The horses pulled in front of the mansion, and Alex helped her down. Not letting go of her hand, he kept her close to his side as he escorted her to the door.
She made her way into the front hall, where Pitts stood at attention. “Thank you for the wonderful—”
“Let me help you with your cloak,” Alex interrupted. “Let’s talk for a few minutes.”
With a step back, she squared her shoulders. She had to put some distance between them if she wanted to survive tonight. “Yes, we have much to discuss.”
* * *
Side by side on the sofa, Alex reached for Claire’s hand and laced his fingers with hers. For some reason, he could not keep his hands off her. He took his thumb and rubbed her wrist while he wrestled with how to end the evening.
Tomorrow his agenda was full. First thing, he needed to sign the final settlement agreements. The solicitors would deliver the documents early. Then, he had to finish preparations for travel to Pemhill. Within two days, he would escort Claire to his ancestral home. Proud of what he’d accomplished, he wanted to share its history and his efforts toward the betterment of the property. He wanted her to fall in love with it.
“I secured the special license today. I likely won’t see you tomorrow.” Alex took a deep breath. “You won’t come down with a case of cold feet, will you?”
Claire inhaled sharply before turning from his side. The quick glimpse he caught of her face reminded him of a kicked puppy unsure where to turn.
Alex closed the distance between them. “My God, I apologize. My lame humor went awry.” Stupid. No other word could describe his actions. After he’d charmed her tonight, he had ruined everything with a careless quip. “I’m not really certain how to part this evening. I thought if I was humorous, it might settle the discomfort we’re experiencing.”
When she faced him, she’d managed to veil any expression of pain, but her pallid face told him another story—the damage was done.
He brought her into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. “You have no cause to worry. Tomorrow, if you need me, send your maid to my valet. He’ll know where to find me.”
Claire softened in his arms. When she placed her head against his chest, he allowed himself to relax. She snuggled closer and her scent rose to greet him. The curve of her figure exquisitely matched his.
“I suppose it’s natural to make light of my situation.” Her chest rose against his as a quiet sigh escaped. He caught her gaze for an instant, then she faced the fire. The quick glance was enough to see her sorrow. “There’s something I must tell you. Whether you still want to marry or not will be your decision alone.”
With a gentle pull of his hand under her chin, he forced her to face him. “Please don’t tell me you’re nervous over Friday.” She didn’t return his slight smile.
Claire didn’t disagree. His body tensed at her silence, the familiar bitterness burning his gut. He adjusted his position to watch the emotions wash across her face and tried to relax. The constant reminders that Lord Paul was once part of her life must be making his mind weary.
“There is nothing you could say that would convince me not to marry you.” He attempted to pull her close, but she stiffened in his arms.
* * *
“Claire?” Alex released his hold but caught her hands in his. Under his astute gaze, she could hide nothing. His thumbs gently stroked her wrists. “What’s wrong? I’ll help you.”
The lightness and fledgling happiness that followed her this week grew dark faster than a candle flame snuffed out. Would she ever accept the curse was real? It would make the disappointments in her life so much easier.
She withdrew her hands from his and clasped them together to still the uncontrollable shaking. She fought to appear calm. “When you asked me to marry you, I wasn’t truthful about my past,” she whispered. “I … I gave my virtue to—”
His large hand covered hers and squeezed. “You don’t have to say any more.”
If she risked a glance and saw disgust on his face, she’d never get the words past her lips. “You see, I loved him so very much and … we were to be married within a month. I never thought I’d lose him.”
Claire studied the blue rug on the floor for fear the condemnation in his eyes would crush her. The day of reckoning had come, and the shame scorched every inch of her soul. Every young woman knew from day one never to give the prize of her virginity to someone other than her husband. She had rationalized her actions because their wedding had been only weeks away. Then Archard was gone, along with her hopes and dreams.
“It was wrong of me not to share this with you before the announcement this evening. Before you offered for me, I should have told you of my past.” She stood, determined not to cry. “I’m so sorry.”
