Chapter 23
It was no surprise that Clarissa's parents approved of Kit. He was heir to a dukedom, after all. Even a scandal-ridden heir to a dukedom was a better catch than anything the Earl and Countess of Hawthorn had dared hope for their troublesome daughter.
But her mother's enthusiasm was still alarming.
She'd taken Kit's arm during introductions as though claiming him for herself, and had laughed at something he'd said with a delight that made Clarissa's skin crawl.
"What a charming young man," her mother had whispered, squeezing Clarissa's hand. "You've done very well, my dear."
You've done very well. It wasn't until she'd heard the words aloud that Clarissa realized just how badly she'd longed to hear them. Her whole life she'd been craving that sort of approval, and now she had it.
Not because she was brave or clever or witty. No. Because she'd landed an heir to a dukedom.
Her father had been far less effusive but no less pleased with the match. He'd shaken Kit's hand and pronounced him "a fine match."
Clarissa had nearly bitten her tongue off to keep from pointing out that he'd only just met Kit.
He knew nothing of his temperament or his intelligence.
The fact that Kit had been partially to blame for the rumors that had nearly ruined her chances this Season had apparently been forgotten entirely.
Not that Clarissa blamed Kit. She didn't. But she hadn't expected her parents to forgive and forget so quickly. Perhaps she should have though. After all, why embarrass a duke's son by bringing up such tawdry business?
So yes. The engagement was heartily approved all around. The settlements were being drawn up. The solicitors were satisfied. Everything was in order.
The duchess was the only one who seemed to still recall the nasty gossip around Clarissa and was determined to put an end to it.
Hence, this evening's soiree.
The duchess had orchestrated this evening to present the engagement as a triumphant conclusion. Not a desperate arrangement, but a love match that had weathered adversity.
And the duchess had gone above and beyond. Her home was full of the right people. Music played in the drawing room, and at the center of it all, the happy couple smiled and accepted congratulations.
Clarissa's cheeks ached. She'd been smiling for two hours now, and she'd kept her lips tightly sealed all the while.
Kit stood beside her, his hand occasionally resting at the small of her back when they greeted guests. The touch was correct, warm and tasteful. Just enough intimacy to prove they were, in fact, an affectionate couple.
She hated it. Every time his hand brushed against her back, she had to fight the urge to flinch. It felt so, so…so wrong. Just another part of the performance, like the smile and the champagne and the congratulations from people who'd been whispering about her a week ago.
"Lord and Lady Gravelstone," Kit said smoothly as the next couple approached. "How kind of you to come."
Kit was perfect. This came as no surprise. She'd seen Kit play this role many times over the last few weeks. She knew better than anyone how charming and attentive he could be.
He complimented her mother and discussed Parliament with her father. He laughed at the right moments and stood at her side like a man who was truly happy to be there.
But unlike their past performances, this was…wrong.
It was all wrong. And the need to say so—to vent her frustration and her wild discontent—it was enough to make her scream.
But she didn't, of course. She merely continued to smile.
Kit wouldn't look at her. Not really. His eyes swept over her when they spoke, but the blue eyes that used to spark with mischief, that used to find hers across crowded rooms and hold them until she forgot to breathe—those eyes were gone.
And there were none of the murmured asides or the private jokes and ongoing whispered conversations that had made all those earlier events tolerable.
He was too busy playing his part to perfection.
She'd asked for this. She knew that. Over the past week, as they'd navigated this new arrangement, she was all too aware that he was doing everything she'd asked. He was keeping his promise to maintain a proper distance between them.
Outwardly, they were a loving couple. But in those few and fleeting moments when they were alone… They might as well be strangers.
She was actually relieved when the duchess and her mother approached and forced them to divide and conquer. The duchess steered Kit toward a group of gentlemen who wished to congratulate him, while her mother took her arm and led her in the opposite direction.
"Lord Stratton seems quite taken with you." Her mother's voice was smug, as if she had something to do with it.
Yes, he's a very good actor, she wanted to say. Instead, she murmured, "He's very kind."
"He is handsome, I'll grant you that," her mother said. As if perhaps kind and handsome were synonyms. "And so well connected. Your father is pleased."
Clarissa nodded as her mother continued on. She didn't bother to listen. For the first time in hours, Clarissa felt like she could breathe properly. Her shoulders relaxed now that her arms weren't brushing up against Kit's. Even her cheeks quit aching now that she could stop the relentless smiling.
Was this what married life would be like? Tension and false smiles in public, and stilted silence when they were alone?
Not for long, she told herself. Just until… What? She'd provided a son? Her belly churned as she tried to imagine this new reality.
Then what? Would she and the children go live in the country so Kit could have his freedom? Her heart ached at the thought. But that was what she'd promised, hadn't she? That was the bargain. They'd each have their independence.
Her mother hadn't stopped prattling on about Kit, but now she ended with, "Yes, you've done very well, dear."
You've done very well. There it was again. The praise she'd always longed for. And now it was being handed out like candy.
It should have felt like a triumph. Instead, it filled her with unease. Had she done well? Was this what success felt like, because she did not care for it. She did not like it one bit.
She spotted John nearby, and his gaze met hers. He gave her a small smile and a nod of acknowledgment as they passed. But she hated that too.
Oh, not John. No, of course not. Her brother had been nothing but supportive and encouraging these past weeks.
But he was not the actor Kit was, and he could not hide the sadness in his eyes whenever he looked at her. It wasn't disappointment, necessarily. It was more like sympathy.
And maybe just a whiff of pity.
