Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
C larissa rose early the next morning. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d found sleep almost impossible to find all night and had finally surrendered herself at just after dawn. Now readied, she sat in the library, a place where she had always been able to find stability and calm, and stared at the book in her hand with unseeing eyes.
She couldn’t concentrate. No, all she could do was replay the moment in the parlor the night before when she had stared into the Earl of Kirkwood’s eyes and wanted, with brief but overwhelming power, for him to kiss her. Propriety and etiquette and rules about a lady’s comportment had all gone out the window and she had thwarted his attempt to save her from the embarrassment of the kiss.
How could one be so moved by such a brief thing? Such a small thing? Just the barest brush of flesh. She’d had more intimate contact with a dance partner as they pivoted on the floor at an assembly. And yet that kiss was something that haunted her.
Even now she could still feel the brief, gentle press of him on her lips, which she touched with her fingertips. Shouldn’t they have changed color or felt hot? Anything to signify that she was different now, even if she didn’t wish to be ?
“There you are!”
She glanced up with a start and found her mother at the library door. Violet Lockhart was still a lovely woman, with a curvaceous figure and thick dark hair the same color as Clarissa’s own. She always moved like a nervous butterfly, though. Always flitting, always darting, a ball of chaotic energy that could land upon anything, disrupt it and move on before anything could be righted.
Clarissa saw a certain expression on her mother’s face and nervousness immediately spread in her chest. “It is early, Mama,” she said, rising to properly greet her with a little bow of her head. “You are not normally out of bed at this hour.”
“How could one sleep when there is so much excitement to be celebrated?” Mrs. Lockhart asked and slipped the book from Clarissa’s fingers to toss it aside. Clarissa winced. It was a common theme in this house. What she wanted was not valued. But resenting that was against Societal expectation, so she had to shove it all down.
“The gathering is going well,” she said carefully. “I think you deserve to celebrate your triumph.”
“It could be better,” Mrs. Lockhart said with a wave of her hand. “I think you should do your hair differently, my dear. It’s so dull the way you’ve worn it the last few nights. And you had such a sour expression after the kissing game. You know men are only attracted to honey, so you mustn’t ever put out vinegar.”
“Yes, Mama,” Clarissa said, and stifled a sigh. There seemed never to be an end to the unrequested advice and criticisms. Even when she succeeded, she failed.
“And yet, despite any little mistakes you’ve made, all is not lost.” Her mother grasped her hand. “I could have slapped your cousin in the face for bringing an uninvited guest to our soiree. I had to change all the chamber assignments at the last moment. But now I could kiss George instead, for the Earl of Kirkwood offers us a grand opportunity.”
Nausea rolled through Clarissa in a wave and she swallowed hard. “ You and Father keep saying that despite how poorly matched we are. What—what do you mean?”
But she knew what her mother meant, even before Mrs. Lockhart said it. All her machinations were plain on her face. “Poorly matched? He is the finest catch here, Clarissa. You must see that. And I’ve watched you two together. The pall-mall game? When you danced at the ball? And then the kissing game last night? There is a marriage ripe for the making.”
Clarissa stood on shaky knees and stared at her mother. “Mama, you cannot be serious.”
Mrs. Lockhart appeared confused. “I’m perfectly serious, of course.”
Clarissa paced away, clenching and unclenching her hands as she tried to remain calm. Serene. Proper. All she wanted to do was scream. “If you have been watching as closely as you claim, you must also see that Kirkwood and I do not suit.”
“What do you mean?”
“We are entirely different. We don’t like each other, even if we have managed to move into the realm of toleration.”
Her mother stared up at her without leaving her seat and she seemed entirely bewildered when she said, “What does that matter?”
Tears stung Clarissa’s eyes. That question about her needs, her emotions, her desires, had always hung in the air between her and her parents. But it had never been stated so plainly. Normally they at least pretended that what they desired was for her own good, her best interest, trying to convince her that she had truly wanted it all along.
