CHAPTER ONE

The Country, 1818

The rays of the sun flooded through the high, mullioned windows of the drawing room. As usual, Clarissa was up before the lark, looking out on the wide expanse of the gardens at their country estate.

A robin was pecking at the lawn amidst the snow, and she had been watching him for some time. Over the years, she had learned that little distractions could be a balm for the soul.

His merry red breast fluttered about, his beak burrowing into the hardened ground beneath. The gardener had left a spade in one of the beds, and the little bird fluttered up onto the handle. It was an image straight from a Christmas card. She smiled at him, wondering how he might spend the remainder of his day and whether he would successfully catch the worm.

She had already had a productive morning herself, settling several matters with the housekeeper and writing three letters—all before her father was out of bed. As she waited for her tea to be brought to her, she turned her face up to the sun, feeling the faint warmth of it over her skin.

The snow had settled on the ground overnight, carpeting everything in a blanket of glistening white diamonds. She sighed as she looked out at it. No doubt her mother would fuss terribly if she took a turn about the grounds later, but she was determined to do so.

The door opened, and their maid entered. She had been with the Crompton family for many years and had a severe stoop that Clarissa found hard to look at. She carried the tray expertly, but Clarissa could not imagine she was comfortable.

Clarissa stepped forward, took the tray, and placed it on the side table beside the settee. She smiled at the maid.

“Thank you, Poppy. How are you this morning?”

“Oh, cannot complain, Miss Crompton.”

“Is there enough coal below stairs for the fires to remain lit?” she asked. “It is a bitterly cold day.”

“Indeed, Miss Crompton, with the ovens in the kitchen, it is quite pleasant. Too many bodies to feel the cold down there. Never fear.”

Clarissa had spent a great deal of her time analysing her father's accounts over the years. At first, he had forbidden her from any such notion, but as the toll on his faculties had risen, she had begun to assist him more and more. During the winter months, she had taken to deliberately diverting funds, that they might otherwise have spent on her wardrobe or her mother’s frivolities, to the servants’ quarters. She knew how abominably cold it could become with snow on the ground.

“Very well, thank you, Poppy. Is Papa awake, as yet?”

“His Lordship is in his study. I have brought him some tea. I believe Miss Emily was looking for you.”

“Do send her in.”

Clarissa smiled. She could already hear her cousin’s pattering footsteps approaching.

Emily burst into the room only seconds after Poppy had left it. Her dark brown hair was curled in ringlets at either side of her face, and her round, happy expression always brought joy to Clarissa’s heart.

“Clary,” Emily said, sounding pained. “You promised to wake me up. Look at the snow! I could not believe it when I opened my eyes this morning. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your life?”

Clarissa chuckled as her ebullient cousin practically ran to the window. If she had been five years younger, she might have pressed her nose against the glass, but thankfully, at nearly eighteen, she had a little more decorum than that.

“One would think you had never seen snow before,” she said teasingly.

“Not in the country! This is my first Christmas here.”

Emily had come to live with them two years earlier when Clarissa’s uncle tragically died in a riding accident. Lord Crompton had welcomed Emily into the bosom of the family without delay. She was a dear girl, although her enthusiasm and excitement could be tiring at times. She was still not out in society, given the concerns her father retained over allowing this too early, but she was charismatic, beautiful, and strong in character.

Clarissa had taken a little while to grow used to her, however. When Emily arrived, Clarissa felt bitter toward her parents for their obvious excitement and happiness at having two girls in the house again. Despite her own confusing feelings toward Catherine, she still missed her sister terribly and did not like the idea that Emily had been adopted as a replacement.

Since then, however, she had grown to love her dearly. How could she not when the girl was such a ball of happiness?

“Would you like some tea? You are going to wear out the carpet if you hop about like that.”

Emily turned with a grin and came to sit beside her as Clarissa poured some tea for them both. For a blissful moment, all was quiet as Emily sat back on her chair, staring out the window and sipping her tea, her eyes twinkling merrily.

Clarissa settled herself, sighing contentedly and listening to the crackle of the fire. There were three letters beside the teapot that she had not immediately observed, and she now picked them up. Two of them were bills for services rendered. The third she did not recognize and frowned at it.

She opened it without much cause for alarm until she read the missive inside. Clarissa swallowed convulsively, her fingers tightening on the paper, noting its quality and thickness.

They had been invited to a house party at Lady Eleanor Kingston’s country estate. Clarissa rose to her feet and then abruptly sat down again as Emily turned to stare at her in surprise.

