CHAPTER SEVEN

Clarissa woke to the brightness of a new day. The heavy layer of snow on the ground outside reflected the faint winter sun across the room. It was still very early, but she usually woke at dawn these days.

Her bedroom in Lady Eleanor’s manor was very beautiful. It had a four-poster bed and long, dark green velvet curtains. She had been examining them for some time since the servant girl had left. The fire was lit, and the room was slowly warming. In any case, she was very comfortable beneath the thick eiderdown above her.

She could not take her eyes off the drapes. They were the wrong shade of green, somehow. She wondered why that might be when the truth of the matter presented itself in a frenzy of images of the night before.

They were not emerald green. Lord Bolton’s eyes were startlingly vivid in colour. She wished that the drapes were a similar shade and then clenched her fists, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

I am being ridiculous. She admonished herself. I cannot afford to spend any time thinking of the man.

Before falling asleep, she had spent a great deal of time trying to remember the specifics of his conduct. Lord Bolton had the advantage of being absent from the regular ballrooms, which meant others were targeted in his place. She remembered that his name had been mentioned in conjunction with gambling and a great number of women. However, she could not remember any of their names.

She had definitely been told of a widow. It was allegedly ‘common knowledge’ in Paris that he had set himself up with a mistress. The mere idea filled Clarissa with dread. Not only that but she felt an irritating thread of jealousy mixed in with it. Somehow, Lord Bolton had managed to get under her skin in a matter of hours, and she was exceedingly concerned by her own reactions.

Catherine’s disgrace might have been at the rear of many minds in good society, but it only took one mistake, one fresh scandal, for everything to be exposed again. Clarissa had lived through it before. She did not believe she could do so again.

Mr Harrison had been charming. He’d had a smile similar to Nicholas’s. It lit up the room. Clarissa had been blind to it, always believing him below her notice as he was merely a tutor. Perhaps if she had been less obstinate and paid more attention, the disaster might have been prevented.

I would have stopped my sister from following her heart. Is that better than having lost her?

If she had asked that question of her mother, she had no doubt of the answer. Lady Crompton would never have allowed Catherine any liberties. She would have married her off to the first suitable man who crossed her path and would have no qualms in doing so.

Her mother was not a cruel woman, but in her mind, nothing would have been worth losing their reputation. Catherine’s happiness—indeed Clarissa’s happiness—was secondary to everything else.

She wondered what she might have done if she had known of Catherine’s intentions. Would I have stopped her? What would she say now if I could tell her of Lord Bolton?

And what would she tell her? That she had felt an electric connection as soon as he had taken her hand that night…that when he looked into her eyes, it was as though he looked into her very soul?

None of that mattered.

What mattered was propriety and getting her family back where they were no longer looked down on by everyone around them.

She pushed the covers off and sat up, shivering at the chill in the air. She got out of bed, pushing the curtains aside roughly, and walked to the window. The floorboards were icy to the touch, and she hopped quickly onto the window seat, hugging her knees to her chest and looking out at the perfect, snow-covered world around her.

Lady Eleanor’s gardens were beautiful. Large ferns were at the back, covered with snow, and a fox must have pottered across the lawn in the early hours, for his perfectly round footprints could be seen across the otherwise virgin snow.

Clarissa wondered what Lord Bolton thought of Madeline Wilde. She was a wealthy widow, and she had seen him look at her more than once. Perhaps he would have his head turned while he was here, and she would not have to manage any more intense emerald-green gazes before they left.

Something about that made an unpleasant tendril of discomfort unfurl inside her, but she pushed it away. A tentative knock on the door meant the arrival of Annie, and Clarissa was most grateful for the distraction.

As she dressed, Annie fussed over her hair, placing small pins akin to snowflakes at the back where she had plaited it into circles within the central knot. The overall effect was lovely, and Clarissa was surprised to see a refined lady looking back at her again in the mirror.

It was not as though she had not dressed appropriately before. But being at the edges of society meant one tended not to draw attention to oneself. She was not used to the darker gowns that Annie had brought. Her maid had pulled many that Clarissa had not worn for years from the back of the wardrobe. Today, she was in a lilac gown with mauve ribbons across the bodice.

“You do look well, Miss Crompton,” Annie said as she stepped back to observe her.

Clarissa smiled at her. “All your work, I assure you.” They shared a brief smile but were interrupted by the door opening as Lady Crompton entered the room.

As it was her wont to do, she wafted a hand at Annie to let her know she would no longer be needed. Through force of habit, Clarissa stood a little taller as her mother walked in, looking at her up and down appraisingly.

Once the door closed, however, her mother’s eyes fixed her with a knowing stare. She stepped forward, a look of barely contained excitement on her face as her hands came to rest on Clarissa’s shoulders.