But in her thrill at the idea of the match, Mrs. Lockhart made it clear that no one was actually considering Clarissa any more than they would a chess piece on a board. Easily sacrificed.
“He is a well-known rake,” Clarissa said, and wished she couldn’t hear the edge of pain in her voice. “Even the debutantes hear whispers of his long list of former lovers. That he once brought one of the most scarlet courtesans to a royal event. That he wagers at cards in shocking places. And yet you have insisted that I must behave properly. You have plied me with book after book on the subject of comportment. How could you now wish to link me to such a man?”
“He has over ten thousand a year from his estates alone, a well-established title and links to every important family in the country,” her mother said as she got up at last. “Gracious, you are being silly and very selfish. Think of your parents and all the ways you could help us when you are countess. And a man is allowed to be a rake, my dear. Your behavior doesn’t have anything to do with his.” She smoothed her skirt and started for the door. “You are not getting younger, Clarissa. A match is imperative before all the bloom goes off the rose. Your father and I expect you to behave as if you understand that. Now I’m off to make sure the breakfast room is ready for our guests.”
She swept out of the room in a cloud of schemes. The nausea Clarissa had felt upon her mother’s entry into the library multiplied now, making her dizzy and hot with the sinking sickness that she had no control over her own life. That her parents would arrange it so she never could.
She rushed from the room and turned toward the backstairs so she could flee to her chamber to calm herself, but because she wasn’t looking she crashed headlong into a person she hadn’t seen coming the other way up the hallway.
Large, strong hands caught her, dragging her a little closer and she looked up to find herself practically in the arms of the very man her mother had just been scheming to land as Clarissa’s husband: the Earl of Kirkwood.
A fter a night of surprisingly tormenting dreams about the very woman who Roderick now steadied in his arms, he felt discombobulated by the fact that she had careened into him at far too early an hour for most ladies of her rank. He was going to defuse the moment with a joke, but then she gazed up at him and her expression stopped him in his tracks .
She looked like an animal who had just realized they’d been caged. Her eyes were dark and shiny with unshed tears, her pupils dilated, her hands shaking and her cheeks pale.
“Clarissa,” he whispered, reverting to her given name without thought.
She yanked away from him. “Don’t!” she burst out, and staggered back into the room she had fled from less than a moment before.
He followed her and found it was the library. “What is it?”
“None of your business,” she snapped without looking at him.
He tensed. It seemed they were enemies again. He wondered why that stung so much. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t predicted that after last night and her avoidance of him after their kiss. Hardly a kiss at that. Nothing more than a brush of lips. And yet her obvious pain made him feel increasingly guilty about it.
“I’m sorry about my behavior in the parlor,” he began.
“What?” She pivoted toward him and stared.
“Kiss the Monkey. I don’t know you well enough to tease you so. I was as rude as you’ve accused me to be since my arrival and?—”
She waved her hand. “That doesn’t matter.”
“You aren’t upset about the kiss?” he asked.
“No. I foolishly kissed you .”
She flushed a little, then bent her head and her breathing came shallow. He stepped closer. “If that isn’t what’s troubling you, then what is? Your upset is plain and I wish to help if I can.”
“You cannot help me,” she gasped as she pushed past him toward the door. “In fact, I would advise you to stay far away from me, my lord. And I’ll do the same with you.”
Then she was gone. He moved to the door, but she was already halfway up the hallway, not looking back, not slowing as she made her escape. He stepped back into the library and shook his head. He had no idea what had caused her to react this way. He ought not to have cared. He’d offered assistance, as was gentlemanly, and she had refused. Now he should take her advice, back his way out of all this and simply let the time that remained in the gathering tick by. Afterward he’d just forget her, go back to his life and, he hoped, eventually meet the woman who would be the lightning bolt to his heart.
And yet he stared at the door to the chamber where she had left, his mind uneasy and stomach turning. For some unfathomable reason, he liked Miss Clarissa Lockhart. And the idea that she was so miserable didn’t sit right with him. Whether it was his place to feel that way or not.
