Chapter 21
Two days after the musicale, Clarissa sat at her desk and made a list.
Not a list of suitors. That list would have been very short indeed. Nonexistent, in fact.
No, this was a list of facts. She'd found, over the past forty-eight hours, that facts were considerably easier to manage than feelings.
Fact: Her parents would choose a husband for her if she did not choose one herself.
Fact: Every eligible man who had shown interest had since withdrawn that interest.
Fact: Lord Hartley's back was very broad and very final.
Fact: She was running out of time.
She stared at the list and waited for it to suggest a solution.
The list, however, remained irritatingly quiet.
There was a knock at her door. John leaned in, already dressed for the day. "Have you eaten?"
"I had toast." She tried for a smile.
She'd always known John was an excellent caretaker. But these past two days she was beginning to understand just how doting a father John must be.
He gave her a dubious look. "A whole piece?"
"Most of one," she lied. She'd nibbled on something this morning, mostly because Mrs. Lennox had glared at her until she'd taken a bite.
He came in and sat on the edge of her bed. He did this sometimes, just sat nearby without requiring conversation. It was one of the things she loved most about her brother. He could be present without being intrusive.
She set her list to the side. "I've been thinking."
"I can see that." He laughed as he touched the spot between her brows. "You get a particular expression when you're organizing your thoughts. Lucy does the same thing. It's the Whitfield brow furrow."
She almost smiled. "I've been thinking about my options."
"And?"
"I don't have any." She said it plainly. "Every man who showed interest did so because Kit made me seem worth the attention. Now that the ton knows the courtship was a ruse, every one of those men has reconsidered."
John was quiet. She was beyond grateful he didn't try to argue.
"Mother and Father will choose someone for me and he will be dreadful," she continued. "Not intentionally, of course. I'm certain they'll do their best to choose well. But…"
But they don't know me. Or no, perhaps it was just that they did not understand her. Either way…
"Their choice will match their needs and serve the family's purpose," she said. "But I have no doubt that if I marry the man they choose, I will spend the rest of my life being quietly tolerated."
John frowned. "I won't let that happen. I'll—"
"You can't stop it, John. You're not my guardian." She softened her words with a look. "And besides, you have Lucy to think about."
His jaw worked, but he kept quiet. It was clear that he knew she was right.
"There is," she said carefully, "one option I might consider."
John waited.
She couldn't quite say it aloud. The idea had come to her in the small hours of the morning, somewhere between staring at the ceiling and staring at the wall. It had started as a desperate what if, but the more she turned it over, the more sensical it seemed.
Still. Saying it aloud was another matter entirely. She bit her lip and drew in a deep breath. "Kit needs to marry," she blurted out in one quick breath. "Or he will, at least. Eventually. One day. He's heir to a dukedom, after all. He'll need a wife and an heir of his own—"
"Clarissa." John had gone very still.
"He doesn't want a wife," she hurried on. "But he needs one. And as we've just discussed, I am out of options—"
"But Clarissa—"
"I know him, John." Words swelled up in a torrent, and she let them tumble out.
"I know it won't be a love match. And I don't expect him to be faithful.
But that's the thing, isn't it? Expectations.
So long as I know what to expect— I cannot be hurt if I go into it with eyes open.
And really, we'd both get what we need. A marriage between us would actually make sense.
I'd get a husband of my choosing. A man I know, and you know what they say…
The devil you know, and all that— And his debts are—" She faltered, because the word debts made her think of Clementine and the child, and that particular thought still had the ability to steal her breath. "Manageable."
She swallowed hard.
She'd get over it. Whatever this feeling was when she thought of Kit with another woman—
She'd learned her lesson and wouldn't make the same mistake again. "He could not say no to my dowry, John. And we'd both have what we want. Our reputations intact, and I'd have…"
What? Some level of independence? Odd how that thought only made her stomach sink. But independence and the knowledge that she'd made this choice —
That was worth something.
"You want to marry Kit." John said it flatly.
She hated the look in his eyes. It wasn't quite pity, but it was close.
"I want to propose an arrangement." She held up a hand before he could interrupt.
"Not a love match. I'm done with those. A business arrangement.
He gets a wife who expects nothing. No love, no romance, no—" She took a breath.
"No illusions. And I get to choose. That's all I've ever wanted, John. To choose for myself."
Even if the choice was a bleak one.
She braced herself against another wave of hurt. It was an ache for what might have been. Her ridiculous, fantasy-loving mind conjured up a memory of laughing until her sides ached, of teasing and talking and laughing and—
And that was not the man she'd marry. That relationship was not the choice she was talking about now, and it was best if she remembered that. But she supposed the real reason she ached—the real pity of it all—was that it would be a marvelous choice.
If it hadn't all been an act.
John studied her. "You've given this a lot of thought."
She nodded.
"And you're sure," he said.
No. But… "It makes sense."
He tilted his head to the side as he gave her a look. "That's not what I asked."
She met his eyes. "I'm sure."
He stared at her for another long moment, but then he stood with a sigh and kissed her forehead. "Then you have my support, if that's what you choose."
He left without another word and Clarissa turned back to her desk. Beside her list of facts, her latest letter to Lucy waited. She'd started the next installment of the princess story, but hadn't been able to finish.
Now she pushed it to the side and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. She dipped her pen and began to write. Not a fairy tale this time, but something considerably less romantic.
A proposal. With terms.
She would be clear-eyed about this, laying out the arrangement in plain language, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
Once she was done, she would rehearse it until every word was steady. Only when she was certain she would not stray from her speech would she set a meeting with Kit.
And then she'd propose.