Page 89 of The Trouble with True Love

Clara grimaced, hating the fact, though she knew it was true.

“Will it be so hard to see him again?” Irene turned toward her on the carriage seat. “It has been over two months since you refused his proposal.”

Ten weeks and six days, Clara corrected silently.

“That depends,” she answered after a moment, forcing a laugh. “Are you talking about before or after he sees me and goes bolting hell-for-leather in the opposite direction?”

“Would he?”

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t. He’s safe now, isn’t he?” She paused, staring down at the skirt of her deep green dress. “He was calling or writing to me every few days before, clearly because he felt obligated to do so. But since I informed him there’s no baby...” Her throat closed up, but despite the pain she felt inside, she forced herself to say the brutal truth out loud. “It’s been three weeks since then, and he hasn’t tried once to see me. It’s clear he wants nothing to do with me now that he knows he’s free.”

“Oh, darling,” Irene cried, throwing an arm around her in a comforting hug. “I’m sure that’s not true. If it were, he’d be the world’s greatest fool. For you, my dear sister, are an angel.”

Clara sniffed. “A fallen angel,” she muttered.

Irene choked, stifling what had obviously been an involuntary giggle. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said at once. “I didn’t mean to laugh. That was awful of me.” She paused, her arm slid away, and she pulled back. “I never told you just why Henry and I decided to marry, did I?”

Clara stared, astonished by this abrupt turn in the conversation. “Isn’t it obvious? You love each other madly.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that. Henry and I—and you mustn’t tell him I’ve told you about this, by the way—Henry and I married because his upright, honorable nature couldn’t tolerate our love affair.”

“What?”

Irene nodded, laughing. “Oh, yes, we were sneaking in and out of London hotels, signing in as Mr. and Mrs. Jones, having quite a torrid little fling. So, you see, you are not the only fallen angel in our family.”

“I—” Clara stopped, and laughed, for she had no idea what to say. “Heavens.”

“Are you very shocked?”

She considered. Six months ago, she’d have been shocked all out of countenance, for back then she’d possessed such a staunchly proper moral code that she doubted she’d have approved of free love for anyone, not even for her very modern, suffragist sister. But she’d become less of a prig since then, and Irene had always been rather a free spirit. “As to you, no, I don’t think I’m shocked at all. Torquil, on the other hand...”

Irene laughed. “The affair only lasted a week before he couldn’t stand it anymore, and he insisted upon making an honest woman of me.”

“So that’s why you never fired off any stern lectures at me about what happened at Lisle,” Clara murmured, thinking it out as she spoke. “I wondered at the time.”

“I couldn’t do that, could I? It would have been terribly hypocritical. Oh, listen—I can hear the bells. We’re nearly there.”

The carriage pulled into Southwick Crescent and stopped as close to the doors of St. John’s Church as the throng of vehicles would allow. Torquil’s driver rolled out the steps, and Irene and Clara stepped down to find Henry waiting for them on the church steps.

They signed the book in the vestry and gave their names to the ushers. As acquaintances of the groom, they were led to a pew on the right side of the church, and rank having its privileges, that pew was very near the front, right behind the groom’s family, which gave Clara an almost perfect view of Rex.

Lucky her.

He was standing by his friend, impeccably dressed in formal black morning coat, pale gray waistcoat and cravat, and darker gray striped trousers. Golden head bent, he was listening to Lionel as the shorter man murmured something in his ear. It must have been something amusing, for as he tilted back his head, the sight of his laughing face was as devastatingly handsome as she remembered.

The knot in her stomach pushed upward, pressing against her chest, so hard and painful that she could scarcely breathe.

And then he saw her, and as all the laughter went out of his face, Clara felt as if a fist was squeezing around her heart. It took every scrap of pride she possessed to keep her face expressionless, hold his gaze for two full seconds, and then look away.

The organ music, which had been soft and subdued, changed in tone, informing the guests that the ceremony was about to commence, and with the first notes of the wedding march, Clara moved into a blessed state of numbness.

She scarcely heard the vicar’s gentle lectures from the Book of Common Prayer, and the marriage vows of the bride and groom. Perhaps it was because she’d now accepted that she would never give those vows herself, or perhaps it was because she was tougher than she’d ever thought possible, but Clara somehow managed to get through the entire ceremony without coming apart.

Afterward, she walked with Irene and Henry to the home of the bride and her parents a block away, and even with Rex’s broad-shouldered form scarcely a dozen feet in front of her, Clara was able to remain tightly leashed and numb. Nonetheless, once they reached Hyde Park Square, she could only be grateful that a receiving line did not include a groom’s best man.

For the wedding breakfast, long tables had been arranged in the ballroom, and as had been true for the ceremony, seating was based on rank. This placed Clara at the very first table in front of the bridal party, and since Dina and Lionel had chosen to sit at the head of their table rather than the center, Rex’s seat was right in front of her. As she sat down, she could only be thankful that custom required a woman to keep her hat on during a wedding breakfast and that wide-brimmed leghorns were in fashion.

Avoid wide-brimmed hats unless you are in the sun, for though such hats may be fashionable, they prevent young men from looking into your eyes, and eyes are the windows to the soul.

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