by Lauren Royal
“How lovely,” Clarice answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster—which wasn’t much. Though she’d never expected to attend the ball—unlike her daughter, never even dreamed of such a thing—that didn’t mean she wanted to ogle the guests. She’d prefer to block the entire event from her mind. Just knowing Cameron was there, probably already dancing the new dances, made her heart ache anew.
“Eleven carriages so far, Mama.”
“Is that so?” Clarice struggled to pull herself together. “How many if three more arrive?” she forced herself to ask, playing their customary game. “How many then?”
Mary’s golden head tilted, but she stayed facing away, her gaze glued to the proceedings outdoors. “Fourteen,” she finally announced, pride in her small voice. “Fourteen, is that right? And here come three more now.”
She yawned, covering her mouth with one small hand; Clarice had kept her busy all the day long, running, fetching, and helping wherever a girl her size could help. Then suddenly she stilled, and her voice sounded puzzled. “Here comes one from the other direction, Mama. Do you s’pose the party is full?”
“I think not.”
“But the carriage is stopping, Mama. It’s not turning around. The party must be too full.”
Despite her melancholy, Clarice found herself laughing. “I imagine the ballroom is large enough to accommodate half the population of Sussex.”
“Cainewood doesn’t boast a proper ballroom,” came a lilting voice, “but they’re using the great hall. And your mama’s right. The chamber is unlikely to be strained to the bursting any—any—an—” A great sneeze roared into the cottage.
It was the loveliest sound Clarice had ever heard. “Cam?” she whispered.
“Good eve, princess.” He swung Mary up into his arms and stepped inside, dressed in the blue velvet suit he had worn to the wedding.
Lud, he was devastating.
Charmingly confident, his grin made Clarice’s heart melt and soar all at once. But she steeled herself to caution. “Good evening, Sir Cameron.”
“Clarice.” He nodded, a gallant incline of his head. “I hope you remember the new dances.”
“Wh-what?”
“The new dances. I’ll be wanting to dance with you at the ball.”
Whatever could he be talking about? “I’m not going to the ball!”
“Oh, aye, you are. And it’s started already, so we’d best be on our way.” Setting Mary on her feet, he ruffled her golden curls. “You’ll be needing a ribbon for your hair, princess, and you must put on your best gown.”
Mary’s eyes were round as two blue saucers. “Am I going to the ball, too?”
“Not exactly. But you can watch from the minstrel’s gallery.” The minstrel’s gallery. The exact place Clarice had wished she could watch from a few days earlier. “And there will be one special ceremony where I’m hoping you’ll want to bear witness.”
“What about a bear?”
“Bear witness. You’ll see. Then, when you get tired, you may sleep in the nursery.”
“With baby Jewel?”
“The very same. And her nurse to watch over you both.”
“You’ve planned everything,” Clarice put in, finally finding her tongue. “But I’ll thank you not to make promises to my daughter that you cannot keep. I cannot go to the ball. I’m no lady, and I’ve nothing to wear.”
“Did you think I taught you those dances only so you could do them with Mary?” The ostrich plume on Cameron’s hat bobbed when he shook his well-groomed head. “I’ve a gown for you in the carriage—just wait here while I fetch it.”
“Wait here,” Clarice scoffed, turning to ladle her soup. “As though I’ve anywhere to go. Certainly not to a ball at the castle.”
But a moment later he was back, a brilliant, deep pink gown over one arm that reminded her of the musk-mallow flowers alongside the River Caine. It had a bodice of plum velvet, full sleeves of cream lace, an underskirt of delicate pink satin, and a wide pink flounce all the way around the bottom.
“I had the seamstress add the flounce,” Cameron explained, “since you’re a wee bit taller than Kendra.”
An understatement if ever she’d heard one. But her fingers itched to touch the sumptuous fabrics. “You expect me to…wear this?”
“Aye. I went to great trouble to have it readied when both Lady Cainewood and Lady Kendra were wanting their new gowns finished at the same time. And…” From his surcoat pocket, he pulled a short strand of large, lustrous pearls. “I want you to wear this, too.”
