Page 24 of The Proposition
Had enough? If so—if you fancy revenge—seek me out at your earliest convenience. I trust you know where to look.
Regards,
A. A. Ferrand
“Is it a declaration of love?” Honora teased, batting her full eyelashes and springing to her feet.
More like a declaration of war.Clemency lowered the note, aware of the sour expression her sister could plainly read.
“Would you think me awful if we postponed our walk?” Clemency murmured.
“Is something the matter? You’ve gone very pale.” Honora joined her again, taking Clemency by the shoulders and inspecting her. She pulled off her glove and touched Clemency’s forehead.
“I am quite well, I assure you,” Clemency said. “But I must speak to Mr. Ferrand directly. It’s a matter of urgency.”
“Then I will walk you as far as Courtney Lane and pester you all the while.”
Clemency smiled weakly, tucking the note into the velvet satchel dangling from her wrist. The fabric and ribbons could be sorted out later. Taking her sister’s arm, they swept out the front door and into the damp bite of a spring morning. The whole world smelled of fresh, wet grass and slick stones, and the budding flowers lining the path to the drive looked ready to burst into bloom at any moment. Clean linens billowed on the line to their left, Mariah clipping up new wash as they passed. A pair of wood pigeons hopped along a low branch that dipped over their heads, a natural roof over the hedges that framed the path.
For a long while, their shoes crunched rhythmically over the gravel as they left behind Claridge, Clemency wishing they could take the far faster route through the fields, but knowing she would arrive covered in grass smudges, her hem soaked with dew.
Mr. Ferrand’s note hung heavy in her mind, painting a dark cloud over the sunny weather. Revenge. Was that what she wanted? It left her feeling confused and flustered that she did not know at all what she wanted. She had relayed Turner Boyle’s amended attitude and apologetic pleading to Honora the night before while they made themselves ready for bed. Honora, of course, took it as a hopeful sign, but Clemency wasn’t convinced. What was happening to her? Just days ago she would have given anything to have Turner demonstrate such tenderness and affection. Now she could view it only with suspicion.
Shehadto view it with suspicion. His emotional about-face was simply too sudden. What might bring it on? What had changed? Clemency walked faster and faster, Honora huffing to keep up. What had transpired between the ball and last evening? He had not known of Mr. Ferrand’s arrival until she said it, so it had to be something that came before. His debts were found out, and then Tansy and William had shared their good news….
Clemency nearly jerked to a stop. Maybe the answer was simple. Simple and despicable. William’s financial solvency meant a larger dowry for her and Honora. Turner had gone from berating her and calling her a sphinx to begging for her forgiveness, which was utterly explicable if he needed money. On Friday evening, when he treated her abominably, she had none. On Sunday evening when he wanted to whisk her off to London, she had some. Perhaps he had been planning all along to abandon her for his own amusement, when it pleased him to humiliate her, but now she had value.
“Bastard.”
“Sister?” Honora choked out. They had just reached the lane that sloped down toward the edge of Round Orchard.
Clemency tore herself away from her own jumbled thoughts. “Yes?”
“You swore.”
“Oh…” Clemency tugged at the ribbon holding her bonnet on, finding it itchy. “Forgive me, this whole business with Mr. Ferrand has me quite out of sorts.”
“I have been meaning to say…” Honora pulled in a deep breath, trying to slow their pace as they took the shaded side path that skirted the village. “As your sensible elder sister I’m afraid I must tell you, these interludes with Mr. Ferrandwill not go unnoticed forever. An ignorant onlooker might draw…unfavorable conclusions, dearest,” Honora said, biting down nervously on her lower lip. “You know I would never think you changeable….”
“Maybe you should,” Clemency replied, a touch crisply. “My mind is changing all the time. I will not be ashamed of it. What good is a mind if we do not fully employ it?”
“You can still employ your mind when married,” Honora insisted.
To a possible scoundrel.
“And whatever we know the truth to be, others will form their own opinions,” she finished. “Books have done this to you, haven’t they? Put these ideas in your mind. I know you think love and marriage are fanciful but true independence is even more so. Just…think on it, Clemency.”
“I am, Nora, I assure you, I am. And all will be clearer soon,” Clemency told her. “That is why I must speak with Mr. Ferrand. In fact, today I intend to make up my mind once and for all.”
By the time they reached Courtney Lane, they had devised a plan for the striped pink silk. They would need a bit more lace, it was decided, and Honora parted ways to go retrieve just that. It would be a charming gown, fit for London assemblies, with Vandyke points at the hem and a very wide neck, with a fitted under dress in a contrasting, simpler cream cotton.
Clemency did not have a head for such things, but Honora promised it would be breathtaking. The undertaking of this sewing project filled her sister with excitement, and Clemency was glad they could part speaking of happierthings. She knew that soon, all that goodness and light would be gone, for she dreaded what awaited her at Beswick.
Approaching the great house from its circular front drive certainly left an indelible impression. Clemency somewhat preferred the quirky charms of Claridge, but there was no denying the stately, imperious silhouette of Beswick, standing tall and square and symmetrical against a backdrop of deciduous grandeur. Architecture and nature in harmony, the one complementing the other. A number of laborers were out trimming the verge, and the topiaries were being reshaped while a line of carts filled the drive, carrying the Ferrands’ furnishings under thick brown blankets.
The doors were flung wide open while porters worked in a steady stream to fill the home with the trappings of a genteel family’s life.
Clemency slipped in among them almost unnoticed, but a tall, pleasant-faced man with long black hair had been striding through the foyer and stopped the moment he laid eyes on her. He bowed, then approached with his hands out to his sides, as if afraid to startle her away.