“My dear, you have done very well,” she said enthusiastically, brushing a hand down one side of Clarissa’s dress as though to straighten it.

“Mama?” she asked, her heart picking up at her mother’s expression.

“Lord Bolton showed you some interest yesterday, did he not?”

“Mama!” Clarissa said reproachfully, horrified by her implications. “I have not—”

“No, of course not,” her mother waved dismissively into the air. “You are the epitome of propriety, my dear, but you cannot deny that he favoured you much with his company last evening. The game you played where you had the whole room behind you. I remarked upon it to your father.”

Clarissa felt sick at her mother’s words. This was exactly what she had feared.

“Mama, I have no interest whatever in Lord Bolton,” she lied. “He is a known rake. You cannot possibly approve of the match.”

“Oh Heavens,” Lady Crompton scoffed, moving around Clarissa and pulling her to face her. “It would be a prestigious marriage for you. It would bring our family back into the heart of the Ton. You must see that.”

Marriage, Clarissa felt as though she might collapse at the speed with which things were moving.

“Mama,” Clarissa managed, her voice thin as her throat constricted, “he has a reputation. The last thing we need is to be associated with such a man. He has only just returned to England and plans to leave again in less than two weeks.”

“He told you so? Well, plans can change. And all rakes settle down eventually, my dear. He was quite attentive. You must encourage him. He is the Earl of Bernewood. The estate is vast, and so is his fortune. Think of what this could do for us.”

Lady Crompton would not be reasoned with, and despite Clarissa’s repeated protests, she would not hear that Lord Nicholas Bolton was not a perfect candidate for a husband.

As her mother left her, Clarissa’s chest was tight with anxiety and uncertainty. She could not take in a full breath, and the composed woman in the mirror who had stood there only seconds before was replaced by a frightened girl—trapped between her own fears and her mother’s expectations.

***

When Clarissa gathered herself and entered the breakfast room a little later, she was gratified to see Emily and Rosemary already seated. Rosemary, who had dark hair similar to her brother’s, wore a dark red gown of burgundy that suited her very well. Emily looked up as Clarissa entered and gave her a bright smile.

“Good morning, Clary,” she said brightly. “Have you seen the snow? I believe another foot at least fell overnight.”

“I have. I am surprised I do not find you running about in it,” Clarissa said as she sat down.

“I have never liked the cold,” Rosemary said with an exaggerated shiver. “I fear your cousin will have to enjoy all the snow on my behalf. I shall stay indoors where it is warm and cozy.”

“I could not agree more,” Clarissa teased, and Emily looked at her reproachfully.

“You love the snow,” her cousin protested. “I shall force you out.”

“Perhaps. But only if the paths are clear. I have no intention of having wet feet all day.”

The breakfast was excellent, with kippers, boiled eggs, and mountains of toast. Clarissa was not used to such an abundance of food. She had always been sparing at breakfast, knowing that her father did not eat a great deal in the mornings and her mother never ate much at all. To be presented with such an array of dishes not supplied by her accounts was a decadence that Clarissa took full advantage of.

By the time Rosemary’s aunt began to outline her plans for the day, Clarissa was on her third boiled egg.

“Now, after we have broken our fast, we have much to do, ladies,” Lady Eleanor piped up from the head of the table. She had layered the toast in her hand with such a thick layer of butter that Clarissa had to wonder whether it might taste like toast at all. “We will be making Christmas decorations this morning, and I have laid out all the supplies in the drawing room. I am loathe to go out when the weather is as cold as it is, and I am glad that I planned for so many indoor activities.” She took a bite with some relish and gave Clarissa a wink as she did so.

Clarissa hid a smile. She liked Lady Eleanor very much. She had a playful nature and was always excited to try new things.

The far door of the breakfast room opened, and Lord Bolton entered. He looked impossibly dashing in his morning jacket, with a loose cravat about his neck. His hair swept back in a loose style that suited him perfectly.

Despite knowing he would join them for breakfast, Clarissa was caught off guard by his presence. As she looked up at him, their eyes connected, and Clarissa fumbled her teacup, spilling tea all over the saucer beneath it.

Furious at her clumsiness and her foolishness at being so distracted by the man, she chastised herself viciously for such an obvious reaction. Lord Bolton appeared not to notice, sitting with his aunt at the head of the table. Lord Addison came to sit opposite them, and Emily quickly engaged him in continuing their discussion the night before. Both Henry and Emily adored chess, and Emily was speaking to him of a new move she had read about. Clarissa listened in amused silence, occasionally catching Rosemary’s eye, who looked bored stiff by the topic.

As breakfast came to an end, the ladies gathered in the drawing room to make their decorations. Clarissa was pleased that Nicholas had not joined them, and she was seated with Rosemary and Emily. They were making kissing boughs, and each table had an array of greenery, including holly, ivy, and mistletoe.

