Chapter Eleven

Dinner had been a happy affair, thanks in part to Holly Smyth's younger siblings. The teenage twins were enthusiastic about the chance to travel, and their energy was infectious. Clara's parents were also cheerful and talkative, seeming oblivious to the tension that had surrounded the other guests. Clara had noted the glares she received from Violet although she wasn't the only one. Fredrick Trembley seemed to annoy Violet a great deal and they exchanged several veiled barbs with one another during the evening.

On the other hand, Clara was flatly ignored by Derek throughout the entire meal. She wondered if the earl was still offended by her speech in his private library. That night seemed like a lifetime ago now and she made a mental note to try and make amends with the earl before he left Greystone. Still, Lady Trembley made it a point to speak with her, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Egmont, who evidently were Silas's godparents.

Once dinner had finished, the gentlemen went to the billiards room for brandy, while the ladies retired upstairs instead of the parlor. The dowager duchess had explained with a wedding tomorrow, there was no need to partake in the usual after dinner activities.

Clara was glad to retire however and was quick to dress in her nightgown. She went to the bed and tried to ignore the growing discomfort at the fact that Silas's previous wife had slept in this very room.

Closing her eyes, she fell into a restless sleep. Though she couldn't recall any faces she encountered in her dreams, she seemed to be running down a corridor full of people, calling her name. But every time she tried to get their attention; they looked past her. Eventually, the image melted away and she saw Silas, standing behind a woman. One arm was pressed against her midsection, while his other hand was wrapped around her throat.

Horrified, Clara came closer. She tried to call out, but no noise came and when she finally reached the couple, she saw that the woman was her.

And she was smiling.

Clara's eyes popped open. She felt confused and slightly apprehensive. The early morning light told her that she had slept for hours, though it had only felt like minutes.

What a strange dream.

Rolling over, she saw a maid adding wood to the fireplace. She turned and when she saw Clara, she curtsied.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I just can't sleep, I think."

"That's to be expected, my lady."

"Is it?"

"Well, yes," the maid said, with a bashful smile. "It is your wedding day."

"Oh, yes. It is, isn't it?" Clara said as the maid curtsied again and left the room.

Clara's mind wandered in the early morning. What had her dream meant? The sight of Silas's hands wrapped around her own throat had made her feel both frightened and, to her shame, tempted. What in the world was wrong with her? Surely, he would never do something like that. He had told her as much, and she believed him. But then a small, wicked part of her wondered if perhaps he might and maybe she wanted him to?

After a few more hours of restless sleep, Clara was awakened by Mrs. Bridges, who came in with her army of maids to ready Clara for her wedding.

She was bathed, dressed, spritzed, brushed and painted over the next few hours. The entire affair was executed with meticulous detail that Clara felt as though she barely had to do anything. Her mother had been with her for the entire time, but had been surprisingly quiet. Clara wondered how strange it must all be for her mother, who was once herself a maid, to now be a guest in a home such as Greystone, watching her daughter prepare to become lady of the house.

When they were finished, she put her ring on the opposite hand and nodded to Mrs. Bridges, who opened the door and led the way. The house seemed empty on her walk down from the duke's rooms to the chapel that stood at a detached end of the manor in the northwest corner. Clara felt as if she were in some type of dream.

She really hadn't expected to be married so quickly and to be instantly made to get ready wasn't the only surprise. She wore a pale lilac-colored gown that was perhaps slightly too snug as she did not have as slender a figure as her sister-in-law, but that was tailored in such a refined way that it would have made even a mule look elegant.

She met her father at the door of the chapel where he handed her a bouquet of ivy leaf, myrtle and lily of the valley. Clara knew the meaning of flowers and was glad to have a bouquet that represented friendship, luck and kindness.

Two servants standing on either side of them opened the chapel doors and Clara and her father began the processional walk. Clara was in awe of the beauty of the chapel, with the setting sun shining through the stained glass windows. There were only eleven people in attendance. The dowager duchess and Violet sat next to the Duke and Duchess of Egmont, as well as Derek Trembley, his two brothers and their mother, while Clara's parents sat with Holly and her siblings.

As her father handed her off before the altar, she took Silas's hand and smiled at him, glad to once again be in his presence, but her smile faltered. He was staring at her with an intensity that she had never witnessed on him before and she was sure he must be feeling a whole mess of emotions. As for herself, she wasn't sure why she felt so warm beneath his gaze.

The vicar spoke about the importance of vows and Clara felt Silas's fingers tighten at the vicar's words. She was curious as to what everyone in attendance must be thinking. Did they think she was too tightly dressed? Was this the same vicar who had married Silas and his pervious bride? Had any of the guests here borne witness to that wedding, as well?

Clara wanted to see the guests, but she couldn't take her eyes away from where her hands were joined with Silas's. His grip was tight, almost uncomfortable, but Clara wondered if he was perhaps somewhat nervous. It seemed a sobering affair and for a moment she wondered if perhaps Silas felt a little sad at having to marry someone again.

He appeared calm and collected, but held her fingers like she was a rock and he was in a raging river. It unnerved her that he should seem outwardly so relaxed, when she assumed his nerves were probably frayed.

She was aware that Silas held no feelings for Cynthia anymore, but a small, nagging something in the back of her mind wondered how he must feel to be marrying again. She lifted her eyes and saw the burning heat in his gaze had been replaced by a somewhat subdued wonder, as if he wasn't sure who she was. Clara felt a powerful urge to tell him things she had never planned on telling him.

Things like she found him attractive, very much so and it made her feel strange and giddy to stare at him for long moments when he wasn't aware. She wanted to tell him that she thought he was humorous and clever and that he was far kinder a man than she had ever expected him to be.

