by Erica Taylor
Andrew ran his hand through his hair, hauling himself up from his chair and clopped up the stairs. He paused in the corridor outside Clara’s room, looking at the oak door he knew Clara was behind.
Pushing the door open, its well-oiled hinges were silent as he crept into the room. It was irrational, but he just needed to see her. Moonlight filled her room, her sleeping form a small shadow in the center of the bed. The coverlet was pulled up to her ears and she was burrowed underneath, like she was trying to hide away from the world. Lightly, he traced his fingers along the top of her hair, grazing the edge of her scar before he removed his hand and took a step away, closing the drapes and darkening the room before he left her to sleep in peace.
Chapter Sixteen
The following day, Clara managed to keep a strong and resolved expression plastered on her face. It was a warm, bright day and she was determined to enjoy it. She maintained her composure while in public, only letting her face fall and her sadness creep into her eyes when she was alone in her room. Molly’s gaze was worried as she assisted Clara in dressing for that evening’s festivities and Clara was thankful for her maid’s momentary lapse into silence.
Upon entering the foyer, Clara was informed that Andrew would be arriving at the musicale after them, and Mara was already there. Clara worried for a moment about Andrew’s whereabouts. The last time Andrew had not appeared to escort them it was because her brother had returned to London and they had subsequently been shot at. Lord Bexley, it seemed, had been sent in his place.
Clara smiled politely at the earl, still remembering the sting of his words the night before.
“Not to worry, Lady Clara,” Bexley said, offering his arm. “Andrew was called away on an urgent personal matter, nothing to do with your brother at all.”
Clara nodded but did not comment. It really was not her business where his grace had gone.
She sat silently between Norah and Susanna in the carriage, Sarah beside Lord Bexley opposite them. Clara appreciated Bexley’s loyalty, but he really needn’t be here if he did not even like her.
Clara followed along behind the Macalister family demurely as they entered Radbourn Mansion a few streets away from Bradstone House. It was an impressive structure on Berkeley Square, almost as grand as Bradstone House. The entrance hall was just as grand, with marble floors stretching along the length of the house, the elaborate wooden staircase leading up to the music room, and the guest and family bedrooms another floor above.
“Dearest Sarah,” their hostess, the Countess of Longfield cooed, and the familiarity between the two struck Clara as odd. They embraced, and the Earl of Longfield bussed Sarah on the cheek.
“Aunt Michele,” Sarah said and realization struck Clara in the head like she had been hit with a ball of snow. The Bradstone and Radbourn families were related. The story Connolly had told her the other night about Andrew and his cousin—Redley was the oldest son of the Earl and Countess of Longfield. Norah embraced her aunt next, and then Luke appeared at her elbow, seemingly out of thin air, and Clara glanced at him, startled to see him there.
“Luke, my boy, you are more handsome every time we lay eyes upon you,” Lady Longfield said, kissing his cheek. “Which is entirely too rare,” she added with a stern but affectionate look. He smiled his rakish smile at her, and she smiled back because it was quite impossible to not succumb to Luke’s charm. He was much like his brother that way, when Andrew deemed it worthy to show he actually possessed a charming personality.
The countess turned her eyes onto Clara and to the lady’s credit, she did not look too shocked to see her there. Her gaze flicked to someone behind Clara, and Clara expected Bexley to step forward, but it was not the earl’s deep voice who answered the countess’s silent query.
“Aunt Michele,” Andrew said, and Clara turned abruptly to see him standing behind her. He glanced down at her, his eyes twinkling in the soft candlelight, and he offered her his arm.
“Andrew,” Lady Longfield said, and he leaned down to plant a kiss on his aunt’s cheek.
“May I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lady Clara Masson, my fiancée,” Andrew introduced her to his aunt. Clara dipped into a proper curtsy, her head bowing. Lady Longfield eyed her up and down, her eyes searching and judging. Clara desperately hoped she would not find her wanting.
Lady Longfield’s face broke into a sweet smile, betraying the girl who was behind the middle-aged woman’s façade. “Lady Clara, it is wonderful to meet you,” the countess said.
“It is a pleasure to meet more of his grace’s family,” Clara replied.
“He cannot hide from us all the time,” Lady Longfield replied, winking at her. “He likes to think he is coarse and brooding, but the poor boy has a family and tends to forget we exist.”
“I do not forget you exist, Aunt,” Andrew said in a gruff tone. “Hence my presence.”
Lady Longfield’s gaze was affectionate, almost sad, but they quickly moved past to the earl, who bowed over Clara’s hand and stoutly shook Andrew’s with a stiff, “Bradstone.”
“Andrew, dear,” an aged voice said and Clara turned to see an elderly but elegant woman beam up at Andrew, her blue eyes bright, eyes that looked painfully familiar.
“Grandmother, how are you?” Andrew asked gently as he bent to place a kiss on her weathered cheek.
“I’m alive, if you ever dared to see for yourself,” she replied sharply. “Now, who is this?”
“Grandmother, this is my fiancée, Lady Clara Masson,” Andrew said, smiling at Clara. “Lady Clara, this is my grandmother, the Marchioness of Radbourn. Grandmother, Lady Clara’s great aunt is the Dowager Countess of Desborough.”
