by Erica Taylor
Lady Laura seemed to regain some sanity, realizing she had just prodded a lion with a hot poker. She shrank back from his grace’s livid glare and nodded demurely. Her father was behind her a second later, tugging on her arm to leave.
“Father, please release me,” she snapped, pulling her arm away and turning around in a huff. “We are not leaving.”
“I think it would be best,” the earl said, looking around uneasily. The crowd around them had turned into a violent mob looking for their chance to pounce into action.
“I have a right to be here,” Lady Laura said as she brushed the blond curls back from her face.
“You should listen to your father,” Andrew said, nodding to the earl.
“No, thank you,” Lady Laura replied. “I was invited.”
“I am uninviting you,” came the Marchioness of Radbourn’s elderly voice and she stepped from the crowd. “You have no manners at all. Swanley, take your daughter out of my house at once.” Lady Laura’s shocked face was worth having been screeched at, Clara realized, as the lady was forcibly removed by her father.
Norah mouthed an apology as she took a few steps back to stand beside Sarah. Clara watched as the Marchioness of Radbourn turned back to Andrew, not a shred of disgust on her elderly elegant face.
“Well,” the elderly marchioness said, glancing between Andrew and Clara. Stepping forward, the marchioness took Clara’s left hand into her own, examining her new ring. It felt as though the entire room held their collective breath, waiting for the marchioness’ approval.
“This is very beautiful,” the marchioness said softly to Clara. “I don’t recognize this, is it new?”
“Yes, my lady,” Clara replied. “His grace said he purchased it just today.”
“This is special, young lady,” the marchioness said softly, looking into her eyes, her voice low enough so only the two of them could hear. “Now listen well, girl. I’ve known Andrew his entire life, and he is a rare sort of gentleman. He has the ability to love very deeply, you just have to remind him he is still allowed to do so, even though he is a duke.” She smiled softly at her. “You remind me of my Mary. You have backbone and you have heart. Hold onto him tightly and he will not disappoint.” She stepped away from Clara but did not drop her hand, pulling Clara the few steps to meet Andrew in the middle of the room and linked their hands together. Even through their gloves, Andrew’s hand felt like ice beneath hers.
“I am very happy to have you as a member of this family, Lady Clara,” the marchioness said a little louder, leaning in to kiss Clara’s cheek. She released their hands and turned towards her guests.
“Shall we eat?” she asked. The congregation of guests turned as one herd, conversation and laughter filling the silence almost immediately.
Andrew still held her hand, pulling it into the crook of his arm.
“Shall we dine?” he asked, his voice hard.
“Please,” Clara pleaded, fighting the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.
Please, just look at me. Please let me apologize.
He did not turn his hardened gaze to her, and her apology died in her throat.
Goodness, what a mess she had made of things.
Lady C— has landed the Duke of B—! What this author had believed from many sources to be simply a lark for the duke, has instead been declared by himself before his family, an act he would only make if he intended to actually wed the lady. A great many ladies may swoon over this, but do not despair. It is only a matter of time before whatever alluring spell the scandalous lady has created comes to an end, and the duke’s common sense returns.
In other news, the darling Lady M— performed beautifully at a musicale. The night was only marred by the disgraceful outburst of one Lady L— and this author was hesitant to conceal the identity of such a rude person. Utterly disgraceful performance by a jealous ninny who nearly struck Lady N— for interfering! One can only hope Lady L— has learned her lesson and will behave more properly in the future. Especially if she hopes to one day win over the heart of the Duke of B—.
Chapter Eighteen
Clara sat slumped on the settee the next morning, flicking through the morning gossip paper, her eyes not truly seeing the words as they swam before her eyes.
Despite the formal announcement nearly three weeks earlier, it seems their engagement was now gossip rag official. Perfect.
Andrew Macalister loved her. Of all the wishes she’d ever hoped to come true, this one was now her reality. He loved her, and he wanted to marry her. Not out of a sense of duty, but because he wanted to be with her.
