Chapter Ten

Though marriages were often the thing of gossip throughout London, resulting in the targeted couple being scrutinized or waxed on about in poetic stanza, no one quite knew how to approach the nuptials of Clara Woodvine and the Duke of Combe. On one hand, it seemed rather sudden that Clara Woodvine would be so quickly attached to someone other than Lord Dilworth, who himself had just recently suffered another disappointment as he and Bettina seemed no longer in each other's good company.

Clara had been warned by Silas that they might be eviscerated by the newspapers due to his past, but the Times barely mentioned the previous Duchess of Combe, nor did any of the other publications. Silas had seemed so sure that the gossip rags would bring up his divorce, but as soon as their nuptials were announced, it seemed as if the entire city had forgotten about Silas's first marriage.

While she had consented to marry him, Clara had been flooded with a whirlwind of emotions ever since she had said yes. Silas had been specific about wanting their marriage to be one of friendship but while she was very glad to be his friend, she couldn't ignore other feelings that had begun to simmer between them. Nor could she ignore all he had told her, about the games he used to play with his previous wife.

Clara had decided to see if she could find any philosophies on subjects of control. She had read the Greek philosophers' opinion of eros, passionate love and philia, friendship love, but neither spoke to the sort of relationship Silas had talked about.

There were some other writers, poets and such, who Clara heard about who might explain the nature of what she was searching for, but such works were rarely spoken of. Everyone knew the poet John Wilmot and the Marquis de Sade were libertines, whose works depicted vulgarities that no young lady should ever read. But still, she searched the library in her home for their books, unsurprisingly finding none by either.

Instead, she decided to read A Treatise of Human Nature by David Hume, the very philosopher she had quoted to Silas. It seemed there was something to be discovered in his writings and she was eager to learn as much as she could before the wedding. She made sure it was the first thing she packed in her valise when the house began to pack for the wedding, which they had decided would take place at Silas's ancestorial home in Bedfordshire. Clara and her family had often stayed in Bedfordshire while journeying to London from their home in Lincolnshire, though they had never had the privilege of seeing the duke's home. The wedding was taking place at Greystone Manor, as to avoid any fanfare that might lead to more articles being written about them and they would stay for some time afterwards, so that they could recoup from their public romance in private. Time alone, to explore what their relationship would be.

Clara knew that Silas wasn't particularly interested in having the type of relationship with her that he had shared with his first wife, and as much as she told herself that it was fine, she knew she was lying. She wanted very much to explore all Silas's wants and wishes, as well as her own, but he was adamant that they would conduct themselves as friends. He had repeated several times in the weeks leading up to their wedding that their marriage would be based solely on their friendship and nothing more. He said as much the night before they were set to travel north to Nottinghamshire.

Silas had come for dinner and though there was a certain amount of excitement in the atmosphere as they dined, Clara couldn't help but feel a tension in the room as she spooned her potato and leek soup.

"The journey shouldn't take more than two days," Silas said to her father as he picked up his glass of wine. "The midway point is Northampton. We'll be staying at the Rose and Thorn Inn."

Clara's father nodded while her mother beamed.

"We are so happy to celebrate your wedding to our daughter, your grace. Exceedingly so." Her eyes turned towards Clara as she sighed happily. "Imagine. My daughter. A duchess."

"Mother, please," Clara said, the tips of her ears burning with embarrassment.

"Do not dampen your mother's spirits, my dear," her father said, his eyes crinkling in delight at his wife's joy. "She's merely excited."

"Yes, Father," Clara said, her gaze locked on the food she could barely finish.

She wasn't sure why she was feeling so apprehensive. Perhaps the two-day long voyage was worrying her.

"Will there be many guests?" Clara heard her mother ask. "We had hoped to have the wedding in London, your grace, but Clara suggested that it might be in poor taste since… Well…"

Her mother cleared her throat as an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. The heat from Clara's ears spread down to her cheeks. She had made the comment that Silas wouldn't wish to have an opulent wedding, considering it was his second marriage. She stole a glance as she took a sip from her water glass, expecting to see an annoyed looking Silas, but his face was unreadable.

