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Bonus EPILOGUE
Careful hands set the last of the pearl beads amidst the curls atop Clara’s head. Clara watched in the reflection of her mirror while Jocelyn did her artful best.
“You look like a princess,” Emilia said. She sat on a bench beside the dressing table, beautiful in a raw silk blue dress.
“A princess?” Jocelyn snorted with derision. “A queen. A goddess.”
Clara stood and gazed down at the result of hours of preparation. She did look like a goddess in this exquisite white dress. It had silk embroidery that spiraled around her body and pearl beads that glistened. She certainly felt like one.
Sunlight from the dressing room window caught those beads and made them shine with subtle richness. She had worried a late July date might mean rain would mar the wedding. Instead when Emilia rushed in to wake her at dawn today, bright light and a delicious breeze greeted her yawns and Emilia’s giggles.
She had not slept well. She supposed no bride did the night before her wedding. Of course most brides were nervous about some things, such as the wedding night, that Clara had no cause to fear. Other worries preyed on her instead. Surprising ones, considering how secure she believed her decisions to be.
“I suppose I am ready,” Clara said while she struggled to conquer her nervousness. “I trust my groom is too.”
“He is below already, with his mother,” Emilia reported.
“Is Grandmamma with them?”
Emilia made a long face. “She is still in her apartment.”
“We cannot have that.” Clara aimed for the door. She had returned to Gifford House at her grandmother’s request, so she would be married from the family home. She had allowed Grandmamma to plan the wedding breakfast. She had tried her best to distract everyone who lived here from the pending doom of that article being published. She had even held back the next edition of Parnassus so that the scandal would not follow them all into the church.
If it meant that a few people wondered about the logic of this match, so be it. Soon enough they would probably wonder all the more anyway.
She paused outside her grandmother’s apartment, as she always did, before she knocked. This door never failed to evoke memories of that whipping years ago. She wondered if they ever would fade away.
She found her grandmother inside, but not in the dressing room. Rather she sat on a chair in her bedchamber, bewigged and ready, draped in the pale lavender dress she had commissioned for the occasion. She was reading. Clara recognized the pages in her grandmother’s hand.
Clara said nothing, but waited for the thunder to sound.
Her grandmother set aside the unbound copy of Parnassus, and closed her eyes. “I suppose it is as generous as I could expect. It does not damn me, at least. Thank you for begging an early copy off the publisher so I might know what I face.”
Clara waited a few moments before speaking. “You appear ready to leave. Shall we go down?”
Some of the old flint entered her grandmother’s eyes. “Is she here?”
“If you mean the Dowager Duchess of Stratton, I was told that she is.”
Her grandmother cocked her head toward the table holding the journal. “Did she receive one too?”
“Adam did. I expect he shared it with her.”
That old, knowing chortle emerged, with its implications of suppressed scorn. “Oh, she is going to enjoy today, I am sure.”
“Her son marries today, so I hope she enjoys it. I hope you do too, as much as you can. You planned it, after all. It has your mark on it, and your style.”
“How many copies of that journal do you think are already circulating?”
“Only the two given to me, I am sure. It is not all around town yet, Grandmamma. I was told even my receiving two advanced copies was a very rare favor.”
Her grandmother’s posture relaxed, her body falling in on itself. Then, as if buffeted by a sudden wind, it straightened into the formidable body that Clara knew so well. Pale eyes examined her sharply.
“A few too many pearl beads for daytime, Clara.”
“Probably.” After so many months of deprivation, she had been drunk at the dressmaker, draper and warehouse. The wonder was that in the end this dress appeared as appropriate as it did.
“Definitely. However, you appear lovely, and more than his match. I wish--- I wish your father could see you, my dear.”
Grief drummed through Clara. Memories rushed. Her eyes filmed. Her grandmother’s gaze met hers, equally tearful.
“This will never do.” Her grandmother fussed, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “We will both look a fright if we are red-eyed.”
Clara bent and embraced her. “You will look as impressive as ever, Grandmamma.”
Impressive and powerful. A fitting end to a long and rich social life. For one last day the queen would reign. Then she would abdicate, and retire.
Adam sat across from his mother in the morning room. A footman had served coffee and cakes, but neither of them ate. His mother’s gaze remained on the text of the journal. He watched her reaction.
He had given it to her last night and watched then as well. He had seen her curiosity, and her anger. And her pain.
“And you will marry this family?” she had finally said.
“I will marry the woman I love. She happens to be the daughter of the man who wronged my father, yes.”
“You must love her very much.”
“With all of my heart and essence.”
“Then I will love her too, and forget this if I can.”
