by Erica Taylor
Andrew looked at Clara expectantly. It was strange to suddenly have allies, especially the darlings of the ton. In society’s eyes, the Macalisters could do no wrong. Any slight misstep was shrugged off with a condescending laugh. Not that any of them ever did anything to warrant a scandal. Having these people as her champion might improve the ton’s opinion of her. Maybe.
“A friendly face at a ball would be nice,” Clara admitted.
“I cannot promise we will become the best of friends,” Norah replied. “But you will have my support.”
Norah’s declaration was not surprising. The fashionable Lady Norah was friends with a much different group of people than Clara associated with, though truthfully there were few people who would associate with her when not wearing a mask at a ball. No one would ever think Lady Norah Macalister, the queen bee of the season, would lower herself to be friends with Clara. Lady Susanna, however, was a different story. She was sweeter than her sister, at least in society’s eyes, and she maintained a much different set of friends, and they seemed to set their own rules within ranks of the haute ton.
“Ignore her,” Susanna said with a wink. “You and I will be the best of friends in the end. Just you wait and see.”
Clara took comfort in Susanna’s prediction and determination, appreciating the rebellious streak in this prim and proper lady. The stiffness of her posture was just a prop, Clara realized, and she felt a softening towards her newly-acquired friend, almost as though she were recognizing a kindred spirit of sorts.
“You are certainly braver than I expected, daring to take on my brother as your husband,” Sarah said. “You will find unconditional support beneath this roof, but we cannot control the ton.”
Andrew snorted. “I can.”
“That is a bit conceited of you, your graceness,” Norah said to him, though they all knew it was true.
Chuckling, Andrew set his tea cup down, waving Sarah off as she went to pour him a second. “Perhaps not alone. But between myself, Connolly, Bexley, Halcourt, and Redley, of course.” Turning towards Sarah, he asked, “Can we count on the other Marchioness of Radcliff as well?”
Sarah nodded.
“There is another one?” Clara asked confused.
“My late husband’s older brother died without a son,” Sarah explained, “and the title passed to my husband, who also died without a son. My sister-in-law is also a good friend of mine since our debut, and we became the widowed Marchionesses of Radcliff.”
“You are quite the formidable pair,” Norah added and Sarah laughed.
“Also Luke,” Susanna added. “No one ever doubts a word Luke says even if he’s seen as a rogue.”
“We have rumor on our side,” Norah added looking at Clara. “There is already enough assumption about you. The speculation over this engagement will sweep the town like a firestorm. People are going to want answers.”
“People tend to believe the lies over the truth anyway,” Clara said with a shrug. “I’d rather they not know about my brother.”
It was decided that the Macalister siblings would keep their evening plans and attend Almack’s; it was Wednesday night after all. They would each spread their story, making the excuse for Clara that she was indisposed with a headache and ignoring the fact that she was not welcome at Almack’s anyway. By the morning, the entire town would be buzzing.
Clara was grateful for their help, and she told them so. But she was also feeling exhaustion creep in, and she fought to keep her eyes open. Andrew noticed first and shooed his sisters out to dress for the evening. He appointed Martha to be Clara’s lady’s maid and told Clara that if she needed anything she was to ask. Clara nodded and thanked him, feeling sleep overpower her.
It was dark when she woke again. It took her a moment to recognize her surroundings, and she sat up slowly, looking around the darkened room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. It was then she realized there was someone else in the room with her. It was a man, sitting in the large wing-backed chair Andrew had occupied earlier in the day. Fear tore at her throat, and she scurried backward up the bed as the figure leaned towards her. It was Jonathan, she knew. He had come to hurt her or snatch her back or—
“Clara, calm down, it is only me,” Andrew’s strong, low voice said in the darkness, and his face was a blaze of momentary light as he lit the candle on the bedside table.
“You-you-you scared me.” Clara fought to regain control of her breathing but was failing, pain shooting through her temples, white spots dancing before her eyes. “I thought . . . I don’t know w-what I th-th-thought.”
“You thought I was your brother come to harm you,” Andrew supplied, and she nodded. He stood up, stepped forward, and sat on the edge of the mattress. “Clara, listen to me, and listen well. I am not going to let Morton hurt you again. He will not come back for you; he will not be allowed near you. I promise you. You are quite safe in Bradstone House. You are safe from him.”
Clara nodded and felt the tears well up in her eyes, from fear, from pain. She felt her composure start to crumple, terror and panic subsiding, but the events of the day—her brother, Andrew’s rescue, her engagement—it was all just too much. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she choked on a sob.
Scooping Clara into his arms, Andrew cradled her in his lap while she cried onto his black evening jacket. Rubbing his hand over her back in relaxing circles, he cooed soothing nothings into her ear, holding her as the gasping sobs overtook her, her chest tightening in anguish, and she fought to breathe properly.
She could not catch her breath, and she could not stop crying, could not stop the tightening feeling that was crushing her chest, cutting off her airway. She was going to die. Jonathan would have his way in the end.
“Shhh, Clara, calm down,” Andrew cooed at her. “Breathe, Clara, focus on my breathing and focus on making your breathing match mine. Think about my breathing . . . that is it, calm down and just breathe.”