She’d never seen anything quite so beautiful. “But nothing has changed,” she said as he stepped behind her to fasten the clasp. The pearls felt heavy against her collarbones. “Between us, or otherwise.”
When he came around to face her, his eyes were as earnest as ever. “I didn’t think anything had changed. I want to take you to the ball, Clarice.” He held out an embroidered velvet stomacher that matched the dress. “Hurry. It’s already started.”
Mary snatched the stomacher from his hands and shoved it at her mother. “Yes, hurry, Mama. We must bank the fire, lest the soup burn. Will we eat supper at the ball?”
“Aye, delicacies like you’ve never tasted. Your mama and I will bring a plate to the nursery for you.”
Mary clapped her hands. “Hurry, Mama!” she repeated. She began working the laces on the front of her own dress.
“I’ll wait for you in the carriage,” Cameron said over his shoulder as he headed out the door. “Impatiently.”
THIRTEEN
“I FEEL LIKE I’m in a dream,” Clarice said an hour later. “Dancing at a ball in the castle. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve felt like I’m in a dream. A fairytale.”
Cameron twirled her into the next step. “The dream can last forever, Clarice, if only you’ll say aye.”
“Oh, Cam…” Tonight, if she had any say in the matter, reality wouldn’t intrude. There would be time for sorrow and regret tomorrow. “If only things could be different. I cannot be a real wife to you—not the kind of wife you deserve—”
“What I deserve is for me to decide, for me to choose. And I choose you. What you speak of is only one small part of marriage. The other parts are much more important. I choose you, Clarice. I choose you and Mary.”
She watched his gaze stray up to the minstrel’s gallery, where her daughter’s small face appeared between the slats. He released Clarice long enough to wave, then grinned when Mary waved back.
The dancers rose on their toes and moved closer together. Cam took the opportunity to whisper in his partner’s ear: “What you are is enough for me. More than enough.”
And right there, in the great hall in front of all the glittering aristocrats, he stopped and leaned down to give simple Clarice Bradford a kiss.
“Since you’re the practical sort,” he continued when he resumed the dance, “I shall give you my practical arguments. I’ve no wish to marry for lust. That often fades anyway, or so I’ve been told. I wish to marry for love, for companionship, for the helpmate I know you will be.” He drew a slightly shaky breath. “But mostly because I cannot live without you. Since the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve known you were meant to be mine. Just as you are, Clarice. I won’t be expecting you to change.”
“I wish I could believe you,” she whispered.
“What’s stopping you?” he demanded, displaying the quick temper she’d spotted briefly the day they went boating and again at the picnic. But he was just as quick to regain control, and experience had taught Clarice the difference between a passionate temper and a callous one. And Cameron hadn’t a callous bone in his body.
“What cause have I given you to doubt my word? Ever?” he asked now.
“None,” she said honestly. “But you walked away. When I told you I am…fr-frigid”—she had to force the word out—“you walked away.”
“You told me to walk away.”
The look on his face sparked her guilt. At the ti
me, she’d been certain permission to leave was what he wanted. But now she wasn’t so sure.
“Regardless,” he said, “it’s sorry I am that I did walk away.” His hazel eyes looked so earnest, she couldn’t doubt him. “I needed to think it through; I’ll admit to that, Clarice. In that very moment I wasn’t certain of my feelings. But now I know my heart. I’ve told you the truth, and I’ve never lied to you before, so I’ll thank you not to accuse me of it now.” His hands squeezed hers. “What you have to offer is enough. I cannot live without you—not happily, at least.”
All at once, rather than seeming too young, he seemed wise beyond his years. For all his boyish looks and charm, truly he was a man. Next to him, Clarice felt young and untried, frightened of the future—yet even more afraid to refuse her one chance at true happiness.
“What do you say?” Cameron stopped, right there in the middle of the dance. “Will you become my handfasted wife, Clarice Bradford? Tonight? For day after tomorrow I leave for my castle, and I’ll be wanting to take you with me. You and Mary.”