Although she set aside that journal last night, now she turned its pages again. He wondered if she would ever forget. He hoped so. Her arrival in England had been a joyous homecoming a week ago. Spending time with her without the shadow of the past had been glorious. She had taken to Clara at once, and Clara, charmed in part by how much he resembled his mother, had returned the affection. Now he wondered if the truth had ruined that good beginning.
She kept raising her eyebrows while she turned those pages.
“Are you reading that essay again?” he asked.
“No. I am reading the rest of it. What is this journal? Do you know it well?”
“It is a women’s publication. Its owner is a mystery. I confess I have never paid it much attention.”
“Lady Farnsworth writes for it. She has an essay here. It is very interesting. Quite strident and scolding. I would expect nothing else from Dorothy, of course. She always had strong opinions. This time, however, she is all but naming names, and her opinions have nothing to do with us and our own problem.” She looked up. “Someone else is not going to be pleased by this journal very soon.”
He had flipped through the rest of the pages, but had not noticed what they contained except in a general way. A few poems, some fashion plates, a history essay---the sorts so thing he supposed women enjoyed.
“Who will be displeased?” The notion that someone else would deflect some of the scandal with a second one appealed to him more than was proper.
“Dorothy has taken to task a lord, no less. Not you. One who lives in debauchery and decadence.”
“That applies to many lords.”
“This one is a duke, which limits the field considerably. Nor does she scold for what he does, but rather for what he does not do.” She smiled. “How like Dorothy, to list the sins in all their titillating detail, then say none of that matters. It garners one’s attention for her real point regarding what does matter.”
“What is her opinion on that?” He suspected he knew who this duke was.
“She writes that his real sin is not the women or the drinking or the other excesses, but in the way he squanders his power. She condemns him for ignoring the issues of the day and how his elevated position gives him the rare opportunity to improve the lot of his fellow men and women. In fact she titled the essay Slothful Decadence Among the Nobles.”
Adam pictured the slothful duke in question reading the essay. Clara had neglected to mention this when she handed over that copy of the journal. Perhaps she did not even know the essay was there.
“This duke is not named?”
“No. Perhaps she thinks all of you will see yourself in it.”
Possibly. The royal dukes fit the description, as did a few others. He supposed, considering his preoccupation these last years, Lady Farnsworth could have written about himself.
Only--- “The title makes mention of decadence, you say?”
“Specifically.”
One group of dukes had named themselves the Decadent Dukes, hadn’t they? That was not a secret. Brentworth could never be called slothful, so it was not about him. Langford would assume he was the object of the disapprobation, as indeed he most likely was.
“I should warn him.”
“I would not. It is a kindness to wait until the last minute before informing the condemned man that the guillotine awaits him.”
A faint rustle entered the chamber. Adam turned to see Clara and her grandmother.
Clara always appeared beautiful to him. Even with hair mussed after a hard ride, or striding on city streets in black, the sight of her always made his heart flip. Now it jumped. Her dress and hair dazzled him, and her expression glowed with joy.
He just stared for a moment before remembering himself. He stood and went to her and gave her a kiss. “The carriages are ready, darling. Theo has already gone outside. You look so magnificent I may find it hard to speak the vows because my heart will be in my throat.”
They shared a private gaze full of their love. It might have gone on forever if a commanding voice had not interfered.
“If the carriages are here, we should go,” the dowager countess intoned.
Adam looked over in time to see the other two people in the chamber gazing at each other. Clara’s grandmother’s eyes held their flinty glint. His mother’s showed only amusement and warmth, but her hand gently stroked the unbound pages of Parnassus. Then she stood and walked around the table. She kissed Clara’s grandmother, to the older woman’s astonishment. Then she embraced and kissed Clara herself.
Clara would have preferred a quiet wedding, but that became impossible once she allowed her grandmother a free hand. She entered a church full of people. The oddity of a marriage between these two families might be responsible for the attendance of some of them, but her grandmother’s influence no doubt made this a command performance for many others. There were rumors that some ladies of the ton felt obligated to delay their departure from town so they could be present.
None of that mattered once she stood beside Adam in front of them all, with Brentworth and Emilia serving as witnesses. Only Adam existed then. She waited for the vows, immersed in memories of their arguments, then their passion and finally their love. She marveled that she had chosen to marry after all, and this man of all men.
Misgivings had plagued her last night, but none did now. She looked over at his handsome profile. He noticed and their gazes met.
Vows would be exchanged soon, but she saw the promises he made without words. He had spoken them two nights ago before they parted. You can trust me with your love and your life and your dreams. I will always be faithful. I will never try to change who you are. You hold my own heart in your hands.
The minister stepped in front of them. The church hushed. They spoke the words that bound them together forever. She did not hesitate when her turn came.