He'd never say so aloud, but she knew John disapproved. But John was, deep down, a romantic. He'd been fortunate enough to find real affection and love with his wife, and he wanted the same for his sister.
She couldn't fault him for that, but she was growing tired of his pity all the same.
It wasn't her fault she had not found love. She'd tried with Edmund, hadn't she? And look where that had landed her.
Her mother brought them to a cluster of young ladies Clarissa recognized.
They were Lady Arabella's friends from the milliner's shop.
Lady Arabella had declined the invitation, and Clarissa couldn't say she was sorry.
Her friends were on their best behavior, and they fell into an easy conversation with her mother, in which Clarissa was fortunately not expected to participate much.
So she just kept smiling. It was better that way. With her lips pressed together like this, there was little chance she'd say something to embarrass her mother.
From where she stood, she could see Kit talking to Estella now. His smile was easy, his posture relaxed. But as Clarissa watched, she saw Estella lean in and ask him something with a frown of concern—and Kit's expression flickered.
It only lasted a heartbeat, but Clarissa caught it. A crack in the illusion. A glimpse of the real Kit beneath. A second later his smile was back, and Clarissa might have imagined it.
But she didn't. And that little glimpse of the real Kit was enough to leave her winded. Her lungs couldn't quite get their fill, and the room felt suffocatingly warm.
The thing was, she knew that flicker. She'd seen it many times. The first was at the opera when he'd spotted his father. And again at the luncheon after the duke had walked away.
Right now, the moment she remembered with acute clarity was when she'd seen it on the terrace that night just before Lord Hartley had interrupted. What if I—? he'd started.
She never had figured out how he'd meant to finish.
And here it was again. Tonight. The briefest glimpse of a very real emotion.
He was in pain. And he was hiding it.
Because you told him to. She shifted in place, the urge to go to him making her limbs twitch. She'd made it clear that there was no room for real emotion in this farce of theirs, and he was abiding by that.
The urge to cry came on so suddenly, she had to blink rapidly to fight it.
"Are you alright, Lady Clarissa?" One of Arabella's friends had apparently noticed the convulsive blinking.
Clarissa smiled brightly. "Wonderful, thank you. It's just…" She made a show of widening her eyes and blinking again. "Something must have gotten in my eye. If you'll excuse me…"
She turned away and nearly collided with John, who steadied her with a hand on her elbow. "All right?"
"Fine." She produced another smile somehow. "It's going well, don't you think?"
John looked at her with that quiet, unbearable concern. "You look miserable."
"No, I look composed." She pointed to her face. "Look, I'm smiling."
He arched a brow. "You look like you're attending your own funeral."
She almost laughed. It came out as something closer to a hiccup, and she pressed her hand over her mouth. "Don't. Don't make me laugh. If I start, I'll—"
No, she wouldn't cry. She would not cry at her own engagement party. Not in front of her mother and the duchess and the ton and…Kit.
Kit, who was watching her now. He was talking to someone else, and he wore a small smile. But his gaze was fixed on her. Unreadable and…awful.
It was awful. All of it. All of this.
They were in the same room, looking right at each other—and Clarissa felt like they were standing on two different continents.
She was in the middle of a crowded room, with her brother and her parents, and friends, and her new fiancé. And she'd never felt more alone.
"I need air," she managed.
John frowned. "Clarissa—"
"I'll be right back." She moved toward the corridor, passing her mother, who gave her an approving nod. Then the duchess, whose sharp eyes tracked her but let her go.
She passed Kit, who was mid-conversation with someone she didn't register, but their eyes locked and she had to tear her gaze away as she kept walking or else she'd burst into tears right then and there.
As she rushed out into the cold air, she realized what this empty aching sensation was.
She missed him.
She missed Kit desperately. Which was ridiculous since he was right there. Just inside the door, and at her side for the better part of the evening.
But she missed him with a physical ache. She missed his laughter and his teasing. She missed the way he'd glance at her from across the room and take her from feeling invisible to seen with just a look.
Her heart hammered against her rib cage as she gripped the banister.
She loved him.
That's what this was, wasn't it? She squeezed her eyes shut to try to squelch the tears.
It was nothing like the grateful relief she'd mistaken for love with Edmund. It was far beyond the contentment she'd endured with Lord Hartley.
It was overwhelming and painful, and not at all like the fairy tales she'd written about to Lucy. There was nothing whimsical and diverting about this feeling.
It was horrible. She hated it. She didn't want to feel this longing for a man who had a child on the way with another woman.
Did he love her? This mistress? The thought was too painful to consider. She understood that men did not abide by the same rules of propriety, and she'd never resent a man for supporting his child. All of that she could understand, but…did he love her?
That she could not bear.
And yet, she'd tied herself to him. She'd imprisoned herself in a life with a man she loved and who loved another. "I'm a fool," she whispered. "I cannot survive this."
Yes, she was speaking aloud. To herself.
And the torrent of words that followed was likely nonsensical as she tried to work it all out.
"How could I fall in love with him? Yes, of course I did.
What woman wouldn't? He's kind and generous and lovely and…
and… Should I tell him? But no. That would be a burden to him, wouldn't it?
He already has someone he cares for and a child, and what use would it be to—"
"Clarissa?" Kit's voice from the doorway silenced her.
She turned slowly. He was watching her with a furrowed brow.
With long strides, he crossed the terrace to her. It was the concern in his eyes that was her undoing. When his warm hands gripped her arms, and he peered down at her with those bright blue eyes, she did it. She opened her silly, rebellious mouth, and the words tumbled out of their own accord.
"I love you."