Chapter Twelve

Clayton chose a red-and-yellow silk waistcoat, with a trimming of copper around the gilt buttons.

Thomas hesitated, just a fraction, as he took the requested garment out of the wardrobe.

"Something wrong, Thomas?"

"It's not my place, my Lord."

"Nonsense. Out with it."

Thomas sighed, clutching the waistcoat. "It's a beautiful thing, my Lord. The waistcoat, I mean. But does Lord Wrenwood not disapprove heartily of such fripperies? Perhaps a more sombre waistcoat would be more to his taste."

Clayton eyed his reflection for a long moment. A muscle feathered in his jaw.

"You are correct, Thomas, and I appreciate your attempts to keep me on a good standing with my father. But I do not, and will not ever, dress for that man. I must mind my tongue in my father's house, but I can wear whatever colour waistcoat I like, and so I shall."

Thomas bit his lip. "Of course, my Lord. My apologies."

Clayton smiled weakly at his valet, patting him on the shoulder. "No apologies necessary, old boy. Now, give me a hand with this cravat. It simply won't cooperate."

***

Within an hour, Clayton was standing outside his childhood home, eyeing the familiar line of the building, silhouetted against the sky.

Hideous place, he thought tightly. I would set it ablaze once the old gentleman has passed; however, I insist that Eliza and the children have a place to reside.

Tucking the brown-wrapped parcel, containing Amelia's present, under his arm, Clayton forced himself to walk forward. He was a little early, but that might give him time to give Amelia her present before Auric deigned to join them. If he deigned to join them. There was always hope the man would forget or choose to attend his club instead.

No such luck this time.

Clayton could tell immediately from the strained faces on the face of the footman and butler that the master of the house was home, and in a bad mood.

"The family is in the drawing room, my Lord," the butler announced, not meeting his eye.

There was no point in hanging around in the hall, so Clayton sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to move.

The first thing he noticed in the drawing room was the tense atmosphere.

Eliza was sitting in her usual seat, a fixed smile on her face, back ramrod straight. Edward hunched over on a footstool beside his mother, leaning against her as if for comfort.

Amelia knelt on the rug before the empty hearth, staring down at an open box. Auric stood over her, hands on his hips, face red.

Uh-oh.

"Good day, everybody," Clayton announced loudly, making his stepmother and Edward jump. "What a lot of long faces. Where is the birthday girl, then?"

Amelia scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to fling her arms around Clayton's waist. She squeezed tightly.

"Many happy returns, my dear," he murmured, bending his head down to whisper in her ear. "What's wrong?"

"Papa took away all of my dolls," Amelia whispered back.

Just like that, all of Clayton's determination to behave himself and stay civil melted away. His head shot up, and he glared at his father.

"Her dolls? You took away her dolls?"

"None of your concern, sir," Auric shot back. "She's full thirteen years old. High time to leave toys and nonsense behind her and think about growing up. She's a woman now."

"She is not a woman, she is thirteen," Clayton barked. "A child still."

Auric snorted, turning on his heel and marching over to a high-winged armchair, plumping down with a thud. "I bought her present to make up for it, did I not? And was she grateful? Of course not."

Amelia had not released Clayton's middle, so he was forced to waddle forward, all but carrying her with him, in order to peer into the open parcel in the middle of the rug. It contained a thick, square book, covered in unappetizingly brown cloth.

"Sir Topkins' Comprehensive Encyclopaedia On The Behaviour Of Young Ladies And Proper Decorum," he read aloud. "Sounds like a page-turner."

"Enough of your sarcasm," Auric bit out. "It's a necessary read for any woman. Amelia enjoys reading, does she not?"

"I don't think anyone would enjoy reading that," Clayton observed, fighting to keep his lip from curling. "Or using it at all, except to prop open a door."

"My decision is final. Now, the subject is ended. Is luncheon ready? Somebody ring the bell, get those lazy servants to move."

