Chapter 11
Clarissa had never been overly fond of shopping. But shopping with Thea Evermore, she soon found…
Well. It was an experience.
"That fabric is not what it claims to be." Thea frowned at a bolt of silk the modiste was displaying with evident pride.
Estella caught Clarissa's eye, and Clarissa had to stifle a laugh.
"It's Indian silk, miss," the modiste said carefully.
"It's meant to look like Indian silk," Thea corrected. "The weave is English. The dye is probably from—"
"Thea," Estella interrupted gently. "We're here for ribbons."
"I'm aware. But I thought the proprietor should know she's being swindled by her supplier." Thea turned to the modiste with an expression of sincere helpfulness.
The modiste did not look particularly grateful for the help.
Clarissa bit her cheek hard. This was, she was discovering, the primary hazard of befriending Thea. One lived in constant danger of laughing at the worst possible moment.
They'd been out for an hour, the three of them, and Clarissa had already broken her silence vow at least fourteen times.
Estella drew her out with kindness, asking about Lucy's stories, and remembering details Clarissa had mentioned in passing.
And Thea drew her out with sheer bafflement.
Her observations were so unexpected, so utterly without social filter, that Clarissa kept responding before she remembered she wasn't supposed to.
It had happened so often, Clarissa was beginning to suspect it was deliberate.
"What about this one, Clarissa?" Estella held up a ribbon in deep blue. "For the Wooster ball. It would suit your coloring beautifully."
"It's lovely," Clarissa said. Then, because she couldn't help herself, "Though I'm not sure the color matters much. Kit will compliment it regardless. He told me yesterday that my bonnet—which was beige, mind you. Just plain beige. He said it reminded him of moonlight on still water."
Estella laughed. "He certainly never misses an opportunity to fawn over you."
"He's very committed to the role," Clarissa said.
"Mmm." Estella's expression was carefully neutral. "And how are you finding the arrangement?"
"It's working." She picked up the blue ribbon, turning it over in her hands. "People are starting to look at me differently, I think. The whispers are changing."
"Good." Estella squeezed her arm. "You deserve that."
Clarissa smiled. Did she? She wasn't so certain. This ruse with Kit was starting to make her feel ever more disingenuous.
She'd gotten better at staying silent and smiling serenely in public, all while Kit went to great measures to ensure she looked to be a sought-after diamond of the first water.
But none of it was true.
She was enjoying her time with Kit. Perhaps too much. And the whole endeavor was starting to make her queasy. Because…what if it worked? What if some good, solid, kind gentleman took the bait, and sought her hand. Only to later realize he'd been swindled.
The thought dimmed some of her high spirits, and she was so distracted that she nearly collided with a group entering from the street as they were leaving the modiste's.
With a jolt, she realized the group included Lady Arabella. She was with two of her usual circle, both of whom spotted Clarissa with expressions of polite delight at the encounter.
But Arabella herself was half a step behind, and for just a moment, before she registered their presence, her face was entirely unguarded.
She looked tired, Clarissa thought. There were shadows under her eyes that her powder couldn't quite disguise. And while her friends chattered amiably, she seemed lost in thought.
But then she saw them. And the mask dropped into place so smoothly it was really quite admirable. "Miss Hale." Her smile was startlingly genuine as she addressed Estella. "And Miss Evermore, how delightful to see you taking an interest in fashion."
It was the mildest of cuts, and Thea didn't even seem to notice. "It's a fine day for a stroll with friends," she said.
But then Lady Arabella turned to Clarissa and any genuine warmth there disappeared. Clarissa wouldn't say the other woman's look held malice, but it was…
Well, it was odd. That was all. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it. For a moment she wondered if she'd somehow offended the young lady—until she remembered that it was the other way around. This young lady had been the one to spread wicked rumors about her.
If one of them was offended, it really ought to be her.
"Lady Clarissa." Lady Arabella's smile was serene. "I see you've been shopping." Her gaze swept over Clarissa's modest parcel. "How charming. I do hope you've found something that suits you."
For once. It wasn't spoken aloud but Clarissa was nearly certain she'd heard it.
