Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
T he rest of the country party had flown by in a blur. Just as Roderick had suspected they would, Clarissa’s parents hadn’t allowed for him to spend time alone with her. They were always chaperoned by one or the other of them. Always kept from putting their heads together. He supposed that was to keep them from conspiring to break the engagement.
Now they were back in London, he’d arranged for the special license two days before and tomorrow was the wedding. This was almost over. Everything he’d built his hopes and dreams around was almost over.
He bent his head and stared at the desk in his study, wishing a hole would open up and he could tumble down into it and escape the future. Not because of Clarissa—she was as much a victim as he was—but because he no longer had any agency over what would happen next.
There was a knock at the study door and he straightened. “Enter.”
His butler, Stevenson, stepped into the room. “I beg your pardon, my lord. The Earls of Ramsbury and Delacourt have arrived, along with Viscount Lockhart. ”
Roderick blinked and rose. “Oh. Was I expecting them and forgot amidst the rush?”
“Not that you told me. Would you like me to tell them you aren’t in residence?”
“No,” Roderick said with a shake of his head. “I’ll join them. You needn’t announce me, I know the staff is very busy preparing for the wedding gathering tomorrow and the preparation of the new countess’s chamber. Where are they?”
“The blue parlor, my lord.” Stevenson bowed his way out and Roderick followed a moment later, smoothing his jacket as he made his way to the parlor in question. He stepped inside to find the three men pouring themselves drinks. Ramsbury lifted the bottle of whisky with a grin as he entered.
“One for the groom, as well?” he asked.
Roderick flinched a little at the word, but nodded. “Er, yes. Good evening, Ramsbury. George.” The two men nodded in acknowledgment. He looked at the third, the Earl of Delacourt. Another old friend from school. “And Delacourt. I haven’t seen you since your marriage. How are you?”
Delacourt inclined his head. “Devastatingly happy, had no idea a person could be so. Though the transition is still awkward.”
Roderick frowned. Delacourt’s new countess had once been known as Lady Charlotte, daughter of a marquess. She had disappeared right after her father’s death and the mystery had kept Society whispering for years. Her reappearance, then swift marriage to Delacourt along with the hanging her father’s heir for a litany of crimes, had caused those whispers to grow ever higher. The pair were often accepted, but just as likely to be shunned by those in Society.
He thought of Clarissa and her death-locked grip on propriety. This was why, after all. It was easy to lose standing for things far less impactful than the dramas that had felled Delacourt and his wife.
Not that the man looked felled. He almost glowed with happiness.
“And now you shall join our little club,” Delacourt said, and slung and arm around Roderick’s shoulders. “George, you must find a bride soon, as well.”
George wrinkled his nose. “Great God, no. I shall not marry until I’m in my sixties, and then only to produce the damned heir my eventual title demands.”
The others laughed. Ramsbury nudged Delacourt as he handed over the drink. “Sounds familiar.”
“We came here for Kirkwood,” George said. “Not to harass me.”
“For me?” Roderick said and sipped his drink.
“Because you are to be married tomorrow,” Ramsbury said. “And there hasn’t exactly been celebrating out in the countryside, has there?”
Roderick glanced at George, who shrugged, as if giving him permission to grouse. “No,” he said slowly. “Clarissa is as much a victim of this rushed union as I am, but her parents…”
George laughed. “You needn’t cut yourself off for me. My aunt and uncle are like cackling crows, cawing out their triumph without a thought to how desperate and pale both the future husband and wife look.”
Roderick finished his drink and set the glass down. He thought of Clarissa in her bedchamber, the night they had last been alone. When they’d spoken about what a marriage would look like. He’d been attracted to her then. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted her to want to kiss him. At least there would be that.
He sighed. “Not entirely desperate,” he said. “Though I can only speak for myself. Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart were very careful to keep Clarissa and I apart after the engagement.”
George pursed his lips. “They do love to cut off their noses despite their faces, those two. They have so little faith in my cousin that they cannot see that if the two of you were allowed to get to know each other better, it would smooth the way for the marriage.”
“I suppose we’ll have a lifetime to get to know each other after tomorrow.” Roderick sighed and poured himself another drink. He didn’t want to get drunk. He wanted to be sharp and aware for tomorrow, so he sipped this one more slowly. “I hope we can become friends over time.”
Ramsbury wrinkled his brow. “I thought you were the great believer in true love.”
“But I’d know by now, certainly,” Roderick said.
