Page 60 of The Proposition
“But where is your Mr. Ferrand?” Honora suddenly asked.
Clemency swallowed hard and shrugged. It was best not to think of him yet. She knew he would appear at the right time, when all was to be revealed. First, Boyle must show himself, must ask Clemency to dance, and then he would be shown the papers they had taken from Mrs. Chilvers, the forgery plot revealed. They hoped to keep Ede’s name out of it, as he was powerful enough to enact his own reprisals, and thus she would reveal Boyle’s true parentage only if he forced her hand. Then, at last Audric’s presence would be required, as he would swoop in to gallantly take her hand, wrenching her from Boyle and toward the dance floor for a triumphant turn.
She began to sweat.
“Let us not speak of him,” she told her sister. “For it has come to my attention that you have shed your widow’s weeds. This shade of emerald nearly does you justice, sister. But who is it for?”
Honora paled and fussed with one of her curls. “What a foolish question. No, your love life is far more interesting of late.”
“Tonight is not about love, Honora, but about revenge. Besides, if Mr. Ferrand is here we will quickly find him; he is not difficult to spy in a crowd.” No, thought Clemency, it was hard to look at anything but him when he was present. “Tell me more of this gown, Nora. I insist!”
Clemency finished her punch and felt Honora’s delicatehand take her by the wrist firmly, then tug her into the flow of folk leaving the dance hall. They snaked their way through the overpacked, perfume-soaked room to the west corridor running alongside, with large French doors placed at intervals where one might peek in and observe the festivities. They found a quietish corner near an imposing bust of someone or other, Honora’s forehead nearly touching the bust’s pointed beard as she sagged against it.
“Nora, are you well?” Clemency frowned and leaned closer.
“I…am. I think. Oh, I do not know! The gown…You are right, Clemency. Something has changed in me, just as something has changed in you. And just as you are made different by blossoming love so am I.”
Clemency’s eyes grew wide. She couldn’t help but be enveloped by a smile, for nothing could bring her greater joy than knowing her sister could open her heart again. “Nora! How could you? Who is he? I must know, tell me at once and let us find him here so I might apply my most vigorous judgment. Is he handsome? Is he kind? Say he is kind—”
“Dearest…”
She still looked pale, the roses in her cheeks faded away. It occurred to Clemency, then, that they must be twins with their pallor and perspiration. But what made her sister so anxious?
“Something is the matter,” Clemency murmured, brow furrowed. “He is married or…or destitute. Out with it, Nora, you know I threaten to judge only in jest. It matters only that you are happy.”
“No, no.” Nora sighed and pushed away from the statue,throwing up her hands and nearly dropping her fan. “You have it all wrong. But how could you not? Oh, but I am stupid. Stupid, stupid…” She shook her dark ringlets, then turned back toward Clemency and gasped, pointing with the tip of her fan. “Look! Boyle has come. He approaches with a most determined stride.”
And so he did. Clemency steeled herself, pretending to laugh ardently at something Nora had said, fluttering a hand over her heart. She knew the rosy pink stripes of the gown flattered her, that it was a perfect complement to her red-gold hair, and that the low scooping neck showed her advantageously; better yet, the dreamy concoction had all been made with the scandalous gift of fabric and ribbons from Mr. Ferrand, lending it a secret power known only to a few…. But still, knowing all that did not lessen her dread. She wanted to appear perfect, so that the loss of her would hurt Boyle all the more. She felt she knew him somewhat now and thought the theft of a desirable jewel would sting and sting deep.
He would not just lose the right to his title tonight, but his right to her.
His blue eyes lit at the sight of her, and he swept a courtly bow over her offered hand, whispering a kiss against her knuckles.
“The radiance of the evening is made shabby by your beauty,” he purred, giving them both a catlike smile. His timing could not have been worse. Clemency kept hold of his hand, itching to toss it away, but twisted back around to her sister, giving Honora a helpless sigh.
“Go,” Nora said. She grinned and seemed almost relieved for the interruption. “Nights like this were made for youngcouples. Go, enjoy yourselves.” Then, knowing of course that Clemency’s heart remained with someone else, she said more softly, “Know, sister, that I am not far.”
Clemency nodded, her hands perspiring hard, and let herself be led back to the sweltering crush of the dance. Her sister would follow, she knew, in case she was needed. Also, she suspected, to watch for the mysterious Mr. Ferrand.
Boyle led her through the assembly with the unearned confidence of a man who stood, he thought, on top of the world, having gotten there through deceit and cruelty. He did not know, however, that the world he stood upon was cracked and ready to crumble, the weight of his hubris enough to bring the whole thing crashing down. Even Clemency could admit there was an elegance to his profile as he held his head high and escorted her, and when they had found the beating heart of the dance, and he brought her forward to take their places in the Allemande Cotillion. They were steps she knew well, but Turner’s hand holding hers firmly felt all wrong, and her hand had become slimy beneath the glove.
“Miss Fry,” he said softly, his voice just above the music as he bowed to her. Clemency gave her curtsey and smiled, one eye on him, the other fixed over his head, searching urgently for Audric. In the wall of faces behind Turner Boyle, she spotted Tansy and William, and her sister. Lady Veitch and her daughters would be elsewhere, with the more fashionable set, if they had deigned to come at all. She spied Denning Ede arriving, and her corset felt twice as tight. He must be left out of Boyle’s humiliation if at all possible.
Where are you?Clemency thought desperately. How long would he make her wait?
They began to move in a circle while the violins soared,Turner oddly close for the demands of the dance. His lips lowered to her ear, and she braced for more of his lies.
“I must admit, you played a cunning hand.”
Clemency jerked her head away, smile still firmly and uncomfortably in place. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Ferrand. You really almost had me, might have humiliated me entirely and given the game away. But you must keep your eyes on your cards at all times, my dear. Your focus drifted, and now the advantage goes to me.” His hand gripped hers so hard she gasped, and Clemency broke protocol to swivel her head and glare at him.
“I have no idea what—”
Turner’s blue eyes became ice, the ease and grace of his movements directly contradicting the cool edge to his voice. “I know what you’re about, and what you think you can prove. You can dig into my affairs and follow me, Clemency, but I can give chase too. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you making a fool of yourself all over town with Mr. Ferrand. But then, foolish recklessness runs in the family.”
The frost in his gaze penetrated her, and her blood ran cold. Clemency tried to force her hand out of his grasp, but he only gathered her closer, his other hand clamping down on her hip, keeping her anchored to his side. Some of the other dancers had begun to stare, and while a chill ran through her, her face flamed, burning with sudden fear and shame.