She read it again, but there could be no mistake. Lady Eleanor expected the ‘pleasure of their company’ for Christmas.

She suddenly found it hard to breathe and tried her best to tamp down the nervous energy fluttering through her body. It had been a very long time since anyone in good society had thought of the Crompton’s and pleasurable company in the same sentence.

“What is it, Clarissa? You have gone very pale,” Emily said, a little frown marring her face.

Clarissa startled as the door opened behind them, and her mother entered the room. Her mother had an elegant stride, which Clarissa had always admired. They were almost as tall as one another now, but Clarissa had never been able to emulate her poise.

Lady Crompton wore a long plum gown of fine silk. Her blonde hair, streaked with grey, was twisted atop her head in a complicated construction, her expression tight and irritated.

“Good morning, Mama,” Clarissa said carefully.

“Good morning, Aunt,” Emily piped up.

Clarissa swiftly hid the invitation behind her back, giving a warning look to her cousin. Her mother walked immediately to the fire, plucking a discarded shawl from the back of one of the armchairs and flicking an irritated glance at her daughter as she pulled it about her shoulders.

“It is so cold in the house, Clarissa. Are we to have no fires this winter?”

It was an old argument.

Her mother was used to luxury and had not adapted well to being excluded from society. Although her father’s business dealings had picked up in recent months, Clarissa was still loath to overindulge in buying coal. Lady Crompton would have burned all the wood in the estate on the first day of winter if she had her way.

“I will ask Poppy to bank it up for you, Mama. Have you seen the snow? It is so beautiful.”

“It is a nuisance for getting about,” her mother snapped, placing her hands closer to the fire and sighing heavily. “I would give a great deal to live throughout the year in the sunshine. I cannot abide all this cold.”

After a short pause, her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she turned to Clarissa with a half-smile. “I am sorry; I fear I have not had enough sleep.”

“Papa’s slumber has not improved, I take it?” Clarissa inquired gently.

Her mother cast her a fatigue glance. “It has only worsened.”

They shared a smile, and her mother came to sit beside Emily as she poured her a cup of tea. Lady Crompton’s gaze settled on the letters at Clarissa’s elbow, a frown on her face as she noticed the discarded envelope from the invitation.

Clarissa knew instinctively that there was no use concealing it any longer. Her mother would merely root it out anyway. She pulled it from her side and handed it over. Emily’s eager eyes tried to read it while it was upside down under her nose, but she was not quick enough.

“We have received an invitation to a Christmas house party from Lady Eleanor Kingston,” Clarissa said quickly, watching the surprise ripple over her mother’s face.

“Lady Eleanor?” Lady Crompton replied weakly. “I see.”

She proceeded to do the same thing that Clarissa had done, reading the invitation and then reading it again as though to ensure it was genuine. She looked at the back, the front, and then the back again, then lowered it to her lap.

Clarissa waited, dreading the reaction before it came but knowing there was no escaping it.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” her mother exclaimed, leaping to her feet and walking to the fire. She began pacing in front of it, her hands gripping the invitation like a lifeline. She rang for a servant immediately, and a footman entered the room. “Please ask Lord Crompton to join us at his earliest convenience.”

The footman disappeared again, and Clarissa closed her eyes, begging for patience.

“Mama…”

“Lady Eleanor has always been one of my closest friends; I knew she would not abandon us like the rest of them.” She read the invitation again. “Just think of it, Clarissa, a house party for Christmas! There could be any number of people there to whom we are not yet acquainted. It has been so long since… this could be just what we need.”

Her mother never mentioned the elopement or said Catherine’s name aloud, and neither did her father. She was always simply referred to as ‘your sister’.

Despite knowing that her parents did not wish her ill, Clarissa could not help but take the phrase personally. It sounded accusatory, as though she were tainted by her sister’s disgrace.

“Are we truly going to a party?” Emily asked, her eyes sparkling with glee.

“Of course!” Lady Crompton said quickly. “How could we possibly refuse?”

“Mama,” Clarissa said again, her tone cautious and measured, “consider the potential risks.”

Lady Crompton stopped pacing and turned to glare at her. “Risks? What risks?”

Clarissa cleared her throat. “Lady Eleanor may wish for us to attend, it is true, but the very people we would be circulating with might still shun us as a family. It could be yet another humiliation and there would be no escape. We would be guests in a house where we do not belong amongst animosity and derision. We attended so many balls to ‘keep up appearances,’ and I need not remind you how difficult they were by the end.”

