by Lily Dalton
“Well,” Clarissa hiccupped, and attempted to smile through tears. “Just three…or will it be four days, and we’ll arrive at your family home. I assume they will be surprised to learn you have wed?”
She could only assume he hadn’t written them. There’d been no time.
“Four days. Yes.” He brooded, his gaze fixed on the scene passing by outside the window. “They will indeed be surprised.”
Silenced filled the carriage. Again, she attempted conversation. “How long today until we arrive at the inn?”
His jaw twitched, and he looked toward the corner of the carriage. “I’m sorry, I—I—”
To her surprise, he reached for the bell pull. Wrapping his gloved hand around the cord, he yanked. The carriage slowed and altered direction, and after a moment came to a stop.
“I apologize,” he murmured. “I think I’d prefer to ride up top. I’ll leave the two of you to your conversation.”
He moved as if to exit the door. She reached for his wrist, and he froze.
“Oh!” Miss Randolph exclaimed softly, her eyes wide with surprise. She looked between them, as if shocked by the dramatic moment unfolding in front of her, before looking pointedly away.
“Don’t go, Mr. Blackmer,” Clarissa whispered, so that only he could hear. “I want you to stay.”
“I’m sorry,” he answered, but not unkindly. Indeed, though his gaze did not meet hers, he rested his gloved hand atop hers and briefly squeezed. “But I cannot do this. Not now. Not yet.”
She nodded, releasing him. “As you wish.”
Then he was gone, and she left staring at the closed door, her ears filled with silence. A moment later, the carriage jerked to one side as he climbed atop to join the driver. Then the carriage started and continued on.
Embarrassed, Clarissa glanced at Miss Randolph, who stared fixedly into the pages of her book, but after moment, her gaze fluttered up and she smiled.
“Gentleman,” Miss Randolph said in a reassuring tone. “Try as we might to contain them, they always prefer the outdoors.”
“Indeed,” she said, somewhat soothed by the woman’s calm tone.
“It’s very nice that you’ll be able to meet Mr. Blackmer’s family,” said Miss Randolph.
“I’m looking forward to doing so.” It was the polite thing to say.
Another smile, and Miss Randolph returned to her book.
Clarissa sagged against the seat, thinking it might be nice to indulge in a good, thorough cry right now. Only she wouldn’t. She would not succumb to histrionics. She wasn’t a child anymore. She dabbed her eyes one last time, then thrust her soggy kerchief into her reticule. Yes, she was done with all that. Every young woman, at some time or another, had to leave her family. Her situation could certainly be worse. She shouldn’t have believed all the romantic nonsense in the ladies’ magazines and novels anyway.
“What are you reading, Miss Randolph?” she inquired softly, needing to talk about something that didn’t have to do with her or Mr. Blackmer.
Miss Randolph looked at her a long time, taking note, she knew, of her red eyes and stained cheeks. If they were at home, she knew her maid would immediately set about pressing a cool compress that smelled of chamomile to her skin. But there was no chamomile here.
At last she answered. “It’s a manual for servants. I’ve read it several times before, but it never hurts to refresh oneself on the finer points.”
Clarissa nodded, thinking such reading material didn’t sound very interesting. But for the first time she realized that’s what made Miss Randolph so pleasant to have around. She behaved with such unerring dignity and always put forth her best effort. Nothing ever got her down. What a wonderful example. One she needed to strive toward herself.
“I’m so very glad you’re here with me, Miss Randolph,” she said, feeling the need to voice her appreciation, because she felt very certain she’d taken Miss Randolph for granted until now. “If I can’t have Mother or my sisters, at least I can have you.”
The woman’s expression softened. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
They smiled at one another, and after a moment, Miss Randolph went back to her book.
Sighing, Clarissa realized silence wasn’t such a terrible thing. She forced herself to relax. She wondered what Mr. Blackmer’s family was like and where the couple would live once they arrived. If she had gauged Mr. Blackmer’s demeanor correctly, the prospect of returning to his family in Northumbria did not please him. Why? she wondered. Had there been some sort of disagreement in the past, or was it just that he regretted being forced to leave the secret service?
