Ignoring Lucien, Phoebe made her way to Tony's side. Placing her hand on his arm, she shrugged nonchalantly but she kept her gaze carefully pinned on Lucien. “I was attending to the comfort of our guest, of course. Lady Claire has arrived and is waiting in the library.”
“But if you prefer,” she offered sweetly, her lips twitching from the teasing grin that threatened to ruin the moment, “we can all go in to dinner first.”
19
Claire acknowledged his presence the moment he entered the library. A hesitant smile of greeting appeared on her lips only briefly before a babble of apology mixed with a hurried explanation for her visit came pouring out in a rush. “Phoebe said I should wait for you here. I hope you do not mind my calling without an invitation? I—I felt I should explain and apologize for my behavior after—”
“After you turned down my ill-prepared proposal of marriage?” Lucien's lips twisted wryly. “There is no need, Claire. When you flew out of here as if the Devil himself were on your heels, I realized immediately how wrong of me it was to to have asked.”
Confusion furrowed her brow. “Wrong? I—”
He shrugged. “There are far better moments in which to ask a woman to decide whether or not she would like to spend the rest of her life with you than the spare few before one must rush off to announce his sister's betrothal to a houseful of guests—or the rather befuddled but glorious ones after sharing a heated, fiery moment of passion.”
“And there are likely far better reasons for declining a proposal than a misplaced sense of loyalty, which is my only excuse,” Claire offered, casting a quick, hesitant glance in his direction. “But you see, I had promised to help Mel win a proposal from you, and...”
Lucien's expression rapidly changed from one of polite interest to indignation. “You wanted me to wed Lady Melisande Ruebrige?”
Claire nodded, her cheeks suddenly burning with mortification. “Well, not you specifically. Not at first. It could have been any of the Graces, really. Nor later, after—after the earl of Vykhurst visited you in London and Mel decided it was definitely you she wanted, but…”
Lucien held up a hand, halting her words. Eyes narrowed, he peered at her. “Firstly, you will please explain what you mean when you say the Graces.”
She flushed hotly and lowered her gaze to stare at the floor. “The Graces is an appellation Mel and I created for the three eligible dukes she had singled out for pursuit this Season.”
“I see. And am I allowed to know the names of my competitors? Which of us did the two of you deem eligible for your esteemed list?” His voice was as hard and cold as the look in his eyes.
“Mel's list—not mine,” she clarified, though she continued to avoid his gaze. “The list included the Dukes of Kelsing, Ambray, and—and yourself, of course. But the Duke of Ambray never put in an appearance. He is more than a bit reclusive, you see, and Kelsing, well, he did not seem to suit after all.”
“Which left only myself.” Lucien grunted. “Singled out like a ripe, plump bit of marital prey, I suppose?”
“Yes. I mean no!” She shook her head. “No, it wasn't like that, Lucien, and the names on Mel's list are far less important than the promise made because of it, which is what I am trying to explain, if only you will give me a chance.”
“Very well, though I believe I have the gist of it. You made a promise to help your friend trap myself or one of two of my closest peers into a marriage I am fairly certain neither of us would want.” Crossing the room, he leaned a hip against the edge of his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “By all means, do explain. Please.”
His sardonic tone did nothing ease her discomfort, though she supposed she deserved his antagonism. Still, it was important to her that he know why she had declined his proposal. Her rejection had not been of him or for him, but because she could not accept without breaking her promise to Mel. She peered at him curiously, wondering if he would truly understand even after her explanations were given and her courage spent. “What do you know of Melisande?”
“Very little, and forgive me, but I do not see how my slim knowledge of your friend signifies at the moment.” He shrugged. “My first impression of the lady angered you so much you refused to be civil to me. You will understand if I am hesitant now to divulge more.”
“It signifies.” Claire tangled her fingers in the folds of her skirts so he would not see how badly her hands trembled. “You see, people often see Mel as loud, and brash, and even very forward, but she isn't at all like that. Not really. Only no one really knows her; not enough to understand.”
Her gaze implored, but his own had become steely and closed, and she began to fear coming here was a mistake despite his sisters' insistence that all would be well. She began to pace in front of the desk where he sat, her brow furrowed as she tried once more to explain the reasons behind her loyalty to Melisande. “It is her father, or rather his neglect of a daughter who needed his attention and love and support who is responsible for Melisande's overly assertive attitude. She loves him—so much she has devoted practically every day of her life since her mother's death trying to gain his attention—and that is why I promised to help her.”
“Because she loves her father?”
“No, because no matter her efforts to the contrary, Mel still feels like her father ignores her.”
“So that is your excuse? Your motive for agreeing to help her trap a fellow into marriage so she might gain her father's attention?”
“She is lonely, Lucien.” Claire continued, ignoring his caustic tone and his refusal to even attempt to understand the dilemma she had faced. “There was a brief time in her life during which Melisande and her father were very close. But after her mother died, leaving them both alone and afraid and confused, the marquess buried himself in the running of his estates to hide his loneliness and distract himself from his grief while Melisande—”
Claire broke off, sympathy for the lonely child Melisande must have been rising up to choke off her words. Finally, she continued with a commiserative shake of her head, “Melisande had no one. Surely you can see why gaining his attention became so very important to her? He was, after all, the only family she had left.”