“Oh Heavens,” her mother exclaimed. “Those balls were directly after your sister left us. It has been so long that there will be, and have been, a host of new scandals for the gossips to sink their teeth into by now.”

“And if we make a misstep somehow amidst this new company? What then? We would be in a worse position than when we started.”

“Are you planning to misstep?” her mother asked, her eyes narrowing cruelly at Clarissa as though she was intentionally attempting to sabotage her mother’s good humour.

“Of course not, Mama, but—”

“Clarissa is right, my dear.”

They all turned at the deep voice from the doorway. Her father, Lord Robert Crompton, stood behind them, one hand still on the door handle. As he scanned the room, his gaze rested on Clarissa for a fraction longer than the others.

He closed the door behind him and walked into the room, cutting a smart figure in his morning coat. Although he was clean-shaven, he had always had a thick head of hair, and his sideburns and eyebrows had only grown bushier over the intervening years.

Clarissa’s mother hated them.

Lord Crompton took up his position by the fireplace as his wife repaired to one of the sofas. She sat very straight, the invitation still clutched in her elegant fingers.

“What do you mean, my dear?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. “You cannot possibly be considering refusing?”

Her father turned to Clarissa, those bushy eyebrows raising to his hairline.

“Well, Clary? It is you who has shouldered the burdens for this family over the past few years. I think it fair that we hear your views.”

Her mother scoffed derisively. “We have already heard her views—”

“Bernadette,” her father said with quiet comment. “Please let our daughter speak,” and Lady Crompton fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Clarissa hesitated, feeling her mother’s gaze burning into her skin.

It was true; she had shouldered much of the weight of her sister’s disgrace to protect her family. She had continued with her charitable work, attempting, where she could, to be seen within their local community. She had attended a few smaller functions, forcing herself to mingle with friends who had turned their backs on her and making polite conversation with the dregs of their social circle.

She did not miss those days. In the end it had done her little good.

In truth, if Clarissa could have torn up Lady Eleanor’s invitation and thrown it into the fire, she would have. She had no wish to walk into a room and find herself the subject of gossip ever again.

And yet…is this our chance at redemption?

Lady Eleanor was exceptionally well connected, not to mention her influence with the Ton knew no bounds. If they could return to her good graces, they might just stand a chance of being accepted back into society by next season. It was perhaps a fool’s hope, but a hope, nonetheless.

She stared at the paper in her mother’s hands as her mind dragged her back to that awful day three years before. She would never forget finding her sister’s note—the spiked, urgent handwriting so unlike Catherine’s neatly looping style. In a few sentences, her sister had managed to destroy everything their family had carefully built over decades. Clarissa felt the familiar ache in her chest at the memory and tried to tamp down her own reaction, aware of her mother’s eyes still fixed on her face.

The idea of returning to society terrified her, but remaining as she was, with no hope of a better life or a good marriage, would be worse.

She glanced at Emily. Her cousin deserved to have a future, too. Someone so happy and carefree, just as Clarissa had once been, should not be downtrodden by Catherine’s mistakes.

“We must attend,” her mother interjected, giving up on hearing any response from Clarissa. “Refusing would surely be seen as an admission of shame. And the shame is not ours.”

Clarissa clenched her fists, and Emily came to sit beside her, taking her hand. Her cousin knew very well how much Clarissa hated negative remarks about Catherine. Sometimes, the two cousins would discuss her secretly before they went to bed. They would imagine the exotic life she lived in Italy. In Clarissa’s mind, Catherine was achingly happy and that was the way she wished her to remain.

She supposed she should have resented her after everything her departure had put her through. But Clarissa could not find it in her heart to do so. In the long years of her absence, Clarissa had come to recognize how brave Catherine had been. Foolish—to be sure—but brave enough to follow her heart.

Her mother’s voice became almost desperate.

“We have been hiding in the countryside for three seasons. We have barely been seen in town and avoided all social functions, only entertaining our closest and dearest friends who still do not invite us to their soirees. This is our chance, Robert.”

Her mother stood up, going to her husband and gripping his hands, looking at him imploringly.

As her parents began to speak urgently with one another in hushed voices, Clarissa’s gaze floated to the window. The snow had begun to fall again. She watched it whirl and twist against the pane. She could sympathize with the nervous twitches of each snowflake as they floated to the ground, trying to find their place in a changeable world.

Her family had been ostracised for three long and tumultuous years; perhaps it was time for things to change.

She looked back to her parents as silence fell. All the eyes in the room were now trained on her. The whole family was waiting to hear her decision.

“We will go,” she stated finally, watching the smile bloom across her mother’s face.