In and out, breathe in and out, she told herself. She focused on his words, focused on just breathing, simply making her chest rise and fall with his. His arms around her offered a level of comfort she had not felt in years. The tension and the fear seeped out of her as her breathing began to match his, his broad chest rising with hers as his warmth calmed her pulse. He held her, for many long minutes, more than she wanted to count, but soon she could feel her lungs filling, unrestricted, with air. The loosening of the deadly crush against her chest melted away and within a few minutes she was calm and could breathe normally again.
“Better?” he asked gently, and she nodded into his chest. Carefully, he tucked her back into the blankets and pillows, mindful to not jostle her head any further.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not willing to trust her voice just yet.
“Of course,” Andrew replied. “My brother Charlie always had breathing problems as a child. I learned to calm him. Don’t feel ashamed or embarrassed by your tears, Clara. You went through an ordeal, and it was quite traumatizing.”
“I know,” Clara acknowledged. “I’m usually much more composed than this. I hate feeling like I’m coming apart at the seams.”
“It may seem like that now, but give it a couple days. Things will look better. You will feel better.”
Clara sighed and looked up at him. “You know, your eyes look almost grey in the candlelight.”
Andrew chucked. “And the gold specks in yours make your eyes sparkle.”
“Really?” she asked and he nodded. “I’ve never noticed before. Thank you, your grace, that was most kind of you to say.”
“You are welcome,” Andrew replied. “And there is no need to address me as ‘your grace’. We dropped the formalities yesterday, remember?”
“Was it yesterday?”
“Oh yes. It is nearly three in the morning. The girls arrived home an hour or so ago and I’ve just returned myself. The
girls are no doubt already asleep.”
“Was Almack’s as wonderful as ever?” Clara asked wistfully, but she regretted it immediately. She hated the longing in her voice, tinged with envy. She hated that she was not accepted there, and that there was nothing she could do about it. She hated it more that it even bothered her to begin with. Perhaps there was more Christina in her than she thought.
Andrew made a disgusted face. “Almack’s wonderful? Certainly not. Bad lemonade and a stuffy ballroom. I left the girls in the competent hands of my brother Luke and left as soon as I could. I went to Brook’s and spread the news of our engagement, called upon a friend who is working to locate your brother, and then I came home.”
“And snuck into my room to watch me sleep,” she finished. “You know this is highly improper.”
“I wanted to see for myself that you were well,” he explained, shrugging. “You are quite adorable when you sleep.”
Clara blushed and looked away, hoping the color rising in her cheeks was not apparent under the light of a single candle.
“Was there any information?” she inquired, not looking back at him. “About my brother?”
“None so far,” Andrew replied. “He hasn’t been seen at any of his nearer estates, and there have been representatives sent out to the farther ones.”
Glancing back to him, her brows pulled together. “Representatives?” Clara asked. “He sounds rather like a spy. Are you quite sure that he is not?”
“Nope,” Andrew admitted with a sigh. “He very well could be, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he were. He has all sorts of connections, acquaintances, and sources but I’ve learned not to ask. He evades my questions whenever I do. But he is one of my best friends, and I’ve known him since I was thirteen. He’s never been out of the country. Wouldn’t a spy have to leave the country for extended periods of time?”
“He could be their handler,” Clara replied pensively. “Does not a spy need some sort of associate or colleague at home to pass along information? If one man knew who all of England’s spies were, you’d think he’d be a strong target for assassination. So it must be broken up between multiple people. And it is all hush-hush, of course, as espionage usually is.”
Andrew regarded her for a moment before asking, “Are you a spy?”
Clara laughed out loud, and Andrew grinned at her. “No, Andrew, I am not a spy.”
“Hmm, that sounded like spy talk there for a moment.”
“I’ve just read my fair share of fiction,” she replied. “I read a lot of everything, actually. And I have an overactive imagination.” She held his gaze for a moment longer before looking away. He was looking at her in a funny way that did not necessarily make her uncomfortable, but it did cause a strange warmth to spread through her. There was a light in his eyes, aside from the candlelight, and a bounce in his mood. He was not playacting the part of the Duke of Bradstone; he was Andrew, the Andrew she knew, jovial and amiable. She wondered briefly why he did not act this way all the time.
Then the realization hit her. If he showed he had a pleasant side, the daughters and matchmaking mothers of society would hound him. People would flock to him, even more than they already did. She knew for the most part he had been spared the attentions of the title hungry wives-to-be, mainly because of his obvious disinterest in everyone and his general grumpiness. Clara realized he dared not let anyone know he was actually quite charming and agreeable. It was all just an act, a protective barrier between him and the world.
“What is it?” he asked. “You are smiling at me in the most peculiar way.”
“I was just thinking,” she replied.
“About?”
“You.”
“Hmmm. What about me?”
“I think . . . I think I understand you a bit better than before,” she admitted.
“How so?”
“I am not sure if I can explain.”
“Try.”
Clara paused to gather her thoughts. “I think your Stone Duke stature is more of a way to keep people from knowing the real you, because if they knew the real Andrew Macalister, you would never get a moment’s peace.”
