Chapter 5
With a leaden heart, David plodded down the hall of the duke’s townhouse, following the butler after the interview with His Grace.
The duke had been very generous indeed with Lady Clarissa’s dowry, and it turned out that Clarissa also had a significant inheritance from her great-aunt that included a London townhouse and a thriving estate in Kent.
She could live quite comfortably on her own once they parted ways, and David’s financial woes were at an end, filling him with guilt-tinged relief.
But the duke had been every bit as stern about her future as David would have expected.
“I can’t order a man to fall in love. That would be absurd.
But I do expect you to approach this with an open mind and heart.
Clarissa’s spirit may appear indomitable, but she falls all the harder because of it.
I can’t force your regard for my daughter, but I do expect you to refrain from hurting her.
She’s been through quite enough already.
” The duke’s words looped in his mind and twisted in his gut, as did the lingering memory of Clarissa’s sweet voice and dangerously beguiling touch.
The scent of lemon and bergamot stole into his awareness, as if summoned by his thoughts, and a moment later, the object of his distress looped her hand through his arm. “I’m so glad I caught you before you left. Might we take a turn around the garden? I’d like a word.”
He opened his mouth to object, but she patted his arm.
“Don’t worry. Mama said she’d keep an eye on us from the library window, though it’s not as if my reputation could be ruined any further than it already is.
” Her smile tightened with her final words.
Perhaps her good cheer did have limits, after all.
He felt for her. Truly he did. Her plight was so pitiable that he would have to have been heartless not to.
And she was so beautiful and vivacious it made his heart ache with longing.
Beyond that, her musical talent left him breathless and full of yearning.
It was going to be difficult to stop Timothy from falling in love with her, for David knew he would.
Truly, any man would be lucky to win her affection.
But he could not give her what she wanted, and it would have been cruel to mislead her. “Yes. Perhaps we should have a word.”
They made their way into an elegant garden where paths were lined with low box hedges, a living border around a riot of vivid tulips in reds, oranges and yellows.
At the center, a fountain tinkled as birds bathed and chirped in their merriment.
It was altogether far too romantic a setting for his taste, and they were quite alone.
He peered desperately at the house windows for any sign of the duchess and saw none.
“Won’t all these flowers make you sneeze?” He didn’t have another handkerchief to give her.
“The gardener only plants flowers that don’t bother me, so we’re safe here.”
Thank heavens! “I’ll have to consult him about any changes I should make to my own garden before you move into my townhouse. I want you to be comfortable for the duration of your stay.” It wouldn’t do for her to have a sneezing fit every time she wanted some fresh air.
“That’s very kind of you.” She squeezed his arm as they passed a patch of daffodils, sending distracting tingles up his arm. “Lord Whitcomb, I wanted to apologize to you.”
He stopped and stared at her. “Apologize? For what?”
“For forcing you into a marriage you do not want.” The contrite look in her eyes melted his wavering defenses.
He turned and faced her, catching both her hands in his before he could stop himself.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon is forcing me to marry, not you. I’m certain if you had rejected me, she would have matched me with someone else before the week was out.
I don’t have the means to pay my brother’s debts any other way. ”
He had thought it through at length the night before.
There was no other path out of this predicament, and Clarissa was a great deal more palatable as a partner than many of the other women of the ton.
She might have been a bit daft when it came to romance, but she wasn’t petty, selfish, or cruel, at least not that he had seen so far.
And she was undeniably lovely, much though his attraction worried him.
Not to mention rich. Most men in his place would have been grateful for their good fortune.
“I wish to reach an understanding with you about how we’ll proceed. ”
“Yes, I quite agree.” She pressed his hands and stepped closer, much to his dismay. “I’m not ready to give up hope that we’ll fall madly in love, but I will concede that we must be friends first. Either way, I do not wish to start this union at odds.”
Her unwavering interest in a cynical widower at least ten years her senior was flattering, to say the least. From what her father had said, Clarissa was only nineteen, and David was about to turn thirty.
