CHAPTER THREE

A week later, Clarissa listened to the crunch of snow beneath the carriage wheels as the Crompton family pulled up to Lady Kingston’s manor.

The journey had been uneventful, apart from Emily’s excitement. Clarissa had been grateful for the continuous chatter of her cousin to prevent her mind from reeling in every direction at once.

The closer they came to the manor, the more her mind was flooded with memories. She had been unable to keep Catherine’s face out of her mind.

What will people say? Will the scandal still follow us wherever we go? Was this a mistake?

As the carriage turned a corner into the long driveway, the house came into view. It was a lovely prospect, pale against the blue afternoon sky. The pillars at the front framed the elegant sandstone steps. The house looked out over vast grounds with a lake in the distance. Clarissa’s heart clenched as she wondered how many people Lady Eleanor had invited to the house for an extended visit.

As the carriage came to a halt at the manor's entrance, Clarissa glanced at her mother. Bernadette Crompton was a picture of grace and decorum, yet as their eyes connected, Clarissa detected an unpleasant gleam in her mother’s eyes. She knew that look well—it was a solemn warning.

Be on your best behaviour; do not disgrace us.

She clenched her jaw, even as her hands trembled. She would not be the source of yet more scandal for her parents—she refused to be. Her mother’s lack of faith in her was a sharp, familiar sting.

“Smooth your gown, Clarissa. Chin up, head held high,” Lady Crompton stated as the carriage door opened, and they all descended into the hubbub of the manor steps.

A few other carriages had arrived before them, and Clarissa could smell the sweat of the horses as they moved off. An elegant older woman and her husband were ascending the steps. Clarissa did not recognize them from the backs of their heads, and she felt a spiralling panic shudder down her spine as she feared she might have forgotten every name in society after so long an absence.

She took a deep breath, giving Emily a watery smile as her cousin bounced on the balls of her feet beside her, straining to see inside the house. It was her first ball, and Clarissa could not help but feel intense affection for the time she had spent selecting the gowns she had brought with her. Emily favoured autumnal colours, which suited the season beautifully, and she had gold and green bows in her hair.

“Try not to lean around me so heavily. It is not polite,” she said quickly as her cousin practically bent herself in half to see inside the house.

Emily recoiled immediately and stood upright again, looking guilty.

“You appear quite charming, indeed.” Clarissa added so as not to admonish her too harshly, and Emily’s little frown disappeared as she smiled demurely in response.

“There are so many people,” Emily said in amazement as they made their way inside behind Lord and Lady Crompton.

“Yes, well, this is her Christmas ball,” Clarissa replied. She stepped back to let a servant scurry past. “It will be spectacular. Try not to expect it at every event you attend, however. They will not all be as grand as this one.”

“I simply hope I can attend another,” Emily said quietly. Clarissa gave her an encouraging smile as they began to walk slowly up the steps behind the other guests.

“I would charge you to see if you can count the candles,” Clarissa added. “Lady Eleanor has a reputation for her beautiful displays. Such a variety of colours, you will be amazed.”

Emily’s eyes lit up at the prospect.

Smoothing her hands over her dress for a final time, Clarissa tried hard not to look as terrified as she felt. She glanced about her furtively, catching a few glances from some of the other guests and feeling a tightness in her chest.

Yet there was excitement, too. It had been an age since she had been to a ball, an activity she had always adored. For the first time in a very long while, she felt excitement bubbling deep within her.

Could this be our way back from the edges of society? Could we dare hope to recover our past lives here?

“Miss Crompton!”

Clarissa looked up and felt her cheeks ache with the smile that spread over her features. Standing on the steps before her was Lady Rosemary Bolton, a face she had not seen for many years.

Lord and Lady Crompton were greeting Lady Eleanor, who looked elegantly regal in a silver gown that shimmered in the pale sunlight. Clarissa hastily stepped forward and embraced her friend.

As Rosemary’s arms went around her, Clarissa had to hold back tears. She had not been embraced by a friend for many months.

She leaned back to see Rosemary’s eyes shining with happiness.

“I am so pleased you have come,” she said earnestly. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

Clarissa’s cheeks flamed at the praise, and she chuckled gently as Rosemary stepped back.

