“I meant nothing by it,” Clara said with innocence. “I was simply agreeing with you. That it takes a special someone to deal with one so…” She smirked. “Forthright.”
“How dare you?” Lady Brickstone hissed. “Who do you think you are?”
“Me? Nobody,” Clara responded simply. “A wallflower is all. As you implied.”
She knew she should not bait the woman. What was more, Lady Brickstone’s voice had begun to rise, and those in the vicinity were turning to see what was the cause of the commotion. They had managed to go all day without creating a scene, so close to being gone from here and being done with this charade. All Clara needed to do was apologize and pray that the lady forget the insult, and the day could still be saved.
Or rather, that was what she might have liked.
“A wallflower?” Lady Brickstone scoffed. “More like a –”
“I will stop you right there,” Alaric spoke over her. The niceties were gone from his tone. The air of friendliness vanished as if it had never been. He stepped forward, towering over the drunken lady as he glowered down at her. “I see that you are drunk –”
“What!”
“—which is why I am willing to overlook this little performance of yours.” Alaric clung to Clara as if protecting her. Gone was the distance. Gone was the sense of aloofness and dispassion. It was the first time since the Whitcombe Ball that she had felt as if she mattered to the duke. “But if you think I will stand here and allow you to speak that way to my wife, then you are, quite frankly, as stupid as you are inebriated.”
Clara gasped. Lady Brickstone’s face drained of color. Around them, dozens watched on in a state of shock and awe. This was the Duke of Ravencourt, whom they knew well. This was the side of him that they were expecting. And oh, how they began to whisper and mutter among themselves with both fear and excitement because of it.
Clara’s cheeks began to flush red as she gazed at the duke with a newfound sense of confusion.What was that? One minute, he is happy to ignore me. The next, he defends me as if his life depends on it.
She knew she should have been glad for what he had done. Dammit, she should have been thrilled! But it added yet another layer of unknowing to a situation which was already rife with confusion. Whatever she had thought this marriage was, she realized now that she could not have been more wrong.
“I think it is time we leave,” Alaric said, keeping his hold tight on Clara.
“Y – yes,” she stammered, still taken by surprise. “Let’s.”
And so, they did. They walked from the garden party, arm in arm, through the masses which parted for them quickly. Nobody came to say goodbye. Nobody waved them farewell or threw to call after them. A scene had been caused, and Clara could not decide if this might bode well for their marriage or have the opposite effect.
What is more, I am not even sure the duke cares.Which, as it stood, made things even more confusing still.
Seventeen
They rode home in silence. One that was wrought with tension.
Several times, Clara thought to break it, only to catch her tongue as she watched her husband closely, wishing that it was he who would do so.That he might explain himself! That he might admit to me why he acted the way that he did. That he might finally admit it to himself!It was all just so confusing. The way he constantly changed his stance and his actions. The way that he pushed her away, only to grab her and then pull her back in without explanation.
She realized quickly, however, that he was not going to say what she needed him to. Or anything, for that matter. As soon as they climbed into the carriage and it took off, he shuffled into the corner and turned to face the window, cutting his body off from her entirely.
As to Clara? She spent the entire trip glaring at his head, hoping he might turn around and see her sitting there. That he might see her at all! His wife. Someone whom he so clearly cared for. Not a burden. Not an imposition. But the woman whom she knew he was falling for. That’s who she was!
Yet, there was nothing. Just that silence, growing heavy and awkward the longer they both stewed in it. And when they did finally arrive at the castle, the second the carriage came to a stop, the duke threw open the doors and leapt outside without so much as a backward glance.
Clars stayed where she was, staring at him as he went, fury raging inside of her, disbelief battering her down.Is that it then? Our last outing as man and wife? My last chance to break through the duke’s walls? Is this how it ends…
Times that Clara might have left it there.
The old her, the one who had been raised in a home where she was treated as less than nothing, certainly would have. She had known better than to argue with her father. She had been shaped by his antipathy and the fear which came whenever she imagined herself standing up to him. The old Clara was a wallflower, not brave, not capable of fighting for what she believed in. But the new Clara…
She felt a sudden surge of passion. She heard a voice inside her head, screaming at her not to let this go. Time and time again, she had convinced herself that this marriage was over, only for the duke to prove otherwise, only for him to then turn his backon the progress he had promised her. It was confusing. It hurt as much as anything. And, quite frankly, she was tired of it.
If this were to be the end of her hopes, she would not go down without a fight. And so, that is exactly what she did: she fought.
Clara swept from the carriage. She raced across the drive and to the castle, reaching the stairs just as Alaric walked inside. Up those stairs she hurried, reaching the foyer as Alaric came upon the base of the interior staircase.
“Alaric!” she cried after him, “Where are you going?”
“That does not concern you,” he said without turning back.
