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“In this case, mother, I’m certain it has. His Grace is a most accomplished man, and I have been moved by his kindness. He showed an affinity with the children that touched my heart, and that is when I knew things felt right. I know that you have been frustrated with my lack of ambition in this area of life, but I only wanted to wait for the right person. Thank you for your patience. You have always trusted my decisions, and I ask that you trust my judgment again now.” Clara punctuated her words with a sweet smile. When she directed it to Gerald, he could almost believe that she meant it.

She was a formidable woman indeed, and he vowed to never underestimate her.

The conversation continued, mostly about the children’s home, the children themselves, and Clara.

“She’s always done so much for other people. When Beatrice was born, Clara helped nurse her and rocked her to sleep. She’s always been there for us with whatever we’ve needed. I’m not surprised that she found her calling at St. Margaret’s because she has such a giving heart.”

As Mary waxed lyrical about her daughter, Beatrice rolled her eyes. Gerald estimated her age to be around fifteen, and recalled what Eleanor had been like at that age. Gerald noticed that Clara averted her gaze and shifted uncomfortably. So far he had only known her to be composed and, frankly, belligerent, so this behavior stood out to him.

The conversation continued for a while until everyone was satisfied that progress had been made. Arthur cracked a smile, and his earlier iciness had thawed. At one point, Beatrice took the last cake on the plate and handed it to Clara.

“Consider it an early wedding present. Given how well-suited you seem to be, we might have one before the season is over,” she said.

Gerald hadn’t eaten his cake yet, so he sliced it in half and gave some to Beatrice, which softened her eyes, and she offered genuine thanks. Gerald stated his gratitude for their hospitality as he left, and was walked to the door by Clara. Everyone else was left beyond earshot.

“You made quite the convincing suitor today. Even Beatrice was impressed, and she finds it difficult to admire anything. You didn’t have to give her your cake. You are throwing yourself into the role,” she said.

Gerard grinned. “I wasn’t pretending today, although you did well yourself. I appreciated what you said. It seems that a lot of this comes naturally to me.”

“Lying?”

“Courting you.”

Clara did not have a rejoinder for that. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them saying a word. Clara’s eyes were liquid, and Gerald found it difficult to tear himself away. He felt a strange stirring in his heart and wasn’t entirely sure what was coming over him. The stronger the lie, the closer it came to the truth, and that could be a catastrophe. He would have to learn to walk the line with discipline, and never teeter too far into the other side.

“I suppose the next time I see you shall be at the musicale. I hope you have been working on the position of your arm,” Clara said.

Gerald grinned. “I’ve been practicing it night and day,” he said.

“Let us fool the ton; I’m sure I will go back now, and my family will have nothing but effusive praise for you.”

“Thank you for the warning that my ears shall be burning,” Gerald said. Clara’s eyes shone as she closed the door. He lingered on the doorstep for a while, filled with a desire to keep talking to her. Although they were lying about the courtship, he really had been mixing the truth in with the lies. She was different from other people; there was no doubting that. He had to remind himself constantly that none of this was real. None of this needed to be real.

It was all just make-believe, and before too long things would go back to normal.

Surprisingly, this didn’t bring him as much comfort as he thought it would.

Chapter Six

“You look lovely,” Gerald said as Clara climbed into the carriage. She greeted him with a smile, and then was introduced to Eleanor, his sister. Eleanor smiled furtively and seemed a little restless. She peered out of the window at one moment, then moved her gaze to her lap. She pinched her dress, as though she was extracting invisible thorns.

“I’m glad to meet you,” Clara said.

“As am I,” Eleanor replied, lifting her gaze and showing Clara a radiant smile.

“Forgive Eleanor, she often becomes restless before occasions such as this,” Gerald said. Eleanor shot him a black look, but did not deny it.

“And she has a right to be. It is a difficult thing for a young woman to attend a ball. All eyes are upon you. You wonder if you are wearing your hair in the correct style, or if your dress is in fashion. It is something that you would never be able to understand, Gerald,” Clara said.

Eleanor’s expression softened. She breathed a little easier, and her hands stopped twitching. She gave Clara a reassuring smile.

The journey was short, for the musicale was being held close by at Thomas and Helena Cunnigham’s house. Many of the guests were already present and the sounds of festivity poured out of the doors and windows. Golden light was warm and welcoming, while the tinkling sounds of a piano were accompanied by lively plucking of strings. Dresses of all color stretching out into the house like a rainbow come to life, bubbling like a river.

Gerald and Clara looked at each other. This was their first public appearance, and if there was anything amiss, then surely the ton would sniff it out. They were wily like that. Clara stifled the instinct to rebel against the situation. It wouldn’t help, and as she grew up she had learned that sometimes it was better to keep her thoughts to herself---a lesson she was trying to teach Beatrice and Emily in particular, with mixed success.

Gerald held out his arm in the manner that Clara had shown him, and he took his. From the moment they entered the house, she could feel something stirring. Agatha really hadn’t been lying when she said that the ton paid particular attention to eligible Dukes.

Whispers and low, intrigued murmurs started to whirl through the room. Word passed, and more heads turned towards them, gazing at Gerald with disappointment, and at Clara with venom. This was something that she hadn’t been prepared for: the judgment of the women who were slighted that she had been picked over them. They turned away, but Clara could see the disgust on their faces.