Secrets of a Duke: A Regency Romance (A Chronicle of Misadventures Book 2), page 25
Instead, she wore a blue gown, fitted at the chest, then flowing all the way down to the grass. Her blonde hair was curled and piled at the crown, and it glistened in the light. Two pearls adorned her ears, and a string of them hung around her neck.
She was breathtaking.
“You were right, Clara,” he said. “A gown and a coiffure change nothing.”
35
CLARA
Clara nodded, trying to smile, but her lips would not obey, quivering as she blinked furiously. Putting on a beautiful dress made her no more fit to be the duke’s wife than draping silk over a scarecrow made it a lady. Had she not argued the same thing to Mrs. Yorke and Mrs. Ashby?
“Do you know why it changes nothing?” He tipped her chin up and wiped a loose tear on her cheek with his thumb. “It matters not what you wear, Clara. You are every bit as beautiful in a dirt-covered apron as you are in this exquisite gown. You have always been the most beautiful person in the world to me.”
Clara shut her eyes and leaned her head into his hand, savoring his words. She did not know what it meant for the future, but simply being loved by the duke in this way was more than she could ever have dreamed of.
But oh, how she wanted more!
“Come,” he said, taking her hand, “let us return.”
She resisted his pull. For so many days, she had been content enough to walk with him from the lodge, then take their separate paths. But she could not bring herself to do it tonight. “Your Grace, I—”
“William,” he corrected her with a smile that sent her pulse racing.
She swallowed. “William.” She took in a breath and gathered her courage. “Go on without me.”
His brows bunched together. “Why?”
She took a moment before responding. This would not be easy to say. “I love you, William. I think I began doing so the moment I saw you sprawled on that couch at The Coach and Lantern.” She smiled at the memory. “And because I love you, part of me wants to take whatever bit of your heart and your life you can offer.” She allowed herself a moment to imagine again what that would be like—to settle for any part of him seemed better than none at all. “But it would not be right. Not for you, not for me, and not for Lady Cassandra.”
“Clara,” he said, facing her fully, “Lady Cassandra and I have agreed we do not suit.”
Her heart lurched.
“Her idea of helping Silas was to set him up in comfort in France—in order to preserve her father’s business relations with Drayton.”
“Good heavens,” Clara breathed, still trying to grasp that he was not engaged to Lady Cassandra, nor had he any intention of becoming so.
But it was a temporary reprieve for her heart. There would be other women—others more than happy to take on the role of the Duchess of Rockwood and with a willingness to pursue Silas’s freedom.
“Come with me, Clara,” the duke said.
She shook her head slowly. “I do not wish to walk with you, only to part once we reach the house—you to the main door, and I to the servant stairs.”
“I do not wish for that, either.” He took a step toward her and looked at her intently. “I am not asking you to walk to Rushlake and part ways with me at the door. I want you to walk through the doors with me, hand in hand, so that I may present you as my future wife.”
Clara’s heart thudded, pounding her ribs like a battering ram, making it impossible to breathe.
His eyes searched hers, full of anxious questions. “But only if you want that too. Our path will not be easy. We will face gossip and coldness, perhaps outright hostility from some. But we will be together.” He paused, looking at her intently. “Can you face that, Clara?”
She nodded fiercely, her throat thick. “Can you?”
He put a hand to her cheek and smiled. “I have never looked on the prospect of societal hostility and judgment with such anticipation.”
She laughed, a rush of joy pulsing through her, then she pulled his lips to hers.
His hands pressed into her back, securing her to him as their mouths melded together. No longer did their kisses hold the bitter undertone of impossibility. Instead, the fire of the future burned between them, searing Clara everywhere his hands touched and his lips pressed.
For the first time, she felt what it was to love and be loved, to want and be wanted in equal measure.
When the duke pulled away, it was just enough to whisper, “I love you, Clara. I am sorry it took so long for me to realize what matters most to me.” He pressed his lips to hers again, full of tenderness. “Will you go with me now?”
Clara’s heart was racing already, but it somersaulted. “Perhaps we should wait.”
“Wait for what?” His hands cradled her head, and the fire in his eyes burned brightly. “You have kept all my secrets. You have been more loyal to me and my family than we have been even to one another at times. I trust you and love you like no one else on God’s green earth. It is you I want to keep my secrets, just as I want to guard yours. But I do not wish for you to be one of those secrets. Not for a moment longer.”
Eyes burning and throat thick, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest.
He kissed the top of her head. “With you by my side, I can face anything.”
She shut her eyes, breathing in his words, allowing herself to believe them. No words had ever tasted so sweet nor rung with such truth inside her.
She took a step back and looked down at her gown. “I am all askew, and I smell of horses.”
William smiled. “You are utterly perfect. But if you wish it, we can go to my bedchamber for you to refresh yourself.”
She nodded. She wanted to be a credit to him as much as she could be.
Hands intertwined, they walked to Rushlake, up the stone steps, and through the large carved door, Clara’s heartbeat rushing. The corridors were empty of guests, but just as they reached the principal staircase, Mary appeared. She stopped short, staring at the duke and Clara, her jaw slipping open.
