Clayton’s heavy features crumpled. “Oh, Daria,” he groaned, mistaking her reaction as one of sorrow.
No. No. No. No. No. It’d been easier when he’d been overbearing and rude. For the first time since she’d sprung the news upon him, her own heart buckled.
A sob burst from Daria’s throat. She ran into her brother’s arms, and as he’d always done, as he’d never do again, he folded her in a warm, secure embrace.
Her big-hearted, loving brother, who knew her so well, didn’t swarm her with words. He simply held her, conferring comfort.
For the last time.
That role now belonged to another. A hard-hearted, diffident man like Gregory didn’t know her. He hadn’t even wanted her. He’d certainly never fill the gaping void.
Daria’s teeth chattered.
“He doesn’t know you, Daria,” her brother said quietly against her ear. “Not like we do. He is a stranger. You have nothing in common with this man.”
This man.
Feeling the tug of betrayal at that othering of her husband, she glanced over to where Gregory stood, arms folded, his exquisitely crafted features a study in boredom.
Somehow Daria found the will to step away from Clayton.
To mourn what she wouldn’t have, when he’d given her precisely what she asked for, was the height of wrong. He deserved far more from Daria.
She brushed at her cheeks.
Clayton’s hands shook as he fought to collect his handkerchief from inside his jacket when a crisp, neatly-folded, and increasingly familiar square materialized before Daria.
Blinking wildly, she looked to the slip of fabric Gregory tendered.
With a quiet word of thanks, she accepted his offering.
Having been a deuced poor read of people’s words and their meanings the whole of her life, at some point, Daria developed an ability to read the unspoken signals—as she did now.
She took in the paper-thin set to Gregory’s mouth.
The rigid tension about his angular jaw.
A mask was all it was. So much of him was, and she wondered if he even knew who he was.
The rest of her parting continued in a whir. Final hugs and felicitations from her mother and sisters. A composed Clayton, hanging on the edge of it all.
It is too fast.
Her heart clamored.
It was all too fast.
Then, with Daria’s brother, four of her sisters, mother, and sister-in-law lining the limestone steps of her childhood home and waving—mostly with false cheer—Gregory escorted Daria to his waiting carriage.
His carriage? A fresh surge of panic seized her.
Or was it nowtheirs, since the Barker and Company conveyance would be how Daria traveled from this day forward?
As Gregory paused to speak with his driver, Daria wandered close to the black, gold-trimmed coach and stopped. With sick fascination, she took in the ominous crest emblazoned upon thegleaming panel. Amidst a crimson wreath, a pair of snarling painted lions held the duke’s insignia aloft. At its center: Firnus Maneo—I Remain Firm.
A strong but gentle hand touched the small of her back.
Daria startled. Heart thundering, she lifted unblinking eyes to her husband.
