Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
T he following day, Clarissa sat one the same veranda where she had encountered Kirkwood the night before, but this time she had a cup of tea in her hand and was joined by the Marquess of Mickenshire, one of the potential suitors her parents had dragged out to the country for her to impress. She was trying not to yawn. Ladies did not yawn in public. Certainly they never gave any hint that they were bored. She wasn’t even certain she was allowed to be bored. She would have to check her book later.
“At any rate, I’ve decided to have my tenants plant barley this year,” the marquess was droning on.
She nodded and supposed that it was good the gentleman was so involved in matters of his estate. She didn’t want to marry a layabout who had no interest in maintaining his responsibilities. But when she looked at the gentleman, her heart sank. He was older than her father.
“Lord Mickenshire,” her mother called out, drawing the attention of the entire party toward her. “You must tell Clarissa about your darling grandchildren.”
The marquess started at that demand and Clarissa’s cheeks heated. Trust her mother to insert herself and make the age difference she had just been pondering all the more obvious .
“You’ve grandchildren?” she asked, though she knew the answer already.
“I have three,” the marquess said. “My daughters are both married now. You may recall them.”
She shifted. “I-I do. Though they came out a few years before I did.”
Almost ten years. That was how wide the gap was between this man’s youth and her own. Even his children were far older.
“Ah, yes, of course.” The marquess appeared to be as uncomfortable as she was. After all, talk of his daughters had to make the entire party think of the fact that the marquess had no sons. He’d had two previous wives who had died trying to produce one so his title would live on without going to another part of his line.
Hence why he needed a young woman as bride so he could continue to try the same. She shivered at the thought. She knew little about the entire act that produced children, but enough to feel she didn’t want to try it with this man.
“Will you excuse me, Miss Lockhart?” the marquess said with a tight smile as he rose.
She nodded and when he was gone, she caught her father’s eye. He glared at her, as if she had frightened the man off, rather than her mother’s heavy-handed intrusion into their conversation. She sighed. She was about to get up herself and freshen her tea when her cousin George flopped himself into the chair the marquess had departed.
“Dearest cousin,” he said with a little chuckle. “It seems my aunt and uncle are much the same. Do they ever change?”
She stifled a smile. Once upon a time she and George had put their heads together and giggled over the sometimes awkward behavior of her parents. As the years ticked by, though, she found less humor in how their grasping seemed to frighten suitors off or how they increased the pressure on her to save them through marriage.
Besides, she wasn’t supposed to feel or express such things about her parents. One was meant to receive what they presented with grace and gratitude .
“They mean well,” she said softly even though the words tasted bitter on her tongue. “I must respect their methods, either way. They’re my elders and deserve respect.”
George’s normally playful expression fell a fraction. “Clarissa.”
She met his gaze and shrugged. “I must behave well.”
“You’ve never done anything less,” he said and covered her hand briefly. They were quiet together a moment as she enjoyed his company. For all his faults and frivolities, George had never made her feel pressured or judged. He shifted in his seat. “You offer them forgiveness. Will you do the same for me?”
She tilted her head in surprise at the question. “What have you done that needs—” She cut herself off and pursed her lips as she thought of her encounter with Kirkwood the night before. “Oh, you are talking about the earl.”
He nodded. “I am. I’ve heard you’ve been judging him for my bad behavior.”
She sucked in a breath. “He told you that, did he?”
She wanted to be annoyed that he’d done so. It almost felt like he’d tattled on her by running off to her cousin to declare their conversation. But then again, there was a tiny thrill that filled her at the idea that he’d spoken to George about her. It was ludicrous, but there even if she didn’t wish it to be.
“He did,” George admitted. “But even if he hadn’t, it’s been obvious. You’re normally so welcoming to all comers, but you’ve been icy cold to him since our arrival.”
She tensed at the idea that she’d been so noticeably rude. “Well, he’s a rake, you know.”
George leaned in closer. “So am I. And you like me.”
She laughed. “I tolerate you, George. Barely.”
He snorted out his own laugh, loud enough that others looked at them. “I deserve that. It was my fault, though, Clarissa. And I actually think you wouldn’t hate my friend if you gave him a chance and got to know him.”
She’d decided last night to try not to hate Kirkwood, but the idea she would get to know him settled oddly in her chest. “You want me to know him?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Why does it matter to you?”