Clara smiled kindly at her, but Mary was too stunned to do anything but stare more.
They reached the duke’s bedchamber without further incident, and Clara inspected Mrs. Yorke’s gown carefully, amazed to find it in good order, with just one small tear at the hem. It was hardly noticeable, and William insisted Charlotte would not care a jot.
Clara’s hair required a bit more managing, and she pulled out and replaced a few pins in front of the mirror.
William came up behind her, chasing the breath from her lungs as he adjusted the pearls on her neck, his fingers brushing her skin. “If we do not go soon, there will be no one to present you to.”
She sucked in a steadying breath and turned to face him.
“There is just one more thing.” He reached behind her to the dressing table, and she waited until he had turned toward her again.
He held up a glass bottle—his mother’s perfume. “You do not smell like horses, but perhaps this will ease your mind.”
She laughed, and he pulled her hand between them, turning it over to reveal her wrist. He sprayed the perfume there, and she brushed it along her neck, her eyes locked on his.
“It is yours now,” he said, giving her the bottle.
Clara turned it in her hand so the candlelight caught its crystal grooves and ridges. “I will treasure it.”
“And I will treasure you.” He pressed a kiss to the place she had brushed the perfume, sending a torrent of chills down her back as he trailed soft kisses up her neck and along her jaw. “We should go now,” he whispered. “While I still have a shred of willpower.”
She nodded quickly and stepped away, aware of the same growing desire to forget everyone in the ballroom and stay here with the duke. With William. “Yes. Let us go. If you are certain you wish to do this.”
His mouth drew into a smile. “I am certain, and I am eager. Are you certain?” He put out his hand toward her.
She stared at it for a moment, then met his eyes. Taking his hand in hers, she took the first step to the ballroom. Her heart raced with nerves, but every time she looked at the man beside her, it calmed.
When they came through the ballroom doors, there were a few moments before anyone took note of them, giving them time to survey the room. But inevitably, their presence was recognized, and after it, whispers spread and eyes turned.
It was more intimidating than Clara had even imagined. When Lord Redgrave’s wide-eyed stare settled on her, her ability to breathe abandoned her completely.
William squeezed her hand, and she found his gaze on her, warm and reassuring. Her nerves calmed, her lungs slowly filled with air, and she smiled back.
William faced their captive audience, who had all gone quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, I beg your forgiveness for my absence over the past hour. I was engaged in an important endeavor—one which I am certain you will appreciate. I went in search of the woman who stands beside me. I wish to introduce you to her now: she is Mrs. Clara Taylor, my affianced wife and the future Duchess of Rockwood.”
Sharp intakes of breath and a cascade of whispers rippled across the room. Clara could sympathize with the reactions. She felt the same shock herself. But inexpressible joy transcended it entirely.
The fact that he had introduced her by her maiden name was a perfect example of why she loved William.
“Neither of us,” William said over the din, “was born or bred to the positions in which we find ourselves. But together, we intend to create a legacy in which we, our King, and country can take pride.”
Clara’s nerves had returned in full force as she looked up at him again, surrounded by a room abuzz.
What were they to do? Stand there in front of everyone until the gossip expended itself? Until people’s disgust overwhelmed them and they left?
Clara’s free hand was suddenly taken up, and she turned to face the person who had grasped it.
Mrs. Yorke smiled back at her, then dropped into a curtsy. “My deepest and most joyful congratulations to both of you.” When she had risen, however, she wrapped her arms around Clara and embraced her energetically. “Sister,” she said, and Clara returned the embrace heartily.
It had not even occurred to her until that moment that she was acquiring an entire family in addition to a husband, and her throat filled with emotion. She could not have imagined a family she would rather be part of.
Each of the Yorkes and Mrs. Ashby took turns congratulating and embracing Clara and William, and with each embrace, Clara’s confidence grew. Whatever anyone else thought, she had the support and love of the Yorkes, and that was more than enough to steady her.
The Yorkes parted, and Lady Redgrave appeared, her face wreathed in smiles as she took Clara’s hands in hers. “I had been wondering why you had not given me a response yet. I understand completely now.” She leaned in and kissed Clara on the cheek. “I could not have imagined a person more deserving of this happiness.”
Even after Lady Redgrave walked away, Clara found a line of people waiting to greet William and her. Not everyone in the room joined the line, of course—a few stood in the corners with uncertain and disapproving looks. Amongst them was Lord Redgrave.
Clara paid none of them any heed. She was simply too full of joy and too occupied enjoying William’s attentions to do so.
And she intended to remain thus occupied for the foreseeable future.
EPILOGUE
WILLIAM
The January air at Rushlake was crisp and cool, but it was the first day the sun had come out in almost a fortnight, making it feel warmer than usual.
William paused at the open door, looking over his wife. She wore a new pair of walking boots and a wool pelisse, and she was tying the strings of her bonnet.
“Shall I fetch a scarf?” he asked.