She frowned. Was she being paranoid or was Lady Arabella truly that good at hidden slights she could make you hear one without even saying them aloud?
"Lady Arabella." Clarissa kept her voice pleasant. "You're looking well."
Lady Arabella's smile didn't falter, but there was not so much as a hint of pleasure in the other woman's eyes.
It was a little sad, really. Old Clarissa would have asked what was the matter. But fortunately she caught her tongue just in time.
Then one of Arabella's friends touched her elbow. "Bella. We'll be late."
Lady Arabella inclined her head and swept past, her friends trailing in her wake.
Estella watched them go with a curious look. "She seemed…not herself. Did you notice?"
Thea blinked in confusion. "Hmm?"
But Clarissa nodded. "She did seem tired."
It was a guess, but Estella nodded in agreement. "Perhaps she's fallen ill."
They continued their stroll, and Clarissa let herself forget for a moment all about Lady Arabella with her unpleasant gossip, and even the ongoing ruse with Kit.
For today, at least, she was simply a young lady out with friends. And it was delightful.
It wasn't until they'd stopped by the duchess's home so Thea could return another book, that an odd moment intruded on her joy.
It wasn't much, really. Just a man across the road, near the corner, watching the duchess's home. He wasn't doing anything in particular. Just standing there. Perhaps he was waiting for someone. But the way he was looking at the duchess's townhouse went beyond casual interest.
Clarissa frowned. Something about the stillness of him, and the way his gaze tracked across the windows made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
She blinked, and he was gone. He'd turned the corner and was out of sight.
It was probably nothing. But her eyes remained on the place where he'd been for a second too long. She was still staring when Estella and Thea returned, slightly breathless.
Estella smiled expectantly at Clarissa. "Ready? John's expecting you, isn't he?"
"Mmm." Clarissa cast another glance back as she climbed into the carriage.
Estella followed her. "Is something the matter?"
Clarissa shook her head. "No, I— It's only… Estella, has the duchess mentioned anything about… I don't know. Anyone watching her home?"
Estella's brow furrowed. "Watching? No. Why?"
Clarissa shook her head. "No reason. I thought I saw someone, but it was probably nothing."
Estella went quiet and Clarissa felt a pang of guilt for causing what was no doubt unnecessary concern. "Please, forget I even mentioned it. You know I have an overactive imagination. It's why I write stories for Lucy. It's the only thing I'm good at, really. Making up stories."
She laughed at herself, but the other ladies didn't join in.
Estella remained so quiet that Thea leaned over to ask if she was all right.
Estella smiled. "Yes, just thinking, that's all. Come, let's hurry lest we make John worry."
When Clarissa arrived home, she found John in the front hall shrugging into his coat. "You're back! Did you have a good afternoon?"
"I did, yes." She set down her parcels. "I even bought a new ribbon. It's blue, and I cannot wait to hear what nonsensical metaphor Kit comes up with to compliment it."
John smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you seeing him again soon, then?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, at the ball, of course.
He's already claimed my first dance." She chuckled to herself as she recalled the way he'd made such a fuss over claiming that dance.
As if every man in London were begging for the honor.
"Truly, Kit has missed his calling. He's far better suited for the stage than a dukedom. Don't you think?"
John's murmur of assent was a little too quiet, and his expression far too thoughtful.
She busied herself with removing her gloves. "What is it?"
He glanced over. "Hmm? Oh. Nothing."
She arched her brows. "Then why this concerned look of yours?"
"It's nothing, it's only—" He leaned against the doorframe. "You seem…happy."
She laughed. "And that is a bad thing?"
"No, it's wonderful." His tone was so warm, she knew he meant it. But his smile faltered as he continued. "I just… This arrangement with Lord Stratton. It's been going on for a while now, hasn't it?"
She frowned, studying her gloves a little too intently. "I wouldn't say a while. A fortnight. Perhaps a little longer. Why?"
"It's only I…" He cleared his throat and shifted. "I want to make sure you don't get hurt by all this, that's all."
"Hurt?" Her voice was a little too loud. "How would I be hurt?"
