The Trouble with True Love (Dear Lady Truelove #2)

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  “No chance at all, for I heard he’s to be best man. He will be there, you may be sure.”

  Clara swallowed hard, dread like a knot in her stomach. “I was afraid of that.”

  “And even if he weren’t attending his friend’s wedding,” Irene went on, “you’re likely to see a great deal of him in future, just the same. More, I imagine, than you wish to.”

  “Do you think so?” The knot of dread twisted tighter.

  “You are the sister of a duchess, and he is the future Earl of Leyland. You are bound to see him quite often, especially in the season. Unless, of course, you intend to spend every free moment of the rest of your life working at the paper and brooding in your room.”

  “I have not been brooding. And it’s laughable for you, of all people, to criticize me about working too hard on the paper. I remember all your late hours in that office before you married Torquil.”

  “My point, darling,” Irene said gently, “is that you will have to face Galbraith sometime. The connection’s made. One can’t undo it now.”

  Clara grimaced, hating the fact, though she knew it was true.

  “Will it be so hard to see him again?” Irene turned toward her on the carriage seat. “It has been over two months since you refused his proposal.”

  Ten weeks and six days, Clara corrected silently.

  “That depends,” she answered after a moment, forcing a laugh. “Are you talking about before or after he sees me and goes bolting hell-for-leather in the opposite direction?”

  “Would he?”

  “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t. He’s safe now, isn’t he?” She paused, staring down at the skirt of her deep green dress. “He was calling or writing to me every few days before, clearly because he felt obligated to do so. But since I informed him there’s no baby . . .” Her throat closed up, but despite the pain she felt inside, she forced herself to say the brutal truth out loud. “It’s been three weeks since then, and he hasn’t tried once to see me. It’s clear he wants nothing to do with me now that he knows he’s free.”

  “Oh, darling,” Irene cried, throwing an arm around her in a comforting hug. “I’m sure that’s not true. If it were, he’d be the world’s greatest fool. For you, my dear sister, are an angel.”

  Clara sniffed. “A fallen angel,” she muttered.

  Irene choked, stifling what had obviously been an involuntary giggle. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said at once. “I didn’t mean to laugh. That was awful of me.” She paused, her arm slid away, and she pulled back. “I never told you just why Henry and I decided to marry, did I?”

  Clara stared, astonished by this abrupt turn in the conversation. “Isn’t it obvious? You love each other madly.”

  “Well, there’s more to it than that. Henry and I—and you mustn’t tell him I’ve told you about this, by the way—Henry and I married because his upright, honorable nature couldn’t tolerate our love affair.”

  “What?”

  Irene nodded, laughing. “Oh, yes, we were sneaking in and out of London hotels, signing in as Mr. and Mrs. Jones, having quite a torrid little fling. So, you see, you are not the only fallen angel in our family.”

  “I—” Clara stopped, and laughed, for she had no idea what to say. “Heavens.”

  “Are you very shocked?”

  She considered. Six months ago, she’d have been shocked all out of countenance, for back then she’d possessed such a staunchly proper moral code that she doubted she’d have approved of free love for anyone, not even for her very modern, suffragist sister. But she’d become less of a prig since then, and Irene had always been rather a free spirit. “As to you, no, I don’t think I’m shocked at all. Torquil, on the other hand . . .”

  Irene laughed. “The affair only lasted a week before he couldn’t stand it anymore, and he insisted upon making an honest woman of me.”

  “So that’s why you never fired off any stern lectures at me about what happened at Lisle,” Clara murmured, thinking it out as she spoke. “I wondered at the time.”

  “I couldn’t do that, could I? It would have been terribly hypocritical. Oh, listen—I can hear the bells. We’re nearly there.”

  The carriage pulled into Southwick Crescent and stopped as close to the doors of St. John’s Church as the throng of vehicles would allow. Torquil’s driver rolled out the steps, and Irene and Clara stepped down to find Henry waiting for them on the church steps.

  They signed the book in the vestry and gave their names to the ushers. As acquaintances of the groom, they were led to a pew on the right side of the church, and rank having its privileges, that pew was very near the front, right behind the groom’s family, which gave Clara an almost perfect view of Rex.

  Lucky her.

  He was standing by his friend, impeccably dressed in formal black morning coat, pale gray waistcoat and cravat, and darker gray striped trousers. Golden head bent, he was listening to Lionel as the shorter man murmured something in his ear. It must have been something amusing, for as he tilted back his head, the sight of his laughing face was as devastatingly handsome as she remembered.

  The knot in her stomach pushed upward, pressing against her chest, so hard and painful that she could scarcely breathe.

  And then he saw her, and as all the laughter went out of his face, Clara felt as if a fist was squeezing around her heart. It took every scrap of pride she possessed to keep her face expressionless, hold his gaze for two full seconds, and then look away.

  The organ music, which had been soft and subdued, changed in tone, informing the guests that the ceremony was about to commence, and with the first notes of the wedding march, Clara moved into a blessed state of numbness.