“You are Bridgette’s niece?” the marchioness asked, her eyes lighting up. “Why, I had tea with her last week, and she did nothing but sing the praises of her only relation who had a brain between her ears. I did not realize you and she were one in the same. How wonderful that it is you who has finally caught dear Andrew’s eye. Better you than your snobbish hussy of a sister.”
“Yes, well,” Andrew said, much as Sarah did when she could not think of anything else to say. “We will be taking our seats now. Is Grandfather inside?”
Lady Radbourn nodded. “In the back corner, of course, though he cannot be guaranteed to actually hear the performances or stay awake.”
Andrew led Clara away, smirking at her shocked expression.
“Grandmother has taken to her role of cantankerous old marchioness with full gusto,” Andrew commented. “She claims that with her few years left, she does not have time to beat around the bush and chooses to say what she thinks.”
Clara swallowed, recovering her wits. The Marchioness of Radbourn had quite succeeded in shocking her. “Of course,” she replied. “Though I had not realized so many of your family would be in attendance this evening.”
“The Ralston family is my mother’s family,” Andrew explained as they strolled down the hallway and into the well-lit and very large music room. Chairs were set up in rows, with a slightly elevated stage area where the performers were set to perform. “Mother and her brother and sister were very close, and after they each married and began to have children, they decided that their children would perform for an audience each season.”
Clara took a program from the footman by the door and glanced around the room. The room was beautifully decorated in blues, whites, and golds with beautiful damask wallpaper adorning the walls. Clara glanced twice at the elderly gentlemen in the corner sitting in a wheeled armchair. He had a peculiar looking ear trumpet in his lap and appeared to be asleep.
“Grandfather,” Andrew said, nodding towards him. “He uses that contraption to hear, though it really does not work. Let’s not wake him.” He turned her away from his elderly relative.
“You performed at these events?” Clara asked, knowing he must have but wanting to make him say it.
“Yes,” he replied and shrugged. “Family traditions are hard to break.”
“What do you play?” Clara asked.
“The piano,” Andrew replied. “There were not many dukes who can play the pianoforte as well as they could shoot a target dead on.” He winked at her.
“He plays beautifully,” Sarah added, coming up to them.
“What about yourself, Lady Radcliff?” Clara asked. “Do you play?”
“I play the harp,” Sarah replied. “As does Luke.”
“Lord Luke plays the harp?” Clara repeated, surprised.
Andrew nodded. “Yes, and he will not be happy that you just divulged that family secret, Sarah.”
“Oh pish posh,” Sarah replied with a wave of her hand. “He can play the violin as well.”
“Bennett took piano lessons but was never any good. Susanna and Norah chose the violin as well,” Andrew explained.
“And Nick and Charlie?” Clara asked. Luke joined them, jumping into the conversation.
“Nick took lessons in the French horn, of all things, though I don’t remember him being very proficient,” Luke answered.
Clara frowned as she read through the program. “Lady Mara’s name is the only name listed here.”
“Well, after Mara proved to be a bit of a prodigy some years ago, the other cousins refused to play with her,” Andrew explained.
“It is less of a Ralston Family Musicale now,” Sarah added.
“It is basically a Lady Mara Macalister concert,” Luke said.
“But you still call it the Ralston Family Musicale?” Clara asked.
Andrew shrugged. “Family traditions are hard to break,” he repeated.
Susanna joined their group just then, looking directly at Clara.
“Lady Clara, would you like to take a quick turn about the room?” Susanna asked.
“Certainly,” Clara replied and stepped away from their troupe, linking arms with Susanna. She could feel Andrew’s gaze on her as they looped the room once, smiling politely at the acquaintances of Susanna’s as they passed.
“A turn about the room, Susanna?” Clara asked once they had completed one rotation and on their way to the second.
“I just needed some movement,” Susanna explained. “And also the refreshing room. That receiving line was much too long.”
They left the music room and went down the corridor to where a refreshing room had been set up. They stepped inside the room, a long mirror along one side with plush comfortable chairs along the opposite side. Susanna winked at Clara before stepping behind one of the privacy curtains and Clara did the same.
Tittering feminine laughter came into the room, just on the other side of the curtain. Clara glanced at the drapery to confirm it was completely closed.
“Really, who does she think she is?” a feminine voice asked.
Her friend laughed. “Oh, I know! It is so humorous. Throwing herself at Bradstone, as if he would even look twice at her. How she convinced him to offer her marriage is beyond me.” Clara tensed as she realized the subject of this gossip.
“She’s pretty,” the first girl said. “Oooh, maybe she’s blackmailing him?”
“Lady Susanna has claimed her as a friend, though we all know that is a lie if ever one was told. I don’t think they’ve ever spoken two words before this month.”
“I just cannot imagine why Bradstone’s family is going along with this farce,” the first girl wondered.
“Makes you wonder what on earth is going on at Bradstone House,” the second girl agreed. “And to think Lady Radcliff is allowing such behavior. Surely she could have talked some sense into the duke.”