Before he could answer, she hurried on. "It's working, John. Surely you've noticed. They're still whispering about me, but it's not cruel any longer. And I've had more callers, and more invitations, and—"
"Yes, I know." John's smile reached his eyes this time and Clarissa relaxed. "And I'm glad. Truly. You deserve admiration and respect."
But… There was definitely a but coming, and Clarissa braced herself for it.
But you'll only end up disappointing the man who falls for you.
But you won't be able to keep up this New Clarissa act forever.
She prepared herself for something of that nature, but when he spoke, that wasn't what he said at all. "But Kit is very charming, and he's very…" He took a deep breath. "Convincing."
It took a moment for his meaning to register. When it did, it came with a swell of humiliation.
Ah, so that was it. He was worried she'd be fooled…again.
She swallowed hard. "You need not worry. I know what's real."
"Do you?" His voice was gentle. "Because you came home yesterday humming, Clarissa. And when I asked what had you in such good spirits, you talked about Kit for twenty minutes."
Had she? She didn't recall it being twenty minutes. Ten, perhaps. Fifteen at most.
Oh dear.
"He's amusing," she said. "That's all. We're…" She grappled for the right word to describe this new relationship, and found herself a little startled when she settled on, "Friends." She considered it and said it again with more certainty. "We're friends, that's all."
The concern in his eyes made her feel like a fool. "He's being paid, Clarissa."
She flinched. "I know that."
But it was possible she'd forgotten. Or if not forgotten… It hadn't been on her mind. She'd been having too much fun, and it rarely came up in their conversations.
"I know you know," John continued. "I just want to make sure you remember it.
" He moved closer, his eyes so gentle it made her chest ache.
"Kit seems like a decent man. I genuinely believe that.
But the attention, the compliments, the way he looks at you in public—that's what he was hired to do.
And you…" He hesitated. "I just don't want to see you hurt, that's all. "
She suspected he'd cut himself off from what he'd been about to say. He'd likely been thinking of Edmund and how she'd been fooled by him.
Edmund had seemed sincere. Edmund had smiled when she'd rambled, and told her she was beautiful when she knew full well she was no great beauty. Edmund had listened patiently to her stories and nodded at all the right moments, and she…
Well, she'd mistaken patience for love.
And now here was Kit, who laughed at her jokes and asked about her stories and looked at her as though she were the most fascinating creature in any room. And the terrible thing was…she wanted to believe it was true.
She'd like to think his laughter was genuine, and his kindness was not a facade.
But wanting something to be true was not the same as it being true. And perhaps John was right to remind her.
"I haven't forgotten," she said quietly. "I promise."
John studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Good." He gave her another smile. "I'll be back for dinner."
The door closed behind him. Clarissa stood in the hall trying very hard to sift through her feelings.
The trouble, she suspected, was that she'd never been a good liar. And yet here she was, in the middle of a lie so elaborate and convincing, she had lost track of what was actually true.
Because some of it felt true. That was the problem.
Oh certainly, Kit's exaggerated compliments were false. But when he teased her, and laughed with her, and listened to her stories… Well. That felt true. And when he'd said, "There she is" after she'd laughed too loudly at the picnic, the look in his eyes had felt painfully true.
But John was right. Kit was being paid. And Clarissa, of all people, should know better than to trust a performance. She'd fallen for Edmund's quiet sincerity. She would not be taken in by Kit's loud charm.
Later that night, she wrote to Lucy. The princess's story had been stalled for days. The last installment had ended with the princess and her talking horse trapped at the edge of a dark forest, debating whether to go through or around.
Clarissa picked up her pen. And before she quite knew what she was doing, she'd written a new character into the tale.
A prince.
Not a particularly useful prince. He hadn't rescued anyone or slain anything. He'd simply appeared at the edge of the forest with a very nice smile and offered to show the princess the way through.
The horse didn't trust him. He was very vocal about this.
But the prince was charming, Clarissa wrote. And handsome. And he had a way of making the princess laugh. And more than all of that… He was kind.
That was the part that surprised the princess most.
It wasn't until she'd nearly run out of ink that Clarissa stopped writing and stared at the page.
She reread what she wrote, and told herself, very firmly—this was just a story.