“It is wonderful to see you, Lady Bolton. Thank you.”

Rosemary’s presence had settled the wildest nerves fluttering in Clarissa’s gut, and she smiled broadly at her friend.

Beside her, Lord Crompton’s eyes were scanning the crowds warily. As Clarissa introduced Emily to Lady Eleanor, she noticed two women ascending the stairs behind her.

The lady on the right was occupied in examining the snow and making some remarks about how cold it was. The other, however, was looking at her parents with a sharpness in her features that Clarissa knew well.

It was subtle, but the lady leaned over to her friend and said something quickly in a whisper. Clarissa watched the other woman’s eyes widen and then run her gaze over Lady Crompton in an assessing way. Finally, her eyes alighted on Clarissa. As soon as she was caught looking, she affected an air of disinterest and Clarissa looked away.

Clarissa stood a little straighter, determined not to let it affect her mood. She turned back to Rosemary, who smiled and welcomed them into the house.

As she ascended the stairs, a hand wafted into her peripheral vision, and her mother tugged at her dress.

“Stand up straight,” her mother whispered in a low voice. Clarissa felt that if she were any straighter, her spine might snap in two. “You look very well, but your concern is showing on your countenance.”

Clarissa clenched her jaw. She knew perfectly well that her face was a neutral mask—after all, she’d had plenty of time to perfect it over the years. She knew how to look blank and polite; it was as automatic as breathing.

“You are quite beautiful when you smile. Could you attempt to look pleased to be here?” her mother asked in a hiss, and then she bustled away, raising her voice to compliment Lady Eleanor’s splendid entrance hall.

Clarissa tried to muster a smile but only managed a faint tweak of her lips as they entered. Thankfully, she was too distracted by the room to feel the sting of her mother’s words for too long.

In truth, Clarissa was rather astounded by the opulence and beauty on display. Huge golden candelabras adorned every corner, and an enormous chandelier was festooned with endless candles above their heads. Wreaths and sprigs of holly were hung on every wall, and the banister of the staircase had been beautifully decorated. The white and gold ornaments perfectly complimented everything about them.

Many more guests would arrive over the next hour or so, and Clarissa swallowed as she thought of all those strangers scrutinizing the Crompton’s after all this time. Nausea rose in her throat once more, and she looked away. Every step she took felt like a judgment, like a test, and she was overwhelmingly grateful to be given a brief reprieve as they were shown to their rooms.

Emily was a wonderful companion. She chattered happily, finding joy in everything she saw. She was a positive ball of excitement, and Clarissa could not help smiling fondly at her.

But when she closed the door of her private room, she finally allowed herself a moment of reflection and release.

She sank into the bed, her fingers clutching at the red counterpane as she closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she listened to the crackle of the fire. Her lady’s maid, Annie, was bustling about the room and almost as excitable as Emily. She had not been able to prepare Clarissa’s clothes for a dance in years and she was already discussing the styles they might try.

“Did the house not look stunning, Miss Clarissa? I declare I have never seen so much greenery in a hallway before, and there were magnificent candlesticks that cast a warm glow upon the servant's kitchens.”

Clarissa listened with half an ear, keeping a smile on her face and nodding at intervals. Annie, a small girl with a buxom figure, moved about the room hurriedly, telling her how well she looked and that her hair was the most ornate of the other ladies they had seen.

Clarissa let her voice wash over her, allowing her breath to settle, her lungs to ease their aching, and her chest to relax.

Please let this be a success. Please let us all come out of this unscathed.

***

A little later, as Clarissa readied herself for the ball, Annie fussed over her hair for many minutes. Clarissa was happy to let her have free reign, and when she was finished, the result was very pleasing to the eye.

Her hair was a honeyed gold colour and much longer than it had been. Annie had twisted small plaits around the base of her head that moved upward onto the crown. She had posted white flowers through the gaps, making a pleasing flutter of white in the centre. The flowers in her hair complimented her ivory gown. Clarissa was a little astonished to see a lady looking back at her in her reflection. She looked poised and capable—there was no trace of the uncertainty churning through her at the prospect of the ball.

Will a facade of propriety be enough to fool them all? She wondered.

