CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Clarissa waited until Lord Bolton had climbed into the carriage with his aunt before she came out of the house.

The image of Lady Wilde’s hand on his chest was burned forever in her mind, and she felt sick. All she had thought of him, her beliefs of his change in character, were dashed to pieces. She had suspected right from the beginning that a beautiful woman such as Lady Wilde would be entirely the sort of person he would pursue. Now she had proof that she had been correct all along.

She was convinced that his interest in her was false. He had done it to deflect any suspicion about his feelings for Lady Wilde.

And yet…

She climbed into the carriage with her mother and father. Her mother was bundled up in long white fur, making her look like a snow queen. Emily sat beside her, a pretty bonnet on her head, adorned with holly on one side.

“You look very pale, Clarissa,” her mother muttered, thrusting a blanket at her. “Are you ill?”

“Of course not, Mama,” she answered automatically.

“Well, do smile if you are not ill. You look positively ghastly.”

Clarissa saw her father look reproachfully at his wife, but he said nothing.

As she settled down under the blanket on the edge of the sleigh, her cousin slipped her arm in hers. Emily had an uncanny ability to read other people and easily recognized Clarissa’s turmoil. She leaned into her, and Clarissa tried to relax as they made their way around Lady Eleanor’s vast grounds.

The snow was much thicker than it had been, and the sleighs travelled elegantly across the landscape, smoothly and quietly. The horses were steaming in the cold, great clouds wafting from their mouths by their laboured breathing. She tried to focus on the beauty around her, but it was impossible, with the unpleasant images flooding her mind.

Clarissa’s eyes were constantly drawn to the sleigh ahead of them. Lord Bolton sat in the centre, easily recognizable by his top hat. She wondered what he might be thinking. He had been found out. Perhaps he was concocting his best excuse to placate her. My intentions were always honourable, but I have never admired you in that way…

She glanced to her left to see Madeline Wilde in the other carriage. She was sitting with her father, their heads bowed together as they spoke. Lady Wilde was speaking to him with quick, jerky movements that became more urgent even as Clarissa watched her.

She frowned, looking away. What man wouldn’t want Lady Wilde? She thought skeptically. She is beautiful, accomplished, and rich.

Clarissa had known Lord Bolton for less than a fortnight. That was the reality she was now faced with. His reputation had been forged over years. She had been naive to believe that he would change it overnight—especially for someone as inconsequential as she.

The Cromptons were disgraced. Why would he ever wish to be associated with her family?

Any man can play a part for a week, she thought furiously. I was a fool to entertain this. I knew it was folly, and yet my heart would not let me give him up.

She pushed herself further into the blankets as the cold wind bit at her face. She felt miserable and stupid. Worse, she felt like she had been duped. Despite all of her walls, all of her defences, he had penetrated every one with his charm. How could she ever trust any man again when even the most amiable were vipers?

Mr Harrison might be just the same. Perhaps Catherine believed him to be one thing, and he turned out to be another. Lord, how I hope she is safe and happy somewhere.

She stared wistfully up at the clouds, wishing to be beside her sister now and ask for her counsel. It had been so long since she had spoken to her or heard from her. There was a real chance that everything in Catherine’s life had fallen apart after she had run away. She might have been fooled by Harrison and was now somewhere alone, destitute, and friendless.

Clarissa felt the tears well at the back of her eyes again, and she tried to will them away. She was mortified to have been so taken in and would never forgive herself for her naivete.

And yet…

She watched the snowy trees pass by, and Emily exclaimed happily as a heron, startled by the horses, took flight. Its great wings flapping in leisurely gusts above them, huge and majestic as it passed overhead.

Clarissa replayed the scene in her mind one more time: Nicholas leaning away from Lady Wilde, her hand touching his chest, her fingers digging into him even as she had watched.

There was a part of her that could not reconcile the Lord Bolton she had just seen with the man she had grown to know over the last two weeks. His attentions to Lady Wilde had been friendly at best, and there did not seem to be any real affection between them.

But perhaps this was his scheme. She was in a vulnerable position, and he had taken advantage. Perhaps that was the only explanation.

The carriage turned a corner as her mind spiralled into oblivion. The horse canted a little to the left, and there was a startled shout from the driver.

Clarissa stiffened, and her mother yelled in alarm. The sleigh banked sharply and hit the edge of a stone in the ground that the driver had not seen. At the same instant, a flurry of pheasants erupted from the woods to their right, and the horse startled violently to the left.

The carriage was sent in the opposite direction to the horse, the axle banking wildly against the long skis at its base.

Clarissa clutched at the sides in a panic as Emily screamed, and the whole contraption tilted sharply. Time seemed to slow down as Clarissa watched her mother’s surprise turn to horror as the sleigh bucked upward, skidding over a patch of frozen snow and Clarissa was thrown bodily from the back.

She was light for a moment, flying through the air just as the heron had done. She had no time to scream, no time to react. All she could do was prepare herself for the landing as she struck the ground at a horrible speed.

The breath burst from her lungs, winding her. Pain radiated through every part of her body as she hit the earth, the cold ground coming up to meet her as she felt the softness of the snow around her injured limbs.

There were screams and cries from all around her, echoing about the wild wonderland of the snow and ice in her vision. Everything was white and bright suddenly, as though the sun had come out reflecting in the dazzling snow.

She blinked. The other sleighs were turning. Are Mama and Papa alright? Where is Emily?

“Clarissa, my God,” a dark shape landed beside her. She could barely see; everything was so bright, but she would know that voice anywhere. “Clarissa! Miss Crompton? Are you alright?”

His voice was frantic, his arms coming up to lift her from the freezing earth. She could not speak, her mind spinning wildly about as though she were still falling from the sleigh. Nicholas Bolton would not sound so frantic. He wanted Madeline Wilde, he had chosen her. Why would his voice sound so afraid now? She was disorientated why was it so cold?

There was a throbbing at the side of her skull and a tendril of blackness before her eyes as though there were a giant hand pulling her downward into nothingness. As her consciousness drained away, she felt strong arms pushing beneath her as she was lifted up from the ground.

Even in her dazed state, as she tried to reconcile the images before her eyes with reality, she could tell that Lord Bolton was holding her. He cradled her protectively, and it felt as though they were returning to the manor at an impossible pace.

The steady rhythm of her heartbeat drowned out every other noise, and as she felt the blackness closing in, she was happy in the knowledge that his arms would keep her safe.

“Nicholas…” she whispered, and then everything faded to nothing.