Eliza touched Edward's shoulder, and he bounced up, hurrying over to the velvet bell-pull in the corner.

Amelia finally released her brother, and he saw at once that her eyes were red.

"Don't you worry," Clayton whispered, tucking a tangled lock of hair behind her ear. "We'll get this sorted out today."

Amelia smiled weakly. "I… I do want to grow up, but I didn't think I would have to give up my dolls yet."

"You won't. I promise. Now, here is your present from me. It's another book, but nothing about decorum, I can assure you of that."

She smiled a little more widely at that, seizing the parcel. While she unwrapped it, Clayton moved over to stand beside his stepmother.

Auric was distracted, glaring sourly at his daughter unwrapping the present, doubtless with more enthusiasm than she'd showed for his gift. Clayton took the opportunity to murmur to his stepmother.

"The dolls? Did he destroy them?"

Eliza didn't take her eyes from the scene in front of her. She was pale, with dark rings around her eyes.

"Stored in boxes and put in the attic," she responded, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what brought it on. I had no idea about the plan until this morning. I tried to speak to him, of course, but he flew into a rage. Said that she ought not to hold onto such childish things, and that I was allowing it."

Clayton tightened his jaw. "I see. I'll do what I can."

"I saved her favourite doll. It's hidden in my room. If she loses all the rest, she can keep that one."

"That was good of you, Eliza."

"Good of me?" Her expression hardened. "What sort of mother stands by and watches such a thing happen? I am not good, Clayton."

"You are too hard on yourself. You are sensible, Eliza. Far more sensible than me, I'll warrant."

She gave a wan smile and said nothing.

Amelia pulled off the last of the wrapping paper and gave a squeal of excitement.

"Oh! It's Pride and Prejudice! Just the book I wanted! How did you know, Clay?"

"Just a hunch," Clayton answered brightly, flashing a quick smile at Eliza. "There is something else in that package, too."

She fished around in the tattered wrapping, and pulled out a neat little card. Excitement spread over her face.

"It's a subscription to a circulating library!"

Auric's expression darkened.

Amelia scrambled to her feet, and launched herself at her brother, flinging her arms around his middle again.

"Oh, thank you, Clay, thank you, thank you! I'll be able to borrow all the books I want!"

"You certainly will," he said, laughing. "Just take care not to return them too tardily, or Lady Maria Bell shall come rapping at your door."

"How kind of you, Clayton," Eliza said, shooting a nervous look at her husband. "So thoughtful."

"A circulating library, eh?" Auric spoke up, voice grave. "And here I thought I had made my opinions of such vulgar places well-known."

Amelia's smile wavered. "But… but Papa, you said you didn't want me collecting lots of books. You said they gathered dust. With the circulating library, I can give the books back."

"I also said I didn't want you filling your head with nonsense. And those libraries are stocked full of novels and other ridiculous stories."

"Not true, sir," Clayton spoke up. "I visited the place myself. There are a great many books, and many of them are improving tomes. Non-fiction and such."

Auric was not listening. He got abruptly to his feet, and Eliza flinched.

"It's too late now," he snarled. "But I do not approve. Next time you wish to procure a gift for my family, I would appreciate it if you would consult me beforehand."

"They are my family too."

Eliza's hand fluttered out, resting warningly on Clayton's sleeve. Mind your tongue, the touch told him. He's not in the mood for this.

Drawing in a deep breath, Clayton smoothed out the vibrantly coloured front of his waistcoat.

"I'm sorry you disapprove," he said at last, "but this is what Amelia wanted. It is her birthday, after all."

Auric did not glance at his daughter. He was glaring balefully at Clayton, with an anger that could not possibly have been conjured only from the gift of a book and a library subscription.

"A word, if you please," Auric said abruptly. "In my study."

"But, Auric, the luncheon…" Eliza began, tailing off when he glowered at her.

"It'll keep," Auric snarled. Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the room.

Edward came shuffling over to where his mother sat.

"I'm hungry, Mama."