“ I must make a plan,” Clarissa said as she paced her chamber later in the day.
She was already dressed for supper and the entertainments afterward. Her mother had insisted she would play her harp for the gathering first. Oh, how she hated the harp. She’d been forced to play it for years, having instructors stand over her, rapping her knuckles if she plucked a string wrong. There was no pleasure in it for her.
But there was also no denying her parents. So she would do it, exhibit like a circus animal who did tricks. All to catch a man.
All to catch Kirkwood , if her parents had their way. She increased her pacing as the panic she had been fighting all day rose again in her chest. Matched with Kirkwood, a man who was her polar opposite, a rake and a rogue who cared little for propriety. What kind of marriage would that make? They could only discuss Othello for so long and then?
“I must make a plan,” she said again. “I must make a plan to entice one of the other gentlemen at the gathering. One who would make a better match. If I do so, Mama and Father will have no choice but to allow for it. They’ll harangue me about the missed opportunity, but they’ll settle for what they have and that will be the end of it.”
Yes, that was it. She had to do that.
Only she wasn’t certain how. How did a lady maintain decorum while also pursuing a mate? How did one force a gentleman into seeing her as a future wife without being too flashy or loud or forward? Without discussing inappropriate topics or laughing too loudly or showing too much skin and all while wearing white, white, white to show off her modesty?
There was a light knock on her door and she pivoted toward it. Who could it be? Hester, her maid, had come and gone long ago to prepare her and her mother had seemed distracted since making her statement that a match with Kirkwood would be best. Would she come back now and further her cause?
“Who—who is it?” Clarissa choked out.
“It’s Marianne. Er, Lady Ramsbury.”
Clarissa caught her breath and rushed to the door, trying to put serenity back on her face for the sake of the countess. She threw open the door and knew she’d failed when Marianne’s expression fell.
“Oh, gracious,” she said as she stepped into Clarissa’s room and shut the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Clarissa fought for further calm. “I’m fine as can be, I assure you. I’m only making my final preparations for supper and the musical presentations tonight. Are you going to play, my lady?”
Marianne tilted her head. “Clarissa.”
“Yes?”
“You have nearly worried your handkerchief in half,” she said gently.
Clarissa looked down. She’d forgotten she was holding a handkerchief, but Marianne was right. She had shredded the fabric almost in two. “Oh.”
“Something is wrong,” Marianne said. “I felt it all day. You were so quiet and seemed nervous.”
“Oh no,” Clarissa murmured. “That’s not right. A lady is to have moderation in all things. One mustn’t be able to sense her emotions too strongly.”
Marianne shook her head. “I…I don’t know what to say to that. Emotions are a human fact. They aren’t wrong.”
“No, Lady Ramsbury?—”
“Marianne,” she interrupted. “You and I knew each other a little over the years. You must call me Marianne, for I want us to be friends.”
“You see, that right there,” Clarissa said, and paced away. “It isn’t right for me to be so forward as to call you by your given name when your rank demands I address you properly. How am I to be polite by acquiescing to what you’ve asked and be proper and correct by the rules of Society all at once? How can one be meekly sportive? How? They are opposites!”
Marianne caught her hands. “You are upsetting yourself further. Please sit down with me and take a few breaths.”
Clarissa stared at her a moment and then nodded. “Yes. I’m—I’m sorry, my lady. Marianne. You’ve caught me at an…an odd moment.”
They sat on the settee by her fire and for a moment Marianne just breathed with her. Then she said, “Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you? Perhaps I could help. Or at least listen.”
Clarissa worried her lip. She did so want to tell someone what was happening. To get advice from someone who wasn’t an interested party like her parents, or an uninterested one like her cousin. George would make a joke out of all of it, which would lighten her mood, but not in any way help her solve her problem.
“Are you certain you would want to hear my troubles?” she asked. “I don’t feel right burdening you.”
“It’s no burden,” Marianne insisted, and squeezed her hand. “I understand how difficult it can be when one is trying to hold everything inside and there aren’t friends around for the release of confession. Please allow me to be of service, and tell me. I promise I won’t repeat anything you reveal.”
