The Duke's Forbidden Love (Book 4, Age of Innocence) Page 8

  “I’m happy to try. What do you need?”

  Warwick spent the next thirty minutes telling Wetherby how he rescued Clara two months earlier during a horrific lightning storm, and about the abuse he suspected she had suffered. “She still has no memory of who she is or where she came from. It would be a great service if you could find out anything about her or tell me if you’ve heard anything about a young woman who’s gone missing.”

  “That’s quite a tale. Am I to understand that you love this woman?”

  Warwick nodded. “I do. She accepted my proposal last week.”

  “I wish you happy.”

  “I would have married her already, but I couldn’t do so without uncovering her identity. I don’t believe she understands the ramifications of the situation of why we haven’t married yet. It will crush me if she’s married.”

  “I understand.”

  “There must be someone who can vouch for her or the marriage cannot go forward.”

  Wetherby nodded. “True.”

  “I brought her to London hoping something would jog her memory. Clara says it doesn’t matter if she regains her memories, but I believe she’ll be happier if she knew who she was and where she came from. I can’t imagine living in such a state of uncertainty.”

  “Let me make some inquiries. I’ll meet you and Lady Clara at the Haselbury ball this evening to update you on anything I find.”

  Warwick shook his head. “I don’t think that can happen. I haven’t received an invitation. We’ve only just arrived in London. No one knows we’re in Town yet.”

  Wetherby stood. “Leave that to me. There’s no doubt Lady Haselbury will be delighted to have the reclusive Duke of Warwick at her event. She’ll be the envy of the ton.”

  Warwick downed the rest of his brandy and stood, extending his hand. “Thank you, Wetherby. I appreciate your help.”

  Wetherby grasped his hand in a firm handshake. “See you this evening.”

  As Warwick left the Wetherby townhouse, he was sure that if anyone could uncover Clara’s identity, it was his friend. A heavy weight was lifted from his chest. Finally, he would get some answers about the woman he loved and clear the last obstacle standing in the way of their marriage. With one more errand to do before returning to Clara, he headed toward Bond Street.

  The bell above the door chimed as Warwick entered the modiste’s shop.

  A young woman looked up from arranging gloves on a table. “May I help you, my lord?”

  He nodded. “Warwick to see Mrs. Phillips.”

  “One moment, Your Grace.”

  “Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” the modiste said, rushing forward from the back room.

  Warwick bowed. “Mrs. Phillips, I trust you have everything ready?”

  The older woman nodded. “Indeed. The measurements you had Mrs. Gileson send over were extremely helpful. My girls have been working nonstop to finish the items you ordered.”

  “The ballgown is needed for this evening. Will that be a problem?”

  Mrs. Phillips shook her head. “No problem at all. The dress is nearly finished.”

  “Good. Have the items delivered to this address,” he said, handing the modiste his card.

  As Warwick turned to leave, a pair of white lace gloves caught his eye. He picked up one of them and immediately knew Clara would love them. “Include these as well.”

  Mrs. Phillips bustled forward and accepted the gloves from the duke. “They will be perfect. Everything will be delivered later today, in plenty of time for the lady to get ready for this evening’s entertainment. Good day, Your Grace.”

  “I appreciate that. Good day, Mrs. Phillips.”

  Warwick left the shop and headed to the jewelers located a few doors down. He’d contacted the jeweler the previous week to commission a pair of diamond earrings for Clara. He entered the shop to find three young women talking with the young clerk behind the counter.

  “These sapphire earrings are stunning. They’ll match my gown perfectly,” said a petite blonde.

  “Would you like me to wrap this for you?” the clerk asked.

  The young woman looked to her friends for approval. They both nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Warwick stood off to the side, waiting for the young women to leave. As they left, one of them looked his way. He hadn’t been to London in quite a while and wasn’t worried he would be recognized by one so young, but he didn’t want his appearance at the jeweler’s to be remarked upon. He turned and looked at the case behind him until the young women left.

  “May I help you?” the clerk asked.

  Warwick turned. “Is Mr. Browne about?”

  The clerk nodded. “One moment please, my lord.” He vanished into the back, and a moment later, an older man came bustling out from the back room. He stopped and smiled when he saw the customer who’d requested his presence. “Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Good day, Mr. Browne. Are the items I commissioned ready?”

  “Yes. One moment while I retrieve them,” Mr. Browne said, walking into the back room. He returned almost immediately and opened the small box for Warwick’s inspection. “This is the most exquisite diamond pair I’ve ever made, Your Grace.”

  Warwick picked up one of the earrings. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mr. Browne.”

  A smile split the jeweler’s face at the compliment. “Shall I wrap them for you, Your Grace?”

  Warwick nodded, handing the earring back to the jeweler.

  “It will be only a moment.” Mr. Browne took the box behind the counter to wrap it. “Will there be anything else today, Your Grace?”

  “Not today. The earrings will be all for now.”

  The jeweler came forward and handed Warwick a neatly wrapped box. “It was a pleasure to serve you, Your Grace. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Good day, Mr. Browne.” Warwick turned and left the shop. By the time he entered his townhome, it was nearly time for tea.