And she’d bungled the whole thing.
She set her cup of tea onto the small table and leaned back in the sofa, pinching the bridge between her eyes.
“Something wrong, my lady?” Molly asked as she moved about the room, pulling together the pieces for Clara to dress for the day.
Everything, Clara wanted to tell her maid, but she managed a thin smile.
“Finally I grace these pages because of something I’ve actually done,” she replied.
“It is a splendid match, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Molly replied.
“I don’t mind,” Clara answered, reading through the short commentary. It detailed the events of the Ralston Musicale, though focusing more on the outburst of Lady Laura than the musical accomplishments of Lady Mara.
A soft knock came from the door, and Clara nodded, permitting Molly to answer it.
“It is Lady Norah, my lady,” Molly said, and Clara nodded her permission to enter. Norah came in, dressed smartly in a pastel blue morning dress, her grey fluff ball of a cat tucked in her arms.
“Good morning, Norah,” Clara said, setting the paper aside.
“Good morning,” Norah answered. She sat down hesitantly on the chair across from Clara and looked about the room, as if it were the most fascinating thing possible.
Clara frowned. “Was there something I could help you with?”
Norah stroked her hand across the back of her cat, who was content and purring very loudly. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Go on.”
Norah sighed. “I do not despise you.”
“I did not think you did,” Clara replied.
“I have not been very welcoming to you since you became engaged to my brother,” Norah continued. “And for that I apologize. I fear I believed the gossip about you—not the part about you being some Italian count’s mistress, but the parts about what my brother truly thought of you. I should have believed my own eyes when I saw how he was falling for you. And you for him.”
Clara cringed, but Norah continued, not noticing Clara’s discomfort.
“Lady Laura was out of line last night,” Norah said. “But despite her vile outburst, she is still my friend and, though you might not understand, I need her friendship right now. I do not want our continued association to derail any potential friendship you and I might develop.”
“You said you needed a favor?” Clara asked, hoping to hurry along whatever Norah was here to say.
“It seems you have my brother’s ear, and since you are to be his wife, I had hoped you would speak to him about something for me.”
“I cannot imagine my opinion could change Andrew’s opinion on anything,” Clara stated. “What is it you wish me to speak to him about?”
“My brother, Nick,” Norah explained. “Our birthdays was last week, and we were supposed to spend it together. But, because he was banished from London, we spent the first birthday in our lives apart from each other. Despite his idiotic tendencies, he is my twin, and he has a good heart. I miss him terribly, but when I mentioned to Andrew that he should be allowed to return, my request was met with disapproval.”
Norah leaned closer to Clara, putting a hand on her arm. “Please, would you speak to Andrew and ask if Nick ma
y be allowed to return?” Norah’s turquoise eyes welled with tears as she made her request. “This has been a very trying year, and it would be nice to have my brother with me these next few weeks.”
“Could you not join him at Bradstone Park?” Clara suggested, but Norah shook her head.
“I need to remain here,” Norah replied, somewhat forcefully. “I would hate to miss any engagements during the season.”
“I suppose I could remind Andrew that it was very upsetting for you two to miss your birthday. I know how saddening it is to be away from family, and I can remind Andrew of this, and of your attachment to your twin. However, I cannot promise he will be amenable to my suggestion,” Clara replied.
“He will listen to you, I am certain of it,” Norah said, standing. “Thank you, Clara.”
Norah was gone for barely a moment before there was another knock on the door.
“It is Lady Mara, my lady,” Molly said after a moment.
“Yes, of course,” Clara said. Mara came into the room alone, and Clara wondered at the whereabouts of her governess. Though as a Macalister, she wouldn’t put it past Lady Mara to slip the eagle eyes of her governess.
“Good morning, Clara,” Mara said with a slight curtsy.
“Good morning, Mara,” Clara replied somewhat cautiously. “Please, will you not join me?”