Clara looked at him with amusement twinkling in her eye. “I am made of sturdier stuff than you realize, William.”
She was right, of course. She had been raised helping her father work in colder conditions than this.
“But, by all means,” she said, pulling on a glove, “fetch it if you wish for it. Your teeth may break if they chatter as much as they did the other day.”
Since they had announced their engagement at the ball the past summer, Rushlake had transformed from the vibrant colors and full foliage of summer to autumn’s cool winds and falling leaves, then winter’s nipping air and frequent rain. Yesterday was the first day in recent memory that they missed their walk to visit Silas in the lodge, for it had rained all day without abating.
“I am a timid creature, aren’t I?” William teased.
“No, but you often seem to think I am.”
“Hardly.” He took the front of her pelisse and began to do up the buttons. “But you have more than yourself to consider now.”
Her hand went instinctively to her stomach, and she smiled up at him.
She had only told him a week ago that she was with child, and every night since, William had dreamed of their future family. Custom dictated they wait to marry until nine months after John’s death, but William had brushed that aside, and they had married in the beginning of September. They had already been flouting every accepted societal custom; there seemed little point observing that one when they were certain Clara was not with John’s child.
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him, forgetting entirely about the undone buttons as he pressed his lips to hers. It had not been easy or simple navigating life since the announcement they had made at the ball, but William would not have traded it for anything. Through it, he and Clara had drawn closer, relying wholly upon one another and learning to laugh at the strange looks and whispers their presence often elicited.
Marrying so far outside of Society’s dictates had been liberating, in fact. It had given them the freedom to question what so many took for granted. As a result, things at Rushlake operated differently than they might otherwise have.
There had been an awkwardness amongst the servants following their engagement, but Clara’s kindness had swiftly overcome it. She enjoyed a closer relationship with those employed at Rushlake than many would have thought appropriate, but the result was a loyal and content army of servants.
“Shall we?” Clara said once they pulled apart.
William nodded and picked up the basket near the door. “One last walk.” Tomorrow, they would leave for London.
They strolled the familiar path, so different now from how it had appeared those months ago when they had first walked it together. William was grateful for the long, cold winter, in a way, though. It was perhaps the one thing that had been able to keep Silas compliant and concealed.
When they had nearly reached the lodge, the doors opened, and he appeared, buttoning up his coat. He stopped at the sight of them, however, as though surprised.
“Ah!” he said. “Remembered me, have you?”
William and Clara shared an amused glance.
“Laugh all you want,” Silas continued, “but while you two are busy fluttering amongst the butterflies and being in love, I am here alone and starving.”
“We left you with plenty of food the other day,” William said.
“I beg to differ. I was just on my way to forage for berries and mushrooms.”
“Were you? Well, you certainly have the time to do so.” He dodged an attempt from Silas to smack him.
“Not after tomorrow, I don’t,” Silas said.
“Silas,” William said, leaving his teasing and resigning himself to the hundredth time they had had this conversation. “You cannot come to London.”
“I can, and I will.” He held up a paper. “This is from Frederick. Sir Walter is on the outs with Drayton.”
William’s brow furrowed, and he took the letter. Sir Walter Bence and Drayton were thick as thieves—enough so that Sir Walter was the only person the Yorkes knew to be aware of Drayton’s role in the murder Silas was charged with.
Sure enough, Frederick’s letter detailed the information he had come by about a falling-out between the two men. William handed the letter to Clara for her perusal.
“Be that as it may,” William said to Silas, “you should not be the one to pursue that avenue. It is too dangerous. Let Frederick or me do so.”
“And so I will. But I am coming to London, William. You can allow me to join you, or I will find my own way there. Frederick has already agreed for me to stay with him. I will not wait for news here. I am done waiting.”
William regarded him critically for a few seconds. It was nothing short of a miracle that Silas had remained concealed at Rushlake this long. It was perfectly reasonable for him to be impatient, and he had proven himself able to take the necessary precautions for safety. Did he not deserve the chance to seek the sort of happiness William now had?
Clara handed the letter back to Silas and met William’s gaze. “I think he should come.” She had a soft spot for Silas and was every bit as eager as any of them for him to regain his freedom and reputation.
At least they would be able to watch over him in London and be there if anything went amiss.
“Very well,” William said. “You may journey with us.”
Silas nearly bowled him over with an embrace, and William laughed. He was grateful for any spot of joy he could provide Silas.
“You had better pack your things,” William said.
“Already done,” Silas said. “Is that for me?” He pointed to the basket William held.
William ceded it to him.
“Is Frederick prepared for the cost of feeding him?” Clara whispered to William.
“I heard that,” Silas said, taking a tart from the basket.
They went inside and discussed the plans for the journey to London with him in the comfort of the lodge’s warmth. Silas was eager too to discuss how to approach things with Sir Walter. Clara had a few points he hadn’t yet considered. She had the distinction of being one of the few people Silas listened to.
William observed the two of them in energetic discussion with a sense of deep gratitude.
