She sighed. “Meredith?—”
“You cannot keep hiding forever,” her friend interrupted, stepping farther into the room.
“I’mnothiding.”
Meredith arched a single, unimpressed brow.
Clare exhaled sharply, setting down her hairbrush with a quiet thud. “I simply don’t enjoy these gatherings.”
“Come on, Clare. You haven’t been out socially in weeks.” She placed on a hand on her belly. “And this is the last timeI’llbe able to go out in Society for months.”
“I haven’t been out socially inyears,” Clare muttered. “And I’ve survived just fine.”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “You used to love parties. And you cannot let them win.”
Clare stiffened. “Let who win?”
“The ones who whisper behind their fans. The ones who think you’re too ashamed to show your face.” Meredith met her gaze, steady and unyielding. “You aren’t ashamed, are you?”
Clare narrowed her eyes. “Of course not.”
“Then come,” Meredith pressed. “Let them see you. Besides, this is your last taste of freedom before the winter.”
Clare hesitated. Her friend knew her well, knew which argument to use to convince her. And normally, she would refuse. She would let them all go without her, content in the quiet solitude of her room.
But tonight… Tonight, something shifted.
Perhaps it was Meredith’s words, the reminder that she had spent too long letting Society control her. Perhaps it was the anticipation of Ash’s absence, the emptiness that was already settling in her chest at the thought of not seeing him again after she returned to the country tomorrow.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, she was tired of being the woman everyone whispered about.
Lifting her chin, she met Meredith’s gaze. “Fine. I’ll go.”
A bright smile covered Meredith’s face. “Good. Let’s make them remember who you are.”
And for the first time in a long time, Clare intended to do exactly that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ashford Drake was not a man who got nervous. He had faced duels, scandal, and enough would-be marchionesses to fill a ballroom. He had bluffed his way through high-stakes card games, talked his way out of sticky situations, and charmed his way into women’s beds with nothing but a grin and a well-placed whisper.
But tonight?
Tonight, he was sweating through his cravat and felt like he might be violently ill.
Because tonight, he was going to ask Clare Handleton to marry him. Only this time, he intended to do it correctly, romantically, properly. This time would involve a ring and dropping to one knee, and the absolute certainty he wanted her to say yes.
The thought sent a rush of nerves straight through him, and he exhaled sharply, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket as he entered the grand ballroom. The chandeliers glittered overhead, and the air was thick with perfume and whispered gossip. He barely registered any of it.
His eyes found her instantly.
Clare.
She stood across the room, poised and radiant in that glowing ember gown he remembered from the house party, the one that made her golden hair shine like the last bit of light at sunset. The candlelight caught in her profile, making it glow, and when she turned slightly, he caught the sharp, intelligent gleam in her dark eyes—the same gleam that had always made him want to chase her, to challenge her, tokeepher.
And now? Now, he was about to irreversibly change himself for her.
And he couldn’t wait. He was eager for it.
