Page 17 of The Proposition
“No, sir, I am more than capable of finding my own way.”
Clemency was no longer cold, her face hot with shame and anger as she stormed out. The scent of his coat had soaked into her gown, and the smell of it made her light-headed, almost giddy, and as she navigated the empty halls and strode out the door, she hated herself for it.
Her anger kept her warm for the long walk home. If Mr. Ferrand were a gentleman and not a devil, he would have insisted she take a carriage or at the very least his horse. That he hadofferedwas insignificant, he should haveinsisted.
The very idea that Turner Boyle could not afford a bit of silk and ribbons and thread for a new gown was laughable. It had to be. Ithadto be. She was not abandoning Miss Taylor and all her crucial ideals to marry a penniless icicle who loathed her. Clemency stormed her way back to Claridgeturning that idea over and over in her head. When she reached the river, she diverted, going north until she came across a small footbridge that allowed her to safely cross.
“The suggestion…The nerve…” Clemency had almost mashed her bonnet into an unrecognizable ball of straw and fabric by the time she arrived home. Fortunately, she was spared an interrogation, finding that her parents were both sitting in the garden, conversing quietly. Clemency avoided them, skirting the edge of the hedges and ferns hemming in the back garden and going instead to the open door near the kitchen. Inside the house, she found most of the rooms devoid of life, the curtains, linens, and carpet stripped, all of them brought outside to be cleaned and hung, and then put away for the warmer seasons. The distraction of turning over the house for spring and summer afforded her the secrecy she wanted, and soon she had dodged up to the second floor and into her bedchamber, nobody the wiser.
Through the small door between her and Honora’s rooms, she could hear her sister singing to herself softly, probably at needlework or drawing.
Clemency forced herself to check her appearance in the looking glass near the window.
“Dreadful,” she murmured, aghast. She had never looked so dirty, strange, and forlorn in all her life.
“Clemency? Is that you?”
She swore under her breath. Honora must have heard her come in. There was no time to clean herself up or even concoct a smart enough lie. She simply called back, prepared to loop Honora deeper into the conundrum that had become her life.
“I’m here!”
The fairy door opened a moment later, and Honora’s dark head of curls appeared. She, like Clemency, was dressed in a light, ivory muslin dress. A silk shawl trimmed in turquoise fringe hung from her elbows. As she glimpsed her sister, Honora squeaked.
“What has happened to you?” she whispered, rushing toward Clemency and carefully touching her bandaged arm. “Heavens, but you look bedraggled, sister.”
“That irritating Mr. Ferrand startled me when I was near the river; I fell in and cut myself on a rock.”
Honora took a step back, her brow furrowing. “Mr. Ferrand? What was he doing so close to Claridge?”
“Oh, Honora. It is a disaster. He and his sister are taking Beswick; they will be living practically on top of us.”
“That does complicate things,” Honora said, wincing. “Shall I fetch Mariah? You should really have a bath.”
“Yes, I must clean myself up.” Clemency began pulling the pins and ribbons out of her ruined curls, while Honora hurried out into the corridor. “It is not midday yet, there is plenty of time to take the walk to Round Orchard. Perhaps Papa will even let us take the carriage.”
Honora leaned over the bannister in the hall, calling down for help. Mariah was summoned, and soon Honora was with Clemency again, helping her undo the tiny buttons down the back of her muddied dress.
“Round Orchard? Today? Surely not. You should rest, Clemency, you’re covered in blood!”
“You’re exaggerating,” she replied tartly. “And anyway, there is no time for resting. After I dropped into the river, Mr. Ferrand brought me on his horse to Beswick to bebandaged, and of course he had more ludicrous proposals to make….”
Once a hip bath had been brought to her room and filled with steaming hot water, a dash of goat’s milk, and a scattering of flower petals, Clemency sat soaking while Honora curled up on a cushion and tried her best to comb through the snarls in Clemency’s hair. For her pains, Clemency apprised her of all that had occurred at Beswick.
“And you intend to follow this man’s directions?” Honora was asking, pulling on Clemency’s reddish-blond curls so hard it made her cry out for mercy. “I thought we had agreed that he is not to be trusted.”
“But what if there is merit to his accusations?” Clemency replied, gingerly holding her wounded arm above the surface of the water. “What if I discovered the truth of them too late, and I had married and gone to live with a charlatan! This could be my chance, Honora, to be free of a marriage I do not want, for if, God help us, Boyle is destitute, then there is no reason for me to sign my heart away.”
“True…True…” Honora sighed, combing her hair more gently. “And I suppose there is no harm in trying to spend a small bit of his money. After all when you are married, he will be expected to finance such things. If he cannot afford to pay for a muslin, then he cannot provide you and your children with a life of any comfort.”
“Precisely.”
“And I can tell you wish for me to accompany you on this task….”
“Of course, Nora, I wouldn’t deny you the satisfaction of proving Mr. Ferrand wrong. That would please you, wouldn’t it? I can tell that you do not like him, insofar as you candislike anyone.” Clemency tilted her head back, giving her sister a wide, smug smile.
In retaliation, Honora flicked some of the murky water at her face. “I do not like troublemakers. It seems to me as if this Mr. Ferrand was put into our lives only to upend things. I rather prefer a steady state of things.”
“And you shall have it again soon, sister.” Clemency finished scrubbing the grime away from behind her ears and reached for the warm sheet hanging an arm’s span from the bath. “We will clear up this entire misunderstanding, and all will be set to rights.”