  She scarcely heard the vicar’s gentle lectures from the Book of Common Prayer, and the marriage vows of the bride and groom. Perhaps it was because she’d now accepted that she would never give those vows herself, or perhaps it was the strain of having Rex so near as they were spoken, or perhaps it was because she was tougher than she’d ever thought possible, but Clara somehow managed to get through the entire ceremony without coming apart.

  Afterward, she walked with Irene and Henry to the home of the bride and her parents a block away, and even with Rex’s broad-shouldered form scarcely a dozen feet in front of her, Clara was able to remain tightly leashed and numb. Nonetheless, once they reached Hyde Park Square, she could only be grateful that a receiving line did not include a groom’s best man.

  For the wedding breakfast, long tables had been arranged in the ballroom, and as had been true for the ceremony, seating was based on rank. This placed Clara at the very first table in front of the bridal party, and since Dina and Lionel had chosen to sit at the head of their table rather than the center, Rex’s seat was right in front of her. As she sat down, she could only be thankful that custom required a woman to keep her hat on during a wedding breakfast and that wide-brimmed leghorns were in fashion.

  Avoid wide-brimmed hats unless you are in the sun, for though such hats may be fashionable, they prevent young men from looking into your eyes, and eyes are the windows to the soul.

  Despite Rex’s advice, Clara was happy to be a slave to fashion just now, for having him look into her soul was the last thing she wanted. She kept her head down and her gaze on her plate. From the soup to the wedding cake, she managed to choke down a few bites of each course, but when champagne was poured and toasts were offered to the bride and groom, she only made a pretense of drinking to their health as she stared into her glass and thought of the first night she’d ever had champagne.

  They didn’t have olive branches on the refreshments menu.

  Had that really been almost five months ago? Clara bit her lip. It was all so clear in her mind, it could have been last week.

  I wish to court you. I should like you to allow me the privilege.

  She could still remember nearly every word of that extraordinary conversation, a conversation that had launched the most exciting, romantic time of her life. A time, she th
ought, her gaze stealing to him, that was now over and would never come again.

  He was murmuring something in the ear of the head bridesmaid seated beside him, but then he seemed to feel Clara’s gaze on him, for he turned his head, looked at her, and went suddenly still.

  Their gazes locked, and this time, she could not look away. She could not run, she could not hide beneath her hat brim. And she could not, for anything, avoid the pain or conceal it from him. Inside, she began to shake.

  He was the one who looked away, turning to signal the footman to refill his champagne glass. Once it had been filled, he took it up with one hand while reaching for a fork with the other. Then, he rose to his feet.

  The tines of the fork tinged against the glass several times before there was silence. In the hushed room, with his glass in hand, Rex put down the fork and turned his attention to the crowd.

  “Lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” he began. “I have been asked by the groom to say a few words at his wedding breakfast, a request with which I was happy to comply. You see, some months ago, I had promised a friend . . .”

  He paused and looked at her, and caught in his sights, Clara caught her breath, feeling as if his gaze had just pinned her to her chair. “I had promised a friend that if Lionel and Dina ever made a match of it, I’d put on my best morning coat, stick a carnation in my buttonhole, and give my best groomsman speech at their wedding breakfast, a speech extolling the wonders of true love and the virtues of matrimony.” He paused. “Of course, I gave that promise never dreaming the day would come when I’d actually have to fulfill it.”

  Laughter ensued, indicating that many in the room were familiar with his long-held views.

  “But here we are,” he went on when the laughter had subsided. “And though everyone who knows me is aware I have been quite a cynical man about love and marriage for most of my life, here I stand. And though any speech I might have given on this topic a few short months ago might well have been poetic and romantic, it would not, sadly, have come from the heart. On this day, however, I’m happy to admit I’m not the same man now that I was then. I used to believe that true love was a myth, but now, for the first time in my life, I know it’s not. Now, for the first time, I’m able to see the joy that two people can find in each other.”

  He was still looking at her, and Clara’s heart leapt with sudden, unreasoning hope. Did he mean—

  He turned away, stopping the question in her mind before it was even complete as he looked at the couple sitting at the head of the table. Clara’s flare of hope fizzled and died.

  “We have the proof of true love before us,” he said, still looking at his friends. “It shines like the sun in the faces of my two friends, and I defy anyone to look at them and not believe in it.” He turned again to face the crowd, and when his gaze lit again on her, Clara strove hard not to wriggle in her seat.

  Why, she wondered in desperation, did he keep looking at her? What she felt must be obvious now. Why was he tormenting her with it?

  Look away, she told herself, but her mind could not will her body to obey her. She could only stare at him, helpless, as he went relentlessly on.

  “Having attended many weddings, I’ve heard the words from the Book of Common Prayer many times. And yet today, those words resonated with me in a way they never have before. Perhaps that’s due to the oratory skill of the vicar, or perhaps it’s because I’m just not as cynical a chap as I used to be, but whatever the reason, when the vicar reminded us today of what marriage partners should be—counselors in perplexity, comforters in sorrow, companions in joy—I knew with the deepest conviction of my heart that Lionel and Dina will be all those things to each other.”

  He paused, smiling a little, a tender smile that took Clara’s poor heart and shredded it anew, even as she strove to remember that he was referring to his friends, not to himself and her and the vows they might have made had she accepted him.

