"You have taken leave of your senses," she whispered.
"Completely. Will you be my wife anyway?"
"Your aunt will destroy you."
“She can try.”
"The scandal will be enormous."
“Splendid! I am resolved to abandon this state of tiresome propriety.”
"Gabriel…"
"Clara, I've spent three years dying slowly in this house, and you brought me back to life. I'm not going to crawl back into my tomb just because society prefers its dukes properly wedded to appropriate women. I love you. You love me. Everything else is just noise."
Before Clara could respond, the door burst open and Edmund appeared, looking unusually serious. "Gabriel, I apologize for the interruption, but there's something you need to know immediately."
"Edmund, we're rather in the middle of…"
“It concerns Clara's father."
Everyone turned to stare at Edmund, but Clara felt her blood run cold. "My father? But he's dead."
Edmund's expression was grim. "That's what everyone was supposed to believe, but I've been doing some investigating at Gabriel's request, and it seems Dr. Whitfield didn't die of fever as was reported. He was very much alive until three months ago,and he left some rather interesting documents regarding your inheritance."
"What inheritance?" Clara's voice was barely audible. "We had nothing. That's why I had to seek employment."
"That's what you were told. But according to the documents I've obtained, your maternal grandmother left you a considerable sum that was supposed to come to you upon your matrimony or fifth and twentieth birthday, whichever came first. Your father concealed this from you and attempted to claim the money for himself, but there were legal complications that prevented him from accessing it."
"That's impossible."
"I have the papers here if you'd like to see them. Including a letter from your grandmother explaining why she bypassed your father in her will, apparently she didn't trust him to manage money properly, This decision, as it transpired, possessed a degree of foresight, given the notorious state of his finances."
Clara sank into the nearest chair, her legs suddenly unable to support her. "How much?"
"Thirty five hundred pounds."
The room went completely silent. Even Lady Agatha seemed shocked into speechlessness.
"Thirty five hundred pounds," Clara repeated faintly. "That's..."
"Enough to make you a woman of independent means," Gabriel said, his expression unreadable. "Enough that you don't need my employment or anyone else's."
"Enough to make her a legitimate prospect for matrimony to someone of your station," Edmund added helpfully, though his eyes were on Lady Agatha.
"Money doesn't change breeding," Lady Agatha said, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction.
"No, but it certainly changes circumstances," Gabriel said. "Though it changes nothing for me. I was prepared to wed Clara when she had nothing but the clothes on her back. The fact that she has an inheritance doesn't make me love her more,it merely removes one of your objections."
Clara was still processing the information, her mind reeling. "My father lied to me. Let me believe we were destitute, forced me to seek employment, knowing all along that I had an inheritance waiting."
"It appears so," Edmund said gently. "I'm sorry, Clara. I know this must be a shock."
"A shock?" She laughed, though it had a hysterical edge. "My entire life has been based on a lie. Every choice I made, every humiliation I endured, all because my father wanted to steal money that was rightfully mine."
Gabriel knelt beside her chair, taking her hands. "This doesn't change who you are."
"Doesn't it? I'm not the penniless physician's daughter anymore. I'm... I don't even know what I am."
