Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
W ednesday wasn’t Roderick’s usual day to go to Ripley’s Boxing Club, but he found himself there the moment the doors opened regardless. After a night of reading The Mirror of Graces , he needed to exert a little rage.
In the ring, he shuffled left, watching the Earl of Ramsbury match his movement. It was only practice and Ramsbury held a pad for training punches. He darted out a hand and slammed it into the center of the pad as hard as he could, sending a ricochet back up through his arm. He shook out his hand as Ramsbury staggered back a fraction.
“Jesus,” the earl said as he righted himself. “You’re hitting hard today. Problems you wish to discuss?”
Roderick held back a bitter bark of laughter. That was one way to put it. He had a great deal of problems with a book that told women, told his wife , that she must hold back all she was. That any reaction was an overreaction, that if she wasn’t always thinking about consequences for all actions, from the gown she wore to the words she spoke, they could rain down on her like fire from the sky and tear her world apart. And most of the advice was contrary, making it almost impossible to follow.
“Kirkwood? ”
He blinked as he realized he had been staring at Ramsbury for far too long. He swung again, this time with more metered strength. “Your wife,” he said slowly. “She was a wallflower, wasn’t she?”
A little smile tilted Ramsbury’s lips. “Indeed, she was.”
Roderick threw a punch again but found no solace in the thunk of flesh against leather. “Was she obsessed with propriety?”
Ramsbury’s brows lifted. “I suppose all ladies are in some ways. They’re directed to be since childhood.”
When Roderick thought of Clarissa’s childhood, he swung hard again and nearly deposited himself on his arse in the process. “It’s fucking awful.”
Ramsbury stepped back and lowered the pads. “What is wrong with you, Kirkwood? You look like you haven’t slept and you want to burn the world down. Come, let’s sit so you don’t hurt yourself or me and talk about it.”
Ramsbury motioned toward some of the seats that were faced toward the big ring in the middle of the room. During exhibitions that was where the matches were held. Right now, though, the owner of the club, Campbell Ripley, was locked in battle with one of the professional fighters he trained.
Roderick sighed as he followed Ramsbury to a seat. For a while, they just watched the two men. The fighter was an up-and-comer who went by Lucky, but at the moment he wasn’t particularly. Ripley was far faster than his prodigy, his hips swiveling easily, his punches coming out and landing with frustrating accuracy. The boy was doing his best to keep up, though, shifting his weight, ducking under strikes.
Ramsbury let out a laugh. “I think this is why Ripley doesn’t let many gentlemen in this time of the morning. It’s too obvious we’re all amateurs compared to them.”
Roderick nodded. That much was very evident. As was his poor behavior a moment ago. He glanced at Ramsbury. “I apologize for my lack of control in the ring. You needn’t trouble yourself about my worries.”
“I think we’re friends of a sort. Certainly, we’ll become better ones as I hear my wife and our sister-in-law are determined to become close to your Clarissa. She is all Marianne and Esme could talk about after your wedding.”
Roderick couldn’t help but smile. “I hope they will be friends. Both of them seem like excellent women and Clarissa deserves to be appreciated by all who meet her.”
“Yes,” Ramsbury said slowly. “At any rate, I’m happy to discuss whatever you need.”
Roderick ran a hand through his hair restlessly. “I would appreciate it. After all, I might normally discuss the problem with Lockhart, but with Clarissa being his cousin and him being firmly unmarried?—”
“Yes, I see the problem.” Ramsbury nodded.
Roderick dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “Have you ever encountered one of those comportment books that ladies are sometimes given? One in particular, Mirror of Graces ?”
Ramsbury’s blank expression answered the question even before he shook his head. “No.”
“Well, it’s a conduct manual. My wife has apparently been so browbeaten her entire life that she believes she must live by its every rule. So I read it last night, every awful word of it, trying to understand.”
“That sounds dire.”
“It was.” Roderick ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea these were the concepts the women in our lives are drowned in. To be told one must be demure in all things, and yet still be lively? To never allow for any strong emotions, no matter the circumstances?”
Ramsbury pulled a face. “Dear God.”
“It says that a woman must never copy another in their behavior.”
“Why?” Ramsbury asked slowly.
“For fear of being called a poor reproduction. And yet Clarissa is also expected to follow the same rules as that other woman or risk shunning or worse. It’s not possible to do it all. ”
“It sounds as if there is no allowance for humanity,” Ramsbury said.
“Exactly!” Roderick felt the anger rising in him again. “There is no ability for her to stand up for herself. No wonder Clarissa started off in a battle with me. She has been in a battle with herself for all her life. It’s all she knows and I am left to watch it tear her apart.”
Ramsbury was quiet a moment, simply observing Roderick. “It sounds as though you care a great deal about the pain that causes her.”
“I-I do.” Roderick blinked. Why did those words feel like a form of confession?
“Have you ever questioned why?”
He shifted in his seat and watched Ripley dodge a punch in the ring before them. It truly felt like he was doing the same, even though this was a friendly conversation he had requested that they have. “It’s my duty as her husband to take care of her, is it not?”
“Certainly.” Ramsbury shrugged. “At the minimum, it is. What do you want to do?”
Roderick though of Clarissa’s face the night before when he’d confronted her about her parents’ greedy behavior. She’d looked so defeated beneath the stony exterior she tried to put on to protect herself. It was heartbreaking.
“I want…I want to help her challenge these notions. We may have been forced into this union, but my God, there is no reason for her not to be able to wield the power and influence her new title gives her. I want to help her see that she can still be the epitome of a lady without giving away all her emotions and ignoring her every need.”
