A Duchess by Midnight (20 page)

Clara stared at
her reflection in speechless amazement. “I… I do not know what to say,” she whispered.

Who
was
that stunning woman staring back at her? The one in the midnight blue dress that shimmered like moonlight and the glossy titian curls that gleamed like fire and the wide, wide blue eyes framed by lashes darkened with kohl?

“Say thank you,” said Mrs. Periwinkle succinctly, “and go downstairs. Your carriage is waiting.”

“My – my carriage? But I don’t have a carriage.”

“You do tonight. And it is a rather splendid one, if I do say so myself.”

Clara shook her head. It was all too much. From the moment she’d realized Mrs. Periwinkle’s full intentions it had all been too much. She did not know how, or why, or when the seamstress had gotten it in her head to turn Clara into a real-life fairy princess, but she had succeeded in her task to do exactly that. And not just her, but Emily and Poppy as well. Working together all three women had turned her from a dirty country mouse in an elegant swan. Never in all of her life had she felt so beautiful… and so overwhelmed.

“I cannot believe you did all of this for me. I cannot thank you enough.”

Emily dashed forward with a white handkerchief as Clara’s eyes filled with tears.

“Not only for you,” corrected Mrs. Periwinkle. “We did it for the duke as well.”

“Thorncroft? But… I do not understand. What does this have to do with him?” 

“I told you she wouldn’t understand. Didn’t I tell you?” Poppy rolled her eyes. “Why do you think you are going to the ball? To
his
ball? To win him back, you silly peagoose,” she said when Clara shrugged helplessly. “Gossip has it he is going to find his bride tonight. Which means we haven’t a moment to lose. Here is your shawl” – she held out a silk wrap spun of the finest silver thread – “and your shoes. Aren’t they divine? I picked them out myself.”

“I helped,” Emily piped in.

Clara stared at the delicate ivory slippers with the glittering sapphire stars hand sewn onto the tip of each toe and slowly shook her head from side to side. “No. I – I am sorry. I know you all meant well, but Thorncroft… Thorncroft does not love me.”

And I fear he never did.

“But of course he does, my dear. Only a fool would think otherwise.” Mrs. Periwinkle lifted one gray brow. “Are you a fool? I thought not. Come along now, Poppy was right. We haven’t a moment to lose.” Taking one of Clara’s arms by the elbow she nodded at Emily to indicate she should take the other and the two women propelled Clara down the stairs and out the front door with Poppy leading the way, a brass candlestick held high in her right hand.

“I really do not think this is a very good idea,” Clara started to protest, only to stop short when she saw the carriage waiting for her at the end of the drive.

It was, in a word, magnificent. Never had she seen its equal, not even when she’d ridden inside Thorncroft’s own private coach. Gold instead of black, it was styled after the baroque carriages of old with a peaked roof and windows that wrapped all the way around. Two white horses with ribbons in their manes and matching feather plumes on their bridles turned their heads simultaneously to look at Clara, their liquid brown eyes soft and gently inquisitive as they studied her as though to say, ‘
Who are you and what are you doing here?
’

Because she had the same exact question Clara dug in her heels when Mrs. Periwinkle and Emily tried to push her into the carriage. Setting her jaw and crossing her arms she held her ground, refusing to budge so much as an inch while a footman, dressed in full livery, held the door to the side, revealing plump velvet cushions in deep, deep red.

“I am terribly sorry,” she said. “I know the effort you have expelled on my behalf, but I cannot go. I know you think Thorncroft loves me but he–”

“He thinks you are married,” Emily blurted out.

Eyes wide, Clara turned to stare at the maid in disbelief, certain she’d misheard her. “He thinks
what
?”

“He thinks you are married,” she repeated. “A letter arrived three days after you left. From Lady Irene Witherspoon. His Grace was out at the time and the letter was placed on his desk.” Her cheeks flushed a dull pink. “I – I snuck in and read it. I know I shouldn’t have and I am deeply ashamed–”

“Yes, yes, we know,” Poppy interrupted. “Get on with it.”

“Lady Irene wrote to His Grace telling him you had married a Mr. Ingle.”

