Page 58 of The Proposition
“ ’Tis awfully late for company,” his sister, Delphine, mused from the stairs.
He turned and shrank somewhat from the power of her sisterly superior look, as though he were a young man caught with his faced stuffed in the larder.
“Which is why you should be abed,” Audric reminded her, going to the foot of the stairs and leaning against the bannister.
“You are blushing, brother. A momentous occasion!”
“If you want me to be embarrassed, then I refuse.”
Delphine pulled her heavy black shawl closer about her shoulders and laughed, then turned to retreat upstairs. She had only come to briefly tease him, and make sure he knew that she knew what he was up to. The dogs had followed her down, now whining for either bed or a late-night refreshment. “Embarrassed, no? Only I hope you are happy, brother. I truly do.”
Audric rubbed fretfully at his temples. “Surprisingly, Iamhappy, Delphine.”
“Ha! There’s nothing surprising about it. I knew you would love her from the beginning; it was always in your eyes, and a sister knows. A sister can tell.”
21
“My God, the air in London suits you, sister. You’re practically aglow.”
Clemency shied at her sister’s praise, for while she was bursting to tell Honora the truth, she knew it was wiser to keep the secret until after the assembly. All that mattered in that moment was that Honora had come, and she could embrace her sister, and take her hand, and walk with her and talk with her. After, of course, Tansy and William had done their fawning too. It was chaos in the foyer of the Bagshots’ house, while Honora held Clemency at arm’s length, inspecting her, and Tansy fluttered and fussed, directing the valet, Langston, who had already departed upstairs with Honora’s modest luggage.
Chaos, but Clemency was glad of it. Tansy’s father greeted them, a round-faced bull of a man, stooped and strong, but with a kind face and an open invitation of a smile. The cook had done a beautiful roast and all manner of vegetables and pig bits suspended in elaborate jellies, and Mr. Bagshot brought out the finest bottles in his cellar. They all sat down to dine at the long table with three small candelabras throwing merry golden light down the linens, the candles flickering in a way that made smiles shimmer, like theywere all feeling a little mischievous. And there sat Clemency beside her sister, teeming, teeming, teeming, brimming with secrets.
Secrets but not love. No, never love. I have sworn off it.
Maybe.
“But where is Lord Boyle?” Honora had asked as they were all at last settled down at the table and surrounded by the clinking music of knives and forks at work.
That was the last subject on Clemency’s mind, yet she drummed up a cool smile. She did not have to pretend to be unbothered at his conspicuous absence. “He has some business out of town to settle,” Clemency replied.
“Any respectable man settles his accounts and readies himself before marrying,” Mr. Bagshot pointed out from his place at the head of the long table. She didn’t mind his unwitting assist.
“Oh, but it is so soon!” Tansy squealed, scrunching up her nose. She and William sat across from each other, just to Honora’s right. “We shall all gossip our way back to Round Orchard after the assembly, and then our Clemency will be a married woman.”
“Hard to imagine,” William said with a chuckle.
“Why speak of me when Honora is here now?” Clemency redirected. It was uncomfortable to be the subject of their teasing and joy when so soon the cause for it would be dismantled. Indeed, Honora’s coming could not be better timed—she could attend the assembly in two days and be there in person for Boyle’s unmasking. She only hoped Mrs. Chilvers would not be too implicated.
“What is there to ask?” Tansy replied lightly. “We have already asked her thrice about the road conditions.”
“Clemency has been kind enough to keep me abreast of all your many adventures in London,” Honora said in her effortlessly polite way. Below the table, Clemency patted her knee in thanks for changing the subject away from Boyle. “Lady Veitch is frequently mentioned….”
And that was all it took. Tansy launched into her usual glowing recounts of their evenings with Lady Veitch and her daughters, and then veered suddenly to tell Honora of the most alarming pistol shot they heard just three nights before.
Clemency, more taken with what had come after the shot, had almost forgotten all about that part and flinched when Tansy pounded her fist on the table, mimicking the boom. Afterward, she could feel Nora’s eyes burning into her cheek. A sister’s intuition…
How unfair that she had to wait to tell Honora all. She yearned to write to Audric but knew they must be careful now that the assembly was nearly upon them. It was a risk, what she had done—kissing him in the rain, speeding off into the night in his carriage, kissing him some more. Thankfully, she had arrived home before Tansy and William, and dried herself down and tossed herself into bed before any of them could start up interrogations. The next morning, talk only revolved around the subject of the mysterious shot, and that was just fine with Clemency, who stared into her porridge, lost in thought. She must have looked dreadful, for she had slept not a wink that night, revisiting in her mind every moment she had spent in Mr. Ferrand’s company, every detail of his face and the exact warmth and pressure of his lips upon hers…
Lord, but she wanted to write to him. There was so much to say! So much to ask! She wanted to study him like along-forgotten book, a tad dusty but attractive and serious and leather-bound, wanted to search through every word and all the marginalia for information. What was he like as a boy? Had he been in love before? What operas did he yet desire to attend? Did he possess a favorite dish? A favorite wine? Where might he want to holiday, and so on.
Clemency pushed her roast around on her plate and sighed. And none of it could be told to Honora. How was she to hold her tongue for three whole days? And after Honora had noticed there was something different about her too?
She was becoming a tangle of contradictions. A woman who eschewed love yet found herself tumbling helplessly toward it. A grand, romantic love. Miss Taylor would groan. How many times must Clemency forget and relearn this lesson?
When the dinner ended, they adjourned to the sitting room; general witticisms were exchanged, the pianoforte was by turns adequately and exceptionally played, motes danced in the butter-yellow candlelight. Then yawns were stifled and excuses made, beds more enticing than cards, and Clemency at last found herself alone with her sister, who would be occupying the room across the hall. Of course, after washing up and changing into her dressing gown, Honora came to her and the two of them sat on Clemency’s bed with their knees touching, just as they had done as girls in Round Orchard.
“Is it true?” Honora asked, running her fingers idly across the edge of her knit shawl. “Has it been Lady Veitch’s luxurious salons and nothing else all this time? How have you not gone mad?”
