Sweet Awakening

by Marjorie Farrell

  The earl had been very respectful, of course, merely holding on to her a little longer than necessary after a dance, and once very lightly brushing her cheek while replacing a flower that had fallen out of her hair. On that occasion, she had been surprised that her hair didn’t catch fire.

  How could she feel this way about someone other than Giles? Why didn’t Giles, who was so dear to her, not create such passionate longing? How could she be so foolish as to fall in love with someone so handsome and so sophisticated. She was surprised, over and over again, when Rainsborough continued to call, continued to send little gifts, and continued to send her violets once a week. When he approached her, she felt so special and valued that it was hard to keep only a polite response on her face. She knew that her eyes gave her away. But she couldn’t help it.

  She began to wonder if she and Giles were too close. Maybe a long friendship was not as good a foundation for marriage as she had always thought. Maybe they had both taken their parents’ wishes too seriously. After all, passion was a most important ingredient in a marriage, wasn’t it? When Rainsborough invited her for a stroll in the garden, she went without even a backward glance.

  * * * *

  It was a warm night, and the scent of roses perfumed the air. They seemed to be the only couple outside, and when Rainsborough took her hand and led her away from the center of the garden, Clare almost stopped breathing. When they reached the garden wall, the earl released her and they stood there for a moment before being drawn inexorably toward one another.

  Rainsborough did not need to reach down and tilt her face toward his, for Clare’s face was already lifted, her lips parted and ready for his kiss. As soon as he touched her mouth, she was lost. Never had she felt such desire. Never had she felt so desired by someone else. Not even Giles. For one moment, she could see her old friend’s face, and then the kiss wiped everything else from her mind. And when he finally released her, Clare thought she would die from the disappointment.

  “Lady Clare ... I don’t know what came over me.” She had never seen the sophisticated earl at a loss for words before. “I admit I brought you here to steal a kiss or two, but didn’t intend this.” He gazed down into her eyes and took a deep breath. “Perhaps I did,” he admitted. “From the first moment I saw you, you have had an effect on me that no other woman has ever had.”

  Their kiss had gone far beyond what was allowable, and Clare knew she should feel outraged. But instead she only felt so wanted. And she wanted him in return. She wanted his mouth on hers again, she wanted to run her fingers through his thick black hair, and she wanted to be in his arms.

  Rainsborough reached out his hand and stroked her hair lightly. “I had intended a far lengthier courtship, my dear. Indeed, I feared I could not win you. I know you are almost promised to Lord Whitton.” He traced her cheek gently with his finger. “Would you consider marrying me, Clare? I do not ask because I should after a kiss like that, but because I am not sure I can live without you,” he added in a hoarse whisper.

  She had thought herself the only vulnerable one. He was wanted by every woman in London, and for weeks she had expected one or another of them would take him away. That such a current of attraction flowed between them continually surprised her. She was always expecting it to disappear as quickly as it had come.

  She had expected his kiss. She had even halfway known how strong would be her response. What she had not expected was the expression of insecurity on his face. He wanted her to say yes, and from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, he needed her. Nothing could have moved her more.

  “I would do more than consider, my lord,” she answered, lowering her eyes shyly.

  He was very still, his finger still on her cheek. “Do you mean that, Clare? I couldn’t bear it if you changed your mind. What of Whitton?”

  Clare lifted her eyes to his. “Giles is an old and dear friend, Justin, and I love him as such. I always will. But I have never felt with him what I feel with you. I never knew it could be like this.”

  Clare could think of nothing but the sweetness of candied violets as she was lost in the sweetness of their second kiss. It wasn’t deep, but they nibbled and teased each other with lips and tongues until Justin pulled away again. She moaned her disappointment.

  “Whitton has never kissed you like this?”

  Clare was so dazed she could only shake her head, wondering why she must be made to think of Giles when all she wanted was Justin.

  “I am glad.” Rainsborough took her left hand and stroked it with his thumb. “I want you to be wearing a sign of our betrothal, Clare. I will speak with your parents tomorrow.”

  Clare lifted her face for one last, quick kiss, and they walked slowly back to the center of the garden. She took a deep breath and thought it was no wonder roses were considered the flower of love. Surely she was breathing in not air, but love and roses.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Clare lay in bed reliving every moment in the garden. For the first time in her life, she felt the center of someone’s attention. It was hard to believe, but the handsome and sophisticated Justin Rainsborough had pursued her single-mindedly, had kissed her into oblivion, and had shown her a side of himself she would never have guessed existed: his vulnerability. He truly had not been confident that she would accept him. And once she had, he was determined to secure her. Giles had never made her feel like his life depended upon her. But she refused to think of Giles today.

  Her parents always breakfasted early, and so Clare had the breakfast room to herself as usual. On this morning, she was thankful, for she could not have faced her mother and father and kept her secret. After breakfast, she wandered restlessly through their conservatory and out into the town house garden before she made her way to the music room. Once there, she was still unable to settle into anything more than a short, distracted practice. Finally she summoned her abigail and set off for the Pantheon Bazaar, where she purchased several pairs of gloves and stockings, which she had no need for at all.