“She wouldn’t have,” Clara whispered. Except she knew, deep down in her heart, it was
exactly
what her stepmother would have done.

Was this why Thorncroft had not come for her? Because he believed she’d married another man? If so, then maybe there was still a chance – however slim – that he
did
really love her and this had all been one big misunderstanding. A misunderstanding which could have been avoided if she’d only told him the truth from the very beginning. Oh,
why
hadn’t she told him about her stepmother and her forced engagement? By letting him hear it from a third party it had all sounded far worse than it really was. No wonder he’d demanded she leave! And then to be falsely led to believe she had actually gone through with the marriage… Clara’s heart ached for him as she imagined the pain he must have endured. Pain
she’d
had a hand in creating.   

“Now do you see why you
must
go to the ball?” Mrs. Periwinkle asked.

“Yes. Yes, I see.”

“Good. Now lift your chin, dry your eyes, and get in that bloody carriage! Thorncroft waited seven long years to meet you and he deserves his happily-ever-after. You both do. I know it will be difficult to face him, but sometimes the most difficult things yield the greatest rewards.”

Carefully lifting her skirts to avoid trailing the hem along the ground, Clara took a deep breath and stepped inside the carriage with the assistance of a footman. Bracing one arm on the sill she leaned out the open window for one last glimpse of her three fairy godmothers. For surely that’s what they were.

They may not have had magic. At least not the sort found in the pages of a fairy-tale. But they’d changed her life all the same and given her more than she could have ever dreamed. And what was that but a sort of magic all its own?

“I do not know how to begin to thank you.”

“Thank us by coming back with a ring on your finger,” Mrs. Periwinkle said matter-of-factly.

“Then you can take that ring,” Poppy began, “and shove it right up Lady Irene’s–”

“Have a lovely time!” Emily called. 

Clara bit back a smile. “I will do my best.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Periwinkle cried as the carriage jolted forward. “I almost forgot! Without an invitation you will not get past the front door, but the driver has been instructed to bring you around the back of the estate. A friend will be waiting to let you in. Best of luck, my dear!”

The carriage ride
from Windmere to Longacre Park was far shorter than Clara would have liked, giving her little time to gather her thoughts. Torchlight reflected off the dozens and dozens of carriages already lining the long stone drive, making her wonder just how many women Thorncroft had invited tonight in his attempt to find a bride.

That doesn’t matter,
she told herself firmly as the driver did precisely what Mrs. Periwinkle had said he would and directed the carriage around the side of the estate, bypassing the brightly lit entrance with its potted ferns and towering lanterns and queue of guests waiting to be announced.
The only thing that matters is finding Thorncroft and making him listen to the truth.

Filled with a steely determination she used to suppress her nerves, she waited with bated breath for the footman to jump down from his perch beside the driver and hurry around to open her door.

“There,” he said, pointing to a narrow wooden door that was slightly ajar. “You can go in there, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Clara said before she hurried across a short stretch of lawn, keeping her skirts picked up high above the grass to avoid the evening dew. The hard soles of her slippers clicked loudly on the brick walkway as she approached the door. After glancing left and then right to make sure no one had seen her she ducked inside, squinting ever-so-slightly as her eyes adjusted to the change in lighting.

By first glance it appeared she’d stepped into a storage room off the kitchen. Long shelves filled with bags of beans and grains and potatoes lined the walls and there were wooden barrels stacked three deep in every corner. Wondering if she had gone to the wrong place she started to turn back towards the door… only to be suddenly enveloped by a sturdy pair of arms that belonged to a very familiar, very beloved face.

“Agnes!” she cried with delight. “Oh, Agnes. How I have missed you! But… what are you doing here?”

“I work here now,” said the older woman, her weathered countenance beaming with pride. “Head housekeeper, hired just last week. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Step back, step back, let me get a good look at you. Beautiful,” she said when Clara did a quick spin. “If only your mother and father could see you now. They would be so proud of you, Clara. So – so very proud.”

“Agnes.” The shock in Clara’s tone mirrored the shock on her face. “Are you
crying
?”

