To Wed His Christmas Lady (The Heart of a Duke #7)(5)

An odd emptiness settled in her chest. She stared unblinkingly down at the crest—the crest of someone else’s father. A sire who likely didn’t love his daughter, because none of those self-important, officious peers who ruled the world did, but one who, at the very least, had not forgotten his daughter at the holiday times, either.

Alison cleared her throat. Schooling her features, Cara turned around. “What is it?” Her sharp tone came from a woman who was one word too many away from dissolving into a mewling, weepy mess.

The girl’s usually sunny smile dipped. “Mrs. Belden asked to see you in her office, my lady.”

She curled her hands into tight fists. The summons. Cara stole one more glance out the window and stared at the intersecting lines of her palm marked upon the frosted glass. Through that space left by her hand, the faint flecks of snow began to fall. Prove me wrong. Come now. I command it. From a place where she didn’t know hope still dwelled within her, Cara willed another carriage down the drive. Except, just as she’d been a girl of seven willing her mother to breathe once more, no matter how long she stared or how much she wished it to be, it was not coming.

“My lady?”

It was that warm gentleness that snapped her from her miserable standstill. “Hurry along with the remainder of my belongings,” she forced past tight lips. Cara spun on her heel and marched from the room, though it was remarkably hard to save face when you ordered your maid to pack your belongings and there was really no place to go.

Cara moved through the quiet, now empty, halls of this place that was no more home than the cold, empty halls of any one of her father’s opulent estates. Mrs. Belden’s, just like His Grace’s townhouses and grand estates, was nothing more than a place with a roof and any number of walls and windows and doors. There was no warmth here.

Though, once upon a lifetime ago, there had been a place she’d considered home.

…but Father says you are to only call me Clarisse…

…ah, your father insisted you be named Clarisse, but I am your mama, and Cara mia, you shall always be…

Cara came to a sudden, staggering stop outside Mrs. Belden’s office as the long-buried memory trickled in. She’d not allowed herself to think of her mother in the eleven years since she’d been gone. For with those thoughts came the aching reminder of what it had once meant to laugh and smile and be happy. She pressed her eyes closed and willed back all remembrances of the last person who’d loved her, not for what she could do or bring to someone else, but simply for herself.

“But I despise her.”

That plaintive entreaty cut across Cara’s thoughts and brought her eyes flying open. She stared at the wooden panel of Mrs. Belden’s closed office door where the nasty headmistress now spoke to Lady Nora. Lady Nora Turner, the Earl of Derby’s daughter, and one of Cara’s greatest enemies at Mrs. Belden’s. Though in truth, it was really more a tie for the top place among the ten other girls who’d had the misfortune of being scuttled off to Belden’s lair.

“Everyone despises her,” the woman spoke with a crisp matter-of-factness. She thumped her cane once. “But she is a duke’s daughter and as such, is afforded our respect.”

“I don’t respect her,” the fiery-spirited lady groused. “I hate her.”

The muscles of Cara’s stomach knotted at the blunt admission. Of course Nora hated her. They all hated her. From the students to servants here and in her father’s home. She furrowed her brow. With the exception of the obstinate, always cheerful Alison. Cara flattened her lips into a hard line. Which was well and fine. She despised them all for their silly, joyful smiles and grating giggles and for their abundant reasons to be happy when she had none.

“Even so, do you expect your father would allow the Duke of Ravenscourt’s daughter to be left here because you do not like her?”

“I did not say I do not like her. I said I hate her.”

And if she didn’t herself abhor the other young woman so much, she’d have admired her for going toe to toe with the vile dragon.

“She cannot very well stay here for the holiday.”

“Why? You do.” Desperation and confusion leant the girl’s words a high pitch.

The headmistress sputtered. Young ladies did not challenge the woman.

A smile pulled Cara’s lips; the feel of it rusty and painful from ill-use. Her grin withered at the other student’s next words.

“I am sure her father will eventually remember he’s forgotten her.”

That was a wager Lady Nora would handily lose.

Another thump of the cane. “A duke does not forget his children.” And that was another misspoken statement from this combative pair. The duke had forgotten more birthdays than Cara remembered. A memory slipped in.

“You are as pretty as a princess, Cara mia.”

Mother placed her hands upon her shoulders and they stared at Cara’s visage in the full-length mirror.

Cara cast an eager glance over her shoulder. “Papa is truly taking me to Gunter’s?”

“Why, it is your birthday, dear.”

The excited laughter trilled around the chambers of her mind.

She’d waited all day—and he’d never come.

Cara blinked. Where had the thirteen-year-old memory come from? For she’d been summarily forgotten at various points through her life.