by Nicole Byrd
When they rolled into the grounds of the large and well-appointed home in the Kentish countryside south of London, Clarissa looked about her, enjoying the sight of the rolling lawn and the handsome stone house, its many windows sparkling in the sunshine.
Footmen hurried out to help them down and to take off the luggage. In a moment, Matty came to help her mistress smooth the creases in her new green traveling outfit, and then Gemma and Matthew crossed the gravel to greet their hostess, and Clarissa followed.
Lady Gabriel smiled at them all. “Come in and we will show you to your rooms. After you’ve had time to rest, we’ll have tea in the drawing room.”
“Thank you for all your hospitality, Psyche.” Gemma took the hand that was held out to her and returned the other lady’s smile. “Has Gabriel returned?”
“Not yet, but he should be on his way,” the lady of the house assured them. “He promised to be here for the ball. And we will have more guests arriving at anytime.”
At this hint, Clarissa hurried inside. A few more minutes of peace was a much-desired prize; she would have days of being on display, and she dreaded it.
One of the maidservants showed them up to two adjoining guest rooms. In the chamber allotted to Clarissa, she and Matty unpacked her clothes. After being sure that her mistress had no immediate needs, the maid took the gowns away for a final pressing, before, as she said, “The whole ’ouse is full of servants trying to get last-minute chores done, miss.”
Not at all averse to a few minutes alone, Clarissa nodded. She walked across to the draperies and peeped out. Yes, she thought she had heard the crunch of wheels on the gravel drive as another carriage arrived, as well as horses stamping and people calling greetings. Oh, dear, could she really handle a whole weekend of this?
She bit her lip. She must not let her brother and Gemma and Lady Gabriel down, and all their kind friends, too. She could do this, she tried to tell herself, willing her stomach to stop its fluttering.
She threw herself across the bed, rolling over to stare up at the ceiling. For some reason, she had a flash of memory—the matron berating her—“Stupid girl, what do you think you’re doing? Put that book down and get back to work! Fit for nothing, you are!”
Clarissa drew a deep breath. That voice had been quieted forever; she could not allow it to live on inside her head. Then, strangely, a picture came to her of the departed dancing master, and he seemed to peer at her with a hint of disdain in his eyes. She had been clumsy enough during his instruction, but she refused to allow that silent criticism to linger. She refused to think of herself as lacking. . . .
She could do this! No one would yell at her here, even if she took a misstep, and the earl would be here, and her brother, two partners at least who did not wish her to fail. She blinked, forcing the images away. Perhaps the memories of those who hurt us can be as persistent as happier recollections, she thought. But she would not allow old foes to blight her final steps into a new world, the world the lucky accident of her birth had always entitled her to.
She had been lucky, twice. Fortunate enough to have been born into the gentry, and even more blessed to have a brother who had never given up until he had found her and reclaimed her from her accidental abandonment. She was once again surrounded by the security of her family’s love and protection.
And now there was the earl, who also engendered strong feelings inside her, but emotions very different than those of sisterly affection. Just thinking about Lord Whitby cheered her. Dominic, she said inside her head, then she whispered the name aloud. “Dominic.”
What did he feel for her, and would he ever say it to her face? And if he did care for her, why would he hesitate; he was no shy calfling afraid to own his feelings. Of course, he had been the target of marriageable young ladies for years; what made her think that she could win his heart? He could choose from ladies much more impressive in rank and wealth. She shouldn’t expect—
A knock sounded at her door. “Clarissa?”
“Come in,” Clarissa answered, pulling her thoughts together and sitting up.
Gemma entered and closed the door behind her. “Good, you’re taking a rest. Psyche has had a messenger from Lord Whitby, so I thought I would tell you privately.”
“He’s not coming?” She heard the dismay in her voice and swallowed hard.
“Oh, no, he will be here, but he has been delayed; he said you would understand. He will arrive tomorrow for the ball, so you should not fret,” Gemma told her quickly.