“And how will you start doing that?” Ramsbury had a little smile on his face, almost smug, which Roderick didn’t fully understand. He chose to ignore it and pondered the question. How would one start introducing the power of choice to a person who had given up on her ability to have any?
“The dresses,” he said softly.
“I beg your pardon?” Ramsbury said, his brow wrinkling in confusion .
Roderick shook his head. “Nothing, nothing. But you’ll need to excuse me. I have something I need to do.”
He stood and so did Ramsbury. “I won’t keep you, but Kirkwood?”
Roderick had started to go, but he stopped and turned back. “Yes?”
“I told you before that Marianne and I were friends for years before I finally woke up and realized what a treasure she was. Until I saw I was in love with her.” Ramsbury took a step toward him. “I know you’ve always believed in the lightning that sometimes strikes when a man meets the love of his life. But lightning doesn’t have to strike out of nowhere. It can strike in the middle of a storm, too. It can strike after the storm has been building on the horizon for weeks, months, even years. If you are planning to challenge Clarissa’s beliefs, perhaps you need to challenge some of your own, as well.”
Roderick’s heart began to pound at those words, his chest aching at the idea. Why was it so terrifying? He swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
“I will.” Roderick extended a hand and the men shook. “Thank you, Ramsbury.”
He pivoted then and hurried from the club. He had a duty to perform, but also a great deal to think about. He only hoped he could sort it all out in his tangled mind.
C larissa paced her chamber, too restless to work on the letter she’d been trying to write for the last hour. All she could think about was that Roderick had been gone all day. She hadn’t seen him since the previous night and their argument in his chamber.
Why had she let that happen? Why had she allowed her emotions to smash on the rocks like some petulant child with no control? Now all that was left was discomfort and problems in their wake.
She needed to repair it. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just a need. She wanted to repair the damage. To go back to the closeness she’d felt with him since their wedding .
She stopped pacing and covered her eyes a moment. “Little fool,” she whispered. “This isn’t a marriage like that. Even if it seems confusing when you touch or laugh together.”
She just had to keep reminding herself of that.
She opened her eyes and her gaze found the wrapped paper package on her dressing table that contained the copy of Othello she’d purchased for Roderick the day before. She’d meant to give it to him after supper the previous night, but their argument had stopped her. Perhaps this could be her olive branch?
There was a knock at her door and she turned to find her maid, Hester, at the entrance from the antechamber. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady, but you wished to know when Lord Kirkwood returned from his outing. He’s just back now and went straight to his chamber.”
Clarissa caught her breath. He was so close and yet he hadn’t knocked on her door.
“Th-thank you,” she gasped out. “I’ll ring when I wish to ready myself for supper.”
Hester bobbed out a curtsey and left her. When she heard the outer chamber door close, Clarissa stepped to her mirror and looked at herself. She hadn’t slept well and there were light shadows beneath her eyes and her cheeks were pale. She pinched them to bring in some color, smoothed her gown and then took the package before she headed through the antechamber and stood before Roderick’s door. It was cracked a little and inside she could hear the splash of water from the basin inside. Her heart was throbbing then, almost like it would burst from her chest, and she placed a hand against the carved wood in the hopes she could ground herself.
It didn’t work and so she sighed as she pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. He was standing at the basin, splashing water on his face. His back was to her and he hadn’t heard her, it seemed, so she took a moment to stare. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his back flexed in the most distracting way. She wanted to trace the muscles there with her fingertip, her tongue. She wanted to feel him turn into her and his arms come around her like the prior night hadn’t even happened.
“Roderick?” she said softly.
He started and turned. Now her breath was gone entirely. His hair was messy, rivulets of water streaked down his handsome face and neck, dripping onto his chest. Her hands shook from wanting to touch him, like a wanton who couldn’t control herself. In that moment, she didn’t give a damn. She could only hope she hadn’t ruined all this, that he might still want her if she could only find the right words to coax him back to her side for a little while.
“Clarissa,” he said, and he smiled. The relief that filled her at that gentle expression was almost overwhelming. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked at them so he wouldn’t see.
She gathered the paper-wrapped book closer to her chest like it was a shield against the vulnerability she felt in that moment. “I-I didn’t know when you would return after…after our quarrel last night.”
His expression softened a little. “I worried you.”
She didn’t want to, but she found herself nodding. He said nothing, but closed the distance between them in a long step. Gently, he removed the book from her arms and set it aside on the closest table, then took her hand. His fingers intertwined with hers, skin stroking skin before he lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles.
“I’m so sorry. I only planned to be gone a short time this morning, but I was distracted by other duties that came up. I should have sent word. If it happens again, I will.”
She blinked at the unexpected reaction. “I-I’m being silly.”
He shook his head. “Oh, Clarissa. It’s not silly to feel as you feel. You can always do that with me.”
Something inside of her fluttered and she tugged her hand from his. He let her go and said nothing as she turned toward the table where he had placed her gift. “I’m glad you returned,” she said, trying to keep her tone as normal as possible when it felt like her heart was in her throat. “I have something for you.”
He looked at the package. “For me?”
She nodded as she picked it up and held it out. “I meant to give it you yesterday until…”
He took it. “A gift?”
He sounded astonished at the idea and now her nerves returned. What it he didn’t like it? Or thought it silly? Or didn’t even recall the tenuous connection they’d made over Shakespeare weeks ago? She reached for the package. “Perhaps we should wait.”
He was already tugging the ribbon. “No, I’d love to see it.” The paper fell away and he stared at the book for a moment, his reaction unclear until he looked at her again and she saw his gaze lit up with pure pleasure.
In that moment she knew, in a way she’d tried to ignore and pretend away and keep at a distance, that she was going to end up with her heart broken by him. There was nothing she could do about it.