Page 16 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 16

K ingsley had allowed enough time between the license and the wedding for Adeline Markham to attend. Clover could be thankful for that. But now, after the vows had been spoken, she sat at a dinner feast in her honor, feeling alone and distant. Her friends were there. Her brother was there. Her husband was there. But emotionally, Clover was anywhere but there.

The gathering was a small one. A personal affair, but with a feeling of forced joviality. Her brother only looked her way twice. She knew he was feeling guilty. What she hadn’t considered because of her own melancholia was that Stratford would live in this big townhouse alone. She couldn’t even imagine Kingsley Manor without family there.

“Sherry?” Hugo asked her when she put her plate of cake aside. “Or port?”

She shook her head, catching the eye of Adeline across from her. “Addy, do you play billiards?”

“I’ve tried.”

“I do,” Evelyn offered. “And I think that’s a splendid idea. Just the women. What say you, Mr. Darrington? Do you think you can part with your lovely bride for an hour or so?”

Clover’s heart soared for Evelyn, having the kind sense to put the question to Darrington without Clover having to say a word. She turned to look up into his inarguably handsome face, drawn tight by the strain of the day.

“I think my wife would love that.”

She hadn’t heard herself referred to as a wife, but somehow, when he said it, the world disintegrated around her into a place she did not recognize. She had to remind herself to breathe steadily because panic was an ally of anxiety, which had befriended her a week ago.

When they reached the billiard room, Clover turned to Evelyn. “Thank you so much for that.”

“You looked as if you might faint.”

Adeline shut the door. “Evelyn has a way of interjecting at just the right moment.”

“Do you think it rude of the bride to leave her own party?” Clover asked.

“With the Season long over and the ton retired to the country, I don’t think this small party will suffer your absence,” Adeline said.

“We’re all family.” Evelyn wrapped her in a hug.

“What about Mrs. Hawke? Isn’t she Rochester’s cousin?”

“Mrs. Hawke is due in a matter of weeks, and her husband was giving her the can-we-leave-now look all through dinner. That just leaves us. I seriously doubt the men are missing us at all.”

Adeline pulled up a cue stick from the floor rack. “Someone show me how to use this thing. I haven’t been out in months.”

Evelyn managed, as she always did, to show Adeline how to shoot a little ivory ball across the table, all the while talking nonstop to Clover. Her attention was rarely divided. She had an uncanny knack to do it all. Evelyn was the brave one. She’d taken her life into her own hands.

Why hadn’t that worked for Clover? Despite trying, she made a mess of everything.

“How are you feeling, Clover? Besides angry, of course.” Evelyn strolled toward her. “Brides are allowed to be nervous on their wedding day. You more than most, my dear.” Evelyn took Clover’s hand. “One thing is certain, though, your husband has beautiful taste.”

The ring on Clover’s finger was new. Hugo had picked it out himself, and she had to admit the single square-cut amethyst set in gold was a lovely piece. She had chosen her gown to match the amethyst with a pretty overlay of violet. “Do you remember the masquerade where Adeline first broke the rules?”

“Clover?” Adeline laughed.

“And Evelyn cornered Rochester with a wager?”

“Correct,” Evelyn said with laughing ease.

“I was dressed like Sleeping Beauty. Darrington had danced with me then. But he didn’t kiss me. The only rule I broke was to dance too many times with him. I feel like I’m still asleep, waiting for my life to begin and afraid it might take a hundred years to wake up. I need a slayer of dragons. Darrington is too angry to slay anything for me.”

Adeline rested the cue stick back into its base. “You two were meant to be together no matter the circumstances. Give it some time. Give him some time.”

Those had been her brother’s words as well. But Clover felt strange in her skin, and although she had enjoyed kissing Darrington in the gardens, she did not look forward to her wedding night. The distance between them had grown exponentially. She wasn’t even sure he wished for a night with her.

Merely thinking it conjured up reality. Clover felt like she’d been floating between worlds until Darrington stuck his head in the door.

“Ladies,” he said with a bow of his head toward them all. And then to Clover, “I’m ready to leave whenever you are. Take your time to say goodnight. I’ll be waiting in the front parlor.” He smiled pleasantly, Clover imagined, for the sake of her friends.

After he shut the door, she turned to Evelyn. “I’ll never be ready to leave this house.”

“If you’re worried about tonight…” Evelyn let the sentence trail.

“We’ll answer any questions you have,” Adeline rushed to Evelyn’s side, linking arms.

Clover felt her face burning. How could she ask them questions about a night they both surely looked forward to? She didn’t know how she felt, but anticipation was not high on the list.

When she and Hugo were alone in the coach, seated on opposite sides, looking out opposite windows, his hat in hand and hers perched on her head, the pins digging into her scalp, she saw her future. Ever at odds.

His fingers thrummed the brim of his hat.

“Would you help me with this?” She pointed to her hat with fine netting half covering her forehead and several feathers sprouting from the side.

He looked at her as if he’d almost forgotten she was there. He didn’t mean it, but the action pinched a place where her heart once beat. He leaned across the seats. She obediently dipped her head for better access. He wrestled with the pins like the sword in the stone for a good thirty seconds.

