She took a deep breath to settle the rampage of emotions coursing through her. “They’ll want to go over our agreement again. Be patient with my uncle. He has a reputation for being quite tenacious.”
“I don’t think your uncle cares one whit for my patience. He’s concerned for your welfare, as he should be.”
Claire felt her cheeks heat once again.
“That pink is enchanting on you. I must make you blush at every opportunity if that is my reward.” He clasped her hand and brought it slowly to his lips. The warmth sent shivers through her. “I’m very pleased with our union. I’ll call again soon.” His retreating steps grew silent.
Deep inside, she knew the only true course of action before her. She had no other choice or option in life. The costs of not moving forward with the marriage outweighed any temporary relief of escaping his disapproval once he discovered the truth.
She was Pembrooke’s. God save them both from the curse.
Chapter Four
Nothing inside Claire stirred. The hot, sticky air in the attic had more movement. Her stupor made her doubt she had a heartbeat.
After Pembrooke left, her world tilted on its side and circled much like a top coming to the end of a spin. His graciousness and honesty were a true testament to the type of man he was. A man who would care for his wife. A man who deserved love. A man who deserved the truth.
None of her other fiancés had ever stirred her feelings of want and guilt and shame into such a frenzy. There was no denying she was cursed. The glimpse she’d caught of her future life with such a man offered the promise of everything she wanted, but deep in her heart the reality of her situation refused to grow quiet.
She flipped open the chest before her, a massive cedar piece that held each of her wedding dresses. Kneeling, she searched until she found the silk bag that held the pink gown she had planned to wear when she wed Henry, the Earl of Archard. She gently lifted the dress from the chest and searched the hidden pocket in the bodice.
She pulled out the locket he had given her the day they had made love. It was no more than an inch and a half tall, surrounded by diamonds. The real beauty of the piece was the likeness of her betrothed. The artist had captured him with a hint of mischief etched around the eyes. Henry had asked she pin the piece inside her wedding gown as a remembrance of his love.
Her finger caressed his face. The sound of her heartbeat and the accompanying pulse returned along with her confidence. Within a span of five minutes, she’d come to a conclusion—she had not made a mistake giving her virtue to this man. She had loved him, and he had loved her. Any repercussions from her actions were minuscule in comparison with what she had shared with Henry. She would confess to Pembrooke and deal with the results.
Her lady’s maid, Aileen, stepped into the attic. “My lady? Pitts told me you were here. They’re waiting for you in His Grace’s study.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the open trunk. “You’re not considering wearing one of those gowns when you marry Lord Pembrooke? You don’t want to wed with a dose of bad luck.”
“No. I was feeling a little nostalgic.” Claire returned the locket to its resting place and took her leave of the attic. She’d had enough bad luck to last a lifetime. She let her newfound inner calm blossom into the strength necessary to face her future.
Once Pembrooke discovered her secret, he’d have every right not to go through with marriage, nor could she blame him. However, if her aunt and uncle discovered the reason they wouldn’t marry, they’d be devastated. The disappointment on their faces would crush her. They’d provided a home when she had none and had given her their support over the years. She couldn’t repay their kindness with the humiliation they would suffer at the knowledge that their niece had lost her virtue years ago.
She could break the engagement with Pembrooke. But she’d be forced to leave London for her Lockhart estate in southern Scotland. This morning, the gossip had exploded about her break with Lord Paul and her new attachment with Pembrooke. If she didn’t marry him, it would take little to run her out of town by Friday. As certain as the sunrise each morning, the curse would follow.
Claire stood outside the study and bowed her head. She squeezed her eyes closed until the emptiness in her chest subsided. Somehow, she had to find a way to tell Pembrooke before they married.
When she advanced into the room, her aunt and uncle were poring over a monstrous pile of papers on the desk. Alex was nowhere in sight.
“There you are.” Aunt Ginny pushed a wisp of silvery-blond hair out of her face. “I told Aileen to prepare your blue satin gown for the evening’s engagement.” Her aunt smiled, but her voice betrayed her unease. “Sebastian and Pembrooke decided you will appear together before the announcement of your wedding later this week.”