  When she returned home, she saw Justin’s carriage outside their door, and once she was inside, saw that the library door was closed. He had come, she thought. Not that she had really doubted him, but it still felt a little like she was living in a dream. She had sent her maid for her embroidery basket, brought it into the morning room, and attempted unsuccessfully to keep her hands steady and her threads untangled, while she awaited her parents.

  Only her mother came in.

  “Your father is closeted in the library with Lord Rainsborough, Clare. I am sure you know why.”

  Clare blushed. “Yes, Mama.”

  “There seems to be nothing objectionable about the young man. The title is an old one, the estate is in excellent condition, and his income more than adequate.”

  Clare nodded, keeping her eyes on her work.

  “And he is sinfully handsome. And devilishly charming. I wonder why just those adjectives came to mind,” Lady Rowland added. “He has been away for over five years and before that, was raised up north, so that we don’t know much about him,” she mused. "But he is most certainly head over heels for you, my dear.”

  “And I with him, Mama,” Clare said boldly.

  “What of Giles? There has never been any formal agreement, mind you, but our understanding and the Whittons was that you and Giles would make a match by the end of the Season. Either of these young men would make you a fine husband, I am sure, but you have known Giles for so long, Clare, and I thought there was a deep affection there.”

  “There is, Mama,” Clare replied quietly. “Giles and I are good friends, and I hope will remain so. Had I never met Justin, I am sure I would have lived very happily as Giles’s wife. But now that I have, I cannot imagine marrying anyone else. I am aware now that I could not give Giles the same kind of love that I bring Justin.”

  “You know your own heart best, Clare,” said her mother. “Your father and I see no real reason to refuse Lord Rainsborough. I will tell
Maurice to send the earl in.”

  Shortly after her mother left, the butler admitted Justin and closed the door behind him.

  The earl ran his hand through his hair and looking over at Clare, gave her a charmingly boyish grin. “I think I survived the ordeal. I hope you still want me, Clare.”

  The thread of insecurity in his voice was genuine, and again, his vulnerability touched Clare deeply. As she rose to go to him, he approached her quickly and said, “No, I should do this properly,” and bending over her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  “Lady Clare Dysart, I love you with all my heart. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  No one, not even Giles, had ever declared his love for her. Clare was so moved that she couldn’t speak, but only nod her consent.

  “You do love me, Clare?”

  “Oh, Justin, yes, yes. More than anyone in the world.”

  He pulled her up by the hand and enfolded her in a tender embrace. After a few minutes he released her, and bending down, teased her lips with his. Their response to one another was as immediate as the first time. The kiss might well have gone on for hours, but they both finally heard Lord Howland's not so subtle cough at the door and broke apart from one another.

  “Well, I can see we had better schedule a wedding date soon,” said the marquess with a smile.

  “The sooner the better, sir,” said Justin, recovering his dignity. “I hope the betrothal notice can go in immediately. I want everyone to know that Lady Clare is mine,” he added, gazing down at her with such loving possessiveness that Clare could have melted at his feet.

  “I will send the notice to the Times tomorrow, my lord,” agreed her father. “And we will see you tonight at the Farnham ball?” he added, subtly dismissing Justin.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “It will be difficult, I am sure, but you will not make yourselves obvious or a subject for gossip, I trust.” Lord Howland made it as a simple statement, but both Clare and Justin heard it as the command it was.

  “No, sir. I will treat Clare no differently than I have been.”

  “Humph. That has caused comment enough,” said the marquess with a smile. “Good day to you, Rainsborough.”

  “Good day, my lord. And thank you.” Justin gave Clare a humorous longing look from behind her father’s back as he left.

  “Sit down, Clare.” Her father put his hands behind his back and looked down at his daughter. “I know that your mother has talked to you and she says you are absolutely sure that Rainsborough is the one.”

  “Yes, Father. I love him very much.”

  “And what of Giles? The boy has loved you for years, and your betrothal has been taken for granted by our two families.”

  “But it was never formal, Papa,” Clare protested. “Oh, I know, you and the Whittons expected it. I expected it,” she continued with some wonder in her voice at how her life had taken a direction she never could have foreseen. “But Giles and I only love each other as good friends, after all.”

  “That is an excellent basis for marriage, Clare.”

  Clare could not imagine speaking openly about passion, especially to her father. “I know, Papa. And as I told Mama, had I never met Justin, I am sure Giles and I would have had a good marriage. But surely, Giles would never be happy with a wife whose heart was given elsewhere.”

  “And Rainsborough has your heart?”

  “Oh, yes, Papa.”

  Lord Howland cleared his throat nervously and looked around the room as though searching for something. Finally he found it: a celadon vase on the mantel. He fixed his gaze upon it as though he had never seen it before as he haltingly addressed his daughter.

  “You know, Clare, your mother and I were completely unprepared for you. We were older than the usual parents when we had you, and are positively ancient now,” he said with a rueful smile, as he ran his hand over his thinning white hair. “I always worried that you might feel ... I don’t know ... anyway, that is why we sent you to Whitton. So you could experience a more normal family life.”

  “Yes, I know that, Papa, and I am grateful.”