“You don’t think he’s trying the goods before purchasing the cow, do you?”
The second girl laughed. “Goodness, you just called her a cow! That is rich! But really, why would he want to sully himself with a lady such as her, though she can barely be considered a lady. She’s quite disgraceful and quite scandalous, don’t you know?”
“Perhaps that is what Bradstone sees in her,” the first girl suggested. “I heard she’s been mistress to an Arabian prince all these years.”
“It was an Italian viscount,” the second corrected. “I also heard she killed her sister so she could take her place and have the duke, but the late Morton wouldn’t allow it. So she killed him too.”
“Explains why the new Morton hates her so,” the first girl said. “I cannot image he would allow such behavior if he were in town. Oooh, maybe she killed him too!”
Their tinkling laughter cut through Clara as the girls retreated to the corridor and tears prickled the edges of her eyes. She was not fooling anyone. People were still choosing to believe Jonathan’s lies over their own eyes.
Clara stepped out from behind the privacy curtain to an empty antechamber. She was not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.
“Clara,” Susanna said softly, and Clara turned to see her step out from behind the second screen. Clara managed to plaster a smile on her face, hoping she could appear unaffected, at least until she was in her room at Bradstone House and she could cry herself to sleep.
“It is all right, Susanna,” Clara said and dug into her reticule for a handkerchief.
“No, Clara, it is not all right,” Susanna said, placing a gloved hand on her arm. “I have half a mind to storm out there and put those two harpies in their place.”
Clara dabbed her forehead and discreetly at the corners of her eyes. “Let’s not make a scene,” she pleaded. The room had turned warm and muggy, and Clara felt like she was melting. At least the pink of her cheeks looked like a healthy flush instead of dire embarrassment. “I barely even heard what they said, and I am not going to let two malicious ladies put me out for the remainder of the evening. Please, let us return. I want to hear your sister play.”
Susanna did not argue, simply nodding, the angry glint not leaving her blue eyes. Clara had seen that look on Andrew before, and it was startling how much they looked alike when they were glaring. She walked alongside Susanna, wary of the way her friend’s shoulders were shaking.
Clara stopped before they reentered the music room. “Fine, Susanna, let’s have it.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Clara,” Susanna said in a harsh whisper, stopping a few steps away.
“I can tell those ladies upset you,” Clara said. “I wish you wouldn’t allow them to, as I am not allowing them to bother me.”
“You are very wrong, Clara,” Susanna said, turning towards her. “I have gotten to know you well over the past month and have come to adore you as a sister. I am sick and tired of the horrible things said about you. I want to string your brother up by his ears and make him admit that he made it all up. I cannot imagine how you have survived thus far.”
“It has been trying,” Clara admitted.
“Anyone else would have tucked and run by now,” Susanna continued. “Thank goodness my brother was sensible for once and offered for you.”
“Susanna, we are friends, are we not?” Clara asked.
“Of course,” Susanna replied, taken back.
“No, I mean actual, true friends. Not just because your brother says we need to be friends or because I am to be your sister. We are actual friends?”
Susanna’s face softened. “Yes, Clara. I quite like you better than Norah most days.”
“That is not exactly saying much,” Clara muttered.
Susanna laughed. “And this is why we are friends. Now what is this about?”
Clara bit the inside of her cheek, hesitating to ask something so dastardly. “If my engagement to your brother ends, can I ask you for help?”
Susanna frowned, her brows pulling together. “I do not understand.”
Clara sighed. “I have not intended to marry your brother from the beginning of our engagement.”
“I am still not certain what you are talking about.”
“When I awoke after being hurt by my brother, I was a bit vulnerable,” she admitted. “I had nowhere to go, no funds to my name, and my brother wanted me dead. When Andrew offered to ease all that, I accepted, but only to buy myself some time. I never intended for it to go this far.”
“But, Clara, you seem to actually like my brother,” Susanna replied. “And he likes you.”
“If I thought for a moment that Andrew could actually love me, I would marry him without hesitation,” Clara replied with a sigh. “But his temperament towards me has been so hot and cold, I do not even know what to think anymore. One moment he is charming, and the next he is cold and distant. Compound that with what everyone claims about this engagement—”
“You must know Andrew does not think of you the way those girls insinuated,” Susanna asserted. “If you are unwilling to believe it from him, then believe it from me. Never since he inherited the dukedom have I seen Andrew be more himself, more the Andrew we all used to know, than he has this past month with you.”
Shaking her head again, Clara looked down at the glistening marble floor. She wanted to believe. She wanted Andrew to love her, to want her, to choose her as she was. But it was too much; it was too farfetched. Andrew had already overlooked her once; she did not want to feel that rejection gain. He was a duke and she . . . she was not fit to be a duchess.
“I want you to be happy, Clara,” Susanna continued. “And I want Andrew to be happy. I think you both are the key to each other’s happiness. Besides, once you are a duchess no one would dare speak an ill word of you. You can cut everyone if you chose to. In fact, we should find out who those insipid girls were and make sure they are never on any guest lists. And they can wonder about that for the rest of their lives.”