She resolved in that moment that whatever situation awaited them, she wouldn’t complain. There was a little baby to look forward to, and as long as her new husband did not overly begrudge her or the child, the future would not be so terrible.
Across the carriage from her, Miss Randolph turned the page of her book.
A book would take her mind off things. She bent and opened her valise, and instead chose a notebook and pencil and settled into the corner. Her breathing slowed, and she opened the volume to the first page and wrote:
Henry Reginald…
B-l-a-c-k-m-e-r.
Dorothea Marie Blackmer.
Robert Vinson Blackmer.
Elizabeth Willomena Blackmer.
All fine names for a baby. But nothing that struck her as perfect just yet.
“That’s a smart girl,” Miss Randolph murmured, her tone quiet and comforting. “Just you wait and see. Everything will be fine.”
“Wake up, Mrs. Blackmer. We have arrived at the inn.”
Mrs. Blackmer? Who was Mrs. Blackmer?
Oh, yes. She was Mrs. Blackmer.
Clarissa burrowed further into the cushion, trying to disappear into sleep again.
But a gentle shake to the shoulders awakened her, and she sat up, her vision unfocused from sleep. The inside of the carriage was dim. She could barely make out Miss Randolph beside her.
With a swipe, she brushed away the hair plastered against her cheek, but the dream still lingered in her mind…
A handsome mouth—
Hot kisses.
Her eyes flew open in sudden realization. She’d dreamed of Mr. Blackmer kissing her. Touching her lips, she remembered the moment he’d kissed her after their wedding, as Quinn looked on in shock. She blushed, feeling a rush of excitement as strong as when the kiss had actually happened.
How…unexpected.
“Your eyes are open, my dear, but I’m not certain you’re awake,” said Miss Randolph, offering an open tin of rose-and-ginger pastilles. She felt quite certain Miss Randolph had never called her “my dear” before, and the endearment pleased her. Clarissa selected one and placed the lozenge in her mouth, appreciating the sweet-hot flavor that exploded on her tongue, awakening her a degree more.
Her lady’s maid lowered Clarissa’s straw bonnet onto her head, then tied its wide grosgrain bow to one side of her charge’s chin, which, as they’d observed in La Belle Assemblée ladies’ magazine, seemed to be the most flattering compliment to a round-shape face. Normally Clarissa would tend to such personal matters herself, but after such a difficult day she appreciated the tender care.
She lifted the curtain from the window beside her and saw a sturdy two-story structure, with light glowing from its windows. A sudden question came to mind. Were she and Mr. Blackmer going to sleep together?
In the next moment, her fears eased. Certainly not. He hadn’t even been able to suffer being in the carriage with her for more than five minutes.
Just as Miss Randolph finished tying on her own hat, the door handle turned. Clarissa froze, her breath caught in her throat. Mr. Blackmer stood there, beside the carriage, his expression shrouded in shadows and inscrutable.
Behind him, two hounds circled and whined with excitement over the newly arrived visitors, their feet caked in the churned-up mud of the inn’s yard. Stable-helpers rushed to assist with the
horses.
“We’ll pass the night here,” her husband said quietly.
CHAPTER TEN
Clarissa emerged to stand on the metal carriage step and perched there, considering her next move. Several boards lay strewn across the courtyard. She pondered which were closest and which looked stable enough for a foray across the muck.
Yet in the next moment, a strong arm came round her waist and the evening sky turned, as Mr. Blackmer lifted her easily, another arm sweeping up under her knees. By necessity, her arms went round his neck. A whirl of movement followed, then several powerful steps, whereby he deposited her on the wooden platform at the front of the inn. She stood, breathless, not only because he’d squeezed the air from her lungs, but because she hadn’t been prepared for his touch.
“Go on inside,” he instructed. “A Mrs. Harris will receive you.”