  “Good day Your Grace,” the butler said, opening the door.

  “Where is Lady Clara?”

  “She’s in the drawing room, Your Grace.”

  Warwick bounded up the stairs to see Clara. At the top of the stairs, he turned right and headed down the hall. He patted the box in his jacket pocket before entering the first door on the left.

  Clara was sitting by the window overlooking the garden, and her beauty once again took his breath away. When she turned and flashed him her special smile, his heart did a stutter step. He loved her more each day and hoped Wetherby uncovered her real identity soon so they could marry. He wanted to give her back her identity if he could. He’d never thought he’d love again after Victoria, but Clara’s sweet nature had healed his broken heart and opened it up for love. He was looking forward to making new memories with Clara as they began their life together.

  “James, I’ve missed you, my love,” Clara said, rising from her seat.

  He took her in his arms and lightly brushed his lips against hers. He licked the seam of her lips, and she sighed opening for him. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her sweetness. “I’ll never tire of your kisses, my darling.”

  A knock on the drawing room door had Warwick stepping back. Mrs. Tuttle came in carrying a tea tray, which she placed on the table in front of the settee. “My lady, shall I pour?”

  Clara shook her head. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Mrs. Tuttle.”

  Mrs. Tuttle gave a quick curtsey before quitting the room.

  “My dear, I hope you’ve rested while I was out.”

  Clara poured the tea and handed him a cup, along with a few sweet biscuits. “I did. I was more tired than I thought.”

  Warwick accepted the cup. “Good. We’ve been invited to attend the Haselbury ball this evening.” He studied Clara’s
face to see if there was any shred of recognition at the name, but she merely looked at him.

  “But James, I have nothing appropriate to wear to a ball.”

  A knock on the door interrupted Clara’s protest, and Brookes walked in carrying a number of boxes. “My lady, these have been delivered for you.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. “For me? I haven’t ordered anything.”

  Brookes put the boxes on the settee next to her and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “Open them,” Warwick said.

  Clara’s surprised look travelled from the boxes to Warwick and back again. “So many boxes. James, what have you done?”

  Warwick smiled. “A lady must have a new dress for the ball. Don’t you think?”

  Clara undid the ribbons and opened box after box. The last box was the largest of the bunch. “My darling, you spoil me so,” she said as she pulled out the emerald-green silk ballgown and held it against her. “This is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. It’s all too much.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll be the most beautiful woman at the ball.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small wrapped package. “These will be the perfect complement,” he said, handing the box to Clara.

  Clara set the dress aside and pulled the ribbon on the box free. Her hand flew to her mouth as she opened it to reveal the diamond earrings. “Oh my. These are exquisite. I don’t know what to say.”

  Warwick smiled. “You need say nothing. This is just the beginning. My duchess deserves all of this and much more.”

  Clara put the box down and flew into Warwick’s arms. “Thank you, thank you. I didn’t think I could love you any more, but each day, my heart soars a little higher.”

  Warwick kissed her long and deep.

  Chapter 13

  CLARA STARED AT HER REFLECTION in the mirror, hardly believing it was her own image she saw. Gertie had done a wonderful job dressing her hair, piling it high on her head with a series of curls flowing down her neck and gracing her left shoulder.

  “My lady, you’re beautiful,” Gertie gushed. “You’ll be the prettiest woman at the ball.”

  Clara smiled and turned to her maid. “Thank you, Gertie. I’ll be content as long as I don’t embarrass myself or Warwick.”

  Gertie handed her the white gloves. “These are so lovely.”

  Clara pulled them on. “Yes, I’ve never seen their equal.”

  With one last glance in the mirror, her attention focused on the scar. She had a sinking sensation in her stomach thinking about the reaction some folks would have to it. It was ugly, but if she’d never fallen down the ravine, she’d never have met Warwick. She couldn’t change what happened so Clara swept from the room and headed downstairs. Warwick was in the foyer when she descended the stairs, and his eyes shone with such love when he saw her.

  “I’ve never seen you look so beautiful, my darling. I’m almost tempted to keep you all to myself tonight.”

  Clara reached up and touched his cheek. “My love, thank you for the spectacular gifts—the dress, earrings, gloves—I adore them all.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve told you my future duchess deserves everything I can bestow. I’ve set up accounts for you at various shops on Bond Street. Meredith and George are due to arrive tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy shopping with my sister.”

  “That would be lovely. Have I told you lately that I’m hopelessly in love with you?”

  “You have, but I never tire of hearing it. Are you ready?”

  Clara nodded, and Brookes stepped forward and handed her a shawl. “Thank you, Brookes.”

  “My pleasure, my lady.”

  Warwick held out his arm. “Shall we go, my dear?”

  Clara placed her hand on his arm, butterflies roiling around her insides. She had no idea what to expect at the ball. Certainly playing the pianoforte well meant she’d had lessons growing up. It was natural to believe that she’d also had dancing lessons.

  Warwick handed her up into the carriage and joined her, sitting next to her. “Don’t be nervous, my love. You’ll dazzle the ton with your beauty and grace this evening.”

  Clara wasn’t sure about that, but she was looking forward to the ball. She must have attended balls in the past, but she couldn’t recall any of the details.