Lucien said nothing, merely nodded to indicate that she should continue with her explanation. Releasing the fabric she had twisted so tightly between her fists, Claire flattened her palms together, twisting them one against the other while she sought the words she needed.
“Nothing seemed to work for her—until the prince arrived,” she went on. “Melisande was convinced the Koslavian prince was to be her salvation. If she were a princess, her father would forget his grief for her mother and see her again; would hear her. He would love her Lucien, again and at last, and she—she would no longer feel quite so forgotten and alone.”
A quick glance in his direction revealed shuttered eyes and a careful tension about Lucien's frame that made her wonder if perhaps discussing the pain of having lost a parent might not be her best recourse. She smoothed her now damp palms along her skirt and tried again.
“But then Helena, her best friend since childhood, married the prince. Her life-long friend had betrayed her and Melisande was utterly crushed.”
He moved then, choosing to stand at the window rather than lean indolently against his desk and Claire could not help but think she had inadvertently struck a nerve. Had Lucien also felt the cold sting of betrayal from a friend? She wondered.
“Shortly after Helena wed the prince, my father moved us to London.”
“For your debut,” Lucien wrongfully deduced. She shook her head.
“Nay, I had enjoyed my come-out the Spring before, but that year, Melisande and I became inseparable. She seemed so broken then, Lucien, and you cannot imagine how very lonely. Eventually, I did manage to help her see that Helena's betrothal to the prince had not been done in spite but was, rather, a decision made between Helena and the prince's fathers long ago.”
“Has she since f
orgiven the princess for her perceived betrayal?”
He was looking at her now, and Claire nodded.
“She did, but not before the damage had been done.” Her lips quirked. “Mel has become quite...particular when it comes to matters of friendship and loyalty, I am afraid.”
“And yet, the two of you concocted a heinously disloyal scheme to help her trap a duke.”
Again, she shook her head, denying his accusation. “Mel hoped for love, Lucien, but she was also sadly determined to find it alongside a coronet—because of her father. If she could not have a prince, she decided, only a duke would do. No one ignores a duchess, you see, and yes—I did promise to help her. Only you—”
His brow arched sardonically upward. “Chose the wrong woman and foiled your plans?”
It was her turn to glare. “You ignored my peeve and waltzed with me despite—or perhaps in spite of it. With nothing more than a glance, you made me feel things I had never felt before, never imagined I would feel.”
She felt a hot blush stealing its way across her cheeks but forced herself to continue. “Your kisses made me yearn for more, and then, when you proposed—” She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against her shoulders. Her fists closed so tightly her nails bit into the heels of her hand. Finally, she straightened, facing him with the truth at last. “I longed so much to be able to make a different choice.”
Confused by his continued silence, she started to pace the room once more. “But I could not do so, for you see, no matter what I wished for myself, I knew it could never be because I was bound by my loyalty to our friendship, to the promise I had made to Melisande.”
She paused to peer at him. “Considering what you now know I knew about her past, about how her mother's death created a distance between herself and her father and affected her every waking moment thereafter, surely you can see why I did not want to be the second trusted friend in Melisande's life to cause her pain?”
Straightening her shoulders, Claire forced her gaze to remain steady, to hold his as surely as he held her heart. “Still, despite the deep, crushing sense of betrayal I knew she would feel once I explained precisely why I could no longer help her in her quest, I went to her—to explain. I had a confession to make, you see, and it was the sort best done in person.”
“And what exactly did you confess?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant, and Claire felt her courage falter.
There was a new stillness about him, she realized, almost as if he were now waiting in cautious anticipation for her to reveal something else, something more—something secret and precious and fragile. But she was terrified at the moment to tell it. And yet—was this not the very reason she had agreed to come here when Phoebe and her sisters had converged on her en masse the afternoon after she had made her confession to Melisande?
Facing him now was the most difficult moment of her life, Claire decided. Though terrified of what his reaction might be, she knew she would have to say the words. She also realized that, once the words were said, there would be no going back. If he no longer wanted her....
Shaking her head to chase away such hurtful, unwanted thoughts, Claire hitched her chin up a notch and faced him squarely, her decision resolute. “That I have fallen in love with you.”
Before he could comment, she rushed on.
“But there is something that I find I simply must know.” Drawing in a quick, fortifying breath for courage, she asked, “Who is Bethany—the woman your friend Tony is so fond of mentioning whenever I am near? What is she to you, Your Grace?”
“An infatuation from my youth,” Lucien said without hesitation. Then, his lips quirked ruefully upward. “Lady Bethany Strandehope, now the esteemed Marchioness of Luvelton was the first woman to decline a proposal of marriage from me.”
Claire felt her stomach drop to her toes. “You love her?”
Lucien shook his head. “Nay, nor did I ever, but I will admit it took quite a bit of time for me to realize the truth. There was naught between Bethany and I but a foolish young boy's daydreams. She was lovely and I was a cocksure lad who believed my future title would be enough to win the hand of any woman to whom I might offer for. I was wrong, just as Lady Melisande was wrong to try and manipulate a man she has hopes of marrying.”