For a moment George looked off into the crowd and she followed his gaze. He was looking at Kirkwood, who was standing across the way talking to Mrs. Vale. For a moment Clarissa narrowed her gaze at the sight, but then forced herself to stop.
“He’s one of my best friends,” George said. “And you are my favorite cousin. I wouldn’t hate it if you two had a truce so that I could talk to both of you without having to run interference to keep you from coming to blows.”
She laughed again at the idea of fisticuffs with the earl. She might have judged him as rude, but she couldn’t picture him doing so. And he was enormous at any rate, far bigger than she was. She’d have to rise up on her tippy toes just to land a blow. Well, perhaps that was going too far.
She let her laughter trail off as Kirkwood looked at her. He stiffened a fraction, but then he smiled and inclined his head. “Very well. I agree to the truce. And if the opportunity arises I will, reluctantly , get to know the man. I assume we’ll have nothing in common.” She thought of what he’d said about Othello earlier and shook her head. “Or at least very little. But I’ll try for you.”
“Thank you, Clarissa,” George said, and patted her hand. “Now I see your father weaving his way over, likely ready to give you a thousand suggestions on how to land yourself an ancient marquess and give him a son.”
“Ugh,” Clarissa said with a giggle she couldn’t repress, etiquette rules or no. “That is crude.”
“Do you want me to save you by sweeping you over there or not?” He pointed toward the far end of the veranda.
“Yes, please!” she admitted, and rose with him, took his arm and let him take her away just as he’d suggested. But she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder, not toward her father, but in the direction of Kirkwood. He’d stepped away from Mrs. Vale now and leaned against the terrace wall, one ankle crossed over another as he surveyed the rest of the party with casual elegance and perfected disinterest.
They would only be forced into a shared space for a limited time. If her cousin wanted her to try to like the man, she could do that. It didn’t mean anything anyway.
R oderick didn’t know what to think of the fact that Miss Lockhart was smiling at him as he and the other gentlemen entered the parlor after supper. She’d actually been doing that all day, ever since the earlier tea on the veranda.
He had decided she was either trying to make up for her initial misunderstanding, or she was plotting to poison him. He wasn’t sure which one he believed more. He could see her doing either. Or both? She seemed interesting enough for that.
He pursed his lips at the errant thought just as she started across the parlor toward him.
“My lord,” she said as she reached him.
“Miss Lockhart,” he said with caution.
“How did you find my father’s port?” she asked. “That is what you gentleman do when you part from the ladies, isn’t it? Drink port and bluster?”
He hesitated before he said, “The port was very fine, yes. But there was little bluster this evening, instead we played billiards. I lost, but I enjoyed myself. I assume the ladies did…whatever it is ladies do when they find themselves relieved by the absence of men.”
She smiled a little at his choice of phrase and he thought it might actually be a real expression. “It truly varies with the company and we swear an oath never to tell, you know. However, I can reveal to you that this group mostly gossiped about next Season’s fashion in hats.” She seemed to stifle a sigh.
“And did you come to a consensus about what will change? ”
“More feathers,” she whispered. “Do not tell a soul.”
He laughed. “I’ll be silent as the grave, I promise you.”
Their shared laughter trailed off and her cheeks pinkened as she looked away from him and into the crowd. “I’m sure there will be parlor games in a moment. Do you have any favorites?”
He was utterly confused. She was interviewing him as if she intended to hire him for some duty. “It’s the wrong time of year, but snapdragon is always a laugh.”
She let out the faintest snort and shook her head. “That makes perfect sense.”
“And what does that mean?”
She glanced at him. “You light a bowl of liquor on fire , then try to snatch raisins out of it without singeing your fingertips or eyebrows off. It’s a reckless game.”
“Ah, I see. So you judge me reckless. Willing to throw caution to the wind for…raisins.” He smiled at her.
She huffed out a breath. “ You brought it up.”
“I did, I did.” He arched a brow. If she was playing a game with him, he could do the same. “I’ve always liked Kiss the Monkey.”
Her cheeks flamed higher and for good reason. It was a very wicked game, though played often in good company, where the lady and gentlemen would kneel with their backs to each other and arms linked, then attempt to kiss from that angle. He was very good at doing so, knew how to bend his body to catch a lady’s lips with his.
“I-I’ve never played that one,” she said, a little softer.
He wrinkled his brow. “No? Should I suggest it?”
