Page 11 of The Proposition
It was becoming plain that Honora would remain firmly on Turner Boyle’s side. And that might be for the best. Clemency had come seeking her sister’s opinion, and now she had it. It was wise, she concluded, to wait until she knew more; rushing to judgment would cause only heartache. And Honora was correct—surely Boyle could not construct a title out of whole cloth?
“My sweet Nora.” Clemency crawled off the bed, then leaned over and kissed the top of Honora’s head. “Your weakness is that you see the good in absolutely everyone.”
“There are worse faults,” Honora replied, setting thebrush on the bedside table and beginning to braid her hair into a plait for sleeping. “See the good in yourself, dearest, and trust it. In your heart you know the truth, with or without Mr. Ferrand’s proof.”
“I assure you I do not,” Clemency said, then sighed as she let herself through the short door joining their rooms. “My heart is all puzzlement.”
When the door was latched and her own room lit with only a single candle, Clemency climbed under the thick blankets of her four-post bed. She traced the shapes on the tapestried canopy, her mind as jumbled as her heart. Honora had never given her bad advice before, and truly, it was absurd that Mr. Ferrand should be believed when Clemency had no guarantee of his credibility. He wanted her help and her trust, but he had done nothing to earn it. By contrast, Turner had, at least for a while, shown her courtesy and favor, and loved her well before her own loudly felt feelings imperiled their marriage. By that alone, Turner had the advantage. He would keep it, she decided, closing her eyes, unless undeniable proof of lies came to light.
There. That settled it. Clemency pretended to be satisfied and told herself it would probably all come to nothing. She vowed to go to bed thinking of ways to be a calmer, more contained woman, a proper English wife for Turner. Perhaps she might take up the pen and continue where Miss Taylor left off. Yes, she could be quiet and tolerable behind a desk, head bent over the page, lips sealed as she churned out warnings more urgent and convicted than Miss Taylor’s. She would find ways to be disobedient where she could.
Clemency realized sleep would not be swift in coming. Going to the window, she opened the curtains and ushered inthe moon and starlight, then sank down against the cool glass, picking up a book left there in a pile with several others. It was her copy ofEvelina,by Fanny Burney, read and loved almost to tatters. She opened to the marked place and read.
It seldom happens that a man, though extolled as a saint, is really without blemish; or that another, though reviled as a devil, is really without humanity.
What would Boyle prove to be? Saint or devil? She shook her head and decided not to think of him for the rest of the night.
And further, she would not, she promised herself, think of Mr. Ferrand’s cutting green eyes.
5
“Audric! You have returned so soon! And here I expected you to dance until dawn, brother.”
Delphine roused herself from her chair by the fire at his entrance. Their room in the Heathfield boardinghouse was the most luxurious on offer, with two bedrooms adjoining a spacious enough central chamber, with the amenities for dining and sitting. The most handsome feature in the room was the large stone fireplace behind his sister. At the dining table, his valet, Ralston, had been playing cards against himself. Ralston also stood, rigid and blank-faced, with raven black hair pulled into a tail, his coat simple and clean, and his boots immaculate.
Audric couldn’t help but feel a hitch in his heart when he saw his sister. Leaving her always pained him, for her health was so variable, and he constantly feared that he would walk out the door and return to find her lifeless in her bed.
But Delphine was alive, of course, and watching him with a pretty, bemused smile. He laughed and crossed toward her, shucking his greatcoat and handing it to Ralston as he passed. “Ah, you know me so well,poupette. Sit now, do not trouble yourself.”
“Please. I despise that name.” She did as he asked, and Ralston brought a second chair to face hers.
“Thank you, Ralston. We will not need you just now.” Dismissed, Ralston saw to Audric’s coat and then bowed, leaving them alone with the crackle of the fire and the muted voices coming from the dining hall below. It was good to give him a little time off, to enjoy himself at cards or to indulge in a pint with the other men of his class patronizing the inn.
Dropping down into the cushioned seat across from Delphine, Audric sighed and rubbed his temples. “Forgive me, Delphine, I have had a difficult evening.”
“Indeed. On one of your quests. The others I have tolerated, but you know I do not like this. Do not say another word about it, please, it gives me a headache. Instead tell me of the gowns and sweets. Tell me about the lovely things, brother, I cannot bear any darkness tonight. Shall I have tea brought up?”
“No, no.” He waved her off. “I should soon be abed.” As if to taunt him, the noise seeping through the floorboards grew louder. The punters were raucous indeed that night. “Curse it. We must get out of this infernal place. Do you not find it drafty? Our new accommodations will be ready tomorrow. It sounds tolerable enough. Beswick allegedly has a serviceable view of the river.”
Tolerable, serviceable, but nothing compared to their country home, Fox Ridge, in Reims. Its equal was not to be found in Round Orchard, or indeed in all of England. He spent less and less time at Fox Ridge, feeling it was too full of ghosts. No matter where he went, or what portrait he passed, he felt the unswerving, disapproving gaze of his deadfather. Yet Delphine always looked so at ease there, in her natural element, surrounded by the elegant furnishings chosen by their mother. Both of their parents were gone now, and it fell to Audric to care for his younger sister.
He grimaced. Lord, but he had done a terrible job of it. He had not protected her as he should, but that was all different now. His aim—his only aim—was to make her life as comfortable and safe as possible. Finding the right place to wait out their stay in Round Orchard was a start.
How long that would be, he could not say, but he planned for the worst and hoped for the best. It all depended on how quickly he could bring Miss Fry around to his way of seeing things. He rubbed his temples harder, disliking the way her gray eyes danced in front of his vision, as if burned there.
“Brother?”
He snapped his eyes open, staring into his sister’s comely face. Five years of convalescence had not been enough to heal the traces of sickly paleness that still clung to her like morning mist. She had their mother’s doe-like brown eyes and the thick, lustrous black lashes that they both shared. Her hair matched his, dark and full. While a measure of vigor danced there in her gaze, she was a frail girl, with twig-thin shoulders. No matter how often her dresser came, she seemed constantly to swim in her frocks, sinking into them as if wasting away before his very eyes.
“Lovely things,” he murmured, hoarse. Delphine nudged his foot with hers. “There were many fine white dresses, with the long trains and large sleeves. I think that is the fashion now, yes?”
“It is,” she said, sounding disappointed. “But I so prefer colors.”
There was one extraordinary sapphire-blue gown, but Audric avoided telling her of it. After all she had demanded that he not bring up his schemes, and the woman wearing that frock was part of the plot. He didn’t trust himself to describe the gown without somehow giving himself away.
“Harrop Hall is quite grand. I might compare it to the Baudins’ estate.”
“Oh, but I adore their home. I so wish I could have come with you, Audric. You must realize it is terribly unfair to leave me behind all the time,” she said, pouting. “I would have worn a crimson gown, just to shock them all!”
