Chapter 4
What an auspicious day it is! Clarissa could barely contain her nervous excitement as she caught a glimpse of her future husband out the drawing room window.
He looked even more handsome than she remembered in the golden sunshine of this unseasonably warm and clear afternoon.
April was usually so dreary, but even the weather seemed to be colluding with her marvelous mood to make this occasion special.
“He’s here! How do I look?” She turned away from the window, dusting imaginary specks off her emerald-green gown.
Her brother peered over his newspaper. “Like an utter ninny, as usual.”
“Oh, Arthur! You are such a spoilsport.”
“I do try.” He gave his newspaper a shake and went back to reading.
“Arthur, be nice to your sister. Can’t you see what an important day it is for her?” Mama came over and wrapped an arm around her waist, peering out the window with her.
How could they be so calm on such a momentous occasion? “I wonder if he’ll come see me or go talk with Papa first? It looks like he brought flowers. Ooh, I do so love flowers!”
Arthur lowered his paper with a frown. “Since when? Don’t they make you sneeze?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know that. And the fact that he brought them shows he cares. He’s putting in effort even though he needn’t. It’s very sweet of him, is it not?”
“It’s certainly a very good sign.” Mama gave her a little squeeze.
With his customary long-suffering sigh, Arthur set aside his paper.
“Clary, I wish you wouldn’t go through with this mad scheme.
I know Lord Effingham broke your heart, but that doesn’t mean you should throw your life away with a stranger picked by the proprietress of a gambling establishment.
Surely, there’s a safer way to pick a husband. ”
“Arthur,” Mama warned.
Clarissa stiffened. “I am quite satisfied with Lord Whitcomb. Thank you very much. And you know very well I’ve always had good fortune. Providence has brought him to me, and I won’t hear a word against him.”
“But Clary—”
“Besides, Papa knows him and says he’s an honorable man. What more do I need?”
“That’s correct. Your father and I have made discreet inquiries about him to assure ourselves—"
Their conversation was interrupted by the butler clearing his throat at the door. “Lord Whitcomb is here to see you, my lady. May I show him in?”
She hurriedly pinched her cheeks and smoothed her skirts, her heart fluttering with anticipation. “Yes, please, Greenfield. I’m ready to receive him.”
A few moments later, Greenfield ushered Lord Whitcomb into the room, unease written on every feature of his handsome face. “Good afternoon, Your Grace, My Lord, Lady Clarissa.”
He bowed stiffly to each of them in turn, clenching the flowers in a death grip.
She would have to rescue them before he wrang all the life from the lovely blooms. “Darling, I’m so happy you came!
And you brought me such a lovely bouquet.
I was just telling Arthur and Mama how much I love flowers.
” She gently pried them from his fingers and brought them to her nose, breathing deep. “I…ah…ah…” Oh dear. “Achoo!”
Lord Whitcomb’s eyes went wide, and he pulled out a handkerchief. Their fingers brushed as he handed it to her, and her fingers tingled where they made contact. He squeezed his eyes shut with some unknown sentiment.
“Don’t mind her. Flowers always make her sneeze.” Arthur got to his feet and strode toward Lord Whitcomb, holding out his hand. “I’m her brother, Arthur.”
Oh bother. Arthur was such a wet blanket sometimes.
“My lord, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. I served under your father, and he always spoke of you with great pride. I’m grateful to have the chance to get to know you, though I know the circumstances are a bit…unusual.”
“We’re very glad to meet you too, my lord,” Mama said as the gentlemen shook hands.
“My husband has told me wonderful things about you. We’re so happy to know that our Clarissa will have such an upright, honest, and well-respected husband.
If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if he’s ready to receive you. ”
Mama wafted out of the room, grinning almost as much as Clarissa.
“Achoo!” Good heavens! If she didn’t put these flowers down quickly, she would turn into a puffy red nightmare. But they were such a lovely gift, and she didn’t want him to think her ungrateful.
Arthur shook his head and reached out for the bouquet.
“I’ll take those. Let me find a servant to put them in water and put a bell jar over them so that you can enjoy them without all this commotion.
” Heading for the door, he paused and turned.
“I’ll only be gone for a moment, so behave yourselves or you’ll have me to answer to; just in case, I’m leaving the door open. ”
Lord Whitcomb raised his hands and took several steps back from her. “I assure you, my lord, my intentions toward your sister are nothing but honorable.”
It was adorable how protective Arthur was. She wanted to go hug him for it, but she knew how mortified he’d be if she did.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Good.” With one last warning glance between them, he disappeared into the hall.
“Won’t you have a seat?” She guided him to a wingback at a discreet distance from the settee where she settled herself. It was tempting to sidle up to him, stroke his cheek, and loosen his cravat, but that would have sent the poor man running to the far ends of the globe.
He waited for her to sit before taking his own seat. “Lady Clarissa, my apologies for the flowers. I had no idea they would have such an ill-effect. I was merely trying to be courteous.”
What fiddle-faddle! He was being romantic whether he wanted to admit it or not. “It was a lovely gesture, and they smelled divine, even if they did make me sneeze.”
With a furrowed brow, he looked at her and shook his head. “I can’t fathom why you would bury your face in them like that if you knew what would happen.”
She shrugged. “I thought perhaps this time would be different.”
“Why in heaven’s name would you think that?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Because I’m an incurable optimist, darling.”
He winced. “I do wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Then tell me your Christian name.” She could have asked her father, but she wanted Lord Whitcomb to tell her.
“Not this again. It will go far better for both of us if we keep things formal.”
Stubborn man. “I have no desire to do any such thing. I know you don’t believe it yet, but you’re my perfect match.
The Widow of Whitehall doesn’t make mistakes.
I’ve spoken to three different ladies who used her services, and all are so deliriously happy in their marriages that they can do nothing but sing Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s praises.
Why don’t you give in and tell me your name?
I’m certain you didn’t make your first wife call you Whitcomb. ”
He breathed in sharply and closed his eyes. The silence between them stretched longer and longer until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Are you quite well, dearest?”
His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the arms of the chair.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open—those lovely eyes, so deep and golden that she wanted to drown in them.
But at that moment, they were crackling with thunder and lightning.
“I will say this only once. I know you meant no offense, but please, don’t ever mention my departed wife again.
” His voice was so low and cold that it made her shiver.
She’d gone and offended him somehow, though she couldn’t fathom why mentioning his former wife would have such an effect. Did he love her terribly? Was he devastated by her loss? What if that was why he refused to open his heart to her now? Oh, she had gone and put her foot in it, hadn’t she?
“I…I’m so sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to raise a painful subject. I’m certain you must grieve every day. I can’t imagine losing my beloved like that.”
He stood abruptly and retreated to the farthest corner of the room, pacing back and forth on the other side of the pianoforte.
She rose to join him, but he barked, “Don’t,” forcing her to flee back to her seat.
Confound it! This wasn’t going at all as she hoped. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had warned her to give him time to come around. But patience had never been her forte.
“I promise I won’t say another word,” she called out. “Please do come sit down again.”
His shoulders slumped, and he trudged back to his chair with the look of a man approaching the gallows. He sank into it without once looking up at her.
Again, silence stretched until it was deafening. She had a thousand questions about his past, but he had made it quite clear that he didn’t want to hear them.
What was a safe subject that she could raise? There had to be something that wouldn’t raise his hackles. Finally, she found something. Perhaps. “Where shall we live once we’ve wed?”
Houses were a safe thing to talk about, weren’t they?
“In my townhouse in Mayfair; at least until the three months are up.”
He was quite determined to get rid of her, wasn’t he? And after how she had bungled things yesterday morning, she could hardly blame him.
“And after that?” she asked with a mix of anticipation and dread. Please don’t let him send me off to some crumbling castle in the North. But he was her knight in shining armor. He wouldn’t do that, would he?
He made a rumbling noise in his throat and stared fixedly at the carpet.