He turned back to Miss Randolph, who had already stepped down onto one of the boards and wobbled while considering her next step. He extended his hand to help her across. Clarissa could only stand, watching the way his coat tightened over his back and shoulders when his muscles flexed. But she didn’t wish to be caught staring. Admiring. So she turned and went inside, where a low-ceilinged room awaited, filled with shadows except for a fire that burned on the hearth. Once her vision adjusted, she saw several tables against the walls, and at one, a well-dressed older gentleman and two young boys conversed quietly, over a platter of victuals, the specifics of which Clarissa could not discern other than a flavorful aroma that wafted through the air. A young woman polished silver in the corner, and another, beside her, folded linens.
A third woman, older than the others, and wearing a lace cap and apron, stood near the stairs, wearing a polite smile of welcome. Blackmer entered the room and removed his hat and gestured that she should follow.
She did so—but noted that he did not. Admittedly, this relieved her. If they were to share quarters, she would need a moment or two to compose herself. To prepare herself emotionally for the intimacies that might very well follow, even if those intimacies did not involve lovemaking. Simply the thought of lying next to him in a bed, waiting for sleep to come, sent her stomach spiraling with anxiety.
Upstairs, Mrs. Harris led her into a room crowded with a large bed, two chairs, a chaise, and a dressing table. Though small, everything appeared clean and comfortable.
Mrs. Harris lit a second lamp and adjusted its position on the dressing table. “I hope you find your accommodations sufficient, Mrs. Blackmer.”
Would it ever feel natural to answer to that name? Before, she had always traveled in the company of her mother, and innkeepers and servants had always addressed Her Ladyship as to whether their comforts were being met. Now she was a married lady, traveling with her husband, and Mrs. Harris welcomed her. There was something very satisfying about that.
“Everything is very nice, thank you,” Clarissa answered, her gaze returning to the bed. There were numerous pillows and a rich scarlet coverlet with gold cording. Her cheeks warmed, imagining herself there with Blackmer, tangled in the bedclothes, their bodies intimately entwined.
Two of the young women from belowstairs delivered the smaller of her two trunks, the one packed with sleeping and traveling clothes and other assorted whatnot, which Miss Randolph instructed them to deposit beneath the window. Another appeared with Miss Randolph’s large, embroidered valise.
Mrs. Harris opened a door beside the bed. “There is a dressing closet here, where your maid can sleep.”
Miss Randolph crossed the room and peered inside assessingly.
“My husband’s things—” Clarissa began.
“Have been placed in the room next door. There’s another door in the dressing closet that adjoins the two.”
So they would not be sharing a room. A rush of relief washed over her, and she exhaled.
“Would you care for a bath, madam?”
Despite her nap in the carriage, she still felt very tired. She thought she might just go to bed and read. “Perhaps just a basin of warm water, if you please.”
She removed her hat and set it on the table.
A half hour later, Clarissa sat at the dressing table brushing her hair while Miss Randolph folded the garments she’d worn that day and placed them in the trunk.
A scuffling came from the hallway, along with stifled giggles and the sound of sloshing water.
In the mirror’s reflection, Clarissa saw Miss Randolph straighten from where she bent over the trunk. “It sounds as if Mr. Blackmer will be enjoying a bath.”
“Hmmm, yes.” Clarissa rubbed a dab of fragrant skin cream onto her forehead. “Good for him. He must be very dusty from riding atop the carriage all day long.”
Miss Randolph approached her from behind, eclipsing the light from the fire and casting the mirror into shadow. “Pardon my being so bold as to suggest it, but perhaps you should offer to assist him.”
“Assist him,” Clarissa repeated, taken aback. “With his bath? Why?”
Miss Randolph bent an inch and peered into the glass, meeting her gaze. “Because that is what wives do.”
Clarissa pressed the cap on the cream jar. “Perhaps later, when we know each other better. Miss Randolph, I’m not sure what you know about the circumstances, but—”
“I know he is not the man you love.”
Clarissa blinked, feeling strangled. “Loved.”
“But he is your husband. Did you not see the reaction of those girls downstairs when he entered the room?”