"A very selfless consideration on your daughter's part," Silas said, his eyes on Clara. "Her thoughtfulness is a great attribute. It's why I'm so certain our marriage will be a successful one."

"A marriage based on friendship is a happy marriage indeed," her father said, raising his glass. "My Mary is my closest confidant. It is why our marriage has been a joy these past twenty-three years."

"Heavens, Joseph," her mother said, dipping her head as a blush stained her cheeks.

Clara smiled at her mother's embarrassment before looking at Silas. Her smile faded upon seeing the intensity in his eyes, but then he had just reiterated that theirs was to be a marriage of friendship. While that made her far luckier than most ladies who married into the ton to husbands who didn't seem to care for them at all, she couldn't help but feel like she was missing something.

Later that night, after the duke had left, Clara and her mother sat up in her room, picking out the final touches for their ensembles to wear at the wedding.

Mary was gleeful as she held up a dazzling pair of ruby and pearl earbobs to her ears while she twirled around Clara's bedroom. "I cannot believe it."

Clara smiled at her mother's childlike joy; her eyes crinkled with happiness.

"Have you chosen which jewels to wear then?" Clara asked, noting another pair of emerald and diamond earrings in her mother's hands.

"Well, I've narrowed it down, but I'll simply bring them all and decide the day of the wedding," she said. She sighed and looked at her daughter. "I cannot believe that you will be married by weeks' end."

"Yes, it's all very exciting I suppose," Clara said, trying to sound cheerful.

But her mother stilled at her tone.

"Is there something wrong, my dear? Are you not happy about marrying the duke?"

"Oh no, it's not that," Clara said, shaking her head. "It's just a little overwhelming."

Mary tilted her head.

"Are you concerned about…the wedding night?" her mother asked, sounding rather hesitant.

Clara's cheeks warmed.

"No," she said quickly. Country living had demonstrated to her the finer points of consummation and she was sure Silas would do everything to make the experience pleasant. "I simply meant becoming a duchess."

"Oh," her mother replied, visibly relieved as she exhaled. "Well, I know it must be difficult managing a duke's house, but you will fare well enough if you let the dowager duchess teach you. Besides, the duke chose you and if he thinks you'll make a fine duchess, who are we to disagree?"

Clara gave her mother a half smile, not completely sure that she agreed with her sentiment. It was as if she was constantly trying to convince herself that her feelings for Silas weren't genuine. Yes, she enjoyed their friendship, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore her most private imaginations about their relationship. Clara flatly ignored her growing attraction for him. It didn't matter whether she thought how dashing he appeared when his black hair fell over his forehead, or how considerate he was, like the time he helped her avoid a series of puddles one rainy afternoon, even though her shoes were already soaked. Silas was simply a kinder man than most. Their marriage would be one of pleasant conversation and mutual consideration and Clara had to accept that.

Over the next two days, Clara rode with her parents, hardly seeing Silas until they reached Greystone. Clara had been surprised to discover that they were part of a sort of large convoy travelling to Nottinghamshire. They were being followed by the entire Trembley family, the Duke and Duchess of Egmont—family friends of Silas's mother, the dowager duchess—as well as Holly Smyth and her younger siblings, who had been sent for by Silas at Clara's request.

Silas had told Clara that he had written his sister and mother ahead of time to make preparations for their arrival as well as the wedding, though he had also said that he doubted his sister, Violet, would be much help. Supposedly, Violet had been very fond of Cynthia and hadn't forgiven Silas for the dissolution of their marriage. That information had worried Clara, but only for a moment. Surely, she just needed some time to befriend her new sister-in-law.

