Chapter Nine

Christmas for Francis came and went in a flurry of services and sermons. He didn't need to worry about Clarissa. For her, Christmas and Boxing Day brought a few days without performances, allowing her to remain safe at home while he was out of doors and busy.

He was thankful for that busyness—it kept him away from the temptation of Clarissa Bartlett. The urge to take her in his arms and kiss her grew with each day.

In the evenings, Francis struggled against his attraction to her as they spent time together. Sitting in front of a roaring fire, snug in his cozy rooms, away from the cold and threatening dark outside world. he helped her memorize her part for her upcoming performance in a new burletta. They laughed over her fluffed lines and about his staid delivery of even the most comic lines.

He now knew what kind of woman would willing expose herself to the eyes and appetites of men. One who was driven to succeed in her profession, even though society frowned on it, because acting was her passion. That woman was funny and kind and enlivened his quiet life.

Clarissa became interested in his charity work. As she had lived in the Duke Street Orphanage, she had ideas about how such institutions could be improved, from a resident child's perspective. He planned to present her suggestions to Jane, whom he was sure would assist him in swaying the Mission's board to implement them.

Most of all, Francis learned that he and Clarissa got along very well. Resisting his attraction to Clarissa became harder every day. Naturally, he stayed away from home for as long as possible.

Once his sisters returned, Clarissa would be able to move to their school in Harley Street. That location and the presence there of Joe, the porter, would keep her safe from her Viscount Travener's attentions.

Then, this dangerous interlude while she resided in his rooms would thankfully end. No more dressing her as a clergyman to enter and exit. No more resisting her growing allure and the desire to kiss her. No more reading scripts together while he enjoyed her vivacious company.

In the afternoon of New Year's Day, they exited his rooms and hurrie d downstairs and out the front door of Atcherley Chambers on their way to The Regent Theatre. It was his daily habit to escort Clarissa there at dusk, well before her performance. They had done this so many times without detection, so Francis barely glanced around to ensure they were alone.

The heavy front door closed behind them. A hand came to rest on his forearm. The overwhelming scent of lavender accosted his nose. "Francis Brody? It is you! I was about to send a note up to you. To invite you to a recital with Papa and I." She nodded towards a street urchin hovering a few steps away, ready to do her bidding.

Fanny! His unofficial fiancée.

Francis's stomach lurched.

The woman's quiet voice pressed into his conscience like fingertips on an unhealed wound . Her dark clothes blended into the failing light. No wonder he hadn't noticed her. His eyes searched the gloom for her father, but saw only a female servant lurking on the other side of the road. How came she to be here, unescorted by Reverend Hodges?

Good Lord, what was he to do? Bluff it out? He bestowed a smile on her. "Fanny, allow me to introduce Mr. Clarence Bartlett. Bartlett, meet Miss Hodges."

Fanny's attention drifted over to Clarissa and she took a long slow look at her. A crease formed between Fanny's eyebrows, then her face registered shock. Her brown eyes were wide as she returned her gaze to him, so wide they seemed to prise open his heart and release the truth within. I don't love her. And now she's found out in the most hurtful way.

Fanny's mouth turned down and her eyes narrowed. Already a plain woman, her face wasn't improved by her scowl. "Don't lie to me, Francis Brody. Or is it to yourself? I can tell a woman dressed as a man when I see one." Her chin lifted, but her bottom lip puckered at his betrayal . She sent him a look of pained disappointment. "What I want to know is why she is leaving your lodgings with you?"

He needed to calm her. "It is not as it appears, Fanny. We are innocent of any misconduct."

"I don't believe you!" He had never heard such a harsh tone from her before. Her upper lip curled in contempt. "I see what you are now, Francis Brody. A sinner, with your doxy!" Fanny's voice scraped over his conscience like fingernails on a blackboard.

Could this get any worse? "You're assumption is wrong," he replied calmly. "Fanny, I—"

"If you think I will remain affianced to you after this, you are mistaken!"

Francis straightened his back and lifted his chin. "That is your prerogative." Please release me from my obligation. He clenched his jaw to stop himself smiling. Something good might come of this disaster . "That is your right, of course."

"Indeed it is. I could never marry one such as you. You're a disgrace to the church. I'll have to tell my father, you know. Wait until he informs the bishop of your behavior." Vindictive malevolence filled her voice.

His stomach knotted at her words and the fervor in her voice. Of course, there will be hell to pay for this.

"Fanny, please—"

Her reticule hit him on the side of the head. Stinging exploded across his boxed ear. Fanny continued to vent in a low, waspish voice. This was a newly revealed side of her nature. She had always been meek, demure and softly spoken. He covered his battered ear with a hand. Of course, he deserved her ire, but he hadn't expected it to be so physically painful.

Fanny raised her arm to deliver another blow.

Clarissa's hand snaked out from beside him, catching his ex-fiancée's arm and stopping its arc towards his head. "I think not," Clarissa growled. "Find yourself another punching bag."

Fanny drew herself up to her full height, middling though it was, and tugged her arm free. "You've not heard the end of this, Francis Brody." She stomped away, to be quickly swallowed by the foggy winter's day. Her maid hurried in her wake.