“Oh.” Clarissa drew a long breath in relief.
Gemma came closer and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Clarissa.”
Clarissa looked at her in surprise. “What?”
“Only that the earl has spent so much time with us, for the best motives, I’m sure, but it is causing gossip. You know how Society is—or, at least, you soon will know.”
Clarissa shivered at the thought of acid-tongued matrons scrutinizing her conduct, but she shook her head.
“He only wishes to help,” Clarissa pointed out, for some reason feeling defensive, even with her sister-in-law.
“I’m sure his motives are good,” Gemma agreed. “I’m not sure about his feelings, however. Nor do I know what yours may be?” She hesitated.
Clarissa found herself looking away.
“We have seen that the earl can be most kind, but he does have a reputation for being arrogant and sometimes even rude—”
“Oh, no,” Clarissa interrupted without thinking. “He is never unkind. If he was heedless, it would be quite unplanned, an oversight, I am sure. I’ve noticed that when he is thinking, he sometimes does not hear one speak, but he means no slight. And even if he sometimes might make a thoughtless remark, there’s no real malice behind it. He has the kindest heart you could imagine!”
She stopped as her sister-in-law gazed at her. Some of the worry in Gemma’s blue eyes had faded.
“You do care for him, then.”
Her comment was gentle, but Clarissa flushed. “How could I not, when he’s been so kind and so dedicated to helping and protecting me . . .” Belatedly, she remembered the wager the earl had admitted to, but she was not inclined to share that nugget of information with Gemma. Anyhow, the earl had no real need of a few pounds, nor was his pride fragile enough to be threatened by its loss.
“But you must not confuse gratitude for love, Clarissa. I know he has a title and wealth, and he is certainly pleasing to look at, except for the scar on his cheek and he cannot help—”
“It is barely noticeable, and anyhow, why should I—why should anyone care about that!” Clarissa interrupted again.
Her glance amused, Gemma went on. “I was about to say, the disfigurement was earned honorably in battle for his country and must have our respect.”
“Oh,” Clarissa muttered, aware she had betrayed herself again.
“Very well, I shall say no more, and I shall not worry that you will be led into any commitment against your deeper feelings. In fact, if the earl should choose this weekend to speak to your brother about his intentions, I shall assume you are amenable.”
“Oh.” Clarissa felt her cheeks flame. “I’m sure you’re making too much of his kindness. I don’t know that the earl—his rank is—you mustn’t assume . . .”
“Don’t think about it now,” Gemma told her, patting her shoulder. “Just enjoy the weekend. This is your party, and Matthew and I wish you to relish every moment of it.”
“You’re both too kind,” Clarissa answered, knowing she could never convince them that she would be happiest when the weekend was ended. And as for the earl, no matter what her private feelings might be, she was not at all sure of what the earl thought of her, and she did not wish to be publically humiliated—again!
It was bad enough that the first time they had officially met that she had fallen at his feet for much of the Ton to see. She did not wish to repeat the action metaphorically if not—please heaven!
—literally.
Which reminded her of the important matter of the dance, the forms and the steps that she must be able to remember. She went to the bureau and dug through a layer of nightgowns until she located the book of dance forms that Gemma had given her, then sat down to study it.
Sixteen
When Matty returned with her arms full of freshly pressed frocks, she put away the dresses carefully, then helped Clarissa change for dinner.
The meal was elegant, the food delicious, the company pleasant. But with the earl absent, something was strangely lacking. Even the well-appointed table with its white linen, its silver dishes piled high with skillfully-wrought concoctions of meats and puddings and side dishes and sauces, the glasses filled with carefully chosen wine from their host’s cellar, even as delicious as the dinner was, it did not totally sate her appetite. Somehow, she craved something more than well-cured ham or roasted pheasant. . . .
The company was agreeable, too, but somewhat lacking in elan, she thought. The young man on her left engaged her in conversation on carefully chosen topics, nothing that would disgust a well-bred young lady.
