Clara understood her maid’s reaction. She looked down, biting her lower lip. Michael thought her lovely. This man apparently agreed with the rest of theton.
“Then they are fools.”
She sought refuge in those words, slowly raising her gaze to meet the duke’s, knowing the rage in her eyes could not make it to her lips. “If I am an embarrassment to you, Your Grace—”
Another wave. “Do not talk nonsense, girl. I already told you I have no interest in a frail wraith. I was merely thinking of Society’s expectations. You will be my duchess, the face of my estate and family when we are in Town, until my son comes of age. Although I do not care much for the workings of Society, we must adhere to their protocols, should we not?”
Clara had no words that would not create more trouble. So she merely said, “Your Grace.”
And with that he stood, nodding his head once. “I thank you for seeing me today, Lady Clara. I look forward to furthering our association.” Tapping his cane twice on the floor, he turned for the door and strode out. Jennings was at his side immediately, the duke’s top hat in hand, and he escorted Wykeham down the hall.
Clara and Radcliff sat in silence a few moments, waiting until they heard the front door close.
Radcliff made a noise that sounded like a teakettle beginning to boil. “Are all dukes so demanding?”
“I do not think so, although I have not met that many. Perhaps it is a trait that comes with the title.” Clara shook her head as she slowly peeled her fingers from her skirt. “I rather feel,” she murmured, staring down at the wrinkles, “as if I have been squashed by a runaway carriage.”
“Hewasrather... abrupt.”
Clara’s head jerked up and she stared at her father, who stood in the doorframe. “Did you hear his words?”
Durham crossed his arms. “I suspect the entire household heard his words.”
Clara swallowed. “He is somewhat loud.”
“Somewhat?”
Clara finally smiled but held her tongue.
Durham eased down on the settee next to her, grimacing as he braced against the arm on the way to the cushions. He stretched his left leg out, absently massaging the muscle of his thigh, and Clara realized how shadowed and gray his face appeared.
“Are you in pain, Papa?”
He gave her a slight smile. “Almost always, my dear. I try not to dwell on it any longer, but some days it becomes hard to do so.”
“I am sorry.”
He patted her hand. “And I am sorry if I made you feel as if you are nothing but a burden to this family. That was not my intent, but my discomfort sometimes renders me less than polite.”
“Perhaps not polite, but it is the truth. While it was difficult to hear, it was most likely the bluntness I needed in order to understand your position.”
“I did not want to hurt you. But it’s clear that your mother and I have given you too much leeway.”
“You allowed me to hope for a different life.”
“Unfortunately, one which is not one available to a lady of your station.”
“I see.”
Durham hesitated, then withdrew his hand from hers. “In light of that understanding, you cannot see Ashton again.”
She stared at him, her lips parted. “But—”
“You heard the duke. It is not just Lady Elizabeth you must avoid. I have already given Jennings instructions not to admit Ashton if he returns.”
“But, Papa, he—”
Durham’s voice darkened. “There will be no discussion of this, Clara.” He pushed up off the settee. “It is settled. You will focus on the duke’s suit of you.” He nodded at the paper on the table. “Take that to your mother. She will ensure you have the appropriate invitations and escort you to the modiste.”
