"I'm going to miss you, Mother." Clara's voice caught slightly as she embraced Lady Beatrix one final time before departing for her new home with Lucian.
The wedding reception had finally ended, and now came the moment of true separation. Clara was no longer a Beaumont but a Fairchild—Marchioness Fairchild. The title rang sweetly in her mind each time she thought of it.
Lady Beatrix held her daughter's face between her palms, her expression uncharacteristically soft. "Remember everything I taught you," she said, her voice low enough that only Clara could hear. "Always maintain your position. Never show weakness."
"I know, Mother."
Lady Beatrix's eyes darted toward Lucian, who stood conversing with a group of lingering guests. When she spoke again, there was an unusual tremor in her voice. "Be careful on your wedding night, Clara. Some men... they change when the doors close."
I pulled back, surprised by the warning. "Mother?"