She wanted to tell him that she would never, ever do to him what Cynthia had done. While she wasn't fully aware of all that had transpired between them, she wanted him to know for certain that he could trust her, implicitly.

The ceremony ended and with a very chaste kiss on her cheek, a kiss of friendship and nothing more. And with that, their vows were sealed. The small group cheered and they left the chapel, followed by their friends and family, and made their way to the dining room.

Among their guests were Clara's dear friend, Holly Smyth and her twin siblings, Jasper and Katrina, who were sixteen. All three Smyth siblings shared the same honey brown hair, though Katrina looked most like her sister.

Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey, friends of Clara's parents, had also attended as had Lord and Lady Bryant, old acquaintances of the dowager duchess, as well as Derek Trembley.

Silas escorted Clara through the house to the dining room where a feast had been prepared. There was a serving of roasted pheasants, venison, duck was served with soups, vinaigrettes, roasted vegetables and creams puddings and pies all lined a long oak table. Wine was poured and general merriment and conversation was had by all. Clara was slightly dizzy when she leaned back from her plate and realized how completely different her life was going to be from this moment forward. Had she made the right decision in marrying Silas?

"What a splendid day," Holly said, distracting Clara, who smiled at her friend. "Thank you so much for including us."

"Of course," Clara said. "I would never get married without you present."

"And I must say," Holly said, her tone dipping as she leaned in. "I'm surprised by the duke. Are you sure this is the same man you wrote to me about?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Well, he seems so… Intense. You made him out to be some sort of gentle, sweet man. The man I saw didn't come off as gentle. Or sweet."

"That's just because you haven't spoken with him very much. He's as sweet and gentle as any man I've ever met."

Turning to see Silas, she noted that he appeared as he always did. Her heart thumped faster as her eyes swept over his dark hair and sharp jaw.

"Does he?" she asked faintly, quite enjoying the view of her husband.

She saw his head bent toward Derek as they exchanged words. Outwardly, he appeared unaffected by the day's events, but Clara noticed his left hand, resting on the table's surface. His thumbnail was digging into the knuckle of his index finger.

Frowning slightly, she decided to get closer to him once dinner had finished. He always seemed more relaxed when she was nearby. She turned back to her plate and tried to make conversation with Mrs. Geoffrey for the remainder of dinner.

After the dessert course had finished, champagne was served to everyone as a small string quartet began to play in the drawing room. Since the wedding party was so small, it would have been ridiculous to host a party in the ballroom, but Clara was quite content with the number of people in attendance. It felt intimate and sweet and far more real than she would assume a big, lavish affair in London would have been.

By the stroke of midnight, the guests were ready to retire and Clara said her good evenings beside Silas. Everyone wished them well, particularly Clara's mother who looked as though she might cry.

"Oh, my sweet dear," she said as she placed her hands on Clara's shoulders. "My dear, sweet girl."

"Do not cry, Mother," Clara said, her own voice cracking with emotion. She glanced around at the other guests. "All is well."

"I know, I know," she said, unconvincingly, as she kissed Clara on the cheek.

"Come along dear," her father said, pulling her gently away before glancing at Clara. "All is well."

Clara's throat suddenly tightened at her father's reassurance and she nodded in response, worried that she wouldn't be able to speak without crying.

The couple walked down the line of guests, thanking them all for coming. When they reached Derek, he seemed less than happy. To Clara's surprise, Silas took her hand and moved slightly in front of her, not blocking but seemingly shielding Clara from her husband's oldest confidant.

"Good night, your grace," Derek said to Clara with the barest of nods before his eyes flickered to her husband. "Combe."

"Trembley," Silas said stiffly, before turning Clara away as they climbed the stairs.

Clara frowned, confused as to why there seemed to be tension between the two men. Curious, she squeezed Silas's fingers and he tilted his head in question.

"It was kind of Lord Trembley and his family to travel all this way to show their support." Silas remained quiet as they reached the landing. Inquisitive to a fault, Clara continued. "I suppose I should be grateful that he doesn't hold my harsh criticisms of him from the night of the ball against me." When Silas still said nothing, Clara frowned. "Or does he?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about him," Silas said. "He bears no ill will against you personally. He's just not terribly pleased with this arrangement."

Clara's brows shot up.

"He's not? Why?"

"Because he thinks I've made a mistake," Silas said as they reached the second staircase.

Clara felt the color drain from her face.

"Oh dear."

"I told you, don't give him too much thought. He simply thinks he knows what's best, for everyone, and becomes mulish when his advice isn't heeded." He paused. "He'll come around. He always does."

"Is it because he finds me lacking?"

Silas stopped midway up the stairs, forcing Clara to stop as well since he held her hand. He was a step above her, which only made her feel minuscule as he stared at her.

"Trembley's concerns are not mine and I won't have you bothered by his opinions. Do you understand?"

The authority in Silas's voice sent a shiver down Clara's back. Though he held her hand tightly in the same firm grip as he had in the chapel, Clara couldn't see any anxiety in his eyes. In fact, he appeared almost solemn.

Unable to think of a clever response, Clara nodded. They continued up the stairs and were soon making the long and nerve-racking walk down the northern corridor to their private bedchambers.

Clara kept her eyes on the ground in front of her. To say she was nervous was an understatement. She knew what was about to happen and while she had never experienced anything like it, she had heard that it could be an unpleasant experience if one's partner was unkind or inconsiderate. She knew that Silas was kind and considerate, but all the same, she couldn't quite manage to will her nerves away as they approached the third floor.