“You better not be,” Lord Wolfe said. “That is the last thing we need. All I want from you is the appearance of happiness. What happens behind closed doors…” He looked about. “Best that I not know, truth be told. But you will do this, Alaric. There is a garden party in two days, to be hosted by Lord and Lady Merryweather. It is a perfect opportunity for the two of you to be seen.”
“And if I do not want to be seen?”
He shrugged. “Have we not just been over this? It is not a conversation, Alaric. It needs to be done. If not for me…” He made sure to be looking right at Alaric. “For your father. I think we can both agree you owe him that much.”
Alaric grimaced, for he knew it to be true. He hated his father more than even his uncle might realize. For how he was raised. For what happened with Helena. For the man he was today. Even still…There is a part of me that will always be his son, that scared little boy desperate to appease him. I don’t know if I will ever truly break from it.
Still, the danger was apparent and could not be ignored. The last time that Alaric had taken Clara out in public, he had very nearly forgotten himself and the promises he had made. Dammit, he had wanted to forget. It was just lucky that Clara had reminded him by mentioning his ex-wife, forcing him back into reality and giving him the excuse he needed to shut her out, as he had promised himself he would.
Should he take her out again, however, Alaric could not say what might happen. He knew what he needed to do. But was he strong enough? Could he continue to resist her?I suppose I am going to find out.
“Good,” Lord Wolfe said, sensing the fight leave Alaric. “This is the smart play, Alaric. The only play.”
“This is the last time,” Alaric said to him. “I will dance to your tune. I willperformas I need to. But after today, we are done. Do you understand me?”
“Alaric…” His uncle flashed him a victorious smile. “If you play your part well enough, there will be no need after today. Remember that, let it guide you. But above all else…” He sat his large body up and looked firmly at Alaric in warning. “Do not let it go to your head. It is a performance, not reality. Do not let your emotions get the better of you.”
“Emotions?” Alaric said bitterly. “Uncle, you and I both know they are long since dead.”
Fifteen
“Clara, if we might speak for a minute.”
When Clara looked up to see the duke striding towards her, she almost cried out in surprise. Since moving into this castle, not once had the duke come to see her. The only time he spoke with her was during supper, and even that was a stifled thing where little was said, and it was more about thefeelof being near one another.
It caught her completely unawares, a moment of panic because she wasn’t prepared for such a thing. There was always an atmosphere of tension surrounding her interactions with the duke, and she might have liked a moment or two to compose herself, to think of what to say, to try and assess the mood he was in so she would know how to approach him.
His mood… it is always the same. Somber and careful. Sullen and morose. From the look on his face, I cannot tell if he means to kiss me or chastise me. Perhaps both!
“Yo – Your Grace,” she stammered nervously, jumping to her feet. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Is it?” He reached her but stopped a few feet short. Then, he raised an eyebrow and looked her over in what she perceived as judgment.
As it was mid-morning, and it was not raining for a damn change, Clara was doing as she always did: tending the garden. And although she wore an apron to try to keep some of the mud and dirt from her garments, it was a pointless endeavor, such that she wondered why she even bothered. Covered in dirt. Face stained. Hair messy. She was a filthy…another reason why I might have liked a warning before this approach.
“That depends…” She felt herself blushing, but she forced it down. “Do I have something on my face?”
It was a joke, but the duke did not laugh. Although she did not expect him to. That he was here speaking to her at all was a sign she took to be a good one, proof that their conversation the previous evening was necessary and that it might have even helped their situation as they came to better understand one another.Even if it does not feel like it. Although, where Alaric is concerned, nothing ever feels as it should.
“I do not know if you noticed, but my uncle, Lord Wolfe, has just paid me a visit.”
“Oh…” She looked past him, toward the front of the castle. “Is that who that was?”
“My father’s brother,” he explained simply, although there was a bite behind his voice, a tenseness to the explanation that suggested the relationship wasn’t nearly that simple. “He likes to check on me from time to time.”
“How nice of him.”
He scoffed. “I assure you that his motive is anything but nice. His visit pertained to the Whitcombe Ball and our reception as regards the ton.”
“Oh…?”
“According to my uncle, we did exceedingly well. Most who saw us believed our marriage to be a happy one. And many even agreed that together we made quite the pairing.” A slight flicker of a smile rose up the side of his face, but he was quick to dismiss it.
Clara was not so shy. She smiled brightly, thrilled to hear the assessment. “That is good news. Albeit not a surprise. I did not want to get ahead of myself, but I, too, thought we made quite the pairing.” She laughed jokingly, praying that he would at least smile. Which he certainly did not. “Which means that the night was a success. That was its purpose, no?”
“It was,” he said. He let that final comment dangle, the sense that there was something else he needed to say.
This announcement was good news, at least Clara thought so. Oh sure, it was all supposed to be pretend, but she knew in her heart that it was not nearly that simple. She hadfeltsomething between them that night. For a moment, she had seen the real Alaric shine in ways that he fought so hard against. And that the rest of the ton had seen it too, and that they liked what they saw…surely, this is cause to celebrate? Perhaps giving him a reason not to fight this marriage so terribly hard.