The door to her room opened with a jerk as her mother strode in, shooing Annie away. She stood behind Clarissa for some minutes, looking her over and tweaking different parts of her gown. Clarissa tried her best to stay still, suppressing the urge to waft her mother’s meddling hands away.

“I thought you would wear the burgundy I suggested,” her mother said reprovingly. Clarissa looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“I did not feel comfortable in it, mama.”

Lady Crompton scoffed. “You mean you prefer to be a bland girl standing at the side of the room and to be overlooked.”

“On the contrary, Mama, the colour does not suit me.”

Her mother was dressed in deep mauve, her pale blonde locks styled effortlessly on her head with a little colour about her cheeks. She might be an older woman in society, but she had always had immaculate taste.

“Very well, then, that will have to do,” she said irritably. “Nothing can be amiss this evening. We must all do our best and ensure we make a positive impression upon the guests.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And you must accompany Emily as much as possible. Do not allow her dance card to be marked by any man who might have a whiff of scandal about him.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And do not dawdle as you do sometimes. You must be with us; do not hide with your friend Lady Bolton all evening like a wallflower. You are suitable to look at when you stand up straight.”

“Yes, Mama.”

To Clarissa’s relief, the bedroom door opened again to admit Emily, which silenced her mother’s tirade. Her cousin was wearing a dark green gown that suited her beautifully. Clarissa could not help the smile that broke over her face as she bounded in and twirled on the spot to gain her approval. If only I could be so carefree and excited, she thought longingly.

Clarissa glanced at her mother, whose expression had soured.

“Emily, you are almost eighteen. You are not a child. Please desist with this cavorting immediately.”

Emily’s spinning ended, and she quickly came to a complete stop, mimicking her aunt’s posture and flicking an uncertain glance at Clarissa. Lady Crompton swept out of the room without another word, and Clarissa reached for Emily hastily.

“You look lovely,” she said quickly.

“So do you. I have not seen this gown before,” Emily replied, her eyes looking enviously at the beading and lace across the bodice. It was an old dress that Clarissa had altered to suit the current fashions. It was much finer than anything she had worn of late.

“Thank you. Let us make haste before Mother musters her wrath upon us for our delay.”

Clarissa moved toward the door but was stopped by a gentle hand on her wrist.

“You really think I look alright?” Emily asked with concern.

“Of course. You look very beautiful.” Clarissa insisted as her cousin blushed prettily. “What has brought this on?”

“I just…” Emily sighed. “I want them to be proud of me. I want to make a good impression. If Papa were here, he would say the same.”

Clarissa walked back to her and took both her hands in her own.

“You could never make an ill impression, Emily. You are exquisite just as you are. Pay no heed to Mother; her concerns about the ball are borne of anxiety. Cast aside any uncertainties from your mind. We shall be together, and I assure you, we shall have a delightful evening. This ball heralds the commencement of something splendid. I can sense it.”

Emily gave her a brave smile and Clarissa was pleased to find her words had reassured her. She wished she believed them as fervently as she had spoken them.

As they emerged from their room, they joined Lord and Lady Crompton at the top of the long staircase.

Robert Crompton was devoid of emotion as he stood beside his wife. He had trimmed his sideburns for the occasion and looked very smart in a strict black evening coat. As Clarissa approached, she caught his eye, and he nodded briefly to his daughter.

Clarissa knew well the turmoil he had to be experiencing, for she felt just the same.

As they walked down the stairs, Clarissa felt like a gladiator in the days of Rome, descending into the pit to meet her fate.

Dozens of eyes turned toward them as they entered the ballroom. Lady Eleanor was at their side instantly as though to show the world they were welcome in her eyes. She had a warm smile on her face and Clarissa felt a wave of gratitude for this stoic woman who had welcomed them into her home.

There were a great many curious glances from the guests, some less discreet than others. Clarissa kept her head held high, clinging tightly to Emily’s hand.

She wished she could choose a different role from the one she had to play, but at least she knew this part well. Clarissa was very good at pretending nothing affected her and keeping her face as blank as possible. As the murmurs began, she followed her parents through the room as they greeted old acquaintances. It seemed an endless journey, but after an age, the stares appeared to die down somewhat.