Adam guided Clara through the crush of people seeing them off. When they made it to the carriage, Clara released his arm and spoke quietly to his coachman, then allowed the footman to hand her inside.
He settled beside her. “I am grateful to address you as my duchess, Duchess.”
“And I am grateful to have you as my husband.” She leaned in to kiss him.
“So now we face an interminable wedding breakfast before we can be alone. I suppose it would be scandalous to have my way with you right now. It would probably ruin that dress. Nor will there be time.”
“Actually, there might be.”
What an odd thing to say. He worked out the possibility in his mind all the same.
Then the carriage took an unexpected turn.
“You vixen. Did you tell him to take a long ride first?” He reached for her as the possibilities expanded.
“Not exactly. I did give him a destination besides your home, however. I have something to show you before we join our guests there.”
“It could not wait?”
“I think it has waited a bit too long, truth be told.”
He knew there were men surprised by all kinds of discoveries right after they wed. Mostly unwelcomed ones. Even scandalous ones. Clara would never save the latter until after the wedding, of course.
They rolled through town at a good pace, heading east. “What is this about, darling?”
She gave him an impish smile. “Mysterious doings.”
“I intended to discover those on my own.”
“Yet you never did.”
“I was distracted. I also concluded there was nothing much to discover.”
“I hope you still think so an hour hence.”
That hardly encouraged indifference. He was not truly concerned. Yet---- “Am I going to dislike this?”
“I hope not. I rather count on it not being too surprising. But with men, well, you really never know.”
“It is something a husband may not like, in other words.”
“Most husbands, I daresay. I believe you to be different.”
“And if I am not?”
She sighed. “I suppose I will have to change how you think, which is such a chore.”
Married thirty minutes, and already she had designs on his thinking. That did not seem fair. After all, he had sworn to never try to change her.
He was about to point that out when he realized where they were going. The carriage turned into Bedford Square and stopped in front of her house. The house, now that he remembered, that he had promised to allow her to use to her preference. The property upon which he had promised he would not exercise his rights as a husband. The place where she had staked her claim to unfettered independence.
He followed her out of the carriage, almost sure that nothing untoward waited for him here. Almost.
“I trust you are not going to tell me that you have a lover living here now.” He said it as a joke, and laughed a bit too loud as he did.
“I told you my doings were not about that. In fact, should we ever come to that, which I know we will not, I will need another house.”
That was not very reassuring.
Mrs. Finley opened the door as they approached. She happily welcomed Clara, delighting in calling her Duchess. Did he imagine that this woman glanced to him with approval, as if he had finally measured up in some way? Considering his own doings here with her mistress, probably so.
“Is everything prepared, Mrs. Finley?” Clara asked.
“Was finished yesterday, just as you instructed. Ten replies came in, so it should have a good start when we begin.”
“Thank you. I will show the duke the property. We will not need you any longer.”
Mrs. Finley disappeared into the back of the house. Clara opened the library doors. “I have made a few changes that I want you to see.”
He stepped inside the library. Much still remained as he remembered it, but there were more chairs now, and an additional divan. A good sized table near the fireplace held at least twenty crystal glasses and three decanters. He went to that table, opened a decanter, and sniffed. Brandy. He eyed the others.
Clara came beside him. “That is sherry, and that one is whiskey.”
“Are you expecting a party? Because after this breakfast I have no intention of sharing you with anyone for the rest of the day. Hell, probably not for the rest of the month.”
“Come and see the dining room.”
He followed her, glancing back at those spirits before she escorted him into the dining room. Only instead of one long table now there were four smaller ones. He strolled around, noting the table that held decks of cards. Then he came upon a ledger, opened to the first clean page.
A strange idea entered his mind. No, surely not. Only this house now resembled it in so many ways, that if he did not know better he would swear that he was in a-----
He looked at her. She smiled at him. He closed the ledger. The cover bore the word Wagers.
“It is a club,” he said, finally accepting the evidence. “You have made a club of it. A gambling club? Some women turn their homes into them for the income, of course, but you hardly need to.”
“I expect there will be some gambling. Hence the ledger and the card room. However, it will mostly be a place to visit and relax away from home. It will be for women only, of course.”
“Of course? Women do not have clubs, Clara.”
“They do now. This one. The invitations went out this week. Once we are established, rules must be drawn up, of course, regarding admittance and membership. I intend there to be provisions for members who are not in the fashionable set, regarding their fees and such. I have some friends who would need that support.”
He looked at the gaming tables. He thought about that whiskey decanter, and her intentions for a democratic membership. This would not be well received in the many other clubs in town. “Men will not permit their women to join. Not a club like this that has gambling and serves spirits.”
“They will have to learn of it to forbid it.”
“You will not be able to keep this a secret.”