“Do you need the assistance of the Lady in the Lake?”

“No. I need to channel King Arthur, so I don’t pull out your hair in the process. Whoever attaches these to your head should be sacked.”

“I attached this one,” she said with a smile in her voice. The hat was as good a conductor to charge the silence as anything. Maybe better. When it seemed the pins were out, he pulled the hat, and she fell forward, clutching his knee in the process. “I think there’s one more.” She felt his whole countenance stiffen from his knee to the awkward plucking of his fingers in her hair. She wanted to apologize and, at the same time, pretend it didn’t happen.

“The last one,” he said, gripping the needle between his fingers. He straightened in his seat, effectively removing Clover from his person.

“Thank you.” She turned the hat over and dumped the pins in the makeshift bowl.

“Remind me, did the vows include obedience on some level? I can’t remember. It’s all a little foggy.”

She gaped at him. “Probably.”

“You don’t know either?” He chuckled. “We are a team, are we not?”

“I believe that’s the general idea. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d love to see you throw out every hat you own. And if the vows will help me do that, then I’m willing to demand it.”

Her mouth turned up in an unexpected smile. “You needn’t demand. You’ve only to ask.”

He traced her face with a gaze like a caress. He took a deep breath, then crouched and switched seats, taking her hand in his. He flipped her hand over, examining the delicate lace. “These are the gloves I gave you.”

“They are. But you never sent a note. I was left to wonder. Still, I think it was a nice touch over the formal elbow length.”

“I was afraid of finding myself right here if I’d sent a note.”

“They were a very inappropriate but lovely gift. And I never thanked you for them.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Clover.”

She turned her head to see him, to decipher his meaning. What she saw broke her heart. Fine lines cinched his forehead. His mouth was tight. His eyes lacked their usual charming sheen. He looked like she felt. Like the world had just changed without them, and it wasn’t a matter of catching up. It was a matter of finding oneself again.

As Clover sat on the edge of her bed, in separate rooms, under one roof, with no hat on her head, she wondered why Hugo had not kissed her in the coach. For some reason, instinct perhaps, she knew if they embraced, shared a moment, or a kiss, the quake under her feet would settle. Esther had helped her with her gown, with a bath, and then left her alone to wait. Every sound from next door made her jump. Every jump reminded her, via queasy stomach, that she should have forgone dinner.

A reluctant, quiet tap came from the connecting door. She couldn’t move, not even to answer it. She stopped breathing.

The heavy sound of a well-made door cracked open on silent hinges. The whole house was too quiet. “Is it safe?” He poked his head in. His voice was almost apologetic with a hint of diverting humor.

She nodded. Not even a mousy squeak.

He stood more fully in the doorway, dressed in a blue velvet robe, handsome as ever, looking partly relieved for some reason. “Are you warm enough in your dressing gown?”

She dumbly looked down at her night rail cinched around her waist. It was made of cream silk and covered her, but it clung, too. She nodded again.

“Come,” he said, holding out a hand to her.

Her gaze shot to his, and he was wearing a Cheshire smile, which made her chest ache with familiarity.

“I don’t bite. I promise. Unless that’s what you’d like.” His smile was like a wink but more appropriate.

She tried not to giggle. “Stop. I’m working very hard at squelching my childhood habitual giggle.” She stood and started toward him.

“Why would you do that? I like it.” He moved aside for her.

“You do?” she asked with disbelief, keeping her eyes on him while she crossed over to the other side of the world. A gentleman’s boudoir. It smelled deliciously like him. Bay rum and a touch of cinnamon.

He caught her elbow and swung her to face him, leaning in so their faces were inches away. “I have a proposition for you.”

She looked at his mouth.

“Not that.” Then, as if he needed to get it out of the way, he bent his head and kissed her quickly before she had a chance to react.

She licked her lips. “What?”

“Wedding nights are overrated, I’m thinking. So, I thought we might do battle another way.”

Hope bloomed in her. Not because it sounded as if a reprieve had arrived. Honestly, in her deepest heart, she had hoped he might sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed like some romantic play. On second thought, the hope was perhaps he would teach her more about boxing. “Are you going to ask me to hit you again?”

He pulled back. “Do you want to hit me again?”

“Well, not exactly.” The words tripped out of her.

He laughed outright. “I shall be happy to accommodate you another time. Right now, I thought we’d do something we both like.” He turned her about, and she felt warm hands cover her eyes and a hard male body walking far too close to her backside not to notice certain male nuances. He nudged her forward with his chest, holding his hands to her eyes. She clung to his wrists to help keep her balance.

“And? What say you, Mrs. Darrington? Or Lady Clover if you prefer.”

His hands fell away, and a beautiful mahogany table set with a black-and-white marble chess board and heavy carved pieces sat waiting for them.

“White or black?”

“Why don’t you choose since I’m certain this is not the wedding night of your dreams,” she said.

“No, it’s better. Who remembers their wedding night jitters so well as a woman who’s trounced her husband in a game of strategy?”

“In that case, I’ll take white, Mr. Darrington.”