He had every right to expect a pure and virtuous bride. The room grew quiet except for the rhythmic rustle of her dress as she clenched and unclenched her fist in the fabric. She turned slightly and shifted her gaze to receive whatever censure he delivered.
Alex rose from the sofa and stood beside her. More surprised than frightened, she looked into his eyes and found nothing but her own reflection. “He intimated as much, but later he taunted me with the fact. Don’t worry, we’ll still marry. Far be it from me to judge, Claire. My life has been anything but perfect.”
Everything within her stilled, as if her heartbeat slowed to a gentle stop. “Who could have told you? I’ve never uttered a word of this to anyone. Nobody knows except for me … and now you.”
“Obviously, he knows and is not above spilling your secrets. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you—”
“Archard has been dead for over three years,” she interrupted. He wasn’t leaving, at least not yet, but she willed herself to stay strong and face whatever the outcome was this evening.
“Archard?” Alex asked. The long black lashes that shadowed his eyes flew open in astonishment.
Reason pushed the shame and grief aside. “Yes, Archard. I gave my virtue to him.” Disbelief at the current situation sped through her. “There is no possibility someone could have told you. Henry fell ill the next day and never recovered. Who are you talking about?”
Alex took her hands in his, and the warmth, normally a comfort, overpowered her. A sudden acceleration of the flames in the fireplace snapped and caught her attention.
“Some things are best left alone.” By the tone of his voice, he intended his words to soothe, but it was pity she heard.
“Tell me who?” The fire’s blast cast a suffocating heat into the room. She stood there amazed and waited.
Alex left her side to pace before the fire. The fast rhythm of his steps propelled her dismay to a new level.
Before he could say another word, Claire joined him in front of the fireplace and forced him to stop. “Tell me,” she demanded.
He stared at her.
“I don’t understand. Why won’t you tell me?” She paused and straightened her body as if ready for war. Everything clicked into place as if unlocking a great riddle. “There’s only one person in London who could have told you that lie. Lord Paul.”
He blinked, but it didn’t hide the truth in his eyes.
“You believe Lord Paul’s word over mine?” The disbelief in her words ricocheted around the room. A new wave of white-hot anger extinguished her earlier guilt. “I’ve only had the one experience with someone I loved. I’m telling you the truth.”
“Let’s focus on our future,” he said.
With all the grace she could summon, she walked to the window and gazed into the inky-black night. Several lanterns lit the pathway of Langham Hall’s park, the light muted because of a misty drizzle. The foggy night was as murky as her future. However, she still had control over her current life.
“Someone is investigating me for an article. He’s visited Hailey’s Hope and asked about the curse. I expect a scathing exposé tomorrow just in time to cause all of London to explode in another round of rumors before our marr
iage.” She continued, although each word sliced through her tenuous composure. “With all that’s been said this evening and with what’s going to happen tomorrow, we should postpone the wedding. Let’s determine the damage caused to both of us before we rush to any decisions.”
“No, Claire. I’m not giving you up that easily. I don’t care about Archard or Lord Paul. I don’t care about some damn newspaper article.” He stood beside her, and there was fire in his eyes. “I care about you. I’ll be here a quarter of eight as planned.”
“With all your doubts and all the rumors, you still want to marry me? You don’t want my money. You’re not in love with me. You don’t need the political connections of the Langham family. None of this makes any sense.”
“The simple truth? I want you. I want you as my wife.” He took her hand and pressed his lips against her skin. He bowed slightly and made his way toward the door. His gaze caught hers one last time. “I’ve made my choice. Nothing will change it. Please, I beg of you, don’t make a decision you’ll regret.”
* * *
Curled into her favorite chair, Claire stared out the window at nothing as she weighed her options. After Alex left her this evening, she had a decision to make. Marry a man who doubted her word or risk going through life always subjected to the hellish curse. She’d not risk another engagement, at least not for several years to come.
