Chapter Three #2
Finally, her father guided them to a corner of the ballroom and took two glasses of wine from a passing footman.
As she sipped, several gentlemen approached, asking to sign her dance card.
That was how she spent the rest of the night—dancing with strange men, making small talk, or being grilled about her hygiene and daily routines.
Some had the nerve to ask to see her teeth.
All of it she found invasive. She mumbled answers to the questions she thought appropriate and ignored the ones she didn’t.
Either way, she didn’t give a damn what these men thought of her.
If they would stoop so low as to buy her from her father, then she had no respect for them, nor did she want to get to know them.
She found herself in the arms of the Marquess of Dowding, who, she admitted, was handsome with his deep burgundy hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose.
“I’m sorry for what your father is doing to you.”
It was the first time anyone had mentioned it, and she nearly froze on the spot. Her heart accelerated, and her body quivered from head to toe.
“Forgive me for being so forward and upsetting you. I just want you to understand my feelings on this. I’m dancing with you to please Portsmouth, but I’m not going to buy my bride. I’m neither desperate nor in any hurry to wed.”
Things were getting worse for her. She could feel the heat rising up her neck and encompassing her entire face, no doubt turning it bright pink. His green eyes fixed on hers, expecting a reply. “Th-thank you. I’m only allowing this to help my family.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could find it in myself to offer for you and save you from the clutches of a disreputable gentleman, but I’m holding out for the elusive love marriage.
I sincerely hope things turn out well for you.
” He bowed as the dance ended, then escorted her back to her father, who had a hopeful expression on his face.
She could shake her head and alleviate his curiosity, but she refused to make his life easier. Not until he ended his madness.
When they were alone, he asked, “Well, what about the marquess?” When she didn’t answer right away, he gripped her upper arm rather tightly, hurting her.
“He is not interested in purchasing a wife. He is also not in a rush to wed.” Laughter burst out before she could stop it, and she slapped her gloved hand over her mouth to stifle it.
“He is a romantic and holding out for love. I’m going to the ladies’ retiring room.
” Not only did she need to relieve her bladder, but she also needed some time alone without her father.
Opening the door to the retiring room, she sighed with relief upon finding it unoccupied.
After taking care of her needs, she sat in one of several chairs around the small room.
Her feet hurt inside her shoes, and painful blisters had already formed on the backs of her heels.
She was about to kick them off when the door opened and two older women, whom Clarice didn’t know, entered.
“What a pleasant surprise to find you in here,” said one of the ladies, dressed in forest green. “Are you enjoying the ball?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I was disappointed that your mother didn’t accompany you this evening,” said the same lady as she patted her brown hair streaked with gray. “I’ve met her several times, and she is a lovely woman.”
“She isn’t feeling well this evening. Perhaps you’ll see her again soon.”
“I hope so.”
Clarice stood and curtsied. “If you will both excuse me.” Before she took a step, the other lady, dressed in navy blue, placed her arm around hers and smiled sadly.
“I’m the Marchioness of Dowding and I saw you dancing with my son, who is now the marquess. Is there anything we can do for you?”
Before she broke down in tears from the marchioness’s kindness and her own shame, Clarice hurried out the door.
Instead of going into the ballroom, she lingered in the large entryway and sat on a bench between two potted palms. One glance at her dance card showed several names she owed dances to, but there was nothing that would make her step inside that ballroom again tonight.
Her father could drag her kicking and screaming, as far as she was concerned. She would not put herself through any more shame or embarrassment. He would have to find another way to sell her. She refused to be paraded in front of half the ton.
It wasn’t long before her father sought her out. “Here you are. Why are you out here?” he snapped.
“Because I’m ready to leave. I will not go back in there.
I’ve had enough mortification for one evening.
” Without waiting to see what he did, she hurried down the stairs, stopped at the door, retrieved her cloak from the butler, and stepped outside.
The racing of her heart calmed when she realized he had followed her and was signaling their driver.
The ride home was tense and silent. Her father glared at her, letting her know he was displeased with her. Too bad. It was time she stood up for herself. She would need to if she was to survive what he planned for her.
With Mrs. Shelley’s help, she undressed, put on her night clothes, and climbed into bed with a relieved sigh, finally home and back in the privacy of her chambers. What was even more relieving was being without her father’s company. After the trying evening, she fell asleep quickly.
Morning arrived quickly as well. Afternoon tea and visitor time came even faster.
When Clarice arrived in the drawing room, she froze in the doorway at the sight of four gentlemen standing around talking with her father.
Taking a deep breath for courage and strength, Clarice stepped into the room and sat beside her mother on the settee, curling her hand around her mother’s, letting her know she appreciated her support even if she looked as though she could collapse at any moment, making her wonder how her father convinced her mother to leave the sanctuary of her chambers.
“You have gentlemen callers, daughter,” her father said with a greedy grin plastered on his once handsome face.
Oh, he was still handsome for his age, but to her, he now resembled the trolls in fairy tales.
“Let me introduce them.” He indicated an elderly gentleman with snow-white hair, leaning on a cane.
“May I present the Marquess of Chesterfield?” He continued down the line.
“The Earl of Banfield, the Viscount Haddington, and Mr. Lewis.” His hand swept to Clarice, who stood up.
“This is my lovely daughter, Lady Clarice Dawson.”
Clarice curtsied. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She lied so easily.