But a singular worry in the back of Clara's mind seemed unwilling to release her. What if she wasn't good enough to be a duchess? What if everyone who had known Silas's former wife would realize that she wasn't elegant enough, or calm enough, or good enough to be the Duchess of Combe?

It was a rotten feeling, but she couldn't shake it. Perhaps her worries would prove to be unfounded. As long as Silas was pleased with her, she shouldn't care what others were thinking…and yet she couldn't shake the terrible worry that she would end up embarrassing him in some way.

Clara groaned silently to herself as they rode silently in the carriage north. She did not like being so concerned with how others perceived her. Silas's opinion had become increasingly important to her. Heaven forbid she change the way she behaved only to please him.

She bit the inside of her lip and tried to shake off her worries. Silas liked her just as she was, she reminded herself. And he wasn't going to fall in love with her, so there would be no point in falling in love with him. He only wanted friendship and a peaceful union. Well, she could live with that. After all, friendship was far more than most received.

But Clara wondered if she would be able to curb her growing desires. She had begun fantasizing about what it would be like to touch him. What it would be like if Silas remained perfectly still, perhaps sleeping, while she moved her fingers over his face. There was something very enticing about the strong, straight line of his jaw, the plane of his nose and the fullness of his lips. She wanted to press her fingertips to his mouth and trail her thumb along the ridge of his bottom lip.

Shivering, Clara forced those thoughts from her mind just as the carriage turned. They had arrived.

Greystone Manor was rectangular in shape, with a long center block at the ground floor level, topped by bedrooms and attics above. There were two lower flanking wings joined to the main block by colonnades. To the south of the house was a detached quadrangular stable.

The exterior was both grand and restrained, constructed of fine-grained, silver stone, the genesis of the name Greystone Manor. In line with the Palladian style, it had domes punctuating each corner of the manor.

Standing outside to greet the train of carriages were nearly fifty uniformed servants, headed by a housekeeper, a butler and a cook. In front of all of them however, stood a very tall, very slim woman with wavy grey hair, pinned back into an elegant coiffeur. She wore a plum and black gown that went all the way up to her chin, giving her the appearance of some regal queen. Standing next to her was a slightly shorter girl, perhaps only just seventeen, dressed in a gown of the palest green. She had dark, wavy hair that was held back in a similar fashion as the older woman and Clara knew that these two must be Silas's mother and sister.

Trying to regulate her breathing, Clara exited the carriage following her parents. Their vehicle had been second in line, behind Silas's, who had already exited his carriage and was now standing before his mother. They exchanged a few words before he turned and stepped aside to make the introductions. Clara ignored the thunderous pounding of her nervous heart and tried her hardest not to trip or lose her balance as she approached the dowager duchess.

"Miss Clara Woodvine," the older woman said stoically with a nod as Clara made sure to curtsy extra low. "A pleasure to meet the woman who was so swift to steal my son's heart."

Her tone was tight and didn't quite match her words. She certainly didn't seem pleased. Clara was conscious not to fidget in front of this woman. She glanced at Silas who seemed to be trying not to roll his eyes.

"Your Grace," Clara said slowly. "It's an honor to make your acquaintance. His Grace spoke very highly of you and I'm very happy to be able to meet you."

The dowager duchess was silent. Clara's eyes lifted to see one of her brows arched, before letting her gaze drop as she waited for her new mother-in-law to speak.

"She's sweet, Silas. A bit eager, but sweet," she said after a moment. She turned to her son. "Try not to break this one."

Clara felt her cheeks heat up at those words as the dowager climbed the stairs. She studied Silas's profile as a cold veneer shrouded his face.

"Ignore her," a feminine voice said to Silas, catching Clara off guard. She turned and saw his sister approach him, careful not to give Clara any attention. "She's just sour that she wasn't consulted about this rather unexpected affair."

"And you're not?" he asked her plainly, glancing back at Clara.

The girl wouldn't turn around to follow her brother's gaze, but she shook her head.