Most of the decisions she’d made in the past had brought little happiness to her life. Havoc was her usual reward, and she began to doubt her ability to make the wisest choices. This time, for her own preservation, she had to make the right choice.
It would be so easy to marry Alex and put the rumors and jokes behind her. She could concentrate on what truly mattered—building a family and leaving a legacy that would honor her parents. She could accomplish all of that with her marriage to Alex and the creation of the orphanage. Every day he’d be by her side, and he’d lend his considerable wealth and prestige to her causes. Alongside her aunt and uncle, they’d finish the vision her mother had created for Hailey’s Hope.
It would allow her to leave the guilt and curse behind. More important, she’d be married to a man she found quite charming and considerate.
At what cost? She couldn’t bear to live with his doubts—particularly when they shared a bed.
Pain swelled inside her chest. She’d forever lose the remarkable man who had laughed and flirted with her, the man who gazed upon her as if she were special and someone he wanted. Tonight, it was all a figment of her imagination.
With her mind in an upheaval, Claire made the hardest choice of her life. She would not marry him. He believed Lord Paul’s lies over her. She’d not go through life after shedding the curse only to find herself in a marriage that was built upon disbelief.
She wrote a terse letter at three o’clock in the morning. Composed on her personal stationery and sealed with a wax imprint of the Scottish thistle, a signature her mother had always used in her correspondence, the note held few words.
My lord,
With the deepest of regrets and apologies, I release you from our betrothal. I wish you happiness in your future endeavors.
Lady Claire
When Aileen came into the bedchamber, Claire greeted her dressed in her riding habit, ready for the day.
“My lady, why are you up so early?” Aileen inspected Claire’s attire with raised eyebrows. “Are you going riding? Has something happened to your wardrobe? Most of your things are packed already, but I made certain you had a couple of day dresses to wear.”
Claire’s old riding habit was a convenient design she could don without calling for assistance. But her auburn locks were another matter. She had sent Aileen to bed when she retired and had forgotten to braid her own hair, which was now a knotted mess around her head. Not that it would have made any difference. She had little time to waste on such details.
Before she could ask Aileen to deliver the message, a brisk knock sounded at the door. Whoever it was at this time of the morning, Claire wanted them gone.
Aunt Ginny barged in before Aileen could answer. “Good morning, Cla—” With a flick of her hand, she directed Aileen to give them privacy.
Claire hid the note in her pocket while her aunt locked eyes with her. “Are you sick? What’s wrong? Is it Lord Pembrooke?”
Whether it was the lack of sleep or her aunt’s tone, Claire couldn’t hold off the tension or the tears anymore. First one glistening tear escaped, then two. She tried to speak the words and announce her intentions. But when everything became a watershed, she couldn’t catch her breath.
Aunt Ginny gently escorted Claire to the bed and sat her down. “Sweetheart, I know what you’re feeling. So many emotions swirled inside me before I married Sebastian.” Her aunt soothed her by running a hand up and down her back. “I didn’t think we’d suit. Scared and knowing nothing about running a household, I cried for two days before the wedding.”
Aunt Ginny studied the floor, then bowed her head and closed her eyes as if in prayer. With a deep breath, she turned to Claire. “My mother mumbled her way through a stumbling diatribe of what to expect from the marital bed. She painted such a grim picture, my legs barely kept me standing on my wedding day. The suspense of waiting for the night didn’t make it any easier.” She brushed Claire’s hair away from her face. “I promise I won’t let you be so fearful it ruins your special day. The wedding night is a celebration for both of you. I only hope Pembrooke is—”
The bedroom door opened wide. Emma stood at the entrance. A pasty white pallor had replaced her normal rosy glow. “Mother, something dreadful has happened.” Her voice rang with a faint thread of hysteria before she closed the door. “My friend Lady Lena sent a note.” Without a clue of what she had walked into, Emma breathlessly launched into the most bizarre story about her brother William, Lord Paul, and betting books. “Lord Paul placed a wager at White’s that Claire won’t marry Pembrooke tomorrow.” Vivid fear glittered in her eyes.
