CHAPTER NINETEEN

The drawing room was chilly the following afternoon. Some of the guests had retired before dinner, and Clarissa, Rosemary, and Emily were sitting at tea before the fire.

Lady Eleanor had mentioned a walk about the grounds in the snow a little later, and Clarissa wondered if she could feign an illness to avoid it. She was uncertain about spending more time with Lord Bolton but decided against the pretence of an ailment as she did not wish to draw attention to herself.

She glanced across the room to Lord Bolton, who was sitting on the chaise reading a book. His long legs were outstretched before him. She found her eyes lingering on his fingers as they held the volume. She could not help remembering when their fingers had touched during the dance and a shiver ran down her spine.

Just as it did so he looked up, his expression not quite so warm as it had been. He seemed contemplative, and when he looked at her, he had a slight frown upon his face.

She sipped her tea.

“When do you plan to make your debut in society?” Rosemary asked Emily, and Clarissa was instantly diverted. Her father was sitting far away from them across the room, but she saw his head turn slightly at the question.

“I have discussed it with my aunt and uncle a little,” Emily said. “My uncle has considered next April. But it will depend upon a few factors.”

Emily flicked a glance at Clarissa, and she tried to keep her smile in place. Please don’t speak of Catherine in this room, Emily.

“I would very much hope to debut next season, but I will always follow what my uncle and aunt think is best for me. I would very much like to attend a ball with Clary, she is the best woman I have ever known.”

Clarissa glanced at her cousin, surprised by the emotion in her words. Emily’s eyes were shining with tears, and she gave her a brave smile. Clarissa leaned forward and squeezed her wrist, feeling tears prick at the back of her eyes.

“Clarissa was a dear friend for many years, and I confess myself angry that I have not kept in touch more frequently,” Rosemary said solemnly. “I would like to write to you often. It has been wonderful having you here for Christmas.”

Clarissa’s mother was leaning toward them and shamelessly eavesdropping, but Clarissa smiled.

“Thank you, Rosemary; it has been wonderful getting acquainted again.”

Rosemary passed around a plate of biscuits, and they all took one. The door behind them opened, and Henry entered. He flopped down beside Nicholas, forcing him to move his legs with a huff of irritation. Clarissa loved their relationship; it always made her smile. When she turned back, however, she was surprised to see Emily watching Henry. However, as soon as she noticed Clarissa’s gaze, Emily blushed and looked back at her tea.

Nicholas was pensive beside Henry. He had been looking at his book for some time, but his eyes were not moving across it, and he had not turned a page for many minutes. His gaze was darker today, and he had been very quiet.

Clarissa felt the same confusing jumble of emotions as she considered that his regard for her might have faltered. Perhaps he was eager to be gone from England. It should have been a good thing, given how complex her association with him could become. Yet she did not feel happy with the discovery.

“Shall we depart?” asked Eleanor as she rose from her seat. There was a general murmuring from the group as those who chose to walk accompanied her. Clarissa stayed close to Rosemary, hoping that she could remain at her side around the gardens.

They all put on their coats and hats and departed.

The long path up the centre of the gardens was wide and open and clear of snow. The various large stone pots on either side of the walkway were layered in blankets of white. Cobwebs hung from the trees, and the sky was heavy above them.

“I declare there shall be another snowstorm before the week is out,” Lady Eleanor said as she set the pace.

Clarissa walked beside Rosemary. Ahead of them, Henry stepped up to Emily and bowed, giving her his arm. Clarissa watched them, and she wondered. Henry was jovial and cheerful and had Emily chuckling quickly. Clarissa’s heart clenched at the reminder of simpler relationships.

The sun came out as they walked through the snow-laden grounds, and it made everything glisten beautifully. The skeletons of the trees were encrusted with clumps of snow and all about them the sun’s beams reflected brightly, lifting everyone’s spirits.

Clarissa watched a robin hop over the earth a little way from the path, and she wondered if it might be the same one she had seen some days ago. Perhaps it had followed her here.

“I long for the summer,” Rosemary said quietly as they walked behind the others.

“Would you ever wish to travel to warmer climes with your brother?” Clarissa asked curiously.

“Rosemary detests the sea,” came a deep voice from behind her as Lord Bolton joined them.

“I do not detest it, but I cannot swim. It would be exceedingly unwise to travel in a ship when it might capsize and kill us all.”

Nicholas chuckled, and the sound reverberated through Clarissa’s chest.

“Well then, I shall have to teach you. Perhaps a dip beneath the ice in the pond would do you good.”

Rosemary scowled at him, glancing at Clarissa. “You are lucky not to have brothers, Miss Crompton; they can be quite ridiculous.”

Clarissa smiled but was dismayed when Rosemary excused herself. She gave Clarissa a mischievous wink and walked away to speak to her aunt. Nicholas took the place she had occupied, and they walked beside one another. After a time, she found they had lagged behind the others in the group.

Ahead of them was the high arch of a long hedge that spanned the length of the garden. It led down to the edge of the pond away in the distance and opened out into the rest of the grounds. The sun was so bright that it seemed ablaze with light, the silhouettes of the others black and stark against it.

As she watched, the beams of the sun speared out from behind a cloud, bathing everything in a golden glow.

“I enjoyed our time at the fair, Miss Crompton,” Lord Bolton said. All the good humour in his tone, when he had addressed his sister, was gone. She had never heard him sound more serious. “I am grieved I did not ever attend it before this year.”

“It is a pleasant village,” she managed, her voice hoarse, words sticking in her throat unpleasantly.

