Chapter 3

The bedroom was dim and quiet.

Clara sat half-dressed in Sir Reginald Beaumont’s lap, her arms looped around his neck as she whispered tearfully into his ear—soft, trembling sounds meant to stir pity and longing. She looked every inch the vulnerable young bride: delicate collarbones exposed, eyes glistening, lips slightly parted in sorrow.

Sir Reginald hushed her gently, one hand stroking her hair. His expression had softened, the warmth in his eyes deepening with each passing second.

That was when Lady Victoria Beaumont burst through the door.

She kicked it open with a crash. “You little tramp! You shameless tramp!”

Sir Reginald snapped upright, fury flashing across his face. “Victoria! Have you no decency? You don’t storm into an elder’s bedroom without knocking!”

Clara gasped and shrank behind him, trembling like a startled bird.

Victoria planted her hands on her hips and turned her full wrath on her father. “Honestly, Father—do you have no shame? What are you even doing? You’re old enough to be her grandfather, yet you’re tangled up with some twenty-year-old gold-digger!”

“She’s reckless and reckless hearts don’t care about your health! Can your body even handle this?”

Enraged, Sir Reginald snatched a teacup from the nightstand and hurled it at her.

Victoria stumbled back just in time. The cup shattered at her feet. She stared at the porcelain shards, stunned—then burst into loud, wounded sobs.

“You threw something at me… because of a woman? How dare you! What would Mother say? Do you even remember her?”

Sir Reginald’s shoulders sagged. The fire in him dimmed.

Clara seized the moment. Snatching up her robe, she murmured to him, voice trembling with false humility, “Please… let me go. You two should talk. I don’t want to come between you.”

Without waiting for a reply, she slipped into the dressing room and shut the door softly behind her, leaving them alone.

Sir Reginald sighed heavily. “Victoria, can’t you ever act your age?”

Victoria whirled on him, voice sharp with betrayal. “Act my age? I’ve been running Beaumont Textiles day and night while you’re off playing house with her! And now you’ve made that woman head designer? On what grounds?”

“She has talent,” he said flatly.

“Talent?” Victoria sneered. “Is that what you call it? Her talents in bed, maybe?”

Sir Reginald’s face flushed crimson. “Do you have no respect for your elders?”

“Respect?” she shot back, voice cracking. “Is she deserving of respect? Are you? Mother’s barely cold in her grave, and you’re dragging home some back-alley seductress!”

Sir Reginald clutched his chest. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. “Get out,” he growled. “Just get out of my sight.”

Victoria slammed the door hard enough to rattle the chandelier.

Clara emerged immediately, eyes wide with feigned panic. She pressed a pill into his palm and dialed the family physician with shaking fingers.

When Dr. Lionel Croft arrived, Sir Reginald lay back against the pillows, his color slowly returning. He reached for Clara’s hand, his voice hoarse but resolute. “Don’t worry. I’ll make this right for you.”

She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter—I’ll quit if it keeps peace between you two. I can’t bear to see you hurt.”

He patted her back gently. “You’ve given up so much already. I’ve already favored her enough in the will. You deserve your place, Clara. No more suffering.”

Then, more firmly: “Get ready. Tonight’s banquet—I’m introducing you properly to everyone.”

Clara nodded meekly and let Ms. Lydia Finch, the makeup artist, transform her into a vision of polished elegance: smoky eyes, dewy skin, lips stained deep rose.

By evening, Beaumont Manor glittered under crystal chandeliers.

In the grand ballroom, guests swirled in silk and tuxedos—Beaumont relatives, board members, socialites—laughing over champagne flutes, their voices a low hum beneath the strains of a string quartet. Perfume, expensive cologne, and the scent of roasted pheasant filled the air.

Clara stood at the top of the staircase, poised, radiant, and utterly in control.