Emily’s lack of creativity made Clarissa feel that her own bough was rather better formed than the others. Her confidence was wiped clean away, however, when they were joined by Madeline Wilde.

The lady walked across the room with quiet purpose and placed herself at their table with a warm smile at Rosemary. It was returned, though Rosemary’s was not quite so pleasant.

Madeline sat beside Clarissa, who found her proximity intimidating. Something about her looks across the dinner table had unnerved Clarissa, and she did not like the way her eyes kept skirting about the table.

Madeline Wilde was very well turned out again. From the little Clarissa’ knew of her history—which Lady Crompton had whispered to her the night before—Lady Wilde had been left well-moneyed after her husband’s death. She had exquisite taste. Her dresses were of the absolute latest in fashionable designs. Clarissa was even more aware of her own dress, which, apart from the alterations she had made, was three seasons old.

“Miss Kingston, I cannot understand how you get your bough to be so upright,” Madeline remarked, holding hers up. “Mine is flopping about all over the place.”

To Clarissa’s eyes, it was perfect. As Emily and Rosemary protested its beauty, Clarissa could not help but think the lady’s comment was by design. Madeline’s shrewd gaze met hers and she inflicted her with a tight smile. Clarissa was under no illusions that Madeline Wilde disliked her. She had no qualms in returning the feeling in the strongest terms.

“Do you know, I asked your brother to play cards with me yesterday evening and he refused in favour of that infernal game of charades,” Lady Wilde said to Rosemary.

She kept her voice low so as not to insult their host.

“Ah, yes,” Rosemary replied. “My brother found an excellent partner in Miss Crompton,” Rosemary said briskly. The comment seemed rather more pointed than was required, and Clarissa noticed Rosemary was stabbing her holly into her bough with more force than necessary.

“However did you guess that riddle, Miss Crompton?” Lady Wilde said with a high laugh. “I could not think of anything at all that it pertained to. Lord Bolton is so clever with such things.” She looked at Clarissa scathingly. “I suppose it is like any word puzzle. If you know the rules anyone can solve it easily.”

Emily leaned over to address Rosemary. “Was it your aunt who wrote the riddles, Miss K—"

“And, of course, Pride and Prejudice is the best novel I have read in years. Have you read it, Miss Crompton?” Lady Wilde said, completely ignoring Emily’s attempt to speak.

“Yes, I have read Pride and Prejudice,” Clarissa replied. She glanced at her cousin, who had sat back in her chair and fallen silent.

“Miss Crompton is an avid reader,” Rosemary said swiftly. “I would wager she has read the library at Crompton Manor three times over.”

Clarissa gave her a reassuring smile. “Not quite that many. Perhaps only twice.” That comment prompted a laugh from Emily.

“But of course, reading has its place. I do find those whose only discourse is literature abominably dull.” Lady Wilde said as she tied a bow at the base of her ornament.

Clarissa paused, wondering if she imagined the lady’s tone. Lady Wilde had brought up the topic of books, and it seemed decidedly odd that she was now deriding it. Lady Wilde held up her kissing bough, which was by far the best on the table, and sighed.

“I simply do not know how you do it, Miss Crompton. Yours is so dear and sweet. I have made this great monstrosity.” She laughed at herself and caught the attention of Lady Eleanor who was most quick to compliment her efforts.

As the two women conversed enthusiastically, Lady Eleanor spoke of where the boughs would be hung later in the week. She complimented Lady Wilde by telling her that her creation would be somewhere very central and visible. At that point, they were drawn into discussion with Lady Bartholemew at the next table and turned away.

When they were no longer within hearing distance, Emily rose and went over to her aunt’s table to beg for some ribbon, as she had frayed all of hers, leaving Rosemary and Clarissa alone.

“I do dislike that woman,” Rosemary hissed, to Clarissa’s surprise.

“Lady Wilde?” she asked, pretending she did not know.

“Indeed. She has not stopped fawning over my brother for the past two days, and I know she is only interested in his title.”

“We cannot know that, though,” Clarissa said carefully, eyeing Lady Wilde across the room. She was about to say how pleasing any woman might find Lord Bolton, but she quickly bit her tongue.

“I just hope he is not foolish enough to fall for her charms,” Rosemary said darkly. “She is a very beautiful woman. Any man would be blind not to notice her.”

“She certainly has a very fashionable wardrobe.”

Rosemary scoffed. “Too fashionable. We are not in a Parisian ballroom; she is overdressed for a simple morning activity. I hope she skewers her dress with a pin.”

Clarissa knew she should chide her friend for her conduct, but she enjoyed being in someone’s confidence again.

In her heart, any criticism of Lady Wilde also helped to raise her spirits.