“Is there something else?” she pressed.
“There is…” He considered her still, nervous, it seemed, unsure of what he was about to say. “My uncle… although we did well at the Whitcombe Ball, he insists that we attend another event. A means to further press the narrative so there can be no question regarding the state of this marriage.”
Her heart began to flutter with excitement. “Did he now? And how do you feel about that?”
“It makes no difference how I feel,” he said simply. “He is correct in what he says. We must be seen in public together on one more occasion, under similar circumstances to the last time.”
Clara smiled, even if it felt a little out of place. This was exactly what she wanted to hear. Another chance to be seen in the ton with Alaric. Another chance to grow closer to her husband, where he would be forced not to rebuff her but accept her advancements as he had at the ball. And if things went as they had the last time, she was certain that by the time the event wasthrough, their marriage would be transcending to a new state beyond the current dispassionate one that it currently existed.
That was her first impression, but it was quickly smothered and stifled because Clara could see right away that things were not nearly that simple.
Alaric did not look pleased by this declaration, as she might have hoped. If anything, he looked downright distraught. One would think he was telling her of a funeral they needed to attend, and not a day spent together among their peers.
He is still so damn careful not to appear as if he cares. Terrified, even. Was it so terrible to let his guard drop for only one night?
“Is that all?” she asked him. “Might I know what event we will be attending?”
“The Merryweather’s are hosting a garden party two days hence,” he told her. “A day event, it will be a rather simple thing.”
“I look forward to it.”
“It is important, Clara, that we…” He bit into his lip, at pains to say the right thing. “That we rememberwhywe are doing this. You understand?”
“I do,” she said, still smiling. “To convince the ton of the blissful state of this marriage.”
“Just as it is important to remember that it is all an act,” he added next, his tone sharp so that she winced. “It is not real. And I do not wish to give you the wrong idea.” He looked at her pointedly. “We are pretending only, and I need you to remember that when we attend.”
“Oh…” She blinked, leaning back as if struck. “Well, yes, I know that. But that does not mean we cannot enjoy ourselves also. As at the Whitcombe Ball, I thought that you and I had a rather enjoyable –”
“It was fine,” he cut her off. “It was fine because I was playing a role. And that was all I was doing.” He looked right at her as if to hammer the point home. “I was playing a role, the same as you. A role we will play again, hopefully for the last time.”
This time, Clara did not smile. She felt her stomach squirm and tie itself into knots in a way that brought about a feeling of dread. There was nothing romantic or even civil about the duke’s harsh words. They were expected. Of course, they were; Alaric knew how a Duke should behave. But it was the way that he said them that irked her.
Is it not enough that he simply reminds me that we need to be on our best behavior? Why does he insist on clarifying that if he is seen to be treating me well or with kindness, that it is an act? Is he trying to hurt me?
She knew that he was just being careful. She knew that he was doing all he could to fight against whatever demons it was that he had been battling. His walls, so high and sturdy, refused tocome down, and he was at pains to keep them so. And yet… it might have been nice if he could at least pretend that he was looking forward to spending time with her.
They had been through so much. Clara had felt that they were finally starting to make progress. And then moments like this happened, serving as a reminder that for all the progress they had made, there was still much to do.
“I will remember,” she said with slight mockery. “If I find myself having too good a time, I shall remind myself that it is all a show. I would hate to actually enjoy my time with you. What a horror that would be.”
His lip curled, but he straightened it. “Good,” he then said. “So long as you remember why we are doing this.”
“How could I forget, as you are so quick to remind me,” she responded coldly, hoping that he heard the hurt in her voice.
Whether he did or did not, she could not say, for he turned then and left her standing there in the garden. Alone, as was a state of being that she was all but too used to. Too many times now, Clara had thought that she was breaking through his walls, forcing him from his shell as they grew closer…
… only to be reminded in painful detail of how little progress they had made. Would the Merryweather garden party prove to be another step forward in this marriage? Would the duke be as he was at the Whitcombe Ball, free and fun, his true self as she saw it? And would that finally see this marriage turn intosomething real?Just as I know it can be.Or would the duke be even more guarded than usual, terrified to let that side of him show?
Time would tell, she supposed, and where Clara wanted to hope for the best, she had long since learned that where hope made a fine breakfast, it was a poor supper. Not to be relied upon, as it only led to misery.
Sixteen
This felt different from the last time. More rigid. More formal. Morefalsein every conceivable aspect. Where the Whitcombe Ball had been a revelation, Clara and the duke finding a natural companionship and an unexpected comfort together, which had allowed them to relax and be real with one another, the Merryweather garden party stood in complete contrast.
It feels as if I am entering this party with a statue hanging from my arm. A corpse that I have dressed and dragged from the grave, while hoping that nobody will discover the ruse.
“Thank you again,” Clara said as she and Alaric walked around the side of Merryweather Manor, coming upon the back garden where the party was already in full swing. “For inviting me today.”