"Why should I be?" she asked sweetly, Clara was wary of her tone.

Seemingly convinced, Silas nodded and turned to the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Bridges," he said and Clara could hear the genuine happiness in his voice. "It's wonderful to see you."

"You as well, your grace," the elderly woman said, with a curtsy.

"Will you help Boggs show Miss Woodvine and her parents to their rooms?"

"Of course, your grace," she said nodding. She too seemed to be evading Clara's gaze.

Clara tried to make her face impassive as she followed the housekeeper into the cavernous home. It seemed everyone at Greystone was going to ignore her completely. What had she done agreeing to marry this man?

Upon entering the grand building, Clara noted that everything inside the manor was opulent, lavish and terrifying. As she followed Mrs. Bridges, she noted the large paintings depicting ancient wars, Persian rugs and gold leaf ceiling murals that seemed to be everywhere Clara's eyes landed. A large, marble staircase to the right of the entrance hall led to the second floor, where another massive hallway opened up into three smaller hallways. An east wing led to family accommodations while the west wing led to guest rooms.

Once Clara's parents had settled in the Lilac room in the family wing, Mrs. Bridges turned to lead Clara out of the east wing.

"Oh," she said, cautiously. "Am I staying in the west wing?"

The housekeeper slowed her steps.

"No, my lady. Of course not. You're to stay in your own room, adjacent to his grace's apartments."

"Oh," Clara said, nervously. "Yes, of course."

Mrs. Bridges nodded assuredly at her.

"Very well. Follow me."

Clara followed Mrs. Bridges up a smaller, but no less elegant marble staircase up a north wing. Grand landscape paintings hung from the walls down the corridor, each more serene looking than the last. At the end of the hallway, there was a large window that went from the floor to the ceiling and had a view of the property. The housekeeper had gone to the last door on the left, but Clara had continued forward until she was looking out the window.

A massive, walled garden, centered by a maze stood beneath her in a sort of courtyard that was outlined with fruit trees. Clara sighed at the beautiful sight beneath her and wished very much to go exploring in the garden, only to be brought back to reality by the housekeeper's throat clearing.

Turning, Clara tried to appear apologetic. She gave the housekeeper a strained smile and followed her into the room.

"Do you like gardens, my lady?" Mrs. Bridges asked.

"Very much so," Clara said, peering over her shoulder before entering her bed chambers.

The minute she walked into the room, her breath caught in her throat.

Red damask wallpaper covered the towering walls and gold framed mirrors seemed to be everywhere. Goodness, how vain had the former duchess been? Surely one person did not need such an excessive number of mirrors but, everything about this house seemed excessive to Clara. She really needed to remember that she was no longer a mere country girl. Still, it was difficult to remember that this amount of opulence was expected of great houses.

Even with that in mind, the lavishness of these apartments made her slightly uncomfortable. Turning about the room, Clara's eyes landed on the bed. This was the most shocking to see. The canopy was draped in black silk and the intricate carvings on the pillars and headboard appeared to be scenes of satyrs and nymphs.

Clara's hand came up to her mouth absentmindedly, her thumb and forefinger plucking at her bottom lip as she stared at one pillar in particular where a satyr's arms were reaching out above him to grab the backside of a nymph.

Clara's head tilted slightly as her eyes traveled up the post. Goodness, was this depicting—

"My lady?"

Clara jumped and whipped around.

"Yes?" she said quickly, as if she had just been caught reading some wicked book.

"I asked if you were also fond of the country?"

"Oh yes," Clara said, trying to smile. "I am very fond of the country."

"Do you and his grace plan to stay in Nottinghamshire?" she asked as Clara's gaze fell around the room.

Plush velvet furnishings and heavy wood pieces adorned the room. She had never seen a room like this one and a singular word came to her mind when she thought to describe it.

Decadence.

"I hope so," Clara said as her fingers trailed against the back of a gilded chair.

