“It is not her family I object to—just look at her! Look at her dress, her hair…”
When they both wheeled round to do so, Claire discovered it was impossible to die from embarrassment, for otherwise she would surely have perished. Which might have been preferable to enduring them watch her awkwardly pat her windswept hair and try (and fail) to cover her stained gown.
Contempt deepened the lines around her grace’s mouth. “These English girls,” she muttered. “I’d hoped to introduce you to some suitable young women during our time in France, mon coeur, that you might see what is lacking here. No élégance, no dignité, no humilité. Nothing but vulgar Protestant pride! I’m sure Lady Claire is a nice enough girl, but she will not make you a good wife. She is too willful, too strong-minded to be ruled by her husband as she ought. She will never learn her place.”
By this time, tears—of shame or rage, she didn’t know which—were beginning to prick Claire’s eyes, and she felt the need to escape before she either lost her temper or broke down in sobs.
She rose from her chair.
Then stopped dead upon hearing Jonathan’s next words.
“You’re right, maman.”
Fifteen
Shock knocked Claire back into her seat.
Even in her darkest imaginings, Jonathan had never spoken to her so cruelly, nor rejected her so completely. Did he hate her so much? In a daze of hurt and confusion, she sought his gaze—but what she saw there only confused her further.
It wasn’t contempt…nor was it contrition.
His lips were quirked in a tiny smile, and his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. Claire was dumbfounded. Was he laughing at her and her English vulgarity?
But then he registered the look on her face, and contrition arrived.
“That is,” he faltered, turning the laugh into a cough, “you’re right about one thing, maman. One big thing.”
Though Jonathan was addressing his mother, he was watching Claire.
“As to everything else, maman, you couldn’t be more wrong. No elegance, no dignity? If you had seen how Claire acquitted herself this day, you’d never say so again. Of humility, I only worry she has rather too much. And as for how she looks…” His gaze raked her from top to toe. “She’s more beautiful every time I see her.”
The duchess made a scornful noise. Still confused, Claire frowned, though her swelling heart had begun to crowd the breath from her lungs.
“But you did get something right, maman. You saw Claire’s pride, and her will, and her strength. I suspect she has more strength in her little finger than I have in my whole body. And that’s why I need her to be my wife. Her strength makes me stronger; strong enough to be the man I ought to be. I hope you’re right, as well, that she’ll never be ruled by her husband, for I shall depend upon her to tell me when I do wrong, and never ‘learn her place,’ excepting her place at my side.”
“I cannot believe what I am hearing!” Her grace’s voice rose in pitch. “After all this time, you cannot still mean to marry this—this disgracieux?—”
“Maman!" At last Jonathan looked away from Claire, turning scorching eyes on his mother. “If you desire to ever see me again, you will not complete that sentence.”
“You intend we should see each other again?” She leaned forward, reaching for him. “We’ll go back to the way things were?”
He recoiled from her, raising the satchel like a shield. “No! We can never go back.” Though she looked crushed, he set his jaw and pressed on. “Things will have to be different, maman. Since I cannot trust you, I must keep you out of my affairs. I’ll tolerate no meddling and certainly no abuse of my wi—of Claire, whether or not she agrees to marry me?—”
“Yes!” Claire burst out heedlessly. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
She was as surprised those words had come out of her mouth as he looked to hear them.
But as she rose to stand beside him, she felt no regret. Only joy.
“Well!” Grinning from ear to ear, he at last discarded his satchel and took her hand, raising it to his lips for a soft kiss. Then, lacing his fingers with hers, he turned back to his mother and regained his stern countenance. “There you have it. Er—where was I?”
“You shall tolerate no abuse of your wife,” Claire put in helpfully.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “That means no treating Claire poorly, no scheming to undermine her, no slandering her about the neighborhood or in society. If you cannot put aside your prejudices and be a gracious mother-in-law, I’ll turn my back on you forever. Have I made myself clear?”
By the end of his speech, the duchess’s mouth hung open in a most uncouth fashion. “And this is how you speak to your maman?” she demanded, her pitch rising even higher. “To the woman who brought you into this world, and raised you, and sacrificed her whole life for you?”
Claire felt Jonathan stiffen beside her. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