“What?” Aunt Ginny gasped.
“Apparently, no one cared if Lord Paul could cover the bet or not because it’s the most popular wager today.” Emma’s soft voice halted. She looked at Claire, then focused on her mother. “William was there and placed a—”
“What did he do?” Before Emma uttered another word, her aunt stood. “Please don’t tell me he challenged him to a duel. Dear God, please no.”
Emma swallowed and replied in a low, tormented voice. “He bet one thousand pounds Claire would marry Pembrooke. No one has seen McCalpin or Lord Paul.” She collapsed in her favorite chair in front of the fireplace.
Claire stilled, her mouth suddenly dry.
Aunt Ginny clasped both hands together, her knuckles white. “If William made a wager, then McCalpin will double the amount or worse. What have they done?”
Tears had gathered in Emma’s eyes. “Lena’s brother arrived home an hour ago with the tale. William is still at the club, ready to fight.”
“Sebastian must know immediately. Our only hope is that McCalpin has yet to discover the wager. He’s looked for any excuse to call Lord Paul out since Lady Anthony’s ball. I pray it’s not too late.” Aunt Ginny choked on her last words.
Claire stood and reached for her aunt’s hand.
“Darling, excuse us.” Aunt Ginny bowed her head briefly before she broke the silence with a quiet but determined softness. “Will you lie down and get some rest? Aileen and I will have you ready for tomorrow. I promise.”
“Shall I stay with Claire?” Worry lined Emma’s face.
“No, dear, come with me. I want to see Lena’s note.” Emma and her mother rushed out the door.
In a miraculous moment of clarity, Claire’s thoughts calmed with the knowledge that her world had changed yet again. She took the letter out of her pocket and traced its edges.
Five short minutes could change the course of one’s life. She threw the letter into the fire and watched it burn to black ash.
Faintly, abov
e the crackle of the wood, the wax sputtered in protest.
* * *
Dear Claire,
My grandmother wore these on her wedding day. They’re my gift to celebrate the first day of our new life together.
Yours,
A
Somerton strolled into Alex’s dining room without an announcement from Simms. With a fierce scowl, he leaned against the chair closest to Alex. “Why did you do it?”
Alex stretched his legs and laid the note to Claire next to the perfectly matched string of pearls. Dressed and ready for the day, he extended his buckskin-clad leg in such a lazy manner, his boot heel rested on Somerton’s chair. The man possessed enough intelligence to take the hint and leave or, at least, sit at the other end of the table.
“Can’t a bridegroom, the day before his wedding, have a private, peaceful breakfast without any unnecessary caterwauling from the hoi polloi?”
Somerton ignored the insult and kicked Alex’s leg out of the chair. He sat down and grabbed the last piece of bacon off Alex’s plate. In one move, he popped the morsel into his mouth. After two chews and a swallow, he said, “You know damn well what I’m talking about. It’s all over London.”
Alex went back to the morning post. “What exactly is all over London?”
Somerton reached for the last slice of toast on Alex’s plate. “The bet at White’s under the initials L. P. Supposedly, Lord Paul placed a wager your lovely bride would not be married to you tomorrow. Exact words ‘not be married to you,’ not ‘marry you.’”
Alex shrugged. “What’s the difference?”
The earl answered, “A world of difference, and you know it. Conjecture is that Lord Paul phrased the bet as an insult to Lady Claire. Makes it appear you’ll leave her at the altar. Not the other way around. The curse feeds upon itself. The book is accepting the wager as either she will or she won’t be married tomorrow, unqualified either way.”
Alex lifted his gaze. “The curse again?”
“If I had to lay odds on the matter”—Somerton narrowed his eyes—“I’d say it was you that placed the wager. To let you know the havoc you’ve created, Lord William Cavensham placed a thousand pounds against Lord Paul. McCalpin wagered two thousand. Rumor has it McCalpin is looking for Lord Paul as we speak. He wants to challenge him the day after your wedding.”
The Bad Luck Bride Page 10