Though she didn't say anything, the small pull of the old woman's mouth into a quick smile made Clara feel as if she had just cracked into a safe. She knew now that it was inevitable that she would be compared to the former mistress of the house, but as Silas said, they were nothing alike. Hopefully she would be able to meet their expectations of what a duchess should be like.

Soon a small army of maids swarmed the room, making up a hot bath, laying out several choices of gowns that Clara had brought with her. When none seemed to please Mrs. Bridges, she sent for a few gowns belonging to Violet. Apparently, Mrs. Bridges had once been a lady's maid to the Duchess of Lancaster, a dear friend of Silas's mother. When the duchess passed away however, it was revealed that the Lancaster duchy was bankrupt and Mrs. Bridges was offered the housekeeper position at Greystone. Her taste for fashion was well known as she had a talent for matching her mistresses to dresses that would complement them.

"Oh no," Clara tried to dissuade the maids as one left to collect several gowns from Violet. "I don't want to bother Lady Violet. I'm sure she doesn't wish for a stranger to wear her things."

"It's no trouble," Mrs. Bridges insisted, holding up a string of pearls and an emerald necklace to either side of Clara's neck. "Lady Violet has a vast collection of dresses. Besides, she is more than willing to help her future sister-in-law dress appropriately for her wedding day."

"Are my gowns truly that bad?" she asked.

"No, my lady. But they are a bit…Well…" She hesitated.

"Shiny?" another maid said helpfully.

"Yes. Shiny. Too shiny for the chapel, I think. The dowager wouldn't approve, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Clara said, feeling rather ill-equipped. "Perhaps I should undo some of the beaded stitching in the coming days."

Two maids that stood closest to Clara paused in their preparations as they exchanged glances with one another. Turning to face the housekeeper, Clara wondered if she had said something wrong. Mrs. Bridges had also stopped moving, appearing both surprised and appalled.

"My lady, you'll be a duchess tomorrow. You needn't fix your own dresses."

"Oh no, I just meant—"

"We have a very talented laundress; Miss Kelly is a miracle worker. She'll tend to your gowns straight away."

"All right," Clara said as she was pushed gently towards the bath.

She had tried to protest, insisting that she could bathe herself, but Mrs. Bridges seemed determined to show Clara how the future duchess should be pampered. Lilac oil was added to the bath water and rose scented soaps were used to wash her hair.

Once she was finished, she was dressed in a silk robe and sat before a vanity. Her hair was brushed out and then twisted and pinned in a way it never had been before. When Clara's questioning face met Mrs. Bridges in the mirror, the housekeeper smiled.

"Your hair doesn't need manufactured curls, my lady. A cousin of mine has a similar texture and the heat only aggravates her attempts at curling. She discovered that simply twisting the hair while it's wet will give a more pleasant effect."

"How interesting," Clara said, excited to see how her hair would turn out.

After she was dressed in a pale blue gown that had been brought in from her sister-in-law, she was lightly spritzed with a sweet citrus perfume. The faintest of vegetable rouge was applied to her cheeks and her dried hair was released from its twists.

Clara's eye widened with uncertainty as she saw the results, but after Mrs. Bridges began braiding and pining it, pulling certain strands here and there in a way Clara had never witnessed, she began to see it come together.

Half-moon shaped combs adorned with pearls were used to set a sort of crown-like pattern in her hair, while also holding the mass intact. Once the style was complete, a maid came forward with a wooden box and opened it, revealing an astonishing number of shining baubles.

"Oh, my goodness," Clara said breathlessly as she looked at the magnificent pieces. She felt as though a pirate's chest of treasure had just been revealed to her. She looked up at Mrs. Bridges. "What is all this?"

"These are yours, my lady."

"Mine?"

"Yes. His grace requested that the family jewels be presented to you, so that you may pick out your favorites."

Clara was astonished. Though her family had been able to afford anything she wanted, she had never been very interested in jewelry. That was, until such a bounty had been presented to her.

