Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (21 page)

Dominick and Colin glowered like two loaded cannons pointed at each other.

Colin stood suddenly, and dropped his napkin to the table. “Well, I for one have had enough of this pretense of happy domestic life.”

“What if it isn't pretense?” Dominick tersely replied. “What if some of us can have a real conversation, despite our differences, without mean-spirited hectoring and backbiting?”

Lord Stade stood, his attitude brisk as he glanced down at the large gold timepiece in his hand. “Actually, we've a standing appointment with the steward to review the tenant ledgers.”

Dominick stood. “I'll join you.”

His Lordship looked at his eldest son in surprise and, Clarissa thought, with hopefulness.

Colin bristled visibly, and suspicion clouded his gaze. “You weren't invited.”

Her husband shrugged. “Until the attorneys have completed their vetting of the agreement for the transfer of Frost End, I find my schedule woefully uncluttered and myself in need of diversion.”

Clarissa lifted her teacup and sipped. So that was how Dominick intended to speed things along. By imposing himself into territory his brother had long held, and in which he clearly took deep pride.

And just as she anticipated, Colin inquired of his father, “Did your attorneys say when the agreement would be finished?”

“Soon.” His Lordship moved toward the door.

“Soon?” Colin repeated dourly, clearly dissatisfied with the vagueness of the response.

“If Blackmer wishes to attend our meeting with Mr. Kline, he is more than welcome.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Colin, who bowed curtly to the ladies and took his leave.

“I will find you later.” Dominick bent and pressed a kiss to the top of Clarissa's head, an affectionate gesture that surprised and pleased her.

“Please do.”

He followed his father out the door.

Clarissa looked at Dominick's mother. The older woman peered back, her lovely features drawn. At last, she smiled the sort of smile one smiled when one did not know what to say.

Clarissa ventured to break the silence. “I'm certain those three gentlemen will have a most enjoyable morning together.”

At first, her ladyship appeared taken aback by Clarissa's reference to this morning's unpleasantness—but then she laughed in response. “Indeed, I must admit that I for one am grateful to have been left behind.”

Clarissa smiled warmly. “Just because the gentleman aren't getting along at the moment, there is no reason why things should be awkward between the two of us.”

H
er Ladyship's gaze lifted. “No, there isn't. Lady Blackmer, would you like more toast? The footman can bring more from the kitchen.”

“Thank you but no, I've quite enough here.”

As soon as their voices quieted, silence filled the room. A delicate frown turned Lady Stade's lips, as she appeared to wrack her brain for something more to say now that the subject of toast had been thoroughly expended. Clarissa got the feeling Her Ladyship existed in an isolated state at Darthaven and did not have that many female friends. Certainly no sisters.

The marchioness spoke suddenly. “I intended to tell you, I wrote your mother, Lady Harwick, and let her know you were feeling poorly.”

“Did you?” Clarissa responded in surprise, her heart already warming toward the woman.

 She nodded. “I let her know the physician had visited and pronounced you completely healthy, and assured her that until you recovered, you would be made comfortable and be well attended.”

“I appreciate that very much.”

Her mother would be very surprised, receiving a letter from a marchioness, and would very quickly deduce, if she hadn't learned already, that Clarissa had married an earl. While Clarissa knew Dominick cared little for the title and the respect it commanded, no doubt her mother would feel some measure of relief that her daughter had married more respectably than anyone had believed at the time.

“As a mother, I would want to know. I had a daughter, once.” She smiled sadly. “Abigail. She died from a fever when she was fourteen.”

“Blackmer told me. I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“She was a happy, gentle spirit and I miss her still.”

“I'm not a mother yet, but I think I understand. I have a brother who died, and none of us have ever truly gotten over the loss, most especially my mother.”

“We never do, do we? When Abigail was alive…for that brief time in my life, I felt like I had purpose. To be honest, I've never known what to do with boys, other than to tell them to behave and…send them back to the nursery. Now sometimes I wish I could do the same.” She chuckled ruefully.

“I can see why,” said Clarissa, in an effort to be understanding though she thought being a mother to a passel of rambunctious boys would be a delight.

Her Ladyship nodded, her dark, perfectly upswept hair gleaming in the light. “Do you know, Blackmer's first wife and I never warmed to one another, which is something I always regretted. For my son's sake.”

Clarissa traced her finger over the handle of her teacup. “I must confess, I don't know the first thing about her.”

“Perhaps that is best. She was most…a most provoking creature.”

Clarissa wanted to know more, but it seemed wrong to ply her new mother-in-law for information about her husband's first wife, when any revelations should come from him.

