Fifteen

S hock knocked Claire back into her seat.

Even in her darkest imaginings, Jonathan had never spoken to her so cruelly, nor rejected her so completely. Did he hate her so much? In a daze of hurt and confusion, she sought his gaze—but what she saw there only confused her further.

It wasn’t contempt…nor was it contrition.

His lips were quirked in a tiny smile, and his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. Claire was dumbfounded. Was he laughing at her and her English vulgarity?

But then he registered the look on her face, and contrition arrived.

“That is,” he faltered, turning the laugh into a cough, “you’re right about one thing, maman . One big thing.”

Though Jonathan was addressing his mother, he was watching Claire.

“As to everything else, maman , you couldn’t be more wrong. No elegance, no dignity? If you had seen how Claire acquitted herself this day, you’d never say so again. Of humility, I only worry she has rather too much. And as for how she looks…” His gaze raked her from top to toe. “She’s more beautiful every time I see her.”

The duchess made a scornful noise. Still confused, Claire frowned, though her swelling heart had begun to crowd the breath from her lungs.

“But you did get something right, maman . You saw Claire’s pride, and her will, and her strength. I suspect she has more strength in her little finger than I have in my whole body. And that’s why I need her to be my wife. Her strength makes me stronger; strong enough to be the man I ought to be. I hope you’re right, as well, that she’ll never be ruled by her husband, for I shall depend upon her to tell me when I do wrong, and never ‘learn her place,’ excepting her place at my side.”

“I cannot believe what I am hearing!” Her grace’s voice rose in pitch. “After all this time, you cannot still mean to marry this—this disgracieux ?—”

“Maman!" At last Jonathan looked away from Claire, turning scorching eyes on his mother. “If you desire to ever see me again, you will not complete that sentence.”

“You intend we should see each other again?” She leaned forward, reaching for him. “We’ll go back to the way things were?”

He recoiled from her, raising the satchel like a shield. “No! We can never go back.” Though she looked crushed, he set his jaw and pressed on. “Things will have to be different, maman. Since I cannot trust you, I must keep you out of my affairs. I’ll tolerate no meddling and certainly no abuse of my wi—of Claire, whether or not she agrees to marry me?—”

“Yes!” Claire burst out heedlessly. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

She was as surprised those words had come out of her mouth as he looked to hear them.

But as she rose to stand beside him, she felt no regret. Only joy.

“Well!” Grinning from ear to ear, he at last discarded his satchel and took her hand, raising it to his lips for a soft kiss. Then, lacing his fingers with hers, he turned back to his mother and regained his stern countenance. “There you have it. Er—where was I?”

“You shall tolerate no abuse of your wife,” Claire put in helpfully.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “That means no treating Claire poorly, no scheming to undermine her, no slandering her about the neighborhood or in society. If you cannot put aside your prejudices and be a gracious mother-in-law, I’ll turn my back on you forever. Have I made myself clear?”

By the end of his speech, the duchess’s mouth hung open in a most uncouth fashion. “And this is how you speak to your maman?” she demanded, her pitch rising even higher. “To the woman who brought you into this world, and raised you, and sacrificed her whole life for you?”

Claire felt Jonathan stiffen beside her. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

As he squeezed back, she felt his tension begin to ease.

“Since before I can remember,” he said at length, in a firm, quiet tone, “I’ve heard all about these great sacrifices you made out of love for me, how you set aside your own needs and lived for mine alone. But you decided that for yourself, maman. I was just a child and had no say in the matter. And I’m tired of living under the burden of this debt, which I never asked for and can never hope to repay.”

“I see.” Slowly her grace rose, tucking her dog under one arm. “I am nothing more than a burden to you now. I shall leave you, then, for you’ll be happier without me.”

She turned to go, though in a rather dawdling manner, as though expecting to be stopped. When Jonathan moved to block her exit, she shot him a satisfied look—which dropped straight off her face as she realized he’d only been reaching for the bell pull.

The butler appeared so promptly, Claire surmised he’d been listening at the door.

“Mr. Evans,” Jonathan said, “the duchess is ready to depart. Would you please order her carriage?”

“I took the liberty of doing so several minutes ago.” Mr. Evans turned to the lady with a bow. “Your grace’s carriage is ready.”

Though the duchess greeted this declaration with visible astonishment (and horror), she could only allow the butler to lead her away.