Her hand rose to the box as her fingers gently touched gold bracelets, ruby set necklaces and sapphire earrings. There was even a diamond tiara. It seemed as though every color of the rainbow had been placed in these shining stones and while each piece seemed more lavish than the last, a small, rose cut diamond, surrounded by seed pearls set on a gold band, caught her eye. She picked the ring up and brought it close.

It was a charming little piece, one that seemed to be lost in the sea of other gems, but Clara quite liked it. Smiling, she placed it on her ring finger and flexed her hand as she stared at it. Yes. This was just right.

Looking up, she saw Mrs. Bridges nod towards the box.

"And what else?"

"Oh, I think this will be enough."

A brief, uncertain expression passed over the maid's face as she looked up at the housekeeper, but Mrs. Bridges didn't show any reaction other than to nod.

"As you wish, my lady."

The maid closed the box and turned to put it away, while a pair of footmen came to remove the tub and bring in her valise. Clara eyed the bag, eager to continue her reading when the housekeeper spoke.

"Dinner will be served at eight o'clock. If there is anything else we can do, please just ring."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Bridges. I think I will read until then," Clara said as the housekeeper and the rest of the maids left.

She got up and reached for her valise, pulling her book out and began reading. But just as she settled into one of the large chairs positioned in front of her fireplace, a knock sounded from the door. Turning, she saw the door open and Silas walked in.

She stood, her heart leaping as he came to a sudden stop at the sight of her. His eyes roamed over her body and Clara reminded herself that it was silly to always react this way to seeing him. There wasn't anything amorous between them and if she needed to repeat it to herself a thousand times to realize it, she would.

Still, it wasn't completely her fault, when Silas stared at her as though he were a man starved and she was a meal. Clearing her throat, she broke his concentration and he blinked.

"Clara. You look…" He started, but didn't finish.

Clara swallowed, worried that her appearance wasn't pleasing enough when he suddenly cleared his throat. His eyes focused on hers.

"You're breathtaking."

Clara let out a disbelieving breath, that almost sounded like a laugh. A single dark brow lifted in question and she shook her head.

"Thank you," she said quickly, hoping not to invite any more praise as it made her uncomfortable.

"I trust you find your rooms acceptable?" His voice came our rough as he took a step towards her.

"Yes, very much. Thank you."

He nodded as his gaze dropped to her hands.

"What are you reading?" he asked, coming towards her.

"Nothing," she said quickly, tossing the book behind her on the chair. "Philosophy. Again."

"Yes, you're quite fond of it," he said, stopping before her.

Mere inches separated them, but to Clara's surprise, he leaned forward, crowding her until the tips of her breasts pressed against his solid chest. She inhaled sharply as he bent and reached around her. Pulling back, she saw that he held the book she had just tried to hide.

"A Treatise of Human Nature by David Hume," he said, reading the cover. "You mentioned him before."

"Yes," Clara said, hating how faint her voice sounded.

"He said passion is what drives people, not practicality."

"Essentially," she said, smelling the faintest hint of scotch. Goodness, he was rather intoxicating.

He frowned.

"I told you, Clara, that you didn't have anything to worry about regarding that. I've decided to never again partake in such experiences."

Clara's hand came up to the center of his chest as she found her courage. Silas fell silent under her touch.

"Don't say that," she said, her tone still soft.

"But—"

"Please," she insisted, her gaze locked on his face.

She wasn't completely sure what she was asking of him but after a long moment he gave her a single nod and Clara felt as though she made another crack in the wall that guarded his heart. If she was diligent, she might be able to reach it fully one day.

His hand came up over hers, touching the ring she had chosen. Looking down, he picked up her hand.

"Is this the only piece you liked?"

"Oh no, they were all lovely. But this one," she looked down. "I felt an affinity for this one."

"It suits you," he said. "I came to escort you to dinner. Shall we?" He held out his arm.

"Yes," she replied, taking it.