“It took Marianne and I years to fall in love,” Ramsbury said. “Much to the disapproval of this one here.” He pointed at Delacourt, who gave a brief, playfully dark look.
“I very much approve of you making my sister happy,” he said with a little smile. “As for Esme and I, she certainly wasn’t in love with me the moment we met. And I felt desire for her, but I wouldn’t have labeled it love.”
“And I don’t believe in love at all.” George laughed and threw up his hands. “So I’m not any help. Though I do think if anyone could convince a man to love, it’s my dear cousin. Tightly wound as she has been trained to be, she is also the very best of women.”
Roderick stared into the amber liquid of his drink. His two married friends, at least, were challenging his idea that love was a lightning bolt, instantaneously felt and understood. They were implying that he could fall in love with Clarissa. It was an odd thought. One that gave his chest the strangest ache.
Still, he wasn’t ready to give up the plans, the hopes and dreams he’d spent his life cultivating. Not even to spin up an illusion that would make all of this more palatable.
“Either way,” he murmured. “This is happening tomorrow. So I must toast the marriage, toast my future bride, and toast the hope that we’ll come to some accord that will keep us content through a long life together.”
He lifted his glass and his friends exchanged worried looks, but then did the same. “To Kirkwood and Clarissa,” Delacourt said.
They clinked glasses and Roderick downed the rest. If he’d hoped to spend the evening getting some level of calm before the wedding, that had not happened. His mind was only more tangled now. He only hoped Clarissa was having a better time across London.
“ T omorrow is your wedding and I believe it is time you and I had a talk.”
Clarissa looked up from the letter she had been writing and found her mother had entered the parlor and was worrying her hands at the door. “A talk?” she repeated, rising from the escritoire and coming toward Mrs. Lockhart.
“About…about your wedding night.” Her mother blushed dark red.
Clarissa’s heart jumped a little. She’d expected her mother to have this conversation with her after any engagement she managed to procure, and here the moment was. Her stomach turned a little.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I see. The talk.”
Her mother waved her to the settee and took a place beside her. She glared at Clarissa, almost as if she was doing something wrong. “Do you know anything?”
“No, Mama. Few of my friends are married and those that are don’t exactly go around talking about their, er, relations with their husbands. I know very little.”
She thought for a moment about the way Roderick’s mouth had felt against hers when he kissed her. About the heated thrill his touch caused to ricochet through her body. In the library she had wanted more. She didn’t know what more was, but she’d still felt this base longing for it. Something she wasn’t certain was wrong or right.
“A marriage is meant for procreation,” her mother began. “Especially when it comes to a man like Kirkwood, who is titled. He’ll want at least an heir and a spare for inheritance. And since women cannot control whether we produce a boy or girl child, that means you may not be able to fulfill your duty with only two pregnancies. Anything can happen."
Clarissa heard the bitterness in her mother’s tone and worried her lip. She had long known what a disappointment she had been as the only viable pregnancy her mother had been able to complete. Her parents had wanted more children, boys preferably, but even more girls to marry off. But in the end, it had just been her. Her to place all their hopes and goals and disappointments on.
The weight still felt so heavy.
“I realize that part of my purpose as countess will be to bear children,” she said.
“Your main purpose, more than anything else you do. A purpose you may be forced to sacrifice your life for.” Her mother shook her head. “It is the only thing of real value you can provide to keep a man interested in you as his wife.”
Clarissa flinched at that thought that her intelligence or wit or kindness would hold less or no interest to Roderick. He hadn’t seemed to agree with that, but it didn’t mean her mother was wrong. Especially since the forced engagement had stolen the very romantic future he’d already admitted to wishing for.
“So you must be open to doing your duty at any time or place your husband requests,” her mother continued. “Even if you don’t wish it. Even if you don’t like it. You just lie there and go somewhere else in your mind and know that you are doing your part in creating a future for your family and your country.”
“What exactly is my duty, though?” Clarissa asked. “What are you implying I shall lie there and have done to me?”
Her mother got up and poured herself a sherry, which she gulped down with a gasp. “A man and woman must rut, my dear, in order to create children. In that way we are nothing better than animals. Your earl will make his demands. He’ll lift your nightrail and then…then he’ll unfastened his trousers and put his member in you.”