“She’ll think she’s a princess.”
“Nothing will make me happier than she be my princess. Except, of course, if you’ll be my wife. Lady Leslie. It has a nice ring to it, aye?” His smile made her heart turn over. “The glass shoe fits you, Clarice. You deserve to wear it.”
“The glass shoe would never fit.” She glanced down at the hem of the gorgeous gown, thankful its flounce was plenty long to hide her plain black slippers. He hadn’t thought to bring her proper dress shoes, and for that he’d apologized profusely, though she suspected he’d wanted to but hadn’t been able to find ones that fit her big feet.
Not that she’d have chosen to wear formal shoes, anyway. She could barely perform the new dances in flat shoes, let alone heels.
“It fits,” he insisted.
It still sounded impossible. She’d be living in a castle. Dazed, she glanced around Cainewood’s enormous great hall: the polished plank floor, the tapestries on the walls, the intricate oak hammerbeam ceiling. The chamber exuded a stately majesty she could never aspire to live up to.
“Leslie Castle is nothing like this,” Cam said, reading her mind as only he could. “Nothing. It isn’t ancient like this, but nearly new—Caithren’s father built it. It boasts naught but fifteen rooms, small rooms, none of them anything like the massive chambers here. It’s but a fortified house, really, built to look like a castle.”
“Fifteen rooms,” she murmured. “Naught but fifteen rooms.” Her lips curved in a wry smile. “I’ve only ever lived in one.”
“Don’t worry—I will hire someone to clean it for you. You won’t be expected to break your back making our castle a home.”
Good heavens, she would have a servant? Whoever would have thought it?
But of course she would. She would be Lady Leslie.
“Will you marry me, Clarice? Please. Tonight. Right now.” Dropping one of her hands, he pulled a white ribbon from his surcoat pocket. “Mary is waiting for your answer.”
“Mary?” She glanced up to the gallery, and her daughter waved again. “Mary knows you wish to do this tonight?”
“Well, now, while we were waiting for you in the carriage, she asked again about the bear. She was afraid it might be dangerous.” He grinned, displaying the dimples that reminded her he was young. But wise, she reminded herself. So very wise. Not to mention handsome and charming. “So I explained to her about bearing witness, and what a very important job that would be. She assured me she is mature enough to manage it.”
“Oh,” she said, her free hand rising to trace the curve of the unfamiliar pearls around her neck. She felt overwhelmed, pressured from all sides. And within herself. She’d been so sure she wanted to be free of men, just she and Mary making a life for themselves. But Cam would leave on Sunday, and she knew if he left alone, he’d be taking her heart along with him.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, uncertain of her answer until she opened them. Then, “Yes,” she whispered. “I will be honored to become handfasted to you, Cameron Leslie. Tonight.”
He let out a whoop that had heads turning as he pulled her from the great hall.
Laughing, she ran after him, and his cousin, Lady Cainewood, came running after them both.
“Cam! What are you up to?”
He stopped in the entry, a three-story stone chamber graced with impossibly tall columns and a magnificent staircase. “Getting handfasted, cousin. Right now.”
“Without asking me to attend? How dare you?” His cousin’s words sounded stern, but her hazel eyes, so like his, were dancing conspiratorially. “Where? I must fetch Jason.”
“Not Lord Cainewood,” Clarice begged under her breath. “I couldn’t…”
“You alone, Cait.” Cameron started up the steps. “Mary will be the second witness.”
Without hesitation, Lady Cainewood followed. When they reached the top of the stairs, Mary came running down the corridor and threw herself into Cam’s arms. “Did she say yes?”
“Aye, princess, she did. Aren’t we lucky?”
“Can I call you Papa?”
He froze in his tracks, his face a mask of surprise. “I would be honored,” he told Mary gravely in a voice thick with emotion.
And in that moment, Clarice knew for certain she had made the right choice, no matter how frightened she was of the marriage bed, and moving to Scotland, and becoming a lady. It was the right choice for her daughter, and Mary was more important than all the mental obstacles barring Clarice’s way.