But her confidence gave her a maturity beyond her years, and her sweet scent addled his head with thoughts he hadn’t had in years.
If he was a decade younger, he would have thrown caution to the wind, pulled her close, and tasted those petal-pink lips that tempted him so.
It was a good thing she had no idea how she affected him.
Even with years of heartache to teach him prudence, it wouldn’t have taken much to send him over the edge of folly.
He cleared his throat and stepped back, pulling one hand away and using the other to put her hand back in the crook of his arm.
They strolled in silence to a stone bench where he offered her a seat.
He was careful to keep several inches between them when he settled beside her.
“I do not wish to begin our marriage at odds either. And perhaps you are right that we should focus on how we start rather than worrying about how we’ll proceed from there. ”
Her kind smile made him wish he could offer her more, but the pleasure of her company was tinged with the pain of knowing how badly awry this could all go.
His battered and broken heart would find no safe harbor with her or anyone.
Still, perhaps he was being overly fastidious.
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and he obviously had done so if she felt the need to apologize.
“As a gesture of friendly good faith, my given name is David. I would prefer to simply be called Whitcomb, but it was foolish of me to try to keep it from you.”
Her eyes lit up as if he’d handed her a puppy. “Thank you! I promise to call you ‘Whitcomb’ until you are ready, but I’m delighted you were willing to share with me.”
He didn’t want to examine too closely why he had shared his given name.
The thought of her murmuring it affectionately was nearly enough to send him running to the antipodes.
But he needed a gesture of good faith if he was to soothe her hurt feelings, and at the moment, it was all he could come up with. “Thank you for calling me Whitcomb.”
They sat without speaking for a long moment as he struggled to find the words for another delicate topic he needed to raise. “I’m not sure if Mrs. Dove-Lyon told you this, but I have a son. His name is Timothy, and he’s four.”
“Oh, I love children!” She clasped her hands together and beamed. “I can hardly wait to meet him.”
Of course. He should have anticipated this reaction.
He hadn’t known her long, but what he’d learned about her so far should have made it apparent that she’d be kind, at least, to Timothy.
David took a deep breath and let it out in a relieved sigh.
Many women would have balked upon learning they would have a stepson, and some might even have been cruel, but he was grateful to be right about her reaction, if a bit apprehensive about how he was going to keep them from becoming too attached.
“He’s a very sensitive boy, and I would like to take things slowly with introducing you.
The two of you can hardly avoid each other, living in the same house, but he is very attached to the memory of his mother, or at least what I’ve told him about her.
And I don’t want to upset him, especially when you aren’t staying. ”
If anything, he was going to have to pry the two of them apart, but he hoped he could convince her to keep at least some distance by warning her to keep away, at least for his little son’s sake.
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. “Of course, not! I promise not to trouble him, though I do hope he’ll warm to me with time.
I’ve been told I have a way with children.
What kind of toys does he like? My cousin introduced me to the most marvelous toy maker on Oxford Street when I was Christmas shopping with her last year. ”
“Honeyfield’s?” He knew exactly the spot.
“You know it?” Her radiant grin rivaled the unseasonably bright afternoon sun.
David was all too familiar with Honeyfield’s Toys and Trifles. In general, he was careful to a fault with his money, but every time he walked through those doors with Timothy, he turned into a spendthrift. “I do. There’s a hobby horse in the front window Timothy has his eye on.”
“Then he shall have it!” Her lovely green eyes sparkled with merriment.
What was he doing? He was supposed to be warning her away, not helping her wrap Timothy around her little finger.
The thought of her presenting the gift to Timothy made his heart squeeze painfully.
The heart that was supposed to be stone.
The heart he claimed not to have. Hell and damnation.
He needed to escape before he lost his himself entirely.
“I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I must be going. I forgot I have an appointment this afternoon with a friend at White’s. I shall see you on Sunday for the reading of the banns.”