But wasn't it natural to be curious? She could not help but perceive Tryphena as her rival of sorts. If she and Dominick were so fortunate as to one day fall in love, would he ever be able to give her his love completely? Or had Tryphena, who remained faceless in Clarissa's mind, taken some part of his heart with her to the grave?

“Let's talk about something more diverting,” said Her Ladyship. “I had intended to travel into town this morning to visit the modiste, who has sent word that she has received the latest style plates, from
Paris
, no less! Might you feel recovered enough to accompany me?”

“As a matter of fact, I find myself in need of some new dresses.” Her body was changing, and soon even the loosest and most forgiving of her dresses would no longer fit.

She remembered the destroyed dress she'd discovered in her trunk that morning and considered mentioning it to Her Ladyship, but something kept her silent. She didn't want to throw the house into an uproar without discussing the matter with Dominick first.

An hour later, Clarissa peered out the window, taking in the sight of Ashington and its tidy thoroughfares and bustling streets. The Stade carriage, immense and black, drawn by a matching team of six and accompanied by liveried outriders, attracted the interest of pedestrians all along the way. Across from her, Lady Stade sat resplendently dressed in a wide-brimmed hat gleaming with purple satin ribbons and a perfectly matched fur-trimmed wool pelisse.

Within moments they arrived at the dressmaker's storefront and waited in the carriage until a shop assistant in a dark yet elegant green dress emerged to greet them and escort them inside. There, in a showroom decorated in the finest style, with marble busts, potted palms, and tasseled draperies, a statuesque older woman awaited them. Upon their crossing the threshold, she breezed toward them, her hands extended in welcome.

“Lady Stade. Welcome.”

Several parties consisting of fashionably dressed ladies already occupied the room, sitting in large upholstered chairs beside tables strewn with patterns. Teams of assistants scurried about helping them make selections from all manner of fabric and trim. All faces turned toward them, but Her Ladyship acted as if she didn't notice. Instead she posed like a fashion plate, her head tilted at an attractive angle, her polished expression of greeting perfectly executed and distinctly haughty.

Lady Stade, it appeared, was in her element, but Clarissa understood immediately why she wouldn't attract many lady friends. In contrast, her mother and sisters would already be drawn into those other parties, asking about new engagements or babies, and sharing their discoveries of the perfect haberdashery shops.

“Mrs. Waite,” said her mother-in-law. “Please be introduced to Lady Blackmer.”

Mrs. Waite bent forward. “How thrilled I am to meet you. I received my latest packet of London papers just this morning and read of your wedding announcement with delight.”

At Mrs. Waite's mention of the London papers, Clarissa's heartbeat staggered. She couldn't help but think of the questions and gossip her wedding announcement had inspired at home. Her catastrophic entrance to her ball. Her grandfather's illness. And the next day—she'd wed a man no one in her circle had ever heard of and immediately taken her leave of London. Together those series of events were a certain recipe for scandal. My, but how quickly her grand season had come to a shattering end. Thankfully, this morning London seemed very far away, as did anyone's opinion on her marriage. Here people congratulated her and life seemed almost normal. For that she was very grateful.

Mrs. Waite clasped her hands together. “Perhaps Lady Blackmer would like to keep the announcement as a memento?”

“That's very generous,” she said. “Thank you.”

The modiste disappeared through a door, and returned a moment later. Clarissa prepared herself to express disappointment to Dominick's mother that his title had been excluded from the wording of the announcement due to some inexplicable confusion. She knew, but could not explain to Her Ladyship, that at the time Blackmer had been very stubborn about telling anyone who he truly was because as an agent of the Crown, he hadn't wanted to draw undue attention to himself.

A moment later, she held a neatly cut square of paper in her hand, one that, to her surprise—and yes, her great pleasure—very properly announced the marriage of Miss Clarissa Bevington to the Earl of Blackmer.

She could only surmise that Dominick had taken it upon himself to ensure the correct details were printed for all of London to see. Apparently he did have some pride in his bloodline, or perhaps he had done it out of kindness to her, to spare her and her family scandal in the aftermath of their hasty marriage. Whatever the explanation, she welcomed it.

“How wonderful that you and Lord Blackmer have returned to Darthaven to make your home.” Mrs. Waite smiled.

Clarissa carefully tucked the announcement in her reticule. “Thank you, but we're here only temporarily.”

Lady Blackmer frowned and muttered beneath her breath, “Not if I can help it.”

Clarissa looked at her inquiringly.

“I want you both to stay here, and for the baby to be born among family.”

“That's very kind of you to say.”