“Crying? Me? Do not be ridiculous,” the housekeeper said even as she lifted up her apron and dashed it along her cheeks. “There’s a bit of dust in here is all. Now you’d best follow me and be quick about it. The duke only just arrived but word has it he already has his eye on Lady Trenear.”

“Lady Trenear?” Clara worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she followed Agnes out of the storage room and down a long, narrow corridor. “Who is that?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, and I don’t think His Grace knows either. Or cares. He is not having a ball to find a love match, Clara. He is using it to find a wife.”

“Shouldn’t they be one and the same?”

The housekeeper stopped abruptly in front of a wide wooden door. On the other side of it Clara could hear the faint strains of music and the low hum of voices. “Only if you are very, very lucky.” Her gaze softened. “I always knew you were destined for great things and finding the one you are meant to be with is the greatest thing of all. Good luck, my darling girl. Although I doubt you will need it once he catches a glimpse of you. The spitting image of your mother, you are. If only she could be here to see you.”

Clara’s heart hammered inside of her chest as she stared at the door. This was it, then. Her chance at true love. Taking a deep breath that filled her lungs with both air and courage, she reached out with one trembling hand and turned the knob.   

Thorncroft danced.
He talked. He laughed.

But he didn’t
feel
.

The light he’d felt inside of his chest when he was with Clara had disappeared; extinguished like a candle at the first watery hint of dawn. And no matter how many women he danced with he could not find the spark inside of himself to ignite it again.

“Go away,” he warned his brother without preamble when he saw Adam approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I am not in the mood for one of your speeches.”

“Not in the mood for much of anything, are you?” Completely unfazed by Thorncroft’s surly demeanor Adam slapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and shoved a flask of brandy into his hand. “Drink up. I swear it’s the only thing that gets me through these bloody affairs.”

Thorncroft pushed the flask away. If he was going to survive the rest of the night he needed to keep his wits about him. He felt like a fox being chased down by an amorous pack of hounds. Everywhere he turned there was a young debutante trying desperately to catch his eye. Even worse were their zealous, overbearing mothers.

What the hell had he been thinking?

“Doesn’t seem like such a good idea now, does it?” Adam asked, reading Thorncroft’s mind. “The worst part is none of them will leave until you pick one. I fancy that brunette over there. Lady Susannah. Or was it Lady Samantha?” He shook his head. “Bugger it all, I don’t remember.”

“Do you ever?” Thorncroft said dryly.

His brother’s grin was unrepentant. “Every once in a while. But not very often. What about that blonde over by the –
bloody hell
. Who is
that
?”

Only paying half a mind to Adam’s ramblings, Thorncroft absently followed the direction of his brother’s stare when he fell uncharacteristically silent. For a moment he didn’t have the foggiest notion what – or rather who – Adam was staring at. Then two women parted ways and he saw her.

She was a vision in blue. Of course she would have been a vision in a cloth sack, but the gown that bared her creamy white shoulders and clung to the tops of her breasts before falling away in a spill of glittering sapphire made it almost painful to look at her. Or maybe that was the sudden clenching of his heart.

“I say, do you know her?” Adam asked as he noted the sudden tension in Thorncroft’s jaw.

“I thought I did,” he said shortly. “But I was wrong. I wanted her removed at once.”

Adam looked positively appalled. “You want that angel to be
removed
? Have you bloody well gone mad? If you do not want her then at least have the good grace to introduce your favorite brother. Never mind,” he said when Thorncroft remained frozen in place, his stormy gray eyes glittering with malice. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Stop,” Thorncroft gritted out before his brother had gone more than half a dozen steps. “If you touch her I will kill you.”

“Now see here, I know you’ve been feeling out of sorts lately but that’s not excuse to resort to violence. If you don’t want her then what the devil is wrong with me taking a shot? It would be a sin for beauty like that to go to waste.”

“If you touch her,” Thorncroft repeated, “I will kill you.” And without another word he brushed past his brother, his hard gaze never wavering from Clara’s sweet, unsuspecting face as he stalked across the ballroom to confront her.

