“I think not.”
“But the carriage is stopping, Mama. It’s not turning around. The party must be too full.”
Despite her melancholy, Clarice found herself laughing. “I imagine the ballroom is large enough to accommodate half the population of Sussex.”
“Cainewood doesn’t boast a proper ballroom,” came a lilting voice, “but they’re using the great hall. And your mama’s right. The chamber is unlikely to be strained to the bursting any—any—an—” A great sneeze roared into the cottage.
It was the loveliest sound Clarice had ever heard. “Cam?” she whispered.
“Good eve, princess.” He swung Mary up into his arms and stepped inside, dressed in the blue velvet suit he had worn to the wedding.
Lud, he was devastating.
Charmingly confident, his grin made Clarice’s heart melt and soar all at once. But she steeled herself to caution. “Good evening, Sir Cameron.”
“Clarice.” He nodded, a gallant incline of his head. “I hope you remember the new dances.”
“Wh-what?”
“The new dances. I’ll be wanting to dance with you at the ball.”
Whatever could he be talking about? “I’m not going to the ball!”
“Oh, aye, you are. And it’s started already, so we’d best be on our way.” Setting Mary on her feet, he ruffled her golden curls. “You’ll be needing a ribbon for your hair, princess, and you must put on your best gown.”
Mary’s eyes were round as two blue saucers. “Am I going to the ball, too?”
“Not exactly. But you can watch from the minstrel’s gallery.” The minstrel’s gallery. The exact place Clarice had wished she could watch from a few days earlier. “And there will be one special ceremony where I’m hoping you’ll want to bear witness.”
“What about a bear?”
“Bear witness. You’ll see. Then, when you get tired, you may sleep in the nursery.”
“With baby Jewel?”
“The very same. And her nurse to watch over you both.”
“You’ve planned everything,” Clarice put in, finally finding her tongue. “But I’ll thank you not to make promises to my daughter that you cannot keep. I cannot go to the ball. I’m no lady, and I’ve nothing to wear.”
“Did you think I taught you those dances only so you could do them with Mary?” The ostrich plume on Cameron’s hat bobbed when he shook his well-groomed head. “I’ve a gown for you in the carriage—just wait here while I fetch it.”
“Wait here,” Clarice scoffed, turning to ladle her soup. “As though I’ve anywhere to go. Certainly not to a ball at the castle.”
But a moment later he was back, a brilliant, deep pink gown over one arm that reminded her of the musk-mallow flowers alongside the River Caine. It had a bodice of plum velvet, full sleeves of cream lace, an underskirt of delicate pink satin, and a wide pink flounce all the way around the bottom.
“I had the seamstress add the flounce,” Cameron explained, “since you’re a wee bit taller than Kendra.”
An understatement if ever she’d heard one. But her fingers itched to touch the sumptuous fabrics. “You expect me to…wear this?”
“Aye. I went to great trouble to have it readied when both Lady Cainewood and Lady Kendra were wanting their new gowns finished at the same time. And…” From his surcoat pocket, he pulled a short strand of large, lustrous pearls. “I want you to wear this, too.”
She’d never seen anything quite so beautiful. “But nothing has changed,” she said as he stepped behind her to fasten the clasp. The pearls felt heavy against her collarbones. “Between us, or otherwise.”
When he came around to face her, his eyes were as earnest as ever. “I didn’t think anything had changed. I want to take you to the ball, Clarice.” He held out an embroidered velvet stomacher that matched the dress. “Hurry. It’s already started.”
Mary snatched the stomacher from his hands and shoved it at her mother. “Yes, hurry, Mama. We must bank the fire, lest the soup burn. Will we eat supper at the ball?”
“Aye, delicacies like you’ve never tasted. Your mama and I will bring a plate to the nursery for you.”
Mary clapped her hands. “Hurry, Mama!” she repeated. She began working the laces on the front of her own dress.
“I’ll wait for you in the carriage,” Cameron said over his shoulder as he headed out the door. “Impatiently.”
THIRTEEN
“I FEEL LIKE I’m in a dream,” Clarice said an hour later. “Dancing at a ball in the castle. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve felt like I’m in a dream. A fairytale.”
Cameron twirled her into the next step. “The dream can last forever, Clarice, if only you’ll say aye.”
“Oh, Cam…” Tonight, if she had any say in the matter, reality wouldn’t intrude. There would be time for sorrow and regret tomorrow. “If only things could be different. I cannot be a real wife to you—not the kind of wife you deserve—”
“What I deserve is for me to decide, for me to choose. And I choose you. What you speak of is only one small part of marriage. The other parts are much more important. I choose you, Clarice. I choose you and Mary.”
She watched his gaze stray up to the minstrel’s gallery, where her daughter’s small face appeared between the slats. He released Clarice long enough to wave, then grinned when Mary waved back.
The dancers rose on their toes and moved closer together. Cam took the opportunity to whisper in his partner’s ear: “What you are is enough for me. More than enough.”
And right there, in the great hall in front of all the glittering aristocrats, he stopped and leaned down to give simple Clarice Bradford a kiss.
“Since you’re the practical sort,” he continued when he resumed the dance, “I shall give you my practical arguments. I’ve no wish to marry for lust. That often fades anyway, or so I’ve been told. I wish to marry for love, for companionship, for the helpmate I know you will be.” He drew a slightly shaky breath. “But mostly because I cannot live without you. Since the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve
