Chapter Eight #2
A frown appeared on his face. “He does, and I sincerely hope he doesn’t break Lady Rutherford’s heart. Greyson tends to break hearts all over London.”
“Letitia is a grown woman and can look after herself.” Clarice hoped her words proved true.
Maybe Greyson was just looking for a dalliance with the young widow.
She would keep a close watch on him. She did not want to pick up the pieces of Letitia’s broken heart.
On the other hand, perhaps her friend only wanted a liaison and nothing more serious. However, she didn’t believe that.
“It’s good to see that you, Greyson, and Hunter are still good friends,” Clarice said.
“Yes. I can sometimes get lost, and they always find me.” He appeared uncomfortable after divulging that little tidbit. Which made her wonder what he meant by getting lost.
She smiled sadly and clasped her hands together to resist reaching out and touching him. “You aren’t lost now.”
He snorted, “No, I’m not.”
The bell rang for dinner, and Clarice was grateful because of the sudden awkwardness that had developed between them.
Small dinner affairs often disregarded the proper rules of etiquette by lining guests up according to title; tonight was no exception. Samuel extended his arm. “May I escort you into the dining room?”
“Yes.” She placed her hand on his forearm, and they filed behind other couples as they entered the large dining room with a table set for twenty.
Clarice wasn’t shocked when the fancy gold place card with her name on it was on the place setting beside Samuel’s.
Lilly was doing her best to help her in her quest to win back Samuel’s heart.
And she truly believed she needed all the help she could get.
Across the table from them sat Letitia, Greyson, and Hunter.
Lilly had placed Hunter next to one of Greyson’s twin sisters, Anastasia, she believed, whom Clarice hadn’t realized was in attendance until just now.
The other sister was seated several chairs down from her, next to a young gentleman she didn’t recognize.
The Duke and Duchess of Blackstone, who had arrived just moments ago, sat farther down the long table on the same side as Letitia. Emmeline nodded and smiled at her in greeting. Clarice nodded and smiled back. What a strange and wonderful feeling it was to have friends.
She had spent the five years of her marriage mostly eating alone in the large dining room at Chesterfield Manor or in her chambers.
Chesterfield preferred to dine at his clubs.
He rarely spent time in her company, except for several nights a week when he performed his husbandly duties.
During those nights, Clarice closed her eyes and prayed for it to end.
His breath was always foul and reeked of strong spirits.
He wasn’t gentle when he did bother to touch her.
Thankfully, he didn’t bother most nights and got right down to his business.
He would spill his seed trying to produce an heir and then leave quickly afterward, for which she was very grateful.
His tongue was sharp, but he never laid a hand on her in anger.
He used his words to hurt her. She wouldn’t lie and say his words never stung.
Yet she reasoned with herself that he didn’t matter to her, nor did his words.
And that’s how she survived those years.
That, and her watercolors. It was the only concession in their marriage that he ever gave her.
“You’re awfully quiet.” Samuel’s deep voice pulled her out of her unhappy thoughts.
“Forgive me for my woolgathering and being a terrible diner companion.” Picking up her glass of wine, she took a large sip.
“You are no such thing. Being beside you, whether we talk or not, is a pleasure I never thought to have again. Ah, the first course has arrived.”
It puzzled her why her thoughts had drifted to Chesterfield, why her tongue was tied and her hands were trembling.
Sitting next to Samuel was all she’d ever wanted, and somehow she needed to relax and enjoy his company.
She picked up her spoon and ate her turtle soup like everyone else at the long table.
Most conversations had stopped, aside from a few words here and there.
The soup was taken away, and a footman refilled all the wine glasses. She was surprised to realize she had finished her entire glass. It never took much wine to make her tipsy. She would have to limit herself to just one or two more; otherwise, Letitia would be carrying her home.
The courses came and went. Clarice nibbled on everything on her plate, but she couldn’t possibly finish everything she was served.
The conversation between her and Samuel was still stilted and awkward.
When dinner ended, instead of the men staying behind for port and cigars as usual, everyone went back to the salon.
Clarice promised herself she would relax, not think about her marriage to Chesterfield again, and enjoy the evening spent with friends.
Most importantly, she wanted to enjoy the evening spent with Samuel.