"We'll have to wait a little longer, it seems," Eliza said, sounding forcibly bright. "Don't keep him too long, will you, Clayton?"

He smiled tightly back at her. "I'll do my best not to ruin Amelia's birthday."

Eliza looked away. "It is not you who is ruining it."

He said nothing. There was nothing to say to that, really. It wasn't like Eliza to blame her husband at all, even when he was at his worst.

It did not bode well for their future.

Swallowing down his misgiving, Clayton strode out of the room, following his father down the dark hallway.

The Earl of Wrenwood's study was not designed to be comfortable or inviting. The few memories Clayton held of the place from his youth were never good. The room was out of bounds to everyone, with only the butler allowed to do light cleaning. Occasionally, Auric would notice dust on the mantelpiece or something like that, and fly into a rage, bellowing and waving his arms at the servants, and insist on a full, deep clean of his study, regardless of what else was going on in the house.

Otherwise, access was forbidden. Clayton was only summoned to the room when he was in deep, deep disgrace, generally shortly before the cane hanging above Auric's fireplace was about to be used.

The room was dark, with heavy velvet curtains covering the single window, and a pall of dust and cigar smoke hung in the air. There were armchairs angled towards the fire – one heavily used, one dusty and barely sat in – and a wide, deep desk dominated half of the room.

Auric settled himself in a high-backed leather chair behind the desk, steepling his fingers. There was no chair set in front of the desk, leaving Clayton with nothing to do but stand.

"A circulating library is a vulgar thing, Clayton," Auric said, after a long, heavy pause. "I do not want my daughter to enter such a place."

"They are not vulgar," he answered coolly. "They are becoming more fashionable by the day and are frequented by ladies and gentlemen of all types. The finest ladies in the land attend them. As I said before, I visited the place myself before I bought Amelia a subscription. I'm sure Eliza will accompany her, or else I will. If you don't wish her to collect books, a library is a fine solution."

"A better solution is for her not to fill her head with nonsense," Auric ground out. "But that is not why I summoned you here."

Clayton swallowed hard. Despite himself, the old fear was surfacing. He fought to keep himself from glancing fearfully at the cane hanging over the mantelpiece.

I hope he doesn't use that on Edward or Amelia. If I find out he has, I do not know what I would do.

"Oh?" he forced himself to say. "Shall we sit by the fireplace and talk?"

Almost immediately, Clayton wished he had not said that. Auric smirked at his obvious discomfort. It occurred to Clayton then, not for the first time, that the lack of chair in front of the desk was, as everything else in Auric's life, carefully curated to cause discomfort and awkwardness in others.

"I'm quite comfortable here," Auric responded. "Now. I suspect you will know what I am talking about when I mention the name Lady Isolde Belford."

For one heart-stopping moment, Clayton thought that Auric had found out about the wager.

Shame and anger filtered through him, coupled with the humiliating knowledge that if Auric was angry about the wager, he would be, for once in his life, right.

Then Auric continued speaking and destroyed that illusion.

"I read that scandal sheet article; you know. It's clear the girl is making a play for you."

Clayton let out a long, slow breath. "Oh, that article was nonsense. She has no interest in me."

Auric eyed him. "I find that difficult to believe. A woman of her age and position will be tearing out her hair by now. She's overestimated her power, going after a gentleman like you. She'd be better going after an older gentleman, or one of the plain old Misters cluttering up Society these days. She's no debutante. In fact, she's quite past her best. I wonder how she has the gall to present herself in Society at all."

And just like that, the anger was back. It filtered coldly through him, raising goosebumps on his skin.

"Lady Isolde is three and twenty, I believe," Clayton said, voice clipped. "She is hardly old."

Auric harrumphed. "She's past it, boy. What fool man would marry a woman of that age when there's fresh young seventeen-year-old girls coming out every year?"

"I do not want to marry a seventeen-year-old child, sir."