“His member?” Clarissa repeated as her eyes widened. “Oh. You mean…”
“Yes, that thing between his legs. It isn’t very nice, but it’s necessary. He’ll move around and it will pinch and hurt a little. Sometimes more than a little. Finally, he’ll be done with it and leave. Once he does, I suggest you lie on your back for a while and lift up your legs to help the miracle of life along. The sooner you complete your duty, the sooner the requests will go away. He’ll likely even find someone else to go bother with them. Men have mistresses. It’s the way of the world.”
Disappointment filled Clarissa at this description. When Roderick had kissed her, it had been so nice. So gentle, and yet it filled her with a sensation she couldn’t name. But her mother described what came next as unpleasant.
Plus, the idea that Roderick might find another woman to go to with his desires was a little frightening. What if he felt that powerful explosion of love he expected with another person? What if their marriage became entirely empty while he shared everything else with a mistress who he actually cared for?
“And that’s that,” her mother said, and smiled. As if she’d just given Clarissa good news. “Has your father talked to you about your marriage contract?”
Clarissa almost laughed. “I assure you, Father has discussed nothing with me. Why?”
“Well, your Kirkwood has been very generous with his agreement regarding your monthly pin money. He seems to be as rich as we had hoped. You should send as much of that to us as you can. Three-quarters of it.”
Clarissa blinked. “You wish me to give you most of my pin money?”
“Well, we’re paying a dowry and that has stripped a great deal of funds.”
“I see.”
She didn’t. She had actually been aware of how much that dowry was. A measly five hundred pounds and a little house on the edge of her grandfather’s estate that was run down. That miserly sum was probably part of why she’d struggled to find a husband. Men married for money. At least in her world.
“We have sacrificed all our lives for you, Clarissa.” Her mother’s voice was sharp now. “You will send the funds along to help us. And encourage your husband to support us with additional funds, as well.”
Clarissa swallowed. All her books reminded her that she was never to refuse her parents. To do so would be impertinent. So she nodded even though she resented the demand so very deeply. It seemed they would take everything from her in the end, even the pleasures she could choose for herself from her pin money.
Her mother drew a sharp breath to continue when their butler, Boulton, stepped up from the hallway. “Mrs. Lockhart, Miss Lockhart has visitors. The Countesses of Ramsbury and Delacourt.”
Her mother pivoted first to Boulton and then back to Clarissa. “You see? An important marriage has its benefits. Though…Lady Delacourt.” She pulled a face. “A scandal there. But still. Let them in. Of course, we wish to see them.”
Clarissa rose, still smarting from the conversation with her mother and tried to force a serene expression as Marianne and Lady Delacourt entered the room. Clarissa couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath. Lady Delacourt was truly stunning, with thick red hair and the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Both women wore brightly colored gowns of expensive silk and for a moment Clarissa felt drab in her simple white gown and light brown pelisse.
“Mrs. Lockhart, Clarissa,” Lady Ramsbury said as she and Lady Delacourt gave little nods to both of them. “I know we weren’t expected, but I hope we are still welcome.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Lockhart said, and smiled at Lady Ramsbury but sniffed at Lady Delacourt. “What a delightful honor to see you both.”
Clarissa’s cheeks grew heated at her mother’s subtle dismissal of Lady Delacourt, but the countess didn’t seem to mind. She gave a little smirk and then smiled broadly at Clarissa.
“Miss Lockhart,” she said as she came across the room with hands outstretched. “How happy I am to hear about your marriage. I wish you the greatest felicitations.”
“Thank you, Lady Delacourt.”
“We came in the hopes we could help the bride pass a few hours,” Marianne said to Mrs. Lockhart. “I know I was dreadfully nervous the night before my marriage. Perhaps we could steal her away in the parlor and giggle like schoolgirls for one last time. ”
Mrs. Lockhart’s smile fell as it was made very gently but also firmly clear that she was not invited to this event. She pursed her lips. “What a lovely idea. I’m sure my daughter would appreciate it. I’ll leave you then.”
She gave a quick curtsey and exited the room. Marianne shut the door behind her and then crossed to where Lady Delacourt was still standing with Clarissa. “ Is it appreciated?” she asked gently. “Esme and I would never intrude if it weren’t. I don’t want your mother to speak for you.”
“Somehow I sense she knows you very little at all,” Lady Delacourt added softly.
Clarissa glanced at the two countesses. She had become very fond of Marianne at the country party. There was nothing but kindness to her. And she and Lady Delacourt shared the sting of a scandal, even if hers was far less shocking than the return of a missing lady from who knew where.
“I think a little time with friends would be wonderful,” she said. “Thank you for coming, Marianne. My lady.”