“Yes, thank you,” Mara said and sat primly on the edge of the chair across from Clara, though she declined a cup of tea.
“Have you enjoyed your stay in London?” Clara asked Andrew’s youngest sister, and the young girl nodded.
“I do enjoy London, though Andrew prefers to keep me tucked away in the country,” Mara replied. “I wonder if he realizes that if I do not spend an acceptable amount of time in town before my debut, I will be no better prepared than the unsuspecting daughters of the country squires, brought up to London to make a match. I fear that the sophisticated rakes of London might make easy prey of me.”
Clara was not sure if Mara was being serious. However, Clara did recognize the vaguely veiled threat hidden in her statement.
“Have you discussed this with your brother?” Clara asked.
“Of course,” Mara replied, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. “Andrew, the dear, thinks I am being silly.”
“Is there any way I can be of assistance?” Clara asked, realizing this must be Mara’s end game.
Mara tilted her head curiously. “How wonderful of you to offer. You know, I think you are a good match for my brother. For one, you are not a dolt.”
“Thank you,” Clara said, wondering if she should be offended or threatened, something other than completely bewildered.
Rising, Mara paced to the window. “I am happy for my brother to have found such a splendid match in you,” she began, only throwing Clara’s confusion to another level. “Andrew is very dear to me. He is my eldest brother, and I say that in truth because I really do not remember Sam. Andrew is a bit of a hero to me, and I do worship him quite shamelessly. However, he is also ridiculously protective of me.”
“I understand how his protective nature can outweigh his more rational thought,” Clara agreed.
“Most definitely,” Mara said, turning away from the window. “However, as the youngest of this clan, it often comes with the privilege of being suffocated. I am lonely in Kent with only my governess and tutors for company. I miss being around my siblings, but now that they are older and have more worldly things to attend to, I fear I am being left behind.”
Clara definitely understood that feeling. Christina had run off and left her behind to deal with the scandal. Patrick had left her to deal with Jonathan on her own. She knew the feeling of abandonment all too well.
“Are you suggesting I intervene on your behalf?” Clara asked.
Mara shrugged, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes that Clara had definitely seen in the other Macalister siblings. “I only ask that, as his wife, and my eventual sponsor, you help my brother make informed decisions in regard to the handling of my tutors, activities, and residence.”
“Did you assume I would not do so without your request?” Clara asked.
Mara shrugged again. “I could not be certain. But after seeing him with you, even this short amount of time I have been here, I see a change in him, and I can only conclude you are the reason. I know he will listen to you, or at least take your opinion into consideration. Since in a few short years you will be my sponsor, it seems we should be on the same side.”
Clara hadn’t realized there were opposing sides to be on, but she was beginning to understand. Mara wanted a champion, someone to stand up for her and her desires. As the youngest of nine living Macalisters, she had been foisted off to the country in the charge of adults whose purpose was to teach and train and shape her into a glamorous society lady. Clara felt her heart softening towards the prim girl, so bent on pleasing her brother. She knew that feeling as well, the desire to please to gain approval, acceptance, even love. What was surprising was that this lovely Lady Mara felt that way.
Clara looked at the girl again, this time seeing a true thirteen-year-old, sheltered out of sight by her gruff guardian, taught by cold tutors and grilled by a stern governess. A young girl, on the edge of womanhood, who knew she deserved better.
Clara nodded and rose. “It is unfortunate you are not with us in town more often, Mara. I hope we will see more of you in the future.”
Mara beamed. “I hope so too, Clara.” She took a few steps towards her, and before Clara realized what she intended, Mara wrapped her slender arms around her, hugging her tightly. Clara hesitantly returned the embrace, not sure what had come over the prim and proper Lady Mara. Clara felt her heart swelling at the gesture and patted the young girl’s back, leaning down to kiss her softly on the head.
Regaining her composure, Mara pulled away and nodded. “Very good. Shall I see you for luncheon?”