There must have been something about his tone that irritated Auric more than usual. He paused, glancing up at his son, and narrowed his eyes.

"You seem to believe that your marriage concerns only yourself."

"Am I wrong?"

"Naturally you are wrong. I care not if you choose not to marry, and let your estate and title pass away to some distant cousin, or even go extinct altogether. But if you do marry, I must consider how your choice of wife will affect me and my family. And marrying a pathetic, grasping spinster will be a great shame indeed."

Clayton found himself breathless. The anger was intense, and he didn't even like the woman.

He was attracted to her, certainly, but that was all, and she was remarkably beautiful. She was also intelligent, he had to admit, but again, that was just a plain fact. It was natural that he should admire her, really.

Before he could speak, however, Auric continued, waving a hand dismissively in the air.

"But I can see that you have no interest in the woman, thankfully, so it's of no matter. I simply wanted to set my mind at rest."

Later, Clayton would reflect on that moment, and on the excellent opportunity he had had to end the conversation on a positive note and preserve his father's moderate good mood for the rest of the day.

A fine opportunity, indeed.

Instead of smiling and agreeing politely, Clayton took two steps forward, planting both hands on the desk and leaning forward.

"Lady Isolde is a better woman than you could ever comprehend," he hissed. "She is beautiful, intellectual, and a lady I truly admire. How could you possibly understand her? You, who took away your own daughter's beloved dolls simply because you cannot think of her as a child anymore, but a woman ready for you to marry off for your own benefit within a few years. She is a child, do you hear me? A child, and it is her birthday!"

Red-faced, Auric rose to his feet. "You wretched boy. She is my child, and therefore mine to dispose of. I thought I had taught you better, or have you forgotten that lesson?"

He pointed with one shaking finger to the cane hanging above the fireplace. Clayton's vision actually blurred with rage for a moment.

"You lay one hand on those children," he whispered, voice low and sibilant, "let alone touching them with that stick, and I'll lay hands on you."

Auric sneered. "Perhaps that dried up old spinster would be a good match for you, after all."

"If you mean to insult me by saying I should marry Lady Isolde Belford, I can assure you it is not working. It is not the sweeping insult you believe it is. And my point still stands – they are my siblings, after all."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Don't presume to tell me how to raise my children."

He reached out, hauling on the bell pull. A deep, loud gong rang in the depths of the house. Seconds later, there was a scuttling outside, and the butler stepped into the study, out of breath. Clearly it was important to answer their master's summons as quickly as possible.

"Viscount Henley is just leaving," Auric said, never taking his eyes from his son. "Fetch his gloves and hat at once. He can wait outside while his carriage is fetched."

A sinking feeling formed in Clayton's gut.

Fool, he thought sourly.

There was nothing for it, nothing beyond grovelling and begging his father's pardon. There was no guarantee that would work, either.

He stalked out of the study, never once looking back, although he could feel Auric's eyes boring into his back.

Eliza was standing in the hallway outside, ashen faced.

"I heard voices," she said flatly. "Are you leaving, Clay?"

"He told me to go," Clayton murmured.

"Oh, Clayton."

"I am sorry. Truly, I am."

Eliza shook her head, biting her lower lip. "Say goodbye to them for me, won't you?"

Somehow, the idea of facing his younger siblings and saying goodbye was a more daunting prospect than facing his father again.

The raised voices must have travelled further than expected, because suddenly Edward and Amelia were standing silently in the drawing room doorway. He hugged Amelia first, holding her tight.

"I'm sorry, dears," he murmured. "I have to go."

Amelia tightened her arms around his middle. Sniffling, Edward hung onto Clayton's arm.

"But we haven't even had cake yet. Tell him, Emmy."

Amelia bit her lip.

"Thank you for my presents, Clayton."

He kissed his little sister on the top of her head. "Read a lot of books, Amelia. Don't listen to Father."

"I won't."

Then the butler reappeared, regretfully handing Clayton his gloves and hat, and there was nothing for him but to leave.