“Esme,” Lady Delacourt insisted. “If we are to be friends, I must be called Esme.”
Clarissa nodded. She’d learned from Marianne that there was no use arguing against such a request. And she supposed that tomorrow she would join the ranks of the countesses of Society. So it wasn’t so deep a breach. At least that was what she told herself. “May I call for tea or pour some sherry?”
“Let me,” Esme said. “You are pale as paper. Make her sit, Marianne.”
Marianne took her arm and led her to the settee as Esme went to the sideboard and dug around in the bottles there looking for something for them to drink.
“I felt as though we interrupted something with your mother,” Marianne said. “I’m not sure if I should apologize for that or not.”
“I’ll thank you for it,” Clarissa said, and smiled up at Esme as she handed her a crystal class with a splash of sherry. Esme sat in the chair across from the settee and leaned forward. She was very focused in her attention, as if every word Clarissa said was important.
“Ah, so it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.” Marianne squeezed her hands. “I’m sorry, my dear.”
“And now you’ve gone from pale to red as a tomato,” Esme said. “Which makes me think I know exactly what your mother was discussing with you.”
Marianne’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Is that true? She was having the talk with you?”
Clarissa squirmed. Ladies didn’t talk about such things. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She knew the married ladies sometimes discussed private matters. Discreetly. But they always stopped talking when the unmarried women entered the room.
“I’m embarrassed to admit it,” Clarissa said. “But…yes, she was.”
“And you look sick,” Marianne said slowly.
“How could I not be when someone speaks of such horrors?”
“Horrors?” Esme repeated with a quick glance toward Marianne. “Oh dear. That sounds terrifying. And wrong.”
“Wrong?” Clarissa repeated and her cheeks had never felt so hot in her entire life. “Oh. She would know, though, wouldn’t she?”
“It depends,” Marianne said gently. “I know there are some ladies who don’t like what happens in their bedchambers. And there are some who very, very much do.”
That was encouraging at least. Clarissa shifted and bit her lip as she looked from one woman to the other. She had seen the connection between Marianne and Lord Ramsbury—it was impossible not to see it whenever they were near each other. She’d also heard that Esme and Lord Delacourt had also married for love. Shocking, passionate love.
“Would you like to tell us what she said?” Esme encouraged, her expression softening. “And then we can…we could correct her if we feel she isn’t right.”
“Or at least tell you if there are other opinions,” Marianne added.
Clarissa’s chest felt tight and it was hard to draw breath. Everything in her books would scream at her to never, ever say such things to her friends. But in that moment her need to have solace and support overrode propriety. She had to say this out loud to someone. Had to calm the fears her mother had put into her.
She glanced at the door as if her mother would come raging into the chamber, and then told the two women what had been described to her. Both of their expressions grew increasingly horrified with every word. And Clarissa became more and more embarrassed. She was utterly relieved when she finished and bent her head. “So that is all.”
“That poor woman,” Esme muttered, and slugged back her sherry in one gulp.
“Esme,” Marianne said softly, but she also finished her drink and handed the empty glass to her sister-in-law to refill as she took Clarissa’s hands. “I think anyone would be nervous if they were told such things about what happens between a man and woman. That doesn’t sound nice at all. But it also doesn’t have to be accurate.”
Clarissa shifted. “It doesn’t?”
“No!” Esme burst out as she turned back with the full glasses. “Lord, no.”
Marianne pursed her lips at Esme. “Gracious, my dear, let’s be gentle about this.”
Esme set her glass down and held her hands up as if in surrender. “My delightful and kind and wonderful sister-in-law is far better at gentle, while I am perhaps known in our family to be more direct. I think there’s value to both. Which variety of opinion would you like first?”
“Perhaps we start with direct?” Clarissa said slowly. “After all, my mother could return to interrupt us at any moment.”
Esme looked triumphant at that and Marianne let out a little laugh. “Yes, you’ve won. Go ahead. Though I’m not sure I should listen, as you are married to my brother.”
“You can cover your ears if it becomes too much,” Esme said with a little wink. “Now, Clarissa, I suppose the physicality of what your mother told you is correct. Technically a man will put his cock?—”
“Esme!” Marianne seemed horrified at the word, which made Clarissa blush even hotter.
“What? That’s what it’s called. You learned it, she should know it, too.”
Marianne glared at her sister-in-law but it seemed to be playful. “One should never tell you secrets. Go ahead, though. You cannot be stopped, I know.”
“A cock,” Clarissa said weakly. “That’s what he calls his member.”