After a few minutes, Emily went with Clarissa’s parents to the refreshments table and Clarissa headed straight to the corner of the room where Rosemary awaited her. Her friend had an easy smile on her pretty face, and as Clarissa came to stand beside her, some more of the tension she felt eased.

“I did tell my aunt not to invite quite so many people,” Rosemary said without preamble. “We do not have enough space for all of them; if they begin a cotillion, they might throw each other through the windows.”

Clarissa managed a smile, and Rosemary hooked her arm through hers and squeezed.

“It is so good to see you. I believe you have grown a full foot since I saw you last.”

That did make Clarissa laugh and she turned to her friend with a sceptical expression.

“What nonsense are you speaking? I last saw you at the charity auction last year.”

“Yes, and you were not taller than me then. You tower above me now.” Her eyes were twinkling, and Clarissa shook her head. There was an inch between them, at most.

“You are ridiculous,” she said affectionately.

Rosemary smiled. “Do you remember the old oak tree at the bottom of the garden?” she asked suddenly.

“I do,” Clarissa conceded. “I am not as tall as that.”

“I am afraid it is dead now. Aunt Eleanor could not understand why it was not flourishing, and in the last two years or so, it has lost all its leaves.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I enjoyed our time on the old swing. I think we were lucky not to break any bones.”

“I believe the tree has been pining for you. We should take a turn tomorrow and see if it perks up at the sight of its old friend.”

Clarissa’s throat tightened at the memories of sitting on the swing with Rosemary. They had been much younger and more innocent than they were now.

She remembered a year when it had begun to rain so heavily that they were soaked to the bone. The cook had given them hot chocolate and placed them in front of the fire in the drawing room, wrapped in blankets. They had talked of secrets and daring adventures they would never attempt. It had been a gentle time, and she yearned for it now with an intensity that surprised her.

“Is the swing still there?”

“It is. For better or worse. Perhaps we should both sit on it to see if the rope will snap.”

They shared a grin of secret pleasure. Rosemary’s grip tightened a little more on her arm, and she glanced sideways at her before continuing. Clarissa knew what was coming before she spoke.

“I will not speak much of it, as I can imagine it is difficult. But have you heard from your sister?” Rosemary’s eyes were sorrowful and genuine. Clarissa knew how hard it must have been for her to broach the topic.

“No. No word. She is safe, I hope. Still in Italy.”

They fell silent, for there was nothing else to say on the matter, but then Clarissa stiffened as the atmosphere in the room changed.

Immediately on high alert, she looked for her family. Is something amiss? Has one mention of Catherine destroyed us all? She was unable to believe that any change in the environment was not due to her family.

Instead, she found the guests just as they had been, but a great many people were turning to the doorway of the ballroom.

Clarissa glanced over a multitude of heads to see a man standing in the doorway. He was exceedingly handsome, his face sharp, his features pleasing to the eye.

He had dark tousled brown hair and sharp, green eyes and was looking about the ballroom with interest. But it was his expression that intrigued Clarissa the most. He did not appear pompous or arrogant. Many men in good society looked down their noses with cold scrutiny. There was something easy about him, almost suave. Clarissa found herself briefly captivated.

Somehow, despite all the people around them, their eyes connected across the room. As that bright green gaze met hers, Clarissa felt a shudder of something skitter through her. But as soon as she felt it, she looked away. She knew the perils of a handsome face and the wicked allure of charm.

He was announced as Nicholas Bolton, the Earl of Bernewood, and Clarissa was amazed to find that she was standing with her arm linked to the man’s sister.

Rosemary had spoken very little of her brother. Clarissa had believed him to be travelling and never expected to meet him in person.

She was aware of his less-than-wholesome reputation. He was well known for entertaining many women abroad. It had been the stuff of salacious gossip she had never paid heed to. Now, her stomach fluttered wildly as she looked upon him. No wonder he had a reputation as a rake. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen with a wide, beguiling smile.

She looked away.

She would not let her guard down and uphold her family name. He would be an acquaintance, nothing more. Her heart might be beating wildly in her chest, but she would ensure she did not let that fascinating gaze, or his charm, penetrate the carefully constructed walls she had built over the last three years.