“Oh…my lord, I’m not sure if?—”
“What say we play a game!” Roderick called out with a mischievous wink for her. “Miss Lockhart and I have been discussing Kiss the Monkey.”
There was a ripple through the crowd and varying expressions of excitement and disapproval. But Clarissa’s father rushed forward, his eyes glittering as if this were his own plan. “Oh yes, my lord. A capital idea. What fun. And since you have suggested it, I believe you and my daughter must be the first to play.”
Clarissa was pale now. “Father?—”
“Come clear those chairs away,” Mrs. Lockhart interrupted, waving at the servants. “It will open up a space.”
Clarissa glanced at Roderick and all the teasing he’d been doing faded away. Her bottom lip was trembling, as if she were terrified. He’d never intended that, only to tweak her a little because getting her ire up was a little crack in that oh-so-proper facade.
“As they do that, let me strategize with the lady,” he said, and drew her away from the giggling crowd of partygoers. She wouldn’t look up at him now. “You appear sick,” he said gently.
She shook her head. “I’m not. It’s a party game. I suppose there is nothing terribly untoward about it. I only…” She trailed off.
“Only what?” he encouraged.
She lifted her gaze to him and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. There was so much in those eyes, those lovely, unique brown-green eyes. All the emotions she was adept at suppressing shone at once. Pain and anger, worry and fear.
“What is it, Clarissa,” he whispered, and then corrected himself. “Miss Lockhart?”
She swallowed. “I’ve…I’ve never been kissed.”
He blinked. George had said this was her third Season out when they spoke about her in London. That would make her in her very early twenties. He hadn’t imagined that some green boy hadn’t stolen a sweet kiss in all those years. She was a tempting beauty, after all.
“I see,” he said, and pondered his options. “In that case, I’ll lose the game.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I only suggested it to tease you, but I can see now that it wasn’t fair given the circumstances. So I’ll lose the game and miss in my attempt to kiss you.”
Her brow wrinkled. “I?—”
She did not have time to finish her response. Her mother rushed over, grabbed her arm and began to drag her into the circle the guests had made for the game. “Come, you two. It’s time to begin!”
He knelt down on the floor and turned his back as she began to do the same. He felt her tremble as she linked one arm through his and then the other. The press of her back to his own was warm, and he could feel her sharp intakes of breath as they tried to position themselves best. It was a challenge, for she was petite and they didn’t exactly align perfectly, even on their knees. But then, that was part of the challenge of the game.
“Ready?” Mr. Lockhart asked, and then cried out, “Kiss the Monkey!”
They each twisted, rolling their upper bodies around for a moment, trying to find the proper way to partially face each other without breaking the link of their arms. At last Roderick found himself with an angle that would allow him to reach her lips. She had wetted them as they struggled and for the first time he noticed how full the lower one was. Her eyes shone as she stared at him, trying to fake a smile like this was fun when he could see that she was nervous. He leaned in, attempting not to make the moment where he missed her lips too obvious.
But to his surprise she tilted her head, and instead of dodging him, their mouths met.
It was the briefest and most chaste of kisses. Their lips grazed, perfectly fitted even in the awkward position. Hers were warm, soft, and he had the oddest urge to fully face her and let the kiss linger a bit longer. But he couldn’t. The party laughed and clapped as she turned her face away and they unlinked arms. Her cheeks were flamed dark red, but she allowed him to help her to her feet as he, too, rose. She stared at him a moment, then stepped away.
“Who—who is next?” she asked with false lightness for the group. “George, you look too wicked not to play. And Mrs. Vale, why don’t you partner with him?”
She wasn’t looking at Roderick as she gamely arranged the next round, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. She had told him she’d never been kissed, so that meant he was the first man to have done so. She couldn’t have wanted that, not when their relationship was, so far, adversarial. And yet she had been the one to meet his lips.
They were dizzying facts. Only because he didn’t understand them, though. The kiss didn’t warrant any further consideration. So he instead focused on his friend as George and Mrs. Vale laughingly took their place in the circle, nearly falling over as they tried to meet in the middle just as Roderick and Clarissa had.
But he didn’t feel fully connected to the others as many took turns, to varying degrees of success and failure. No, he felt like he’d been dunked in water or was standing outside of glass looking in. And the woman who had put him there still refused to meet his gaze as she stood by the fireplace, picking at a loose thread on her gown sleeve.
It was all very odd, indeed.