“Why ever should we appear in society?” It was impossible to think they’d go out in public as a betrothed couple. After Lady Anthony’s ball, the curse had stirred anew. The morning paper, Midnight Cryer, had featured her broken betrothal and new engagement on the front page. The headline simply stated, LADY CALAMITY’S ALLURE IN FULL FORCE LAST NIGHT.
Her uncle’s face softened. “Pembrooke and I thought an evening out together will keep the rumors to a minimum. You’re going to the opera this evening.”
Aileen curtsied in front of her. “Shall I lay out your mother’s sapphires?” she asked in a soft lilt.
“Yes, that would be lovely.” Some of her uneasiness dissipated as she focused on the twinkle in her maid’s eyes. Aileen was seven years older than Claire and had been with her since she was thirteen. Her aunt proclaimed every young woman required her own personal maid to present one’s self in the best possible light. More important, Aileen willingly stayed by her side when the nightmares threatened.
The room grew quiet, in contrast to Claire’s emotions. Excitement that she would finally marry clashed with the fear of what her marriage to Pembrooke would entail. This moment was unique from the other four times she had sat down to discuss marriage settlements. Alex wanted her and not her dowry. None of the other fiancés could make such a claim. Not even Archard, who had needed her dowry for his estate. She chose the seat next to Aunt Ginny, as she would provide unwavering support.
With an air of finality, her uncle finally turned. “Claire, the terms with Pembrooke have my blessing.”
She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes closed to regain her composure. He’d agreed. She embraced the immediate sense of hope and allowed it to unfurl deep inside her chest. Their marriage meant her reputation could be repaired. Whatever her future held, if Pembrooke still wanted her after she confessed, she would find a way to make her marriage a success. “Please continue.”
Aunt Ginny held a piece of paper in her hand and extended it to Claire. “You need to be prepared in case anyone asks you about the curse and Lord Paul. His gambling is worse than we thought. He lost his fortune last night at a gambling hell and had no recourse but to sell his late mother’s estate. This morning, he sent Sebastian a note with an explanation for last night.”
“No, thank you. I’d rather not.” Now the ton would add debt to the list of curses to accompany death, disease, and dismemberment. Claire paused to consider the letter with Lord Paul’s broken seal on the outside. Last night, a similar piece of foolscap had held such great power over her life. Now, it was nothing more than a piece of rubbish.
Her aunt’s eyes were sympathetic. “Sweetheart, this is cruel, but you need to hear the latest. Rumors abound that Lord Paul’s misfortune is a lie.” She moved close and clasped Claire’s hands. She squeezed as if trying to give Claire some of her strength. “Some say he personally spread the tale so he could cry off without penalty. No one knows who owns the property now. We cannot afford for any more scandal or suspicion to come your way. Thank goodness Pembrooke was here. He’s given you great consideration.”
“What do you mean?” Wariness swept from Claire’s toes to her head.
“Lord Pembrooke believe
s Lord Paul is trying to secure private funding to recoup his losses. If he is successful, his reputation will survive, while yours…” Aunt Ginny paused. “Let’s just say the curse will remain alive and well. He’ll not suffer if he doesn’t marry you. There are always other heiresses.”
“What does Pembrooke suggest?” Claire had to ask but dreaded the answer.
Finally, Uncle Sebastian found his voice. “You and Pembrooke will venture into society the next couple of days and present a happy couple smitten with each other, laying any hint of Lord Paul or a forced marriage to rest. At week’s end, you’ll marry by special license. To the ton, you’ll appear wise to be free of Lord Paul’s debts.” He surveyed her face with raised brows. “Your thoughts?”
She wrestled her disquiet into a somewhat tenuous submission and turned to her aunt. “Do you have an opinion?”
“If you aren’t sure or are uncertain about marriage to Pembrooke”—Aunt Ginny patted her hand in comfort—“we’ll find another way.”
