Page 59 of The Proposition
“Of course not,” replied Clemency, rolling her eyes. “Wemust convince Tansy that she will not inherit Lady Veitch’s great fortune, no matter how many lectures she endures!”
Nora grinned. “And you have delivered my letter to Mrs. Chilvers?”
The name somewhat diminished Clemency’s joy. “Yes, I have. Only…I hesitate to tell you this, but she is part of this business with Boyle. It will all come as a shock, Honora, and you must prepare yourself.” She fetched the letter from Mrs. Chilvers, which she had kept under her pillow all those days.
At that, her sister frowned. “I cannot see how she is involved. She does not speak of him, though I have mentioned him in passing, and only in relation to you.”
“Yes, she said as much. In fact, we spoke at length, Honora, about some misfortunes that have befallen her. Life has shown her so much unkindness, and to survive she has taken regrettable actions.” Clemency took a deep breath and pressed the backs of her hands to her eyes. “You should hear it all from Mrs. Chilvers herself, Nora, but I cannot promise that Boyle’s downfall will not include her.”
“It is hard to imagine,” Honora breathed. She held the letter gently between her palms, her cheeks suddenly pink. “I thought Mrs. Chilvers had given me her true confidence, for we have shared so much of our lives through our correspondence…. I never for one moment thought she might be an unsavory character.”
“She is not unsavory,” Clemency insisted. Mrs. Chilvers was not a Denning Ede or a Turner Boyle; she refused to believe it was so. The widow had been so contrite, so sincere…. “She is complicated, and she has promised to give testimony against Boyle when the time comes.”
“So many secrets,” said Honora, eyes downcast. “If she is aiding Boyle, then Mr. Ferrand must despise her.”
“Do not worry about him. Mrs. Chilvers will not move against us.”
“Usis it, now?” Honora asked, perking up. A slow smile spread across her face. “Your letters mentioned Mr. Ferrand frequently. For a man you profess to dislike you certainly do speak of him often. Is there more to tell? Come, I am your sister, Clemency. You know I can be trusted.”
Naturally she could be, but Clemency felt protective of her scheme with Mr. Ferrand. Their interactions, experiences, even their friendship, must be kept hidden, and the plot itself, while also a secret, felt truly theirs. A unique bond, if an untoward one. She leapt from the bed and crossed to the window, fretting with the edges of the lace curtains that billowed gently from the humid night breeze.
“Clemency…”
“Oh, do not use that warning tone! I am powerless against it.”
“I know.” Nora laughed softly but made no attempt to follow her. “What have you left out of your letters? I know something has changed, sister. You look different. You seem changed. There is…a shift in your demeanor that I dare not try to explain. A private smile that I recognize, as I have worn it myself.”
She knew. A sister would. Clemency squeezed her eyes shut and let the curtains drop from her grasp. “You…You are imagining that.”
Honora had the grace to wait for a moment or two before murmuring, “Dearest, are you in love with him?”
“Oh God! No!” Not love. Never love. Clemency wilted. “No! Yes. I must be! Dreadful! Dreadful, dreadful,” Clemency wailed, crushing the heels of her hands into her eyes and spinning. She found her way back to the bed and collapsed upon it, and at once Nora stroked her hair and back. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”
She could hardly admit it to herself.
Honora laughed again, supremely gentle. “You know I would never. Besides, he is a single man with a fortune, why should you not love him and marry him? How is that at all dreadful?”
Clemency only tiptoed up to the idea of marrying Audric, for thinking about it in detail gave her prickles up and down her arms. Would they even be happy? Would they drive each other mad? “There is no understanding between us, Nora, not like that.”
“Could there be? You need not go through with your marriage to Boyle. And yet what would your cherished Miss Bethany Taylor have to say about this?” she asked, wryly.
“That I am a fool,” she wailed again. “I should not be falling in love. I should be avoiding men altogether!”
“We are all fools in love, surely even Miss Taylor could not begrudge you a happy heart?”
Clemency rolled gracelessly onto her back and pouted. “There is so much to untangle! I had no interest in ever marrying, but then Boyle changed my mind, and then he changed it yet again. And for weeks I had thought myself decided on spinsterhood, and yet Mr. Ferrand…the thought of a life with him, a forever life, does notseemdreadful. Rather, it moves me. It moves me to dream. But dreaming is so dangerous, and dreams are terribly fragile.”
Nora patted her hair again, then giggled and swooped down to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Then dream away, Clemency. You are quite allowed to change your mind. Your smile tells the story, and if that smile tells true, then it will be a happily ever after.”
22
Clemency realized she ought to appreciate the glamour of the assembly hall more, but it was all a bit fuzzy behind the knowledge of what must be done that evening. Her skin felt alight, as strange and hot as when Audric touched her or embraced her, or even glanced at her with his intense emerald eyes. The assembly had seemed a distant thing for so long, but now it had come, and she must play her part, and Audric must play his—Turner Boyle must be disgraced, confronted with his scheme to legitimize his title before the whole of the ton, so that he might not squirm out of the scrutiny and accusations again.
And then Clemency would be free of all the games and nonsense, free to finally profess her heart to Audric.
That sent another jolt of fear through her. She stood under the dazzle of candles made crystalline by the many chandeliers and handled her cup of punch rather roughly, spinning it ever in her silk-gloved fingers. Beside her, dressed in a ravishing green gown, Honora tapped her fan lightly on her wrist to the beat of the music, her ringlets bouncing as she pursed her cherub lips and searched the sea of unfamiliar faces.
A green dress. Searching. That at least broke through thefog of nerves gripping Clemency. She leaned into her sister, both of them squashed against the wall near the dancing while a steady river of attendees ran by, a constant stream of beaded silk and fluffy cravats.