From the moment
she’d stepped into the glittering ballroom with its crystal chandeliers and elaborate flower bouquets and constant parade of men and women, all of whom fit beautifully into their ornate surroundings, Clara had felt out of her element. To some – no doubt to most – the room was a thing of beauty, but to someone who craved the blue open sky and the sweet kiss of sunshine it was nothing short of a gilded prison. She was like a duck floundering on land; awkward and ungainly and uncertain what she should do next.

Oh,
why
had she allowed herself to be talked into coming here? This world wasn’t for her and if Thorncroft was a part of it then maybe he wasn’t for her either.

Shoulders slumping in defeat she turned to go… only to feel a heavy weight on her elbow dragging her back. Spinning around to demand her release she found herself staring up into a pair of hauntingly familiar gray eyes.

Eyes that did not look at all pleased to see her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Thorncroft demanded, his voice as hard as the iron grip he had on her arm.

Faced with his ire and his obvious revulsion of her every carefully rehearsed word and sentence fled from Clara’s mind, leaving her completely blank.

He hates me
, she thought in dismay as she noted the cruel slant of his mouth and the stiff set of his jaw.
He truly hates me.

“I – I – I came to see you. To explain–”

“Explain?” he said, cutting her off with a bitter laugh that drew the gazes of a few inquisitive bystanders. “Explain what, exactly? How you pretended to be in love with me when the entire time you were promised to another man?”

Clara glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “Is there somewhere else we can speak? Somewhere more private?”

“Why? So you can attempt to charm me again?” he sneered. “I am afraid to tell you it won’t work this time, princess. Not when I see you for what you really are: an opportunistic little bitch who wanted to be a duchess.”

Clara gasped. The trio of women eavesdropping to the right of them gasped. Even Thorncroft looked a bit taken aback by his own vulgarity until his gaze abruptly hardened.

“I want you gone from here, do you understand? I never want to see your lying face ever again.” 

“Andrew, wait!” she said wretchedly when he snapped his fingers to summon a footman. “Please let me explain. I came here to tell you–”

“I don’t care. Do you understand me? I do not care anymore, Clara. Please escort this woman off the grounds,” he told the thin, confused looking footman who had hurried to his side. “And do not allow her back in, no matter what she says.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” With an apologetic look at Clara the footman took her arm and began to gently lead her towards a set of double doors. She resisted, but for such a thin fellow the footman was surprisingly strong.

“Don’t do this,” she cried, looking desperately back over her shoulder to where Thorncroft stood watching her being dragged away, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his expression completely devoid of any and all emotion. “Please don’t do this. I can explain everything! I am not married. Did you hear me? Andrew, I never married him!”

She wanted to say more but they had reached the doors. Her cheeks flushed bright pink with embarrassment from having caused such a large scene, Clara nevertheless walked out of the ballroom with her chin held high. She had done the best she could. Surely there was no shame in that. If Thorncroft could not find it in his heart to give her five bloody minutes of his time then he was not the man she’d thought and there was nothing else she could do.

“I know the way out from here,” she said calmly once the footman had escorted her out the front door and past half a dozen curious guests who paused in what they were doing to watch her walk down the front steps.

“But the duke–”

“I know the way,” she repeated. “Please release my arm. I promise I will not cause any more trouble.”

“Yes, my lady.” With a short, courteous bow the footman let go of her arm and stepped away.

Lifting her shoulders and straightening her spine Clara descended the stairs with all the bearing of a young queen, her gaze unfaltering as she stared straight ahead. She could hear people whispering about her, just as she could feel their eyes on her back. Ignoring them she continued on, forcing herself to walk past the large stone fountain, past the long line of carriages, past the tall oaks that stood sentry on either side of the drive, their tall trunks and broad leaves casting dark, rippling shadows across the neatly raked stone.

She was nearly to the road when she heard her name like a whisper on the wind, faint at first but growing stronger and stronger until it was an echoing shout. Recognizing to whom the shout belonged she set her jaw and kept walking, a bit faster than before. 

“Clara! Clara, wait. Clara! Bloody hell.” Cursing his frustration under his breath Thorncroft broke into a run and Clara, after a quick glance over her shoulder, did the same.

