Chapter 7 #2
David’s stomach plummeted. What now?
“Effingham was overheard saying he would stop at nothing find a way to prevent this wedding and take her for his bride, and I fear what he might do.”
Clarissa stiffened. “He said something very similar to me this morning as I was leaving church. But what could he possibly do?”
David reached out for her, aching to comfort her, then remembered himself and pulled his hand back.
“I wouldn’t put anything past that coxcomb.
” There was nothing for it. The duke was correct.
He would have to marry her as soon as possible.
The thought didn’t fill him with nearly as much dread as it should have. “Very well. We marry this evening.”
The duke nodded, his military demeanor firmly fixed in place.
“I want a quiet ceremony at my house, and then the two of you will make haste to the countryside. Tell no one who doesn’t need to know of your plans.
I don’t want word getting back to Effingham until you are both safely away from London. ”
That meant he had to keep this from Charles.
His brother blathered about everything to whoever would listen at White’s, and that included that villainous wretch.
“I will prepare for a visit to Rose Hill Manor, and we’ll leave first thing tomorrow.
I go there frequently on estate business.
No one needs to know the true reason behind my journey except a few trusted household staff.
And my son. I have to tell Timothy. It would be wrong to keep this from him.
” Even if the mere thought of that conversation filled him with dread.
“Of course.” The duke smiled.
“Is he here? Can I meet him now?” Clarissa’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward.
This was it. David couldn’t delay any longer. He had to make the introduction he’d been both dreaming of and dreading.
At that moment, Mrs. Pippin trundled in with the tea cart, piled high with David’s favorite jam drop biscuits and one of Cook’s mouthwatering lemon cakes.
If only he could stuff his face with biscuits and avoid the delicate introduction to come!
But he forced himself to wait patiently as Mrs. Pippin served everyone and didn’t take a single bite before asking her to fetch Timothy.
As soon as Mrs. Pippin was gone, he crammed a biscuit into his mouth, grateful that the arrival of refreshments meant he had a break from conversing. Against his will, he found himself watching Clarissa as she poured cups of tea for them all before she took a bite of lemon cake.
She closed her eyes and let out a little “mmm” that made his breeches suddenly tight.
If that was how she reacted to cake, how would she react to…
No. He absolutely could not think about that, now or ever.
Clarissa would never join him in his bed, those wide eyes gazing up at him with her pink lips forming his name as she clutched him close, begging for… No, no, no, no, no!
“Is something wrong, my lord?” She looked up at him with such innocent concern and sweetness that he wanted to die on the spot.
Thank heavens she couldn’t see his inner thoughts! It was bad enough that he’d allowed himself to think them. “Er…no. Nothing at all. Just need a spot of tea.” He drank down his Darjeeling as if it was brandy.
“This cake is simply marvelous! Your cook is very talented. Please send her my compliments.” She beamed and, God help him, took another bite.
“Quite right, my dear. Don’t tell Mr. Pierre, but I think this may be even better than his tarte citron.”
Right. The duke. Look at the duke. That will keep your foolish, errant thoughts in check.
Wellington, fortunately, was too absorbed in his cake to notice David’s discomfiture.
Tiny footsteps pattered outside the door, heralding Timothy’s arrival. A moment later, his son ran into the room at full speed and came to an abrupt stop in front of Clarissa, panting and wide-eyed, clutching Mister Flopsy-Tail.
Clarissa, radiating warmth and cheer, reached out to clasp his son’s tiny hands in her own. The stuffed rabbit dangled between them. His son’s eyes were wide and bright, and he apparently had forgotten there were any other people—or biscuits!—in the room.
David swallowed hard and knelt beside Timothy so that they’d be at eye level. “Timothy, this is Lady Clarissa, who we spoke about the other day. She’ll be staying with us for a while.” he explained, his heart in his throat.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Timothy. I hope we’ll be fast friends.” It was obvious they were already smitten with each other. And there wasn’t a thing David could do about it.
Indeed, the boy said in an awed-sounding voice, “Lady Clarissa, will you please be my mama? I promise to be ever so good!”
Heavens above! Did those have to be the first words out of his mouth?
“Poppet, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Not that it wasn’t already too late for that.
Clarissa’s expression was beatific as she reached out and pulled Timothy into a hug. “Of course, you darling boy! It would be my honor.”
All of David’s worst fears and fondest hopes collided in his chest with the force of a cannonball as he watched their embrace, and he fell back on his heels, gaping.
Every defense around his ravaged heart crumbled to dust, leaving him raw and exposed.
This was everything he had yearned for, even as he had taken every possible measure to keep it from happening.
He had wanted to protect Timothy from any chance of heartbreak, but it was too late. For both of them.
“Lady Clarissa, I…” He had no idea how to finish his sentence.
He wanted to tell her this was all a terrible mistake, that Timothy didn’t mean it.
He also wanted to shout to the mountaintops that his heart was full, and that their tiny family was whole at last. He would gladly spend the rest of his life as her humble servant if she would only make good on her promise to Timothy.
As he looked on, helplessly fumbling for words, his world rearranged itself.
It had been foolish of him to think he could keep her at a remove.
With that, it was if a dam had fallen, and words he hadn’t planned and couldn’t control tumbled out of his mouth.
“Lady Clarissa, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my son.
If you meant what you just said, if you truly wish to be a mother to Timothy, then I am at your command for the rest of eternity.
All I ask is that you keep your promise and swear that you will not break his heart. I need your solemn oath.”
Still clasping Timothy to her side with one hand, Clarissa reached out her other hand, and he took it, squeezing it more firmly than he ought.
She squeezed right back, meeting his gaze with a smile.
“I solemnly swear I will do everything in my power to be a good mother to Timothy and will guard his heart like my own. You have nothing to fear from me.”
He had everything to fear from her, but it was too late. She had promised Timothy, and now David would move heaven and earth to ensure she kept her word. “Then I am yours from this day forward until death do us part.”
The duke chuckled. “Now, now. The wedding isn’t until this evening. Save your promises for the minister.”
But to David, the wedding was a mere formality.
As far as he was concerned, the oaths they had just spoken were irrevocable.
He was hers, and she was his. He would make her happy no matter what it cost him.
For Timothy, he would gladly give her his heart and soul, damaged and imperfect as they were.