Silence descended a third time, as she hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond. There has to be some way to pull him out of his black mood. What she needed was some way to distract him and pull him from his brooding thoughts. Aha! She had just the thing. “Do you like music?”
“What?” he grumbled to his hands.
“I could sing something for you. I think I know exactly what would lighten your mood.”
He didn’t respond, so she headed for the pianoforte, seated herself, and started to play her favorite ballad. In truth, she was doing it as much to calm herself as to entertain him. If she didn’t do something, worry would consume her completely, and that wouldn’t do at all.
While she sang of a farmer’s daughter who met a stranger in the mountains, the accompaniment ran from her fingers like a cheerful brook on a sunny day after the rain.
The rollicking rhythm reminded her of children’s laughter.
Whenever she sang this, she thought back to summers in the countryside with Arthur when they were young and carefree.
So if this didn’t lighten his mood, nothing would.
Sure enough, when she looked up, his gaze met hers, there was a hint of softness and warmth in it that heartened her greatly. So her knight appreciated music. She could work with that.
As she continued to sing, the corners of his mouth turned up in a hint of a smile.
It was working! The furrows in his brow uncreased, and he leaned forward in his seat, his expression one of bemused enjoyment.
If this was what it took to melt his heart, she would play for him every hour of every day.
As she watched him watch her, she couldn’t help thinking that there was hope for them after all.
Then Arthur had to walk in and spoil everything.
“What in heavens name are you two doing? Clary, the man came here to woo you, not listen to a concert. Lord Whitcomb, I apologize for my sister. She has no manners at all sometimes. I cannot believe she had the cheek to start banging away at her instrument when she should be acting the gracious hostess.”
Lord Whitcomb cleared his throat. “Actually, I was quite enjoying her singing. I had no idea she was so talented.”
His words sent blood rushing to her cheeks.
“Don’t go complimenting her, my lord. You’ll only give her a big head, and it’s quite large enough already.”
“Arthur!” And he was accusing her of lacking manners? She stood and rushed to Lord Whitcomb’s side, looping her arm through his. “Tell Lord Whitcomb you didn’t mean it, right this minute.”
Lord Whitcomb placed his hand over hers, setting her heart aflutter.
“Lady Clarissa, your song was lovely, but I don’t think it’s wise for us to be so familiar.
I haven’t even spoken to your father yet.
” If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of regret in his eyes as he gently nudged her fingers from his forearm.
With a sigh, Clarissa let her hands fall to her sides.
“Speaking of Papa,” said Arthur, “he’s ready to see you now, my lord. I’ll take you to him.” Her brother gestured toward the door, inviting Lord Whitcomb to follow.
Lord Whitcomb bowed his head toward her.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lady.” He backed away and followed Arthur.
But just before he disappeared from view, he glanced back.
A hint of a smile twitched upon his lips, and amusement twinkled in his eyes.
Then he appeared to catch himself and turned away, his stony facade restored
Left alone in the drawing room, Clarissa let out her breath slowly.
Spending time in Lord Whitcomb’s presence had left her all in a dither.
One moment, she was nearly ready to give up on cracking the ice of his demeanor, and the next, he warmed her heart with some telling gesture that made her heart skip a beat.
He reminded her of Arthur’s cat, Fitzwilliam, who fled her presence every time she tried to approach him but curled up in her lap when she least expected it.
Unfortunately, she herself was more like Papa’s retriever, Lady—eager to a fault and loyal beyond all reason.
How could two such different people make a successful match?
Oh, la! It wouldn’t do to start doubting Mrs. Dove-Lyon now. Her intended was speaking to Papa that very moment. Before the month was out, she would be Lady Whitcomb. Lady Clarissa Whitcomb. No one needed to know that she’d covered three entire pages with her married name just that morning.
But now her strategy to that happy end was clear: to win her taciturn husband’s heart, she would have to rein in her natural urges and let him come to her instead of pouncing on him at every opportunity.
They might have been chalk and cheese to start, but she would find a way to bridge the chasm between them.
She had always had a way with wounded creatures.
With careful care and tending, her wounded husband would come around too. He had to. She had her heart set on it.