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“She’s spent her time caring for her ill father,” Quincy said, his voice tight. “He passed just last year.”
“I don’t think the late duke was ill these fourteen years,” the duchess replied, her tone thoughtful as she considered Clara with narrowed eyes. “Rather, I recall it being a fairly recent illness, some two years or so before his death at the most.” She paused, letting the silence punctuate her suspicions, before a chilling smile slipped across her face. “One wonders why Lady Clara did not marry before his illness, that’s all. When one’s only remaining son is about to be wed, one must look out for his best interest.”
Clara felt the blood leave her face. The duchess’s implication was clear.
The woman could not know just how right she was.
“You have never looked out for my best interest,” Quincy bit out.
The duchess’s cool control transformed to hot fury in an instant. “Oh, haven’t I?” she snapped.
In a move that stunned Clara with its suddenness, Quincy surged to his feet.
He bowed to Lady Mary. “I thank you for your visit,” he said, extending a hand to the girl. “And to my mother as well, of course. Shall I see you both to your carriage?”
What could the girl do but take his hand and allow him to assist her to her feet? The duchess, too, had no other recourse. Though, Clara thought as she rose and dipped into a curtsy, the calculating look the woman gave her before turning for the door was proof that she was not quite done with the matter of who Quincy should marry.
Once the trio was out of sight Clara, unable to hold herself up a moment longer on the jellied limbs her legs had become, sank back down to the settee in a miserable lump. What had she been thinking? Yes, she had wanted to help Quincy. Yet in her efforts to ease the situation from the hell it had become, she had only catapulted him into another unwelcome one. Her fingers tangled, as if in an attempt to strangle one another. Surely he must despise her.
Each second that Quincy was gone from the drawing room seemed to drag into the next. All the while she listened, ears straining, as Quincy saw the duchess and Lady Mary away. And then—nothing. Silence stretched on as her misery grew. It would serve her right if he never spoke to her again. He had played along with her announcement, but he was a gentleman. Of course he had not outed her for the fraud she was.
Finally steps approached. Clara tensed, closing her eyes tight. Which, while saving her from seeing the anger that surely filled his features, made her other senses that much more acute. So she was more aware as his steps traversed from polished wood to plush carpet, as the settee dipped when he sat beside her. And still the silence stretched.
Unable to take it a moment longer, she spoke into the void. “Quincy I am more sorry than I can ever say.”
He began to tremble beside her. “Truly, I cannot apologize enough,” she said. “I will do anything I can to fix this.”
The trembling only increased, until the whole settee seemed to shake with the force of it. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, bowing her head, she hardly breathed as she waited for him to break free of his anger-induced muteness and rain recriminations down on her. She deserved whatever he meted out.
But no angry words filled the air. Instead a choking sound erupted from him.
It was then she heard it: a laugh.
It was quickly muffled. But she heard it nonetheless. Her eyes flew open, her shocked gaze swinging to Quincy. Surely she had not sinned so horribly that she had reduced the man to madness.
Though it was certainly a possibility. As soon as he caught her eye, he threw back his head and let loose his mirth.
Her jaw dropped nearly to her chest. “You’relaughing?”
In response he laughed harder. Tears tracked down his cheeks.
She blinked several times, trying to make sense of his reaction. As his chortling dragged on, annoyance began to rear up. “There is nothing remotely funny about this.”
“Yes there is,” he gasped. He collapsed against the back of the settee, his hand going to his midriff. “Her face—did you see her face?—she was furious—”
She shook her head. “Don’t you understand the repercussions of what I’ve done?” she demanded. “I’ve declared we’re engaged. Not only did you not denounce it, but you verified it. In front of your mother, a duchess. In front of the daughter of a marquess.” She let out a frustrated breath as his chuckles continued. “If we don’t continue on with this farce, there will be a terrible scandal. For all intents and purposes, Quincy, we are now engaged.”
That finally seemed to reach something sane in him. His laughter died as suddenly as it had started and he was left staring up at the ceiling, a look of grim understanding dawning on his face. “You’re right,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied in a whisper, her outrage of a moment ago gone, in its place the crippling remorse that had preceded it.
“Ah, God, of course you’re right.” He straightened, and she flinched as those dark eyes landed on her; surely now he would rain hellfire down on her head.
Instead he reached for her hand, pressing her numb fingers between his own. “I am so sorry.”
Once more she gaped at him. “Youare sorry?”
His expression was earnest. “I forced you to remain. And now you’re embroiled in my mess.”