“Even to the earl?” she asked, thinking of how Ramsbury and Kirkwood were friends.
“I do tell Sebastian everything, he is my dearest friend,” Marianne said slowly. “But in this case, since it isn’t my secret, I don’t see why I would have any reason to share.”
Clarissa considered that a moment. Despite the promise, she would simply be careful not to reveal too many details so that Marianne wouldn’t be able to determine that her problem was Kirkwood. What would he think of her if he knew her mother’s machinations?
“I think everything is aware that I am seeking a husband.”
Marianne nodded. “As we are expected to do by Society.”
Clarissa flinched. Society’s expectations were feeling especially weighty at present and she had to fight not to return to the state where she could hardly breathe from the pressure.
“My parents arranged this gathering as a way for me to further that goal. Not unusual, but their demands have increased in the last few months.” She shook her head. “I thought I had time before they simply took matters into their own hands, but today…today…”
She couldn’t continue, she was so choked on tears that she couldn’t allow to fall. Marianne squeezed her hand again. “Go on.”
“My—my mother has declared that there is a specific match she wants me to pursue here at the gathering,” she said slowly.
“Oh. I see,” Marianne said with a frown. “And it isn’t a gentleman you are interested in?”
A vision of Lord Kirkwood seemed to shimmer in Clarissa’s mind. So tall and handsome, so utterly infuriating and also charming. And surprising in a great many ways, for he could be chivalrous and apologetic when one least expected it.
“I don’t think we’d be a good fit,” she said. “For a great many reasons.”
Marianne nodded, her expression troubled. “Arranged marriages are still the common way for those in our rank. But just because it’s considered normal doesn’t mean it’s right. I hate it, for I think it shuts the door for ladies and gentlemen to find love.”
“Oh no,” Clarissa said with a swift shake of her head. “I never expected to find love. I don’t need it.” She said it and it felt cold on her tongue, but she continued, “I always assumed I would match with someone I could bear, someone who would have some things in common with me so that we wouldn’t bore each other in the first month of marriage, someone who would offer as much as he received from the bargain. ”
Marianne almost looked sad at that assessment, but she nodded as if to encourage Clarissa to carry on, so she did. “I thought I would be allowed the opportunity to choose that gentleman myself. Of course, I may only pick from the men they throw in my path, but still. It wouldn’t be a march down an aisle toward a man who is so entirely infuriating and opposite to me.”
Marianne tilted her head. “Who is the encouraged match?”
Clarissa bit her lip. The countess was being so entirely kind that she wanted to say, but she thought again of the link between Ramsbury and Kirkwood and instead shook her head. “It is better not to reveal him.”
Marianne hesitated and then nodded. “I understand. Is there something I can do to help?”
Clarissa sighed. “When you found me here, I was pacing my room trying to come up with a plan. Any plan to avoid the machinations of my parents.”
“I suppose the best plan would be to find a match with someone else. Someone you feel is better suited to your goals.”
“Yes,” Clarissa said in relief. “That was exactly what I determined, myself. My only trouble is I don’t know who to choose and I also have no idea how to encourage a man to match. I’ve had no luck so far, after all.”
Marianne nodded. “Well, let us think about the potentials here at the party. There is Lord Crossworth. He is of an age with you and isn’t difficult to look at.”
“But I bested him at pall-mall,” Clarissa said with a shake of her head. “He was very angry that afternoon and has avoided me ever since. I think I ruined my chance there.”
The countess made a little sound in her throat. “If he couldn’t take good competition, then he doesn’t deserve you anyway.”
“Does that mean you best Lord Ramsbury at games?” Marianne said with a blink.
Marianne’s smile widened. “I think Sebastian would be more offended if I let him win than if I bested him. A good partner will enjoy seeing you at your best. He certainly shouldn’t be troubled by a challenge.”