Claire took a deep breath and stood. “I want to marry him.”
Uncle Sebastian let out a breath of relief. “I approve. He gave us his assurance he’ll protect your holdings and reserves.”
“We’ll make plans regarding the rest of the week later today.” Aunt Ginny’s eyes brightened. “You’ll be married Friday.”
Claire squared her shoulders. “Thank you. With all the turmoil, I forgot to ask what’s playing at the Royal Opera House?”
Uncle Sebastian had already walked back to his desk and laughed over his shoulder. “Who cares? You and Pembrooke will be going to the theater to be seen playing, not to see what’s playing. Enjoy tonight.”
* * *
Claire fidgeted as fourteen thousand imaginary ants marched across her back while Aileen adjusted a wayward lock of hair.
“My lady, you look magnificent, if I do say so myself. No man will be able to resist you, particularly Lord Pembrooke.”
If her maid had an inkling of the truth about Claire’s virginity, she’d see how easy Pembrooke’s regard could be lost.
Claire held still as Aileen closed the clasp of her favorite necklace, a massive piece of jewelry that her mother had said matched her father’s eyes. Tiny diamonds surrounded a large royal-blue sapphire stone. The rest of the necklace consisted of perfectly matched diamonds separated by smaller sapphires and set in a gold collar that encircled her neck.
Her gown was a perfect accompaniment to the necklace. The décolleté scooped low but was still modest enough that Claire didn’t feel overexposed. An overlay of matching tulle with tiny sapphires sewn in a pattern on the dress’s hem gave the appearance of stars twinkling from a heavenly blue sky.
Claire reached for her gloves as a brisk knock sounded on the bedroom door.
Aileen returned with Lord Paul’s calling card. “Serves him right to see you as beautiful as you are this evening,” she groused.
Within minutes, Claire entered the yellow drawing room. She took a steadying breath and waited beside the sofa for Lord Paul to notice her arrival. The room was silent except for the occasional crack of wood splitting in the fireplace. Tonight, the salon’s warm gold colors made his complexion look sallow.
He stood before the fire, looking down at the floor. After a few moments, he lifted his head. Claire’s heart pressed against her chest when she saw the extent of his dishevelment. His torn superfine coat and mussed hair were evidence of what the last couple of days had cost him personally. Likely he had not been home, or his valet had given notice based upon the turn of events.
“Claire, how beautiful you look.” Lord Paul’s eyes were kind as he glanced over her dress. A ghost of a smile eased across his lips.
“Thank you. I—I don’t have much time. I have plans for the evening.” She clenched her teeth to keep from inviting him to sit. It was odd not to ask him to stay. During their engagement they’d enjoyed each other’s company, a sign they might have developed a true affection for each other in their marriage.
“I had to see you.” He looked away for a moment before walking to her.
If anyone saw him enter Langham Hall, the winds of rumor would blow across town within an hour. She had to think of a way to get him to leave immediately.
“You’ve undoubtedly heard I’m financially destitute.” His voice softened, but the words were abrasive. “I’ll not associate your good name with mine.”
His eyes narrowed in pain. She lifted her hand to give comfort, then let it gently drop. She could not offer any succor until he explained why he had left her to fend for herself last night at Lady Anthony’s ball.
“That’s the reason I broke the engagement. Some say I was convinced of the curse or I had deliberately misled you. Rest assured, it’s not true.”
His light blue eyes were normally luminous with humor, but tonight they appeared dull with defeat. The tragedy of his incessant gambling had cost him everything. He appeared lost, almost forlorn, as if he’d lost his last friend.
“Thank you for the consideration. I’m not certain I can offer you much else except I hope you find happiness in your life. A footman will show you out.” The evenness in her voice surprised her.
Desolation spread slowly over his face. She prayed he wouldn’t plead for forgiveness.
