With This Curse: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense by Amanda DeWees

dressing room, but the doors at either side possessed locks, so I would be assured of privacy. The Swan Room must have been redecorated since my time at Gravesend, for it seemed different from my recollection of it—a discovery that came as a relief, for if I had been made to reside in a room that I had vivid memories of cleaning, I could not imagine that I would ever have been quite comfortable; I would have half expected a scolding each time I climbed into bed.
    The decorations were largely in gold and black, influenced by the Japanese style, with wallpaper and a folding screen sponge painted in metallic gold with a bold, colorful design of swans and flowers. The wardrobe and bureau were lacquered in black and had elaborate inlaid designs of mother of pearl. Draperies of gold silk velvet framed windows that offered a view of the glasshouse and gardens but not the folly—and that, I reflected, was probably for the best.
    The Clock Room, where Atticus would sleep, was a handsome and thoroughly masculine chamber fitted out in walnut paneling and oxblood leather, boasting on the black marble mantel the namesake clock: ornamented with an extraordinarily elaborate arrangement of allegorical figures, it dated, I learned later, from the time of Napoleon Bonaparte. Lord Telford was situated in the finest suite of rooms, of course, and that was where Atticus took me to formally introduce me to his father after we had freshened ourselves from our travels. The old gentleman was too infirm to stir from his quarters except for the exercise prescribed by his physician.
    At least, that was what Atticus gave me to understand. When I came to stand before his father, however, and made my curtsey, it seemed to me that the wiry figure in the bath chair was yet hale enough to have easily endured being taken downstairs. Perhaps he had relished the idea of having us pay our call on him in his own chambers, as if he were royalty. But of course in this house he was, in every way that mattered.
    “Clara, eh?” he said, giving me a sharp glance as he held my hand tightly in his. “A good, solid, plain name, is Clara. No nonsense about it. Yeomanly, one might say.”
    In other words, common. The spiteful glint in his eye told me that this man was not to be underestimated. Nor was he, even for a moment, to be trusted.
    “I am glad it pleases you, my lord,” I said, and was rewarded with a cackle of a laugh.
    “I did not say it pleased me, daughter-in-law. Perhaps your powers of perception are limited. Would you say you come from intellectually inferior stock, girl?”
    I kept my temper with little trouble. It seemed my father-in-law was going to enjoy trying to bait me. Fortunately for me, he had all the subtlety of a brickbat. Now, before I could respond to his sally, he addressed Atticus. “Don’t tell me you went and married a fool, Atticus. A pretty face is well enough, but an undeveloped mind is too high a price to pay.”
    Atticus started to speak—to defend me, I had no doubt—but I gave him a slight shake of the head to indicate that I would answer for myself.
    “My intellect is well enough, my lord. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that you meant to pay me a compliment, as befits a gentleman addressing a lady—particularly a lady who has become a member of his family.”
    I saw Atticus cock a questioning eyebrow at this audacity. It was a gamble, but I was confident that I had correctly assessed Lord Telford’s character. He would enjoy a pert daughter-in-law more than a conciliatory one, I suspected.
    A satisfied bark of a laugh confirmed my hunch. “A spirited thing it is, then. Take care that your impudent tongue doesn’t get away with you, my girl. A true lady knows when discretion is the better part of valor.”
    “A true lady,” I rejoined, “is exactly what your son’s wife is and ever will be, by virtue of her position. And a bit of eccentricity is not without precedent in the aristocracy, is