Clara wanted to laugh out loud, but kept herself in check. “Yes. I believe I heard something about a picnic.”
Mara’s adolescent eyes lit up, though there was no change in her expression. “That sounds lovely. It was very nice to have a chance to speak with you, Clara. Please enjoy the rest of your morning.” And with a quick curtsy, the female and miniaturized version of Clara’s fiancé left the room, closing the door with a soft click.
Clara sat down on the couch again and took a sip of her now-cold tea, wondering what she had gotten herself into. It seemed she was the new champion of the Macalister siblings, and she dared not wonder what all that entailed.
The weekend passed without incident, and Clara did not see Andrew at all. True, he was present at breakfast and dinner and escorted the ladies to the various social engagements, but he was cold and unfeeling. He was the Stone Duke. Clara longed for her Andrew Macalister, but the man she loved had shut her out behind a wall of stone and ice.
It was Sunday tea time when things took a turn for the worse.
Settled on the various couches and settees in the lilac drawing room, Susanna, Sarah, and Norah all looked to her, expecting something, and after a moment Clara realized what they were waiting for.
“I’m not the duchess yet,” Clara said to the expectant looks of the women who had become like sisters to her, and would soon legally be so. “You pour, Sarah, it wouldn’t be proper for me to do so.”
“We’re not opting for propriety, Clara,” Sarah said, turning the handle of the teapot towards her. “We’re opting for practice. Forgive me, but I’ve never seen you pour tea. I think we should make sure you know how.”
Norah shot her an amused look and Clara sighed, resigned to oblige. Clara took the teapot lightly in her hand even though it was quite heavy, holding the lid in place with the other, gracefully pouring four cups of tea, careful to allow as little as possible to dribble between pours. Her hands and fingers worked lithely and efficiently as she added
the correct servings of milk and sugar in each cup: black for Norah, three sugars for Susanna, and just a splash of milk for Sarah before fixing her own.
“Very well done,” Sarah said, accepting her cup.
“Despite what the ton thinks about me, I was raised a lady,” Clara said as she offered Norah and Susanna their respective cups. “I had the typical upbringing expected of a young lady of quality. I was even instructed to pour tea.”
“I have not forgotten, Clara,” Sarah said. “I simply wanted to make sure it was not something we needed to cover. Being a duchess is a difficult duty.”
“And you would know everything about being a duchess, wouldn’t you, Marchioness?” Susanna asked, goading her sister.
“My title is irrelevant, I simply want to—” but Sarah was cut off by the clattering of china as Norah dropped her cup, tea spattering all over them as she hunched over, gasping for breath before she fell to the floor. Sarah gasped in horror as Clara knelt down beside her to-be sister as Norah fought to breathe.
Andrew glanced up as he pulled off his gloves and hat, handing them to the waiting footman. It was Susanna’s voice that had caught his attention, calling frantically for help as she ran down the stairs.
“What has happened?” he asked. Susanna looked terrified.
“It is Norah,” she cried, her voice full of worry. “She needs a doctor. She cannot breathe.”
Andrew immediately ordered for Dr. Lennox, following Susanna up the stairs to the lilac drawing room.
“We were having tea,” Susanna explained. “Norah fell on the floor gasping for air.”
Andrew took the stairs two at a time, reaching the drawing room before his sister. Clara sat on the floor beside Norah, her hand under Norah’s neck, tilting her chin up as Norah gasped for air.
“What happened?” Andrew bellowed.
“We don’t know,” Clara answered, her eyes frightened. “I’ve tried to keep her breathing, but I do not know what is wrong.”
Her handkerchief tucked tightly in her hand, Sarah sat down on the settee, her hand trembling as she took her teacup in her hand. Andrew took a quick assessment of the room, his eyes narrowing in on the tea setting, interrupted by tragedy. Clara, Norah, Sarah, and Susanna had been served tea, but by who? Molly, Clara’s maid, stood sullenly in the corner, pressing into the wall, her face awash with grief.