He led them all to a chamber and threw open the door. Clarice’s breath caught in wonder.
The entire room seemed golden. A carved bedstead was gilded and hung with golden brocade. The rest of the furniture was upholstered and gilded to match. The largest mirror Clarice had ever seen hung over a marble-topped table. She glimpsed herself in it, looking flushed and awed and younger even than Cameron.
“The Gold Chamber,” Lady Cainewood explained. “My husband told me it’s saved for honored guests, and no guest here is more important than Cam.”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “It’s the truth I’ve felt rather ridiculous bumping about this enormous room by myself.” He took Clarice’s hand and pulled her inside. “It will be much nicer in here tonight with you by my side.”
“Me? In here?” She couldn’t imagine. She was afraid to even stand on the patterned carpet that covered the floor. Her mind boggled at the luxury and expense.
“Did you think we’d be spending our wedding night apart? Or in your little cottage? Not that it isn’t nice,” he rushed to add. “You keep it quite bonnie. But it’s one room, you see, and with Mary—”
“We all see,” his cousin put in. “And you are more than welcome to stay here, Mrs. Bradford, until the day you leave for Leslie.”
Clarice wasn’t at all sure she was mentally prepared for a wedding night. “I wouldn’t presume, Lady Cainewood—”
“You must call me Caithren. Or Cait, if you please. We’re about to be cousins, after all.”
Could this get any more unbelievable?
“Now,” Cameron said, “take my hands, right to right, and left to left. In this way our arms make the symbol of infinity, signifying our commitment to be together. Forever.”
It sounded too much, too soon. “I thought you said it was for a year and a day?”
“Normally, aye. But for us, forever.”
When he looked at her like that, she was hard put to refuse him anything.
He dropped one of her hands long enough to give the ribbon to Mary. “Can you tie this around our four hands, princess?”
“I’ll do it,” Caithren volunteered.
“No, I can do it.” Proudly Mary stepped up and took the white ribbon. “I learned how to tie last year, didn’t I, Mama?”
“You surely did, poppet.”
Cam reclaimed Clarice’s hand. “Then tie it well, princess, for it symbolizes how tightly our family will be bou
nd together. You, me, and your mama.”
“Wait.” Frowning, Mary chewed on a nail. “At Lady Cainewood’s wedding…well, shouldn’t Mama be holding flowers?”
“Nay!” Cam and Cait shouted together. Eyes wide, Mary jumped, and in spite of the serious occasion, Clarice found herself laughing.
What a marvelous new life she was going to have.
She sobered when Mary came closer, and if the bow was a bit crooked when she finished tying, it didn’t matter. “Perfect,” Cam declared.
Then he dropped to one knee and captured Clarice’s gaze with his.
“Before the Lord our God, I present to you, Clarice, my love and my pledge. May I never knowingly or willingly do anything to harm nor grieve you in any fashion. Accept this pledge as a token of my trust. Like our hands are bound, may our love be as strong. That which is mine is yours, my heart and all my worldly belongings. Will you share my life with me, Clarice?”
A hush settled over the room, and his hands squeezed hers.
“What am I supposed to say?” she whispered.
“Say aye, love. Only aye.”
She ventured a tremulous smile. “Aye, then. I will share your life. For a year and a day and forevermore.”
He rose to meet her in a kiss of pure, exhilarating warmth, their bound hands crushed between their bodies. Clarice might have carried on kissing him all night, but thankfully Cam seemed to have more presence of mind, and kept it short.
“Now Mary,” he said huskily. “Cait? Will you untie us, if you please, and bind Mary’s hands to ours as well?”
Tears flooded Clarice’s eyes as his cousin did as he bid. Soon they were tied together, the three of them, and Cam dropped to one knee again.
“Before the Lord our God, we are bound to you, Mary, from this day forward, as your parents in our hearts and our souls. You have our love, and with it our promise never to harm or grieve you willingly in any fashion. Like our hands are bound, let our love be as strong. Will you share your life with us, and be known from this day forward as Mary Leslie, daughter of Cameron and Clarice?”