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The air outside was fresher and cooler than in the mansion, but as soon as Bea maneuvered through the small crowd, what she saw made the air all around feel inflamed. The man had deposited Clara onto a chaise longue and angled his body over her protectively.
Turning around to face the onlookers, he barked, “Back! Get back!”
Everyone except Bea and William stepped back, their shoes tapping on the tiled terrace. Bea stood entranced. Not by the scandal, but by the tenderness before her.
He loves her.
As fierce as the man’s voice had been just a moment ago to the crowd, he was murmuring to Clara. Bea was relieved to hear her friend’s voice, too, though she couldn’t make out the particulars of their exchange. She didn’t need to hear the words to discern the intimacy of their tone.
A Scot?If she wasn’t mistaken, she caught a burr in his accent and something in his cadence. Her gaze shot to Clara’s skirts, draped on the chaise.Tartan!Though her curiosity had been mild, shehadwondered at Clara’s unusual choice of pattern on her voluminous silk skirts. A coincidence?
She gasped along with the rest of the crowd when Mr. Robertson pulled Clara into his arms. No, not just pulled—claimed. Bea could scarcely breathe at the romantic image. She knew this indiscretion would bear a cost—and the Dalfours, as Clara’s social benefactors, would pay some of it—but in this moment, she cared not. Though the couple did nothing but hold each other, she sensed great ardor and trust between them.
They look made for each other.
“Make way!”
Bea covered her mouth, recognizing the Earl of Anterleigh’s voice.No, no, no!
She nearly swooned with relief when the couple pulled apart on the chaise before the Earl reached them. As Bea faltered, William wrapped an arm around her to steady her, and the next moments passed in a blur while she clutched him. Despite the tension radiating between the two men—Clara’s brother and…her beau?—it never came to blows, and the Scotsman left.
The Duchess shot a bitter look toward Bea before steaming toward the Chadbourne siblings, exclaiming her concern and leaving a cloud of musky perfume in her wake. Some time later, when the Earl’s carriage had been readied, he escorted his sister back through the ballroom, but Clara was so unwell, she held her head and moved blindly through the crowd, passing Bea without a word.
“Poor dear,” she murmured to William, who still held her elbow.
“I know you’re worried for her. The earl will see to her.”
She knew he was right, but her friend remained on her mind. The ball resumed, and the scandalous to-do made tongues wag for the rest of the night. Both Dalfours deflected the most probing of the gossips’s questions, but they could not escape them in full until they were back in their own carriage after the event.
Her face felt frozen from her night of attempting to smile, as if carefree, and she placed her hands over her cheeks, holding her face while the carriage rattled away from the Duke’s palatial residence.
“All will be well,” William reassured her quietly, patting her knee through her skirts.
In the darkness, she couldn’t prevent surprise from raising her eyebrows.He’s comforting me after that debacle?His calm voice was a balm, one for which she was grateful. Even when her husband had hurt her deeply, it hadn’t been through cruelty.
Yet she found his overt kindness tonight surprising. He had made clear that her most important responsibilities in their marriage were dutiful motherhood and observing propriety. This latter meant a great deal to him, she knew, for he valued their reputation and its significance to his career in Parliament. He was becoming a statesman, an increasingly respected and important one.
“I’m worried for Clara. But also for you,” she admitted. “I know I must be loyal to you above all others. I apologize if what happened tonight harms our reputation.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Youareloyal. To me and to Clara, who is your friend. I cannot be angry when you acted only out of goodness. When you exhibit the admirable qualities of an ally and protector to those you hold dear.”
Sensing his hand on the plush velvet seat near hers in the darkness, she reached for him, her breath stilling when she found him there as she hoped. Their fingers entwined for the first time in well over a year. “Thank you, William,” she said, tears in her voice. He could have chastised her, as many a husband would have.
“We cannot always use our good name to help everyone, but you did so for a true friend. Now, we must be careful with the Chadbournes after tonight. We can’t be seen out with Clara any time soon, but let us hope calm heads prevail and the situation settles.”
“Who is James Robertson?” she asked in a small voice, curiosity engulfing her.
“An industrialist. He owns textile mills. Factories. Foundries. Warehouses. In fact, he’s a commercial rival of the Earl’s, I daresay.”
“Oh!”
“Oh, indeed. I don’t know what Robertson was thinking, forcing Denton to introduce him to Clara like that. Most likely looking to provoke Anterleigh. I very nearly thought the earl was going to box with Robertson—not shake his hand! Thank God he calmed. All’s well that ends well, Bea. Don’t you worry. I’m certain you’ll placate the Duchess in no time.”
She murmured her thanks again, but her mind remained on the scene from the ball. If she were a wagering sort, she would place a hefty bet on thisnotbeing the first time Clara had been in Robertson’s arms. Bea had nearly been incinerated by the couple’s heat!
Feeling flushed even thinking about it, Bea flicked her fan open in the carriage and worked it vigorously. She closed her eyes. Oh, what would it feel like to be carried away in a man’s arms as Clara had been? One who didn’t care about social conventions? Who would push a duke out of the way to take her to safety?
She shuddered lightly, and William’s hand tightened on hers.