  “And I can only pray,” he said, his smile fading to a grave expression, his gaze steady as it looked into hers, “that one day very soon, a sweet and lovely girl will allow me the privilege of courtship, fall in love with me, and agree to make me as fortunate a man as my friend.”

  Clara pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a sob as he looked past her to the crowd. “Lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” he said, “please charge your glasses and let us drink a toast.” Turning to his friends, he lifted his glass high. “To the happy couple, to the beautiful joy that marriage can bring, and to true love.”

  Clara could barely manage to choke down the customary swallow of champagne. The hopes in her heart rose again, higher and stronger than ever before, even as her reasoning mind tried to stifle them. It was just a speech, she reminded herself, words he didn’t mean, said for the benefit of his friends. She was reading things into that speech that weren’t there, things that were impossible. He didn’t love her. He’d said it straight out, no equivocations. And yet, what if . . .

  She looked at him again, but if she hoped to see some indication of love in his face, she was disappointed, for he wasn’t looking at her. He had resumed his seat and returned his attention to his companions.

  That seemed to prove that it had all been nothing more than a pretty speech, but now that hope had been awakened, Clara’s stubborn heart refused to abandon it. She watched him, waiting for him to look at her again, to give her some clue, some sign, but he did not even glance in her direction. Instead, he laughed and talked with the members of the wedding party, and she had no idea what to do.

  “Clara?” Irene’s voice intruded, and when she turned, she found her sister’s hazel eyes filled with sympathetic understanding. “We can leave if you wish. Or,” she added gently, “you could see him, if you want to. It can be arranged.”

  Agonized, she stared at her sister, wondering what to do. And then, as if it were an answer, Rex’s voice echoed through her mind.

  Strive to set your fears aside. Savor every moment of your life, and one day, you may find someone at your side who longs to savor those moments with you.

  “I want to see him.” She put a hand on Irene’s arm. “But will he see me? What if he won’t?”

  “He’ll see you,” Irene said firmly as she stood up, and she pulled Clara to her feet as well. “I know he will. Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked as Irene led her out of the ballroom and along the corridor.

  “To the library.”

  “But I can’t imagine you’ve ever been here. You can’t possibly know where the library is in this house.”

  Irene stopped before a door about halfway along the passage and opened it. “I do know, as a matter of fact, but I’ll explain that later. Go on,” she added, urging Clara through the door. “I’ll bring him to you.”

  “He’ll never agree to come,” she mumbled even as she walked into the library. She waited, heart in her throat, and though she didn’t know how long Irene was gone, it seemed like an eternity before the door opened again and her sister ushered Rex into the room.

  The pair of them paused by the door, and Clara did not miss the frown Irene gave him. “When you came to me a fortnight ago,” she said, much to Clara’s astonishment, “I agreed to allow you this meeting with my sister only on the condition that you behave impeccably. If I find that you have taken any liberties with her today, I will, quite literally, kill you.”

  Rex nodded. “I understand, Duchess. And thank you.”

  “Irene?” Clara cried, baffled. “You arranged this meeting a fortnight ago?”

  But her sister did not answer. Instead, she turned away to open the library door. With one last stern glance at Rex, she walked out, closing the door behind her.

  “We did arrange it, yes.”

  Rex’s voice turned her attention to him. “Why?” she choked. “How?”

  He started toward her. “As to how, I called on the Duchess at Upper Brook Street, presented an invitation to the wedding, and requested her assistance in persuading
you to accept. She complied, and promised to allow a private meeting to take place between us, if you consented to it. As to why . . .” He paused, halting in front of her, and she watched as that tender smile curved his lips again. “I’d rather hoped my speech would answer that question.”

  “You couldn’t have meant it,” she burst out. “True love and the beautiful joy of marriage?” She shook her head. “You said it for them, for Lionel and Dina.”

  “No, sweet lamb. I said it for you.”

  Joy rose inside her, joining all her hopes and all her fears, and yet, she could not quite believe he meant what he was saying. “I already turned you down. There’s no obligation for you to offer me marriage now.”

  “True,” he agreed.

  “There’s no baby,” she said, her insides shaking. “Didn’t you—” She paused, her voice failing, but she knew she had to ask the question. “Didn’t you receive my letter?” she whispered.

  “I did receive it, yes. It’s right here.” He patted the breast pocket of his morning coat. “Over my heart.”

  She made a choked sound, half sob, half unladylike snort, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to hear it. Instead, he reached for her hands, pulling her toward him. “I love you, Clara.”

  Such a declaration was impossible. It was absurd. “That day in the garden at Lisle, you said the opposite, quite unequivocally, as I recall.”

  “Yes. Because I’m an idiot.”

  “Well, that much I can believe,” she muttered, glaring at him as he laughed.

  “You always do manage to put me in my place, don’t you?” he said tenderly. “When I said that, I believed it. I’ve never been in love in my life, you see, and though I desired you, I didn’t understand that my feelings were actually far deeper than desire. The truth is, I’ve loved you for ages. In fact, when I look back on everything, I think I fell in love with you that afternoon on the settee.”

  She stared at him, confounded by yet another incredible piece of news. “When you kissed me?”