“And you think you know Andrew Macalister?” he asked.
“I did once,” she admitted. “But that was a long time ago. I’m not sure if the Stone Duke hasn’t trampled him down into submission. I get glimpses of the reckless young lord I used to know.”
Andrew looked away. “Sometimes I wonder the same,” he admitted to the darkness. “Having you here makes me hope that the Lord Andrew you knew has not been entirely suppressed. The Stone Duke is rather unpleasant, isn’t he?”
Chuckling softly, Clara shook her head. “More than you could ever know. But I understand why he needs to be.”
Andrew grinned with that slightly lopsided, boyish grin of his. She understood why he did not smile more often. He would have women falling at his feet, married and unmarried alike. He looked young, carefree, and virile. Much too handsome for his own good. His smile lit up his face, reaching all the way to his eyes.
“You should rest,” he said and stood.
“You should too,” she replied and nestled herself into the bed. He leaned forward, his face close to hers, close enough that she thought he was going to kiss her.
“Don’t forget you are safe here, Clara,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” she nodded. “And thank you, Andrew, for . . . well, for everything you’ve done for me.”
“It has been my pleasure,” he said and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask, Clara.”
“There might be a day you will regret such a generous offer.”
“Not possible,” Andrew replied, snuffing out the candle before turning to leave the room.
“Sleep well, Andrew,” Clara whispered after him in the dark.
“You too, Clara,” he replied, and she heard the soft click of the door.
She leaned back in her pillows and sighed. Her sister’s elopement did not make much sense before, but now that she had seen glimpses of her childhood friend, it made absolutely no sense at all. She could not understand why her sister had left to marry a footman. Christina had loved society, she loved fashion and gossip and balls and loved the idea of being a duchess. Everything Clara had seen of Andrew since the night of the birthday ball just made her even more determined to find out what happened to her sister. The Christina she knew would not have left this man for anything.
Gentle reader, the most astonishing news has reached this author’s ears! A very reliable source has reported the Duke of B— proposed marriage to the scandalous Lady C—! One can only wonder what is going on at B— House. We will be certain to keep our readers apprised of any developments.
Chapter Six
It was three full days before Andrew saw Clara again for longer than a brief hello. He had his solicitors to meet with, Parliamentary proceedings to sit through, an important vote to take part in, and he had to put in an appearance at Brook’s. So when his carriage rolled up to Bradstone House, Andrew was relieved to be home to enjoy what remained of the weekend.
“Thank you, Howards,” Andrew said to his butler, handing over his hat and gloves. “How is everything?”
“Very good, your grace,” Howards replied. “Not a thing out of the ordinary all day.”
“Good. And where is everyone?”
“The marchioness is having tea in the lilac sitting room with Lady Norah and Lady Susanna before they go into supper.”
Andrew nodded. “And Lady Clara?”
Howards’s eyes softened just a little at the mention of her name. Andrew noticed she seemed to have that effect on people. “I believe Lady Clara is resting.”
Andrew thanked the butler before heading up the stairs. He stopped to greet his sisters but did not st
ay to take tea with them. There was one person he wished to see, but first he wanted to change into a fresh set of clothing. Walton, his valet, was waiting for him in his dressing room, and it took only a few minutes for Andrew to feel refreshed and comfortable.
Andrew saw Martha the maid bringing up a large tray with domed silver dishes.
“Is that Lady Clara’s supper?” Andrew inquired.
“Yes, your grace,” Martha replied. “Doctor’s orders for her to stay abed, so she is to sup there as well.”
“Have Cookie send a tray up for me as well,” Andrew said and opened the door. “I’ll dine with Lady Clara tonight.”
“Yes, your grace,” Martha replied and set the tray down on a long side table.
Clara was sitting up in the bed, a book propped in front of her. She looked up at the sound of Andrew’s voice and smiled.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted him, setting her book down in her lap.
“Good afternoon to you,” Andrew replied taking a seat in his tall wing-backed chair. Martha bustled about setting up Clara’s food tray and before long a second tray was brought up and Martha settled discreetly by the open door.
“Thank you for taking supper with me, your grace,” Clara said and took a bite of her roast.
“It is my pleasure,” Andrew replied. He smiled at her, and they both tucked into their meals. They ate in silence until most of their meals had vanished from their plates. Andrew motioned for Clara’s plate to be refilled.
“Really, I do not need any more food,” Clara was saying as another serving was placed before her. “I ate a great deal at luncheon, I do not know if I can eat any more.”
“Eat as much as you can,” Andrew replied. “Did the physician come by today?”
Clara’s brow furrowed. “Oh yes. The physician came by, and that man is a loon.”
Andrews’s brows rose. “How so?”
“He said I needed fattening up!”
Andrew let out a bark of laughter. “He said that?”
“He implied I was not getting enough to eat. My dining habits were beyond reproach,” Clara replied stubbornly. “Since Jonathan usually could not bear the sight of me, I normally dined alone while he ate in his study or at his club or his mistress’s townhouse. True, I was not allowed a second helping, but I was hardly starved.”