Esme nodded. “Yes. He’ll put that inside of you and yes, he’ll—” She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Move around, as she put it. And eventually he’ll spend, which is what she meant when she said it would be over. The result of that could be a child. But other than the technicalities, your mother is full of shite. Horse shite, to be more specific.”
Despite herself, Clarissa laughed. Then she covered her mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t laugh at that.”
Marianne put an arm around her. “In this instance, you are safe to do so. You’re amongst friends. You needn’t worry about our impressions or reactions.”
“I actually like you more for laughing,” Esme said. “If that helps.”
Clarissa drew a long breath. “Very well, tell me where she has it wrong. If it isn’t the horror that she described, what is it like?”
“Do you understand what a rake is known for?” Marianne asked.
“I suppose for behaving wildly. For being linked to women, many women.” She shivered at that thought.
“Yes. And the reason he can connect with all those women is because he is very good at, er, relations,” Marianne said gently. “Women wouldn’t fall into his arms if he were so rote and unfeeling about his partners. I obviously don’t know Lord Kirkwood beyond his friendship with my brother and my husband. But if he is anything like them, if he earned his reputation as they both did, one would assume he also has skill. That he would take care with a partner and ensure her pleasure before he thought of his own.”
“Her pleasure would be part of his pleasure,” Esme murmured, and there was a light that came into her face when she said it. “It is intoxicating, really.”
Clarissa squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind was being bombarded with all kinds of opposing thoughts. Reminders that ladies did not speak of such things, images of Roderick’s handsome face close to hers before he kissed her. She felt caged now, trapped by everything she didn’t know, everything she thought she knew, everything she wanted and hated herself for.
“Will you truly not judge me?” she asked, hardly able to get her voice above a whisper.
“Never in your lifetime or ours,” Esme replied instantly. There was a kindness to her gentle tone. Something that said she had endured and now held strength and understanding for anyone who needed it. Clarissa clung to that strength with all her might.
“He…Roderick…Kirkwood…kissed me in the library,” she said slowly, for she hadn’t told anyone this truth yet. “ That was why we were forced to marry. We were caught by my parents and our vicar and they insisted there must be a reckoning.”
Marianne shook her head. “I wondered.”
“And even though there were so many terrible consequences for it, when he kissed me I-I liked it. I felt things. Like I was warm all over, like I tingled in places that made me blush.”
“ That is desire, my dear,” Esme said, and smiled softly. “When Kirkwood touches you on your wedding night, when he readies you for the parts your mother so inadequately described, you’ll feel that desire grow. Multiply. And then all you’ll want is for him to do more.”
Marianne nodded. “It’s true. Yes, there’s a little nervousness about doing something that feels so strange, something we women have been trained to fear and avoid. But it can be wonderful. Something that bonds you together, something you’ll find yourself craving whenever you look at him and see that certain gleam in his eye. Passion is something I think every woman should experience.”
Clarissa’s body flexed at that idea, almost against her will. Again, she was torn between two seemingly opposing truths: that she should shun such things, but that she could want them. Should want them.
“Says the former very innocent wallflower,” Esme teased gently, and startled Clarissa from her thoughts with those words. “So you know she’s right.”
Clarissa smiled at them. “You have made me feel better. I hope your version of my wedding night and any night beyond it will be the true one.”
Marianne nodded. “As do I. I recommend, though, that you speak to him about how you feel. I’m sure he’ll guess you’re nervous, but the more you communicate, the easier the entire thing will be.”
Though that made perfect sense, Clarissa shifted. Talk to Roderick about all this? That seemed impossible. He was just too…too big and certain and…and male. They were still on shifting sands, even though they had declared they could be friends. Discussing something so intimate with someone barely more than a stranger felt wrong somehow. A breaking of those rules that pressed down on her at present.
“I’ll try,” she promised, and then shook her head. “We shouldn’t talk about this anymore. You’ve been so kind already. But why don’t we just pretend that I’m not getting married tomorrow and we’re just friends gathered to talk about normal things? Tell me some gossip, hopefully not about myself, or inform me where to buy the best hats. Anything but this.”
Esme laughed. “I think we can do that.”
“Absolutely,” Marianne agreed, and then the two of them launched into conversations meant to distract and soothe her.
She appreciated it enormously and it did help. But she couldn’t help but still think about Roderick, her wedding in less than twenty-four hours, and what would happen afterward that would change their relationship forever. She just hoped she would be ready for it.