Page 58 of Lost: The Love of a Lord

CHAPTERTWENTY

One month later…

Clara stood outside the doors of the church, excitement causing her to tremble. She was about to marry Ralph.

He’d likely remind her that the official wedding banns said the Earl of Pembroke would wed Miss Clara Melby and that made her grin.

She was happy that he was happy.

All that mattered to her was that they’d be together.

From the pews, her mother waved and she waved back, joy bubbling inside her. Her mother had recovered enough to come today and see her daughter wed, a fact that made Clara truly glad. She’d been gaining energy by the day. And while there were no guarantees for the future, every major event her mother was able to attend felt like a gift—one that Clara would treasure.

Her father held out his elbow as the organ began to play.

Her family and their small collection of friends sat in the pews. Ralph, Wyatt, and Priscilla waited at the front of the church. Clara couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

She practically floated down the aisle and when her hand slipped into Ralph’s, she knew she’d found her one true love.

The ceremony flowed over them as they exchanged the vows that would unite them forever. And when they sealed those vows with a kiss…

She held on to Ralph, never wanting to let go.

He belonged to her. Forever.

The small group gave a cheer as she and Ralph made their way outside, getting ready to leave for their wedding breakfast. From there, they would travel to Ralph’s new country estate, where they would survey the holdings that would support his new title.

Clara could hardly wait. They’d stay until the season began, her parents joining them as soon as her mother was well enough to make the journey.

“Congratulations,” Brax boomed as he stepped outside the church, Mona rolling her eyes at her husband.

“Hear, hear,” Baron Brightmore called from the top of the stairs. But then he stopped. “Rebecca?”

Everyone turned, Clara included, and her gaze caught a lone woman sitting on a nearby bench. She wore a very serviceable gown, her hair neatly pinned back in a severe coif that spoke of a serious woman and yet highlighted her stunning features.

She blinked several times, looking as though she struggled to focus, and that’s when Clara realized that she was quite pale and swaying on the bench.

Without thought, she lifted her skirts and raced to the other woman. Sliding into the seat next to her, she wrapped her arm about her. “Are you all right?”

“What?” the lady asked as Alexi and Brightmore joined them.

“Rebecca, what’s wrong?” Brightmore bent close, placing a hand on the woman’s forehead.

“I…” the woman started as her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

“I remember you,” Alexi added as she turned to her husband. “She’s your childhood friend who became a reporter for the Morning Herald.”

Reporter? What was a reporter doing at her wedding?

“Lady Rebecca Graham,” Brigthmore confirmed.

“Rebecca,” Clara asked softly as Ralph came to stand behind them. “Tell us, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”

Her gaze flitted back to Ralph. “I confess that I came to cover the wedding of the Bushy Hero.”

Clara pulled back a bit. Had all of society learned that Ralph was the Bushy Hero and that he’d been granted an earldom for good deeds done? “How did you…”

Rebecca waved a trembling hand. “I follow Dillan and the people that surround him closely. When Dillan accompanied Lord Pembroke”—Clara still hadn’t adjusted to Ralph’s title and she started at the name—“to the palace, I made some discreet inquiries.”

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