  With all the carriages lined up in front of the Haselbury home, it was thirty minutes before they gained entry. The ball was a crush. Clara didn’t think she’d ever seen so many people in one place. They greeted their hosts before making their way to the ballroom. When they reached the doorway, she looked around, mesmerized by the scene—candles lit up the room, and the scent of roses filled the air. The musicians were playing a waltz, and a sea of colorful silk swirled around the dance floor. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope.

  “Are you ready?” Warwick whispered in her ear.

  She nodded, and they walked into the room. They hadn’t taken more than five steps into the ballroom when Clara felt a vise grip on her elbow and nearly stumbled.

  “Amelia, my darling!” a man said. He tightened his grip and yanked her away from Warwick. “I’m so very pleased to see you.”

  Clara cried out at the unbearable pain. She whirled around to see who was hurting her and came face-to-face with the Earl of Lincoln. All of a sudden, she was plunged into a nightmare as the floodgates opened and an onslaught of images and events pummeled her mind. Lincoln tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her to his side. She tried to break free, but he was too strong.

  “No. No. No!” she screamed, shaking her head furiously. All the terror she’d felt at being betrothed to the earl came back tenfold. She tried again to pull out of his grip, but that only made him squeeze her arm tighter.

  Her parents were standing behind Lincoln, and they rushed forward, surrounding her, when they realized whom Lincoln had addressed. Her mother pulled her into her arms. “Oh, my darling girl. We’d lost all hope of ever seeing you again.”

  Amelia fell into her mother’s embrace, and Lincoln finally released her arm. “Oh, Mama. It’s so good to see you.”

  Those nearby Lincoln and her father had quieted and were openly staring at her. Then the whispers began.

  Is that Lady Amelia?

  Where’s she been?

  Did you see that scar on her face?

  Is she still betrothed to Lincoln?

  Her father began to usher them toward the door. “Come. Let us go home and reunite in private. This has caused enough of a scene.”

  Lincoln led the way out of the ballroom, followed by Clara and her parents. Tears streamed down her face as she looked over her shoulder. Warwick stood stock still, staring after her. She wanted to go to him, but she couldn’t break away from her parents or the earl.

  WARWICK WAS SO SHOCKED at the sudden turn of events that his feet were rooted to the floor. When he saw the woman he loved being dragged out of the ballroom, he started to follow, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Remove your hand,” he growled without looking to see who was behind him.

  The Duke of Wetherby whispered in his ear, “Warwick, come away from here. I’ll explain all back at my townhouse.”

  It took all Warwick’s willpower not to bolt after Clara, but he looked at Wetherby’s grave face and nodded. The whispers racing around the room couldn’t be ignored as the two men left the ballroom without a backward glance. The gossip had already started, and it was sure to eclipse any other scandal thus far this Season.

  Wetherby’s townhouse was nearby, and they opted to walk. Warwick could hardly believe what had happened. His world was upended when he saw Clara being led away by her parents. He’d wanted her to recover her memories but had never imagined it would be like this. One moment, his life was perfect, with the woman he loved by his side, and a moment later, complete disaster struck, with Clara being ripped from his ar
ms. With his head bent and unimaginable thoughts of losing Clara swirling through his mind, he saw nothing on the way to Wetherby’s townhouse. How could an unfeeling god take the only two women he ever loved so cruelly away from him?

  Once in the study, Wetherby handed him a generous portion of scotch. “Warwick, sit and drink this.”

  “I’d prefer to stand.”

  “I understand, but it will be easier to have a conversation if you sit.”

  Warwick nodded, and they sat in the wing chairs in front of the fire.

  “First, I apologize for not reaching you the moment you came into the ballroom. One of my agents was apprising me of what he found out about Miss Amelia Beckwith. With the crush of people between us, it took longer to reach you than I wanted. I sincerely apologize for that.”

  “Clara… Miss Beckwith seems to have gotten her memory back, if the stricken look on her face was any indication. She was clearly terrified to be back in Lincoln’s clutches. It was he who was abusing her, wasn’t it?” Warwick asked.

  Wetherby nodded. “Yes. The Earl of Lincoln has a history of taking sadistic joy in inflicting pain on women. His particular tastes are well known at brothels and he’s no longer welcome at many of the more upscale houses of pleasure. My sources tell me that he’s been having sordid parties at one of his country estates instead.”

  Warwick rose from the wingchair, his agitation roaring like a beast threatening to devour him. “I’m going to kill him for hurting her.”

  Wetherby reached out, grabbing his arm and stopping him from leaving. “Warwick, wait. I have more information.”

  Warwick slumped back in the chair and took a healthy drink of the scotch, relishing the burn as it traveled down his throat. “What difference will it make now? He’s clearly staked his claim on her.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Warwick sat up. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re correct in a sense. Lincoln and Miss Beckwith were engaged two months ago, but on the morning the marriage contract was to be signed, she disappeared. With no bride in attendance, her father refused to sign the contract, so there are no legal ramifications to contend with. Without a signed contract, Miss Beckwith can walk away from Lincoln without any explanation about why she would do so.”