“Lady Gabriel says that there will be fireworks tomorrow night at midnight,” the young man was saying, “in honor of your coming-out ball.”
Clarissa pulled her wandering thoughts back. “Yes, that will be lovely.”
“I do love a first-rate display of fireworks,” he said. “Noisy, but such a good show. And our hosts are going to great trouble to make your weekend special. You must be gratified to have such eminent friends to sponsor you in your coming-out.”
“Lord and Lady Gabriel have been more than kind,” Clarissa agreed, remembering the expensive ball gown that waited upstairs for her debut tomorrow night. “I am most grateful for all their efforts.”
At this moment, she was also heartily bored, she realized. Clarissa was forcefully reminded that she missed the earl’s occasional bluntness and his ability to laugh when she said something not at all ladylike. With the earl, she never felt, as she did now, the necessity to pick her words with care, to watch the subjects she introduced so that she did not appear unseemly.
With the earl, she felt freer, more real, more herself, she thought, wondering that she had not realized it before. What other man could compare to him? If he had no long-term interest in her, no personal interest, she faced a bleak future indeed. Clarissa felt her heart sink and tried not to dwell on such lowering thoughts.
When the diners had finished toying with the last bites, Lady Gabriel glanced up and down the long table and collected the ladies with one practiced look. The men stood as the female half of the company withdrew, then settled back to another round of wine.
In the drawing room, the ladies settled themselves for a little feminine chatter until the men rejoined them.
Gemma sat next to their hostess. As she walked past, Clarissa overheard Lady Gabriel saying, “I’m sure Gabriel will be home tomorrow. He would not miss the ball.”
Clarissa took a seat a few feet away and chatted with Emmaline Mawper, who seemed delighted to have been included in the weekend.
“It was so kind of Lady Gemma to invite me. This house is so lovely, and Lady Gabriel has so much planned. I am having a marvelous time! This will surely be one of the events of the Season,” she told Clarissa. “My cousin Mr. Galston is coming down tomorrow, so he will dance with me, and I might dare to think that Lord Whitby would solicit my hand for one dance. The earl has been most kind, ever since our first meeting. I’m sure he did not mean that unfortunate comment. It may even may been misreported, you know.”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Clarissa agreed. It had been so long since she had thought of Lord Whitby as arrogant and unkind that it was jarring to remember her first impressions. Nonetheless, she made a mental note to make sure that the earl did indeed dance with Miss Mawper, then blushed a little to realize she expected him to heed her admonitions.
Clarissa looked up to see Gemma excuse herself and slip quietly out of the room. She looked a little pale. Was something amiss?
Clarissa also made her excuses and went out to find the lady’s withdrawing room. She waited for Gemma to come out. Yes, she did looked a bit strained.
“Are you all right?” Clarissa asked, keeping her tone low. She hoped that her sister-in-law was not concerned about her ward’s behavior. “You are not anxious over my deportment, I hope? I am trying very hard to behave like a lady, I promise you. And I’m studying my book of dance forms—”
“Oh, it’s not that, Clarissa,” Gemma assured her. “I have the utmost confidence in you, believe me. You are going to do just fine. I’m only a little unsettled in my stomach. It’s not nerves, truly, most likely something I ate that did not agree with me.”
But she didn’t quite meet Clarissa’s eye, and, in an almost protective gesture, she lay one hand over her flat stomach.
Clarissa’s eyes widened. She was more informed on some topics, which were more freely discussed belowstairs than the average young lady. “Gemma! Is it possible—”
Gemma blushed. “It’s possible,” she agreed. “I’m not totally sure, I’m only a week late. Don’t say anything to Matthew just yet. He has enough on his mind right now. He’s determined to put aside his sling for the ball, no matter what the doctor says, so that he can dance with you. And anyhow, if I am increasing, I will not start to show until the Season has ended, so you don’t have to worry that I will not be able to go into Society with you, or that your social life will be curtailed just as it begins.”