How silly they must have looked, sprinting pell-mell down the drive! Clara in her fancy ball gown and Thorncroft in his formal black attire. She picked up her skirts as she ran, revealing slender calves and trim ankles incased in pale pink stockings. Her heartbeat accelerated, the sound of it roaring in her ears, deafening Thorncroft’s demands for her to stop which was all well and good for she was done listening to him.

She had given him not one, but two opportunities to hear her out! And both times he had sent her away. She knew some of the blame was her own, but she refused to bear all of it herself. They were both responsible for their own shortcomings and if Thorncroft refused to acknowledge his then she could not make him do so any more than she could make the rain fall or the sun shine.

The tiny heel of her slipper suddenly caught, making her stumble forward. She cried out as she fell, instinctively throwing her hands out in front of her face as the stones came rushing up, but before she struck the ground she was swept up by two powerful arms and secured against a strong, familiar chest.

“Easy now,” Thorncroft’s voice rumbled against her ear when she began to struggle. “I’ve got you.”

Kicking her feet out she glared up at him through tousled curls pulled free from the elegant coiffure Emily had fashioned. “I do not want you to have me!” she snapped. “You don’t deserve me. Put me down, Andrew, or I swear I will–”

“You’ll do what?” he interrupted, arching one dark brow. Ignoring her flailing arms and legs he held her as effortlessly as he might a pillow filled with feathers. “Scream?”

“Maybe I will!”

“And who do you think would come to your rescue?”

It was a fair point, which only made it all the more infuriating. Grinding her teeth together she said, “What do you want? You told me to leave and I left. Was I not walking fast enough for you?”

A scowl creased his brow. “You shouldn’t have been walking at all. Where is your coach?”

“I don’t know.”

“Clara–”

“I don’t!” she insisted. “Now please put me down. I am not a – a damsel in distress in need of rescuing, nor am I a child in need of coddling.”

His gaze shuttered he carried her to the edge of the drive and slowly set her down on the grass. She’d lost her shoe when she tripped and her toes curled inward as the cold dew immediately soaked through her thin stocking. Noting the way she was standing Thorncroft turned and searched her missing shoe amidst the stones. Finding it a few feet away, he retrieved it and presented it to her as though it were a priceless piece of jewelry. But when she tried to take her shoe back from him he suddenly lifted it out of reach, causing her fingers to close on thin air.

Clara sighed.

“I do not know what game you are playing at, but I am tired and I just want to go home.”

“In the ballroom you said you never married him.” He studied her intently as though trying to pull the truth from her very skull. “What did you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“But the letter I received–”

“My stepmother lied to you, Andrew.” Clara’s smile was small and impossibly sad. “It is what she does. It is what she has always done. I do not know why.”

“Then you were never engaged?” A glimmer of hope lit his eyes, only to be quickly extinguished when Clara shook her head.

“No, I was. Or at least I think I was, in as much as one person can be engaged to another without giving their consent. It was my stepmother’s idea. Her way to get me out of the house once and for all. I had never met the man she wanted me to marry, let alone approved of him. All I knew was his name.”

“Mr. Robert Ingle,” said Thorncroft.

“Yes, Mr. Robert Ingle. May I have my shoe now?”

“Not yet. Is that why you were going to London? To meet him?”

Clara nodded.

Awareness flickered in his dark gaze. “But you met me instead.”

“I met you instead,” she whispered.

“And when you needed me the most I sent you away with
her
.” He spat out the word as though it tasted foul. Dropping her gaze to his chest Clara bit her lip.

“That was my fault. I should have told you earlier, but I was afraid…”

“Afraid of what?” he said quietly when she hesitated. Reaching out he trailed his fingertips down the side of her face. She closed her eyes when he cupped the soft curve of her jaw, thumb gently rubbing color back into her pale cheek. “Afraid of what, Clara?”

Her eyes opened. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid of having you go back to how you were before.” She could feel her throat tightening, but she forced herself to continue. “Afraid of waking up and realizing it was all a dream.”