To live as if I am the only person left in this world…
It was getting harder and harder for Alaric to deny how he was feeling about Clara. The desire to keep his distance, withering daily as he felt himself drawn to her for reasons he could not explain. He found that he cared about her. He found that he wanted her to be happy. That her happiness brought him… not joy, but relief, because the last thing he wished was to see her miserable.
All of this was the antithesis of what Alaric wanted, and yet he felt his resistance waning… “Fine,” he said with a bite behind his words. “It will be done.”
“See that it is,” his uncle said with a righteous nod. “The future of our family depends on you, Alaric. Do not let me down in this.”
So it was that evening, when Alaric sat down for supper with Clara, that the invitation sat on the edge of his tongue in a way that made his stomach twist with nerves. They always ate supper together, and it was always done in silence. Truthfully, Alaricfound that he enjoyed these moments. They were not as tense as they could have been, nor were they awkward. There was a comfort to them, as he had forgotten how it felt to be in the company of someone whom he cared for.
The supper stretched, and Alaric finished his meal first. Ordinarily, this would see him leave immediately, at which point Clara would say good night, and he would return the gesture. It was a routine they had grown into, one he looked forward to all day. Tonight, however…
He did not rise. He stared at his plate, finding the courage to voice what he must. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught Clara watching him with curiosity.I do so love the way she stares. Those big eyes. The kindness in them, of which I am undeserving.
“How… how was the food?” he asked hesitantly.
“Oh.” She blinked in surprise. “It was lovely, thank you.”
“I am glad.” He was still looking at his plate, and he could still feel her watching him. His heart beat quickly and painfully; he winced to feel it, forcing himself to look down the table at Clara. “There is something we must speak of.”