“I believe it will be one of those secrets that people know but do not admit they know. A husband who learns his wife is a member will not announce it to his friends, will he? He may forbid her to come here, and he may even succeed in that command, but he will not let all the other men know his wife did this.” She smoothed her fingertips over the covering on a table. “I suspect there will be several dozen husbands who will claim they have no knowledge of their wives’ memberships should anyone else learn of them.”
“They will all forbid it. These chambers will be empty in a month.”
She stepped close to him and looked into his eyes. A few sparks of belligerence showed in hers. “Would you forbid it? If you did, do you think I would accept that? We women are not without our weapons, Adam. Nor without persuasion.”
He recognized that look in her eyes. Nothing but trouble. “You are counting on sexual blackmail to help your club succeed. That is very wrong of you.”
“I am not counting on anything, except women finding a way to have something for themselves in this sorry world.” She took his hand. “Now, there is one more thing you should see.”
“There is more?” Several outrageous notions flew through his mind of the other kinds of things men enjoyed but women did not. It would be just like Clara to decide to even the score completely.
She led him back to the library. “You did not comment on how so many shelves are filled now.”
He had vaguely noticed that. Now he paid attention. One tall case indeed was filled, only not with books. The publications in it were much narrower than that, and not bound in leather or cloth.
He went over and pulled one down. Then another. The bottom four shelves held many with identical covers, a pale blue. He pulled out several of them and noted the date.
The entire case had been filled with the journal Parnassus, and the lower shelves held the new ones about to be made available in bookstores.
He should have guessed, he supposed. Once he learned that Lady Farnsworth wrote for the journal, and that Clara knew her well enough as to have her present with Brentworth at the revelations about her father and grandmother, he should have guessed. When Clara claimed she could control the information the journal would print about the dowager countess, he should have known for certain.
He blamed relief and love for making him blind. His thoughts had been on other things, and this journal was a means to an end and nothing more. Now he paged through one of the volumes more carefully, noticing the content and the intelligence of it all.
“Do you do this all yourself?” he asked. “It is a notable achievement, Clara. An impressive one. The last discovery surprised me. This one not so much. Had I read one I might have known, it carries your mark so clearly.”
She came to the case and picked up one of the copies. She stroked it lovingly. “I do not do it all by myself. That is the best part. Others are involved. We could not do it without the contributors, or even the bookstores that place it for sale.”
“We? Who else owns this?”
“Althea has been with me from the start of it. She is a partner now, and she will be the publisher going forward.” She waved a gesture around the library. “She will manage the rest of this too. I have asked her to live here, if she wants. I will have other duties now, and other responsibilities very soon.”
She smiled at him so beautifully that he could not mind any of it, even if he wanted to. She was proud of her journal and this club. Rightfully proud. He reached for her and embraced her. “Althea can live here, but she is not to use your chamber or your bed. That is ours. It is to remain just as it is, because that is where I first had you.”
“How sentimental of you. I am charmed that you want a memorial to that night.”
“And future nights. I may be the only man ever allowed in this house, but I insist on that one right. I will want to reminisce on occasion.”
She circled his neck with her arms and pressed closely. She raised her face for a kiss. He gave her a long one full of the soulful love he experienced when he held her now.
“You did not ask about my new responsibilities?” she murmured into his coat afterwards, while she rested her head on his chest. “The ones that will interfere with my managing all of this now.”
“I assumed you meant your role as my duchess.”
“It is more than that, Adam.” She looked up at him and her eyes glistened. “Have you not suspected this either? It has been some time since I refused you for the typical reason. A man and woman cannot share passion as we have without eventually----“
“Darling.” He lifted her in his arms, high, so her face was at the level of his. He searched for confirmation, and grew heady when he saw it.
She laughed. “I wanted to be sure before I told you.”
“When will the child be born?”
“Let us just say it is a good thing we married today. Had we waited for autumn the timing would have been too obvious.”
“To hell with timing. I did not think today could be more perfect but you have made it so. Damnation, Clara. I don’t think I will be able to keep this to myself. It will burst out at the breakfast.”
She took his head in her hands. “You can tell anyone you want, whenever you want, my love. When it is seen how happy we are, some people may even guess on their own.”
He set her down and held her close and enjoyed being delirious with her in his arms.
“We should probably ride back to your house now,” she said quietly. “Otherwise everyone will think we indeed dallied in scandalous ways in the coach.”
He turned her in his arm and led her to the door. “It is a good, long ride back, of course.”
“I expect this time of day it will take at least thirty minutes. Probably more.”
“Long enough to get you out of that dress completely, I believe.”
“I am sure of it. Would it be too decadent to ride through town like that, being pleasured?”
He gave her a kiss, and pictured what was to come. “Disgracefully decadent, but in the best way.”