“Oh, I don’t care about that!” Clarissa assured her. “Oh, Gemma!” She hugged her sister-in-law quickly, thrilled at the thought of a niece or nephew to cherish, but feeling some anxiety, too, about the always present dangers of childbirth.
Gemma seemed to read both her pleasure and her unease. “Don’t worry, my dear. Psyche assures me she and my brother have the best doctor in London, and I am going to talk to him next week.”
Trying to picture only a happy outcome and not cloud Gemma and soon Matthew’s joyous anticipation of a baby, Clarissa nodded.
They went back to the drawing room together, and soon the men rejoined them. Card tables were set up, and those, like Clarissa, who were not interested in cards, gathered at the side of the room and played a lively game of charades.
And if she still missed the earl, Clarissa tried not to make it obvious.
She woke early to what seemed to be the distant sound of a gunshot. She had been dreaming again, and to be pulled from the chants of her nightmare by such a sound made her heart beat fast.
She sat abruptly up in bed and looked about her for a bell pull.
Presently, Matty appeared in answer to the summons, carrying a tray with a tea pot and cup and a plate of food. “You’re up early, miss.”
“I thought I heard a gun fire,” Clarissa said, aware that her voice sounded tremulous.
“Oh, the menfolk went out early for some target practice,” Matty told her. “Nothing much to shoot at this season, so they have set up straw targets to show off for the ladies, silly gents.” She giggled. “I brought you some tea, miss, and toast and ham and such, in case you’re feeling peckish. And I’ll be back with warm water soon.”
“Thank you, Matty,” Clarissa said, feeling foolish that she had been so apprehensive. She was as safe here as she would be in her own house, and it was silly to be so nervous just because the menacing dreams would not leave her.
She took a sip of tea, then turned her head again at a new sound. It must be a carriage on the drive. “Is someone arriving?”
Matty pushed the draperies back and peered out. “Yes, miss. A lady and gentleman in a nice carriage; I don’t know their faces but they is dressed very fine.”
More guests for the ball, but not, as she had at once hoped, the earl, who would come alone and whose form Matty would recognize. Clarissa put down her cup. She realized she was not hungry, and she also felt a qualm about the swelling number of guests she wou
ld soon have to face.
“Don’t fetch bathwater just yet,” she told her maid. “I think I will dress and take a walk about the park before I start preparing for tonight. I feel the need for some fresh air, and perhaps some exertion will quiet my restiveness. If Lady Gemma inquires for me, be sure to tell her where I have gone. She will understand.”
“Yes, miss,” the maid agreed.
So Clarissa donned a walking costume and, telling Matty to finish the food on the tray if she wished—Clarissa still well remembered her time as a servant and how often she had been hungry—she slipped down the back staircase and out a side door.
She wanted to put off as long as possible the time when she had to put on her Society manners and play the role of well-bred young lady. And in the open air, she felt less confined and hedged about by rules and expectations.
As she left the house, she picked up an unexpected escort. One of the family’s dogs, a big shaggy retriever with long ears and a tongue that hung out the side of his mouth, came up to greet her, his tail wagging. She petted him and when she turned away, found that he was inclined to follow her.
“Very well,” she agreed. “Perhaps you are in need of a stroll, too.”
With the dog trotting ahead of her, she skirted the formal walled garden, where other guests might be taking the air and she would be forced into polite greetings. At the edge of the lawn she walked past men assembling wooden forms, which she guessed were for the evening’s fireworks display.
Soon she passed the field where the menfolk were playing with their sporting pieces, with servants at hand to reload after each shot, and much joking and wagering on each other’s aim. Her brother, who had only one functional arm at the moment, was not there. But several of the female guests had come down to watch and admire from a discreet distance the men displaying their skill, so Clarissa did not linger here, either.
She walked on into the edge of the park itself, admiring the rolling hills and dells and the trees heavy with green leaves. A pleasant breeze cooled her cheeks, and it was true, after tramping through the extensive grounds, she felt more at ease and less apt to jump at the slightest sound.