“Claire, I deeply regret that I’ve placed you in this position. If there is anything”—he cleared his throat—“anything that will salvage our friendship…”
Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, as if announcing I told you so. She ignored the litany. He had offered for her without any qualm about her curse. She owed him her friendship. “You’ll need to give me some time. Your actions have put my family in a difficult position. The social calls today have been nothing but a false veneer of concern. Every single person wants to know if the rumors are true. You understand?”
“If it offers any comfort, tomorrow’s fodder will be about me. I don’t want to lose your friendship, too.”
The sound of the hall clock signaling the hour sounded like a death knell. Pembrooke was due any minute.
* * *
Alex’s decision to make the evening as pleasant as possible for Claire fell into a trough of disbelief. A small opening through the drawing room door allowed him to watch and listen to the conversation as it unfolded between his fiancée and Lord Paul. Claire’s soft words made it difficult to hear everything she said. His mind raced in an attempt to come up with a rational answer. Surely she wasn’t involved with him.
“Why put me through such a public humiliation? I thought you wanted this marriage.” Claire’s voice was barely above a whisper, the desperation clear. For a moment, he believed she was in pain.
“If you only knew the full anguish I feel. My apology isn’t enough, but it’s all I can offer you now.” Lord Paul hesitated. “I’m responsible for my actions, but you should know there are other forces at work I can’t control. If I had known the true costs, I would have never put either of us in this situation.”
Across the room, Claire had crossed her arms at the waist. “I wish you had told me in person. Why didn’t you give me the courtesy of breaking with you? At least I’d be called a jilt instead of being the butt of a cruel joke.”
The hairs on his neck stood on end as Lord Paul seemed ready to disclose Alex’s part in his ruin. Claire either didn’t understand the hint or didn’t care at this point.
Lord Paul slowly came forward and took her hand in his. “I wanted a life with you.” His other hand brought her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I thought we’d suit in every way. Give me another chance, and you’ll not be sorry. Give me until Friday. Say yes, Claire.”
Alex’s body tensed as he closed his eyes to block the vision of Lord Paul’s hands on her. It would ruin everything if he interrupted their interlude. It was pure torture to wait, but her answer would define his next action. He held his breath and waited.
“The damage is done.” Claire’s voice never wavered, with words clear a
nd precise in her enunciation. “Your absence at our engagement announcement broke the betrothal. It’s best this way.”
“What if I told you I loved you?”
Claire fell back as if Lord Paul had struck her. She broke the silence with a firm voice. “Please, don’t.” She shook her head. “We both need to move forward with our lives.”
Alex slowly let out the breath. His self-control hung by a thread. It had taken every bit of discipline he possessed not to barge into the room and drag her away when Lord Paul begged her to take him back.
“I disagree, my lady. I’ll not give up that easily. Enjoy your evening.” With a quick nod, Lord Paul turned toward the door.
Alex moved himself into the shadows, waiting for him to exit. When Lord Paul closed the door, Alex approached from behind without a sound. He took advantage of his superior height and grabbed the dejected man by the scruff of the neck. “A word, if you please.”
Lord Paul looked more like a desperate vagrant than the son of a duke. Before he could spit out a reply, Alex shoved him into the music room across the hallway.
“Bloody hell, Pembrooke.” Lord Paul tried to straighten his rumpled jacket. “You’ve caused enough trouble this week.”
Alex clenched his fist. “Apparently not. I heard enough of your conversation to conclude you bear a striking resemblance to a stuck pig. You almost squealed the terms of your rescue.”
“Why should I hide the fact you made me break with Lady Claire? The entire town talks of nothing but my demise and the curse.” Lord Paul retreated to a pianoforte and softly played a minor chord. “My life is over. I’m broke, destitute because of you. I’ve nothing to lose.” When he lifted his head, all emotion was gone, as if a curtain had fallen, signaling the end of a tragic play.
“Then the rumors at the club are true. Your father cut you off completely.” A hint of guilt sprang into Alex’s thoughts, but he slammed the emotion behind the door of his hardened resolve. “Do as agreed or I’ll pull the guarantees. Otherwise your pick, Australia or America.”
The Bad Luck Bride Page 6