Page 32 of The Duke's Rebellious Love
“Will you help me dress?” Clara lowered her finished cup. “I will, of course, go down to the duke as soon as I am ready.”
When Clara swept into the parlour, she was relieved that it was not the same one they had been intimate in only yesterday. Thankfully, Woolwich had been placed in a different receiving room, a large pleasantly furnished room with immaculate handcrafted poised chaises and matching chairs. One of those rooms, Clara reflected, no one would try to dally in.
He presented such a handsome sight that it hurt her eyes. The sharpness of his cut blue suit, his ever-so-slightly waved blond hair in the fresh light of day, the squareness of his large shoulders, and the offered-out blooms caused Clara to drop a neat curtsy on her entrance as she accepted the proffered gift from him. It was only when she looked over his face did she see a large purplish bruise around his right eye, marring the otherwise pristine vision he presented. The heavy contrast of the masculine blue of him and the pink of the flowers made for such an appealing sight contrasted against the soreness of his injury. Clara could not help but look in shock at the mark for a second longer than was necessary.
With a flick of her hand, she indicated he should resume his seat. She picked one opposite him and sank into it. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Your Grace.” Before he could speak, she continued, “I have also taken the liberty of informing Hurstbourne, who, whilst not mentioned, was, I am sure, the reason you called this morning.”
Let him disturb the earl whilst she slipped from the house.
“I came to see you. Not Nick… just you.”
There was no answer that Clara could immediately think of. She could not bring herself to look again at him, so instead, she stared down at the flowers. They were beautiful, small, shaped as if by a skilled sculptor, coloured with a pink that blurred the line between a dawn sunrise and the blush of a girl’s cheek. They were the sort of flowers she had always imagined a suitor might bring her. Why did it have to be Woolwich? Not, she reminded herself, that he was courting her.
“Was this to again extend your apologies?”
Woolwich grimaced, his jaw twitching, and he gave a stilted nod. “Indeed.”
“It was unnecessary.” Clara went to stand up. If this was all, then she could be on her way.
“It was also to warn you.”
“About what?” she asked.
Woolwich raised his hand to the edge of his face. The soreness and the bruising caused him to wince. “To tell you to avoid Mr. Goudge.”
“He did that to you.” It did not need to be a question. It was clear who had delivered the blow.
“He was paid back in kind.”
There was something so petty and childish to this that Clara just shook her head. The sheer silliness of them both.
It seemed her reaction was the spur needed for Woolwich to begin speaking more expansively. “Do you shake your head at the notion of me banning you from accepting his attentions? I will admit it is unorthodox of me, but he is not worthy—that is, I am not sure any woman would be a suitable bride for such a man.”
“Of course,” Clara snapped back, “rather than complimenting me, you would rather seek to insult him.”
“My presence here today is meant as a warning. Mr. Goudge has proved himself an unworthy gentleman, a man seeking a woman of good connections to better himself. There is nothing more to him. He has admitted as much.”
“I hardly think that is an extraordinary statement. That is why a great many marry within theton.”
“He would not…” Here, Woolwich blinked several times as he looked down at Clara. His tone changed. “He would not make you happy.”
To this, Clara laughed. It came out as an ugly, unpleasant sound, unlike her normal gaiety, bitterness forcing her upright and towards the duke. She dropped the beautiful flowers onto the floor because it was better than throwing them at Woolwich’s head. “You have no right to talk of my happiness or what I should seek in matrimony. It is no concern of yours.”
“As someone who has experienced an unhappy union, do you not think I would suggest all avoid such a fate?” Woolwich sighed. “It may seem improbable to you, but I would not have you think badly of me. I wish to explain myself. Do you think you could let me?”
“I do not see the value in it.”
“Perhaps it is a selfish sensation, an unworthy motivation, but if you hear all, it would be your liberty to judge as such.”
All that Clara wanted to do was run away. She had no desire to stay and listen to his justification for defending her.
It was a small comfort to see that when she nodded her consent for him to continue, Woolwich had the grace to look deeply awkward. He shifted on the balls of his feet, grimaced, and then said abruptly, “For all of society’s perceptions of me, that I would callously reject and hurt ladies, nothing could be further from the truth. Certainly, that would never be my intention with you. If I thought a union between the two of us would bring you even a slither of joy, I would consider it.”
Unable to listen to such self-indulgent nonsense anymore, Clara folded her arms under her chest and let out a dramatic sigh. It cut through whatever Woolwich had been about to say, and his pale cheeks grew red. “Trust you not to understand.”
“Not to understand the privileged, lucky gentleman’s position. No, as the daughter of a tradesman on her third Season, I would not say I was so fortunate.”
“You have all the options of life, liberty, and love available to you.”
