Chapter 5: Best Behavior

Randall’s POV

I knew the risk I was taking by visiting the garden at the same time Clara was taking tea, but I didn’t care.

She was livid with me, the cool look in her icy blue eyes shot straight through me as she ascended the stairs to the upper gardens.

I stuck the dull practice sword blade-down in the grass, leaning against the handle and purposefully flexing the muscles in my chest as she came near, elbow to elbow with a heavily pregnant young woman who had the looks of the Riddley family.

I bowed, deeply, giving the young woman a gentle smile as she gasped at my appearance. Clara scowled; her eyes narrowed into slits as her companion silently begged for an introduction. I beat her to it.

“Eleanor Riddley, it cannot be,” I drawled in my most sincere attempt at sounding gentlemanly. I reached down and clasped her free hand, planting a kiss on her swollen fingers. She blushed deeply, looking from me to Clara, who continued to scowl.

“It’s Eleanor Blake, now,” she replied nervously, her mouth twitching into a smile. “I married Edward Blake last season. Do you know of him?”

“Of course, I’ve known Edward for a long time.” In truth I had known Edward since we were children, and I was more than shocked to find out that out of all the Blake brothers, he had been the one to settle down.

Edward rather enjoyed married life judging by his wife’s advanced pregnancy.

I gave Clara a sideways glance, and she returned the look with a knowing gaze of her own. Edward Blake had been the worst kind of rake, and I doubted he had given up his fiendish ways. Clara must have thought so too.

Finally, something we could agree on.

Eleanor opened her mouth to speak but Clara interjected, quickly pulling her companion towards the house.

“Eleanor’s carriage is waiting.” Clara’s eyes gave mine a silent plea to remain on my best behavior.

“It was nice seeing you again, Eleanor. You look…well.” In fact, she looked more like a wedding cake rather than a person at this point, her swollen body covered in peach-colored frills, but I winked at her anyway, which brought a deep blush to her cheeks. I felt a pang of sympathy for the woman.

Clara rolled her eyes, settling her gaze on the house as they walked away.

I sighed, pulling the sword from the lawn and swung it in a bored motion, not sure what else to do to fill my time.

“Thank you for not causing a scene.”

I looked up as Clara came back out of the house, her black gown trailing behind her as she walked over to me. I straightened up, slinging the sword over my shoulder.

I hated her in black, it washed the delicate rose color from her cheeks and made her look stern and cold.

“Can you stop swinging the thing around for just a moment,” she pleaded, flinching as I lowered the sword and tossed it to the side.

“What did you mean by causing a scene? What was I going to do, scare the wits out of a pregnant woman?”

“Eleanor is an insufferable gossip,” Clara said shortly, running her hands over her gown to smooth the dark fabric, “and you’re half naked in broad daylight.”

“Well, I’m sure the court is having a field day with my arrival regardless of my appearance.”

“Oh, they are.” Her voice was cool, her face shadowed with concern. “You could’ve given the Elders something to work with, you know. They relay everything to their wives, and they’re talking about holding a vote to decide the fate of the Alphadom instead of just handing the title over to you.”

“I really don’t care—”

“Well, you should,” she snapped. The frost in her voice was evident, and I was beginning to worry that the soft-spoken, warm, and playful Clara I had known was no longer in existence. “You need to take this seriously, Rand, otherwise you will lose the title and your family’s legacy will end with George. Is that what you want?”

Rand.

No one had called me that for years. My heart quickened as I looked down at her, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run my fingers along her delicate jaw, to touch the rosy glow on her flawlessly pale cheeks.

“Why do you care so much? Are you really so concerned about my reputation? If I remember correctly, this life isn’t the one you wanted, either,” I retorted, regretting the bite in my voice as her face fell, her eyes downcast.

“I want you to stay.”

I fought back shock, settling on a teasing smile as Clara’s life flashed before her eyes, her face turning a deep fuchsia. She obviously hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

I raised an eyebrow at her, and she turned around, picking up her skirts and darting into the house faster than I had ever seen anyone run before.

“Wait!” I called after her, walking briskly to catch up as she disappeared through the doorway. I could hear her steps echoing on the second-floor landing by the time I reached the main staircase and marveled at her speed.

I eventually found her in the library, pacing furiously back and forth with her hands behind her back.

“I didn’t mean—” she started to say, her eyes pleading with mine to just forget she had said anything at all.

“What did you mean, then?” I smiled at her, trying to reassure her, but it only sent her into a further fit.

“You just-you just left! And then I never heard from you again. George never talked about you. No one said anything about you, and I just…this is all rather shocking, Randall.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I replied breathlessly.

“Why didn’t you write?” She stopped pacing and stared up at me from across the room, her eyes shining in the soft afternoon sunlight flooding through the windows. Her face was twisted in heartbreak, and my breath caught in my chest at the sight of it.

“I couldn’t have. Do you not realize how inappropriate that would have been? You were betrothed to my brother!”

“I thought you and I were friends!”

She could have struck me. The pain would have been the same. I opened my mouth to respond but the words fell flat. What was I supposed to say?

“I kept a postal box in Porthaven. It was the only thing that’s had my name on it since I left the pack, the only way for anyone to communicate with me,” I began, taking a deep breath. “George wrote to me once, to tell me of the passing of our father. He didn’t mention…he didn’t mention you, or whether or not you had married.”

I was surprised by her reaction. She was neither shocked nor upset by this admission. I would have thought the fact that her husband failed to mention their marriage would have sent a stir through her, but she stood still and resigned.

“The only other time I had any correspondence with the pack was when George’s Beta sent me a letter to tell me of George's passing. He asked me to come see to matters of the Estate. I thought…I truly believed my return was just a matter of detail, a means to tie up loose ends. I didn’t think I would inherit—”

“Who then, if not you?” The tears in her eyes were evident, and I sensed a hidden pain within her at the mention of Georges passing.

“I figured if you had indeed wed at the end of your first season, you would have borne George’s heir by now. The Alphadom would have passed to your son, not to me.”

“Obviously, that didn’t happen.”

The room fell silent.

I kept my eyes on her, wishing I could peer into her mind to get a better idea of what her relationship with George had been like. She didn’t match the description of a grieving widow. She was hiding something.

A sharp knock sounded on the door behind me. Clara jumped, startled by the sudden noise.

A servant came in holding a silver tray bearing an envelope with a glossy red seal. I took the letter, nodding my thanks to the servant as he bowed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“What is it?” she asked, taking a few cautious steps in my direction. I shrugged, ripping the letter open and tossing the envelope to the ground.

The letter was short and to the point. I groaned as I read it, shaking my head. Clara looked impatient, snatching the letter from my hands and turning away to read it.

“But this is meant for tomorrow night?” she said hastily, turning around with the letter clutched to her chest. “What are you going to do?”

I ran my fingers through my hair, giving her a pleading look. “Can we refuse?”

She shook her head, looking down at the letter once more. “Have you ever held a dinner party before, Randall?”