  “I would not like to think you are throwing away the steady warmth of affection for the fireworks of ... uh ... passion, Clare. Especially if you might have felt your parents lacking ... in ... Oh, damn it,” said the marquess, turning toward his daughter at last. “Your mother and I love you, child, even though we have probably done a poor job of showing it. We were out of practice, you see,” he added, with a sad smile.

  Clare’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Oh, Papa, of course I know you loved me.”

  “Of course, but you were a lonely, quiet little thing.”

  Clare laughed shakily.

  “And look how you have grown into a very beautiful young woman. It is no wonder Rainsborough is in love with you.” Lord Howland cleared his throat. “If you are happy, then your mother and I are.”

  “I am, Papa,” said Clare softly.

  “But there are Giles’s feelings to consider. He cannot find out about your betrothal through the Times. You must tell him yourself.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “And I hope you are right that it is only the affection of old friends that both of you feel.”

  Chapter Four

  “Won’t you be joining me in the park this morning?” Sabrina asked her brother as he came down for breakfast. Giles was not dressed for riding and he looked tired, as though he had not slept well at all.

  He smiled at her apologetically. “Not today, Sabrina. I have an errand and a visit to make. You will be pleased with me, I think,” he added with a mischievous smile. “The errand is to Rundell and Bridge’s and the call to the Dysarts."

  Sabrina sighed with relief. “I am glad that you are at last taking some action, Giles. I noticed when Rainsborough and Clare went out to the garden last night. And when they came back.”

  Giles’s face became serious. “As did I. That is when I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. Rainsborough is a thoroughly charming man. I would like to say villain, but he seems to be above reproach, both in background and behavior. But he is so damnably handsome and so attentive.”

  “But what is between you and Clare is deep and longstanding, Giles.”

  “I notice you didn’t say, ‘But you are ever so much more good-looking, Giles.’’’

  “You are quite a handsome man, my dear brother,” said Sabrina. “But even a loyal sister must admit that any woman might be affected by Rainsborough’s appearance.”

  Giles groaned.

  “Clare is not the superficial sort, Giles. I am sure she is just enjoying her triumph. After all, it has quite made her Season. Nevertheless, I am glad you are going to speak at last.”

  * * * *

  Giles had long ago picked out a betrothal gift. It was a simple pendant set with a deep purple amethyst to bring out the violet in Clare’s eyes, and just the right length to nestle in the hollow of her throat. He had had it set aside for him at the beginning of the Season when he first saw it. It felt good to be standing there, watching the jeweler wrap it for him, knowing that Clare would soon be wearing it.

  He had thought to do the correct thing and speak to the marquess first, but his lordship and his wife were out, he was informed. He had himself announced to Clare, for after all, both families had been planning the match for years. He was sure that Lord Howland would forgive him.

  Giles was shown into the morning room where he found Clare paging through La Belle Assemblee. She colored when Giles was announced and unable to sit still, rose to meet him.

  “Good morning, Giles,” she said in a low voice.

  “Good morning, Clare.” Giles was more nervous than he thought he would be and found himself fingering the jeweler’s box that he had thrust into his coat pocket. “It is a lovely day today. I was hoping to convince you to drive with me this afternoon?”

  Clare looked up and then down again in confusion. “Thank you, Giles. I am commi
tted elsewhere this afternoon, but I am glad you called, for I have something I wish to speak with you about.”

  Clare finally perched herself on the edge of a chair, and Giles was able to sit down.

  “I did not come only to ask you for your company this afternoon, Clare.”

  Clare could not look him in the face. His tone was serious. Surely he could not have been planning to offer for her today of all days. The day she must tell him of her betrothal to Rainsborough.

  “We have been friends for a long time, Clare.”

  “Yes, Giles.” Oh, God, he was.

  “You know I have a very deep affection for you.”

  “And I for you, Giles.”

  “And that our parents have expected ... although of course, it has never been formalized ... that we might make a match of it.”

  He was making his offer. But he was not, Clare realized with relief, declaring an undying passion for her. He was making his offer rather matter-of-factly. He did not need her like Justin did. Not Giles. Not her friend and protector. Thank God, she didn’t have to worry about him. He would be disappointed, she was sure. But his very being did not depend upon her. It made it much easier for her to say what she had to say.

  “There is something I must tell you, Giles,” she said, finally lifting her eyes to his face.

  From her tone, Giles could tell it was important. And it was clear she was not rushing in to accept his proposal before he had even finished making it. He kept his face carefully expressionless.

  “You know that I have been in the company of Lord Rainsborough almost as much as I have been in yours for these past weeks. At first, I was only surprised and flattered that he sought me out.”

  Giles wanted to protest: “But why would you be surprised, Clare? You are a lovely woman. You should just have accepted his attentions as your due.” But he kept quiet, waiting for her to finish.

  “Then, as I got to know him better, I realized that I had very strong feelings for him and he for me. We are very much in love, Giles,” Clare said in a rush, as though to keep him from any protest. “It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly. He spoke to Father yesterday. The betrothal will be in the paper tomorrow,” she finished in almost a whisper.