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

Mrs. Belden frowned. “That is all.” She pursed her lips, likely in an attempt to keep from saying more.

With a toss of her head, Cara rose with the graceful care ingrained into her by the army of nursemaids and governesses who’d reared her and swept from the room.



Cara sat rigid on the seat of the Earl of Derby’s carriage, alongside her sniffling maid. Her body carefully angled as it was, and had been for the better part of the journey, had developed an ache that traveled from her neck, down her shoulders, and to her hips. The same stilted silence that had fallen the moment Lady Nora’s groom had closed the carriage door at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School had stretched on for these two hours.

The seventeen-year-old lady with her outspoken thoughts on anything and everything from a woman’s place in the world to Cara’s constant frown, as she called it, broke the silent impasse. “I did not want to bring you.”

Alison burrowed against the wall of the carriage, as though she were trying to escape the charged exchange.

Cara bit the inside of her cheek. It should not matter that this surly, deservedly angry lady abhorred her, and yet, strangely, an odd pang struck her chest. Refusing to give the other young woman any idea that her words had any effect, she flicked a cool gaze over her frame. “I do not care whether you wished to bring me or not.” Then, in a bid to ruffle the infuriatingly cool woman she peeled her lip back. “Furthermore, you’ve already indicated as much, two,” four, “times now. Your words grow tedious.”

Lady Nora narrowed her gaze and Cara stiffened. That harsh glint in the lady’s eyes matched the fury right before she’d backhanded Cara across the mouth for having told one of the instructors about the scandalous material being taught by former instructor Mrs. Jane Munroe. “I do not like you, Clarisse Falcot.”

That was rather disappointing. With the lady’s inventive curses and harsh words, she was capable of far more originality than “I do not like you”. In fact, if she truly wished a rise out of Cara, a more astounding revelation would have been if the girl stated her regard. “I have not liked you for your smug, condescending looks since I entered the school. And I have hated you since your actions resulted in Mrs. Munroe’s firing.”

The pebble of guilt grew to a large stone in Cara’s belly. Mrs. Munroe. Cara’s father’s illegitimate daughter-turned-instructor at Mrs. Belden’s. There had been whispers amongst the instructors which had fueled whispers amongst the students and then the tittering comments and loud whispers had ensued about a duke who cared for his illegitimate child more than his rightfully born one. Which in retrospect was utter rubbish. Her father didn’t care about anyone. She curled her toes into the soles of her serviceable boots. Of all the detestable acts she was guilty of in her life, getting her half-sister sacked had been the greatest offense. What kind of black, ugly soul did she possess that she could so impulsively ruin another woman’s life, without considering the ramifications until it was too late?

“You, of course, have nothing to say,” Lady Nora seethed. “You sit there in all your pompous glory as though you are yourself the Duke of Ravenscourt or a member of the Queen’s Court, but the truth is you are nothing, Clarisse Falcot. You are nothing more than an unwanted daughter, whose father cannot even bring himself to remember at Christmas and who will go on to be a leading Society matron and produce equally unkind and cold offspring. I pity the gentleman who will be tied to you.”

Cara searched around inside for the deserved fury and the biting scorn for the young woman’s venomous tirade. And yet, for some reason, she could not force out the proper words past this blasted lump in her throat. Instead, she pasted on a practiced, hardened grin. With slow, precise movements, she presented her back once more. Aware of the young woman studying her for some sign of weakness or emotion and any other reaction Cara was determined to deny her, she pulled aside the red velvet curtain.

She damned the faint tremble to her fingertips and blamed it on the winter cold. Snow and ice hit noisily off the lead windows and she stared out at those pure white specks as they swirled and danced in the air. Lord Derby’s horses trudged ahead at a slow, steady clip through the snow-covered countryside. The two young ladies continued the remaining trek in stilted silence.

And as they neared the end of their journey to the Earl of Derby’s property, Cara came to the sad, staggering truth that she far preferred the idea of remaining with the unkind Lady Nora to returning to face the father who’d forgotten her.

“At last,” the other woman muttered.

Cara drew back the curtain once more as Lady Nora’s home pulled into focus. Though sprawling, the country estate would be considered modest compared to her father’s ducal holdings. And yet, she’d happily trade her own empty home for a father who did not forget her. Cara bit the inside of her cheek hard. No, that wasn’t altogether true. She’d trade it all for a father who cared. For someone who cared. Then, what person would care about someone who’d become such a hollow shell of a human being that she no longer knew how to show or feel any emotion outside of bitterness? Her throat worked spasmodically.

The carriage drew to a halt and she gave her head a clearing shake, in a bid to dislodge her maudlin sentiments. The conveyance dipped as the groom scrambled from his perch. Moments later, the liveried servant opened the door. “Lady Nora,” the man greeted with a smile and reached inside.