Clarissa paused. She hadn’t. “How did they react?”
Something peculiar happened inside her heart. She experienced a pang of dismay, threaded with…jealousy? Perhaps not jealousy, exactly, but Mr. Blackmer was her husband. She didn’t know how she felt about another woman “reacting” to him when he walked into a room.
“They took notice. He is a very handsome man. Certainly you noticed as well.”
“Yes,” Clarissa answered in a distant tone. She rearranged her brush and her hand mirror on the tabletop, setting one down in the other’s place. “I’ve noticed.”
Of course she had. What woman wouldn’t? Mr. Blackmer was indeed handsome—but in a very different way from Lord Quinn. Lord Quinn had to be at least ten years younger than Mr. Blackmer. Fine-featured and golden-haired, he wore his aristocratic title with ease. He might very well be a model for a gentleman’s plate in Ackermann’s Depository. He knew his horses, and his manners and never failed to charm everyone in the room.
Was it wrong that those were the sort of young men she’d always found attractive and with whom she’d expected to share her future? They were, she supposed, the sort of man society told her she ought to admire.
Mr. Blackmer, on the other hand, was the opposite side of the coin. His eyes and his hair were as dark and dangerous as the Devil’s, and he exuded…
He exuded what?
Masculinity. Where Quinn was barely more than a boy out of university, Mr. Blackmer, was a man with a lifetime of experience in his repertoire. He’d been in the secret service no less. He might very well be dangerous, but not to her—she didn’t believe that for one moment. There was something undeniably thrilling in realizing that.
“So what are you saying?” Clarissa asked Miss Randolph, listening now.
“That if you don’t offer to assist him with his bath, someone else will.” She lowered her voice and murmured, “I don’t know if you understand my meaning but—”
“I do understand your meaning.” Clarissa looked about, scandalized. “That sort of thing happens here? I believed this to be a respectable inn, not a…well, you know. One of those sorts of places.”
“It happens everywhere, madam.”
“I see. But certainly all men don’t…”
“Of course not. Only those with inattentive wives.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, light ones. Most certainly female. And the hollow sound of bumping buckets.
Miss Randolph glared at the doo
r. “That’s one leaving now.” Her eyes narrowed. “One. I’m quite certain there were two.”
Clarissa gasped and jumped up from the stool, nearly toppling it.
Miss Randolph pointed toward the dressing closet door. “See for yourself that I am right.”
“What? Peek through the door? Barge in and interrupt? No. I can’t.” She stared at the door. “Mr. Blackmer and I barely know each other, Miss Randolph. What he does is his own affair.”
“Very well.” Her maid rested her fists on her hips. “Concede nuptial failure on the very eve of your wedding.”
“Nuptial failure?” exclaimed Clarissa, pacing the floor. “After only one day? Why are you doing this to me? I just want to go to bed.”
She had lost Lord Quinn in a blink. Was she destined to lose her husband too?
“Because I want you to be happy, Mrs. Blackmer, and I believe you can find happiness with the man on the other side of that door. But you must lay out the rules from the start, or else there will be misunderstandings and angry feelings that will only grow out of hand.”
“Rules?” she repeated. How could she make any demands whatsoever of Mr. Blackmer, after the sacrifice he had made for her? Whether he’d been willing or not, he’d remained silent and suffered through. Now, to imagine asserting control over his most private moments? His most private desires? She felt torn over what to do. “What makes you so knowledgeable on the state of marriage?”
“Oh, dear girl.” Miss Randolph sighed. “I’ve not always been a lady’s maid. We are very different, you and I, but that does not mean you cannot learn from my mistakes.”
“Miss Randolph.” Clarissa reached to touch her arm. “I’m sorry.”
“You will be, if you don’t do something, and quickly.”
Clarissa remembered the vow she’d made to herself, to try to make a life with Mr. Blackmer. She wanted…she needed things to be good between them, if she was going to face the future with any sort of optimism. But most of all, for the baby’s sake. She wanted a father for the child. A father in truth. Not just a name.