Once again, Clarissa thought of Kirkwood and how they had battled to let each other win on the pall-mall field. He had made it fun to compete, and yes, he had been bothered that she allowed him to win.
But no, he was exactly who she shouldn’t match with.
“I think Lord Crossworth must be dismissed,” Clarissa sighed.
“What about Mr. Longford? He’s the second son of the Earl of Mulgrave.”
Clarissa worried her lip. “He hasn’t paid me much attention since his arrival. We’ve only danced once. I suppose I could try a little harder. But I do worry, Marianne, because of his rank. The gentleman my mother insists is the one for me has a title. If I come to her with this man, she’ll feel I took a step down.”
“I see.” Marianne let out her breath in a long exhale. “Well, if that’s the trouble, then we will eliminate many of the gentlemen here. Lord Anthony and Mr. Townshend are also second sons, so the trouble would be the same.”
“That leaves us with the Marquess of Mickenshire.”
Marianne met her eyes. “You realize that by naming all your potentials, or not naming one, I can deduce who it is you are trying to avoid.”
Clarissa gasped. She’d been so upset she hadn’t thought that part through. “Oh, you must think me foolish.”
“What is wrong with Kirkwood?” Marianne asked gently. “He is far closer to your age, is intelligent, handsome and he is an old friend of my husband’s, so I can vouch for his character, no matter the rake he chooses to play.”
“I don’t think he’s looking for a bride, first off,” Clarissa said. “But even if he were, he wouldn’t want it to be me any more than I would wish it to be him, I think. We started off on the wrong foot upon his arrival. I may have realized he isn’t the person I believed him to be then, but we are so opposite each other in temperament and how we believe we should move through the world. How could that ever be a good union?”
“I have very different views about marriage than you do, I think,” Marianne said after a pause. “My brother never dreamed of forcing a union on me that I would not want. When I had no success on my own, I gave up on the idea that there would be a man for me. But Sebastian and I fell in love under very odd circumstances. I can tell you that a friend becoming a lover is a wonderful thing. And that a rake with a wallflower, or at least someone far more proper than himself, can also be a wonderful match. You seem a very intelligent person. I think you underestimate the charm of someone who challenges you. Who isn’t exactly like you in the way they view the world.”
Clarissa swallowed. She’d always seen a marriage as a transaction. She’d been taught that since her youth, had never dared to dream of something more. She wasn’t about to start now, even if there was something bewitching to the tale Marianne spun.
“It wouldn’t work for me,” Clarissa said softly. “And so that leaves me with Mickenshire.”
Marianne’s lips pursed. “I can say nothing untoward about the man, but that he is so much older than you are, my dear. And his desires for his marriage are patently clear.”
“He wants his heir, yes.” Clarissa blushed. She knew very little about how that was acquired, but what she did know didn’t make her feel better about this. “I would do my best to provide that. His rank would appease my parents and he certainly is viewed with great respect.”
“Because he’s older than Zeus, himself,” Marianne said with a dry chuckle. “One must respect someone who has been around since the beginning of time immemorial.”
Clarissa giggled despite herself. “He isn’t that ancient. You are very wicked.”
“But it made you laugh, so it was worth it.” Marianne grasped her hand again. “I can see you’re a woman who cannot be deterred when you make your mind up. And I understand what it’s like to be in an untenable position. So if I can help you land your gentleman, I will if you’d like.”
Clarissa shifted in her place. “I’d be grateful for your assistance.”
And she was. But there was something in her chest that made that statement feel like a lie. A sinking horror at the idea that she might actually succeed at making a match with the marquess. Not because she thought him terrible, of course, but because she realized how little she was interested in the man.
But her interest didn’t matter, did it? Attraction was a lark that would fade anyway. What she needed was a longer-term stability and a matching of temperaments. It was time to stop mincing around and do her duty, before it was done for her.
“Thank you,” she said. “You are too good.”
Marianne nodded as they rose together, but she didn’t look certain. And any certainty Clarissa felt was fleeting and forced. But this was her life. She was going to lead it.