“I have often thought so, yet never took the time to explore. My estate in Hertfordshire is near the village of Hatfield. It is similar but a little larger, perhaps.”

“Rosemary mentioned you were a patron of the village. That you had donated to many causes.”

“I try to do my part when I am here, yes.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and they walked along in silence for a few minutes more. “The gardens are truly beautiful. I believe the fountain has frozen over again due to the cold.”

Clarissa was lost in her thoughts of the treasure hunt and the wonderful time they had spent together. They had been unhindered by society in those times, alone and free, simply able to enjoy one another’s company.

“I was surprised by the thickness of the ice on the pond.”

“It certainly does not happen every year. I fell through it once as a boy.”

Clarissa looked at him in alarm. “Goodness, really? Were you injured?”

“My pride most of all, but no. I was extremely cold and idiotic.”

“In that order?”

Nicholas gave a bark of laughter. “You are right; my idiocy certainly preceded my chill.” He kept smiling as he continued. “I had ventured out with inappropriate footwear as a dare. I believe it was Henry who put me up to it, the mischievous boy. He was adamant that the ice would be thick enough to hold my weight. I listened to it creak and crack as I walked slowly out there, and only when I was in the centre did I realise my folly.”

He shook his head as though to admonish his younger self.

“I fell straight through. Henry, being the gallant upstart that he is, ran onto the ice. He was rather smaller than me in those days, and it bore his weight admirably. I was lucky that it was not so very deep, and the ice did not freeze over above my head. He dragged me out, and my mother and father didn’t let us out there alone for years.”

“I am most pleased you did not suffer serious injuries. I have heard terrible tales of such things.”

“As have I. There is no current in the pond. That is where the worst cases usually take place.”

They fell into silence again, and Clarissa could feel the tension rising between them. She did not know what to say or how to interpret this new Lord Bolton. His humour had not died away; it was still there beneath the surface, but it was almost as though his maturity had increased, if that were possible. Since she had known him, he had been all easy smiles and jokes. But now, he seemed to be rather more stoic, in a way that she found she liked.

“Miss Crompton,” her heart beat savagely in her chest. “I have enjoyed getting to know you these last few days. I greatly enjoy your company.”

Oh, God help me.

“It has been a pleasure to find a companion amidst—”

“Lord Bolton, you must ask the others to slow down. We are fairly lagging behind the rest!”

They turned to find Lady Wilde practically dragging her father behind her as she walked briskly toward them over the path. She had a fur stole around her neck, and her hair was up in another intricate design. Clarissa marvelled that her maid had the time to do it.

Lady Wilde had the faintest hint of colour on her cheeks today, her eyes bright and calculating as she looked between them.

Lord Bolton seemed irritated suddenly, his easy manner diminishing as Clarissa watched him. His smile seemed forced, and she could only bear to hope that he disliked Lady Wilde as much as she did.

Perhaps he merely does not wish to make his affection for her known publicly. Perhaps it is easier for him to associate with someone such as me.

Lady Wilde and her father joined them. Clarissa was quickly pushed to the back, either by accident or by design, and Lady Wilde walked beside Lord Bolton.

After his initial stiffness, Lord Bolton relaxed again and spoke with her easily as they walked about the gardens. Clarissa attempted to engage Lord Wilde in a discussion, but the man mainly complained that he had left his pipe and Tobacco in the house and bemoaned the cold so much that Clarissa had very little to say to him.

Unfortunately, this left her alone with her thoughts, and she found that her mind played back the words Lord Bolton had spoken repeatedly. Whatever did he mean by “finding a companion”? What would he have said if we were not interrupted?

She was alarmed by the strength of her feelings on the subject. Despite all of the reasons she had for fearing a connection with him, she could not dismiss what he had said. She was intrigued by it, and an excitement fluttered in her breast that was most unwelcome.

She knew her feelings toward him had grown beyond anything she could have imagined. Lord Bolton was affability itself; he was kind, good-humoured, and intelligent. Yet there was so much about him she did not understand. She could not go into such an association with her eyes closed to his reputation.

As Clarissa followed behind Madeline Wilde and listened to their inconsequential talk, her mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty. She was still none the wiser as to whether Lord Bolton liked her, or whether she was a useful foil for his real intentions for the widow. He had a widow in Paris, a voice in her head reminded her. Surely, for a rake, Madeline would be the easier path.

As they all regrouped and returned to the house, Clarissa walked beside a silent Lord Wilde. He appeared entirely indifferent to everyone and walked ahead of her, rather rudely, no doubt to get his pipe and a glass of port. She had never seen a man drink so much port in her life.

Clarissa returned to her room, walking swiftly to her bed and dispensing with the many layers of her clothing. Before Annie arrived to help her dress for dinner, she paced before the fire, trying to settle her nerves and her inner thoughts.

She walked to the window, looking down at the myriad footprints the party had left in the snow. Did she dare open her heart to him? Her mother and father approved of the match, but her mother also dismissed everything about his past.

What if I allow this association and it ends in scandal? What if he is interested in me today and follows another woman tomorrow? What if we marry, and he has affairs all over the country? What then?

She could feel the tears banked at the back of her eyes and as they began to fall, she wished she had a simple answer for what she should do.

She enjoyed Lord Bolton’s company, and she admired him. Every time he walked into a room, she could feel his presence before she saw him. There was a connection between them, at least on her side, that she was unable to deny. It seemed that every interaction she had with him was destined to be a joy and a torment.

But how does he feel? Is everything I believe exists between us an illusion?