Each man bowed, even the old marquess, making her believe he was more spry than he let on. As the introductions concluded, she breathed a sigh of relief to be seated again. Her legs felt weak and unsteady.
Her mother poured tea for both of them, while her father served brandy to the gentlemen.
They kept talking among themselves as if she and her mother weren’t there.
One by one, her father took each suitor out of the room, likely to his study to negotiate her marriage.
She nearly spat out her tea at how ridiculous it all was.
Who would have thought that a month ago, this would be her life?
Pain eviscerated her heart whenever she thought about Samuel, which was almost every minute of each day. Would she ever see him again? And if she did, would he despise her for her father’s actions? Oh dear, she needed to think of something else before tears pooled in her eyes and she cried openly.
Somehow, her mother sensed her feelings, squeezed her hand, leaned in close, and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Clarice. I know how much you love Samuel. Perhaps one day . . .”
“Why can’t he take out a loan, sell some properties?”
“He has already sold the property near Stanton. Everything else is entailed. He has nothing to offer as collateral for a bank loan. He squandered the money I inherited from my mother. Money I had hoped to put in a trust for you when I die.”
“I’m sorry for you too, Mother.” Her eyes lifted, and she let them roam over the gentlemen in the room.
Mr. Lewis looked to be around forty years old.
He was rotund and the ugliest man she had ever seen.
His only redeeming quality was that he wore fine-quality riding clothes.
When they were introduced, he’d leered at her and smiled, revealing crooked, stained teeth with food particles stuck between them.
Dear God, where had her father found these men?
And did Mr. Lewis never clean his teeth?
The Viscount Haddington was a tall, thin young man who looked no older than twenty.
He had a charming way about him. Why was he here?
Was his father or mother pushing him to marry and produce heirs already?
The Earl of Banfield was a name she had heard before in passing.
He was a widower with four daughters. Perhaps he was hoping to provide his daughters with a stepmother to raise them. Or perhaps he simply wanted male heirs.
The older gentleman, who was with her father at this moment, gave her the chills.
When he’d looked at her, his mouth formed a tight grin, his eyes darkened, and she’d swear he’d drooled at one point.
But it was his eyes that bothered her most. They showed no sign of compassion for her situation.
They were only dark, cold, and calculating.
He had the eyes of a sinner, someone who had secrets to hide.
Her entire body vibrated, and her skin crawled. Please don’t let her father pick him.
If she had the option to choose, she would pick the earl.
Could she hope her father would take her preference into account?
A niggling inside her mind told her otherwise.
Her father would grab the fattest purse strings and couldn’t care less who he married her off to as long as his coffers were full once again.
It wasn’t long before all four gentlemen bid their farewells, and her father sank into a chair facing the settee, already deep into his cups. “I’ve made my decision.”
All the air whooshed from her lungs, and her heart pounded as she clung tightly to her mother’s hand while she awaited her fate. A fate, no doubt, worse than death.
“In a sennight you will marry, by special license, the Marquess of Chesterfield.”
Clarice and her mother cried out at the same time, “No!”
“Yes,” her father bellowed. “Let me remind you, my dear daughter, that you agreed to do this to save your mother and me from financial ruin. You will marry him and go to Chesterfield House to live. He needs an heir, and you will give him one.”
Clarice ran from the room, her hand over her mouth as she hurried up the stairs, tripping twice on her skirts in her rush to reach her chambers.
When she arrived, she dove for the chamber pot and cast up her accounts.
As she sat back on the floor, she wondered if something was wrong with her.
Perhaps she was dying. It would be favorable to marrying the marquess.
A knock on the door startled her; she wrestled with her skirts as she stood up and, on wobbly legs, made her way to the foot of her bed and sat down.
“My lady,” Mrs. Shelley called out, “may I enter?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Shelley, tears in her eyes and concern on her face, hurried to her.
“I just heard the news.” Clarice couldn’t hold back her anguish any longer; she dropped her head into her hands and cried.
The bed dipped, and comforting arms wrapped around her.
“There, there, my lady, let your tears out. I’ve a good bosom to cry on. ”
Clarice leaned against Mrs. Shelley’s warm body and let the tears flow until she had none left. Gasping several times, she murmured, “Will you attend me after I’m wed?”
“I’m sorry, my lady. According to your father, the Marquess of Chesterfield requests that no one from this household be allowed to travel or serve you. He will appoint your maid from among his loyal servants.”
Could things get any worse? Her only hope had been to have Mrs. Shelley with her every day to help her cope with being torn from her family home and forced to marry an old man. “I’d like to be alone.”
Clarice asked for a tray to be brought up for dinner and spent most of the night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Now that her father had found her soon-to-be husband, he refused to allow her out of her chambers for the week leading up to her wedding.
She paced the floor and cried herself to sleep each night wondering where Samuel was. Why hadn’t he come for her?
When the morning of her wedding day arrived, she got up, feeling both mentally and physically drained.
As she dressed in a pretty, cream-colored gown for her wedding, an invisible veil covered her mind and body, shielding everything inside from the outside world.
The only way she could survive the years ahead was if she remained numb, hiding her true self deep inside to protect herself from the outside world and from the man she was about to marry.
A man who, two hours later, stood beside her as they recited their vows with icy indifference in his eyes.
Why was he marrying her? He didn’t look like he was happy about it.
And if it weren’t for her agreeing to do this to save her parents financially, Clarice would’ve run out the door and never looked back. But her word was her word.