Her own guilt at being a party to the wrongness rose up, shaming her, and Claire looked at her hands. “Mel left for Kozla this morning. She—she has given up her quest for a coronet, Your Grace, preferring instead to spend some time with Helena and the baby.”
Lucien came up in front of her so silently she did not realize he had moved until his fingers touched her chin, lifting it until their gazes met. “How did she take your confession? Was she bitter?”
“Nay. To my surprise, Mel was not angry with me at all. In fact, she was most happy to hear my confession—especially after I told her I hoped soon to be wed,” Claire offered, peeking cautiously up at him through her lashes while trying to avoid his direct gaze.
He drew up, but his reply, when it came, was a question casually asked. “Truly? To whom, if you do not mind my asking?”
Claire swallowed hard, fighting against a sudden attack of nerves devouring her courage. What if he now declined her, as she had?
“You,” she blurted, before what was left of her meager courage could desert her.
For a long moment, he said nothing, merely stared at her until she felt so undone by nerves she had to clear her throat and her tongue swept out to wet lips suddenly gone dry. Hesitantly, she added, “That is, if you still want me?”
He closed the gap between them so swiftly Claire blinked up at him in surprise. His eyes had gone dark and there was a new light shimmering in his gaze. “I will always want you, Claire, which is why I am going to do this again. Only this time—”
“Dash it! I cannot hear a blessed word through these things!” Alaina complained loudly before peeking her head between the heavy double doors leading into the library, then Emily also, and behind her, Phoebe. “Did he say yes?”
Nerves finally getting the better of her, Claire started to laugh, but the sound died on her lips when Lucien stepped close to put his arms around her from behind. He pulled her against him and dropped a quick kiss on her temple.
“Oh, he most definitely would have said yes,” Lucien assured his sisters, “but, unfortunately, he was interrupted at a rather crucial moment. Do you three mind? I would like to have a moment to—”
Loud whoops of excitement filled the corridor an instant before the thick double doors swung wide and all three female St. Daine siblings spilled into the room to offer their brother and Claire lots of well wishes and heartfelt congratulations amidst the many squeals, hugs, and even a few unexpected but unmistakably happy tears.
“Have you decided upon a date?” Phoebe asked once the initial excitement faded a bit and she was able to get a serious word in.
“Better make it soon,” Alaina teasingly cautioned Claire. “Lucien has a bothersome way of managing to put off his own happiness until he has seen all others well met.”
“It will be soon,” Lucien said, a decided edge of determination in his tone.
“Oh, it will take months,” Emily contradicted him at the same time. “Weddings take time to plan and we would not want our eldest brother's happy day to be anything less than a grand affair, would we? But let us not forget in our excitement at seeing Lucien's heart promised at last that Phoebe's wedding must come first. It would be very crass of us to steal the moment from her, considering…”
A burst of chatter exploded in the room as the girls offered suggested dates and possibilities for musical scores, floral arrangements, and then there was the guest list, and...
“Lucien?” Phoebe's quietly voiced inquiry brought everyone's eyes around to her once more. Her smile wavered and her voice faltered at first, but she finally managed to say, “If Claire does not mind, I think a double wedding would be nice.”
Lucien frowned. “Absolutely not. Phoebe, Clai
re and I would not dream of taking this from you. You have sacrificed so much by agreeing to wed Claybourne in exchange for Tristan's freedom already—”
Phoebe shook her head, cutting him off. “No, you wouldn't be taking anything from me, anything at all, and I—it's just that—” Her voice grew thick and she closed her eyes, squeezing them as tightly as the emotions which were obviously cutting off her words.
Claire could see tears rushing in to fill the spaces between her thick lashes, but Phoebe batted them hurriedly away, drew in a quick, deep breath and soldiered on.
“Tristan and I, we have shared so many things over the years. Laughter. Tears. There are so many wonderful memories, Lucien, including far too many of terrible, terrible teasing at my expense,” she said, a watery laugh breaking free at her attempt to lighten the suddenly serious mood. “But you and I—”
Emotion shut off her words again, followed by a hoarse sob, and Claire could scarce bear the agony of the moment because she had a feeling she already knew what Phoebe wanted, was trying so hard to say. She leaned against Lucien, her cheek snuggled against his chest to hide a tear of her own.
“Phoebe?” Emily whispered in the face of her sister's tears. “Phoebe, darling, it's alright. This can wait until...”
Phoebe had lowered her head in an attempt to gain control on her emotions, but after Emily's softly spoken words, she raised it and turned to her brother, unconcerned with the flood of tears spilling in slow streamers down her cheeks.
“I guess what I am trying to say is that Tristan and I, we—we have many memories of times spent together, both good and bad, but you...you and I, Lucien, we—”
Tears once again choked off her words and she squeezed her eyes closed, struggling with the fierceness of the emotions rising up inside her until she finally managed to calm herself long enough to say, “As this is arguably the biggest step either of us will take in our lives, Lucien, I—I really thought it would be nice if I could take this one with you!”
An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1) Page 18