Free Red Wine For Miss Parker - Another very romantic Comedy (Delicious Regency by Ruby Royce, Book 2) by Ruby Royce

"Freckles" St. Yves, would really be James' wife and nobody else!  
    It was the "nobody else" that Clara could relate to at present. Never, until the day Eugenia had said she wanted James for Flora, had Clara imagined that he might ever marry anybody. It had simply not entered her head. It had been rather a shock when the realisation struck her that, indeed, he would be getting married one day.
    Now she would marry him herself. And nobody else.

    From the first time she had seen him as a little girl, she had loved the golden James from the neighbouring estate, who knew everything, could do everything and looked so perfectly handsome and noble that she believed he was Lancelot born again. Or Ivanhoe.   He was the perfect knight!
    Her love for him had been her secret, of course. She had not told anybody, not even Frankie, because James belonged only to her.  
    And now he really belonged to her, but now, she was afraid. She was afraid of seeing him again, of having to talk about it! Of having to say why she would marry him. Of being at home with him! As his wife! Day and night! It was all so mortifying!
    She needed to be alone and think, to prepare herself. By now James must have reached the main road north and she would have time until September to invent a strategy for her behaviour towards him once they met again in London.  
    There was something else. Why had he left so abruptly? Had Dominic actually forced him to marry her? Did her powerful older brother have some hold on James?  
    She pushed the door open and froze.
    There he stood.
    James.
    He was not on the main road north.
    But he was wearing his travelling attire.  
    He held his hat, his gloves and his walking stick in one hand, the other one rested on the backrest of an armchair.  
    His face was marble. Unmoved. Beautiful. A god. A hero.  
    "Ah, there you are, Clara. I believe your brother has informed you of our arrangement?" His voice was level, cool.  
    "Yes", Clara tried to let her own voice assume the same quality but she did it poorly. What she produced was rather a croaking noise.
    "It might come to you as a surprise. It did, at first, to me, as well. But when your brother suggested that you and I should marry, I soon saw the practicability of this. I'm not getting any younger and the Darlington fortune and estate need to be continued. You have been born to one of England's best families and you are a sister to my oldest friend, so you are fit to be a Countess of Darlington. And even though I may sometimes have reprimanded you for your behaviour, it was out of a caring consideration for you, which is, I believe, quite a good basis for matrimony. I'm sure you will agree."
    Clara nodded, still trying to at least breathe evenly.
    "I shall leave for London today to inform my family of this settlement and I will have to make some changes to my lodgings, both in London and in Crawford Manor to be able to house you as is your due." He paused.   "But, if for some reason you think that this marriage would not suit you, now is the moment to speak and none of these measures need to be taken."
    What did he mean? That she should call it off? So he can marry somebody else? She almost wanted to scream at him saying "James, I love you, but I'm so scared! What am I to do? You know everything so you must tell me!"  
    But he was so rational and so aloof! She could not tell him how she really felt without embarrassing him terribly.  
    "I will do as my brother bids me."
    "Good. I knew you'd be reasonable. I bid you adieu, Clara."
    "Adieu, James."
    He bowed to her and she curtsied. Then he was gone.

    She ran into her bedroom and threw herself onto her bed. But there were no colourful daydreams to be found. And they would never come again.
    She was convinced he did not care for her at all. It was all smooth and well-reasoned. As always.

Twelve

    Outside of Clara's Chambers

    James Crawford, The Earl of Darlington, was fighting the desperate urge to turn around, walk back