Just then, a young lady in a puce pelisse and hat, with shining dark curls peeking out all around, broke from the table beside the street-side window, a handkerchief raised to her eyes. She paused only to glare bright-eyed at Clarissa, before storming past and leaving the shop. A woman who appeared by similar coloring and features to be her mother followed after her, nodding politely to Lady Stade and to Clarissa as well before pursuing the young woman into the street.

In the awkward silence that followed, Mrs. Waite quietly said, “Poor Miss Brookfield. I'm afraid, my dear, you've broken her heart for the second time.”

“Me?” said Clarissa, dismayed.

Lady Stade offered a tired smile, one that indicated her to be half regretful and half amused. “Miss Brookfield declared when she was nine years old that Blackmer would be her husband one day, and I'm afraid, despite his lack of interest, she's never altered course.”

Mrs. Waite added in a discreet voice, “She held out hope all this time, since hearing of the first Lady Blackmer's passing, and waited very patiently for his return.”

“That's terrible,” said Clarissa, knowing the pain of having one's heart broken. “How sad.”

“Don't feel sorry for her,” Her Ladyship said. “She was more in love with the idea of Darthaven than Blackmer. He realized that long ago.”

Mrs. Waite nodded. “It's her own fault she's without a husband. A pretty,
spoiled
girl, but she waited too long.”

In the next moment Clarissa and Lady Stade were swept behind a sumptuous velvet curtain to a more intimate and private room, where an array of exceptional textiles and trim had been laid out. There were also several stacks of cards bearing colorful fashion plates, organized into evening dresses, morning dresses, riding and travel, and, last, afternoon.

“I think this one for you,” Lady Stade exclaimed to Clarissa, holding up a card that portrayed an evening dress of pink satin, trimmed with brilliant green cording. “I do believe pink is your perfect color.”

“It is my
favorite
color,” she answered with a smile.

“As it should be,” declared Mrs. Waite. “I've the perfect pink lustring to show you, and a luxurious jade green velvet as well, which I believe would be the ideal complement, in the form of a spencer.”

“Select whatever you like, dear,” urged Lady Stade. “The dresses will be His Lordship's and my treat.”

A gift from her new family—how kind. She was having such fun. The only thing that would make it better was if her mother and sisters were here. And maybe Dominick too. The idea of dressing not only to please herself but to please him held a certain allure. As she looked at the designs, she could not help but wonder which ones her handsome husband would find most pleasing. Before their marriage he had not pursued her, and they'd enjoyed no romantic courtship. They'd had only a few days of getting to know one another—and one brief experience of very passionate lovemaking—to carry them forward. After she gained weight and increased in size, would he still find her attractive?

A half hour later, Lady Stade disappeared into a fitting room to try on several gowns she'd ordered on a previous visit, and likewise, Clarissa was led behind another curtain where assistants helped her to disrobe. Now she stood wearing only her chemise and a loose velvet robe draped over her shoulders to protect her from chill. The style plates she'd chosen, at Lady Stade's insistence, were displayed on a small stand, to which the seamstress glanced from time to time as she took Clarissa's measurements—which were to be approximated and adjusted to some degree, in anticipation of the child she carried.

Someone pushed aside the curtain and entered, startlingly taller than anyone she might expect—Dominick, who held his hat in his hand, and his cheeks were flushed as if he'd been riding out-of-doors against the cold wind.

“There you are,” he said, his expression guarded.

Without a word, the seamstress discreetly slipped from the room.

Her husband's eyes moved to the mirror and took in the sight of her from head to toe, before settling hotly on her breasts. “I need to speak with you. Is that all right?”

“Of course you may,” Clarissa said, flustered by his sudden appearance. Heat rose up her throat, into her face. She'd never had a man visit her fitting room before, but this was her husband.

“I came to town to purchase a curricle and two horses, so that we could get around without hiring from the livery or asking favors of my father, but saw the carriage outside and suspected Mother might have brought you here. I may already be too late to—” He flashed a brief yet heart-stopping smile. “—stop the damage.”

“I'm happy to see you.”

“Are you?” he answered quietly, moving to stand behind her, so close his heat warmed her back. Her pulse increased, seeing the look in his eyes. His gloved hand ascended the column of her throat and cupped her cheek. The leather, still cold from outside, made her shiver.

“I am,” she said, turning her cheek into his hand, craving his touch.

“I didn't like what happened between us last night.”

“Neither did I.”

“Tonight will be different, I hope.”

The intimate tone of his voice made her shiver.

“I do as well,” she murmured, blushing, knowing what he was really saying was that he intended to make love to her again.

He bit his lower lip, smiling.

“Mrs. Waite gave me our wedding announcement from the London paper.”

“Did she?” His thumb grazed her jaw.

“Are you the one responsible for its accuracy?”

“I am.”

“Why?”