"Are you all right?" Concern filled Clarissa's mellow voice.

He grimaced. "Nothing hurt except my pride." The tang of bitterness filled his mouth. He must think. Fanny would be on her way to tell her father everything, and he would be at the bishop's palace tomorrow morning to fill that man's ear with Francis's sins. He hoped no one else had heard what Fanny had to say.

Guilt-fueled anger coiled in his belly, and he was distraught about the upset the scene must have caused Clarissa. But at the same time, euphoria flowed through his veins in relief at his unexpected release from his no-longer-wanted engagement to Miss Hodges.

Finally he was a free man again.

Free to pursue his feelings for Clarissa. If she would allow him. The chances of that were slim to none, but he had to try…because he suspected he loved her already.

He shook his head at the enormity of his realization.

But he was getting ahead of himself. With a sinking stomach, he realized he must first face the backlash from this event, with the bishop. There was only one way to deal with this problem—head on.

Clarissa must not have her name tarnished by the scandal of living with him. There was only one sure way to stop that happening.

They must marry.

As soon as possible. By bishop's license.

There was no other choice. That path required a sworn statement from both of them averring there was no legal reason they couldn't marry. Could he fulfil those requirements before he had to face a disciplinary meeting with the bishop—the likely result of Fanny's tale reaching him?

There was only one way to achieve his goal. He must see the bishop today and plead for the license on the grounds that he must marry Clarissa to give her a home and protection as she was alone in the world.

If she would have him.

Clarissa looked stricken, her eyes wide and her cheeks pale. "I didn't know you were engaged. Why didn't you say? I would have found another place to stay."

"We were not officially engaged. Long ago I realized that I didn't love Fanny. I haven't seen her for over a year, hoping she would change her mind and realize what we experienced was only a youthful infatuation."

Her mouth formed an ‘o' and a frown still crossed her forehead.

"Come Clarissa, we need to get to the theatre." He grabbed her elbow and set her in motion. After a moment's resistance, she moved forward and they hurried towards Covent Garden.

"Clarissa, I have something to ask you," he said after a few minutes striding through the busy streets. He halted them. "Your name will be sullied by the gossip Fanny's father will spread far and wide and I may face expulsion from the church when my bishop summons me."

"I'm sorry to hear that you will be punished for helping me. I—"

He cut her off. "I see only one way out of our predicament. You must marry me."

She froze and gaped at him. "Frank, I'm flattered, I'm sure, but…but—"

"There is no other way. I'll go to the bishop this afternoon and obtain a license before Miss Hodges and her father can do their harm through whispering in the bishop's ear tomorrow. We must marry at St Paul's Church."

Clarissa's face softened. "Thank you, Frank, but I'm not ready for marriage and babies. Not before I've succeeded on the stage. Can you see me as a mother? I think not. I'm far too self-centered for that. At least, not yet…until my acting career is firmly established."

"I'm offering you a marriage of convenience. There will be no infants to stifle your career. The marriage will never be consummated unless you change your mind."

She stared at him opened mouthed for a moment. "No, Frank, I can't. I appreciate your concern for me." She tugged on his arm. "Come now, I must get to the theatre for rehearsal."

"Think about it while you're there. I'll collect you afterwards, bringing all the paperwork necessary, and ask you again." He had no intention of giving up on his plan yet.

After walking her to the stage door, Francis took a hackney to his brother-in-law's solicitor then hurried to St Paul's to consult his employer, the Reverend Randolph, about his intention to marry by bishop's license.

***

Hours later, Francis arrived back at The Regent Theatre—only to see Viscount Travener in front of him striding purposefully towards Clarissa's dressing room. Francis bolted forward as the man entered Clarissa's dressing room without knocking.

He wrenched open the door to find Clarissa struggling to free herself from the blackguard's embrace. Francis lunged forward and crashed his walking stick across the man's shoulders. "Unhand her, you rogue!"

Travener staggered back, releasing Clarissa, who threw herself onto Francis's arms.

"Get out!" Francis yelled at Travener, threatening him again with his stick.

The man slunk out of the room. "I'll get you for this, Brody." Travener snarled.

"You can try," Francis jeered before turning to Clarissa. "Are you hurt?" he asked her.

Clarissa's hands trembled in his. "No, but I fear that wouldn't be the case had you not arrived just in time."

He tightened his grip on her and she sagged into his embrace. "You're safe now." He guided her to the chair before her dressing table.

"Yes, with you I am." She gazed up at him. There was a new warmth in her eyes. "I've been thinking some more about your proposal."

Francis swallowed. That's a good thing? "I believe our marriage is the only way to make you permanently safe from scandal and from Travener." He used his most assured voice.

"I agree." Clarissa glanced away but encountered his gaze in the dressing-table mirror. And would make you safe from Miss Hodges's machinations.

His heartbeat leaped into a gallop. "Do you?"

Clarissa took a deep breath. "Yes, I believe you're right. I wouldn't marry any man but you. Only you would I trust to keep your promise about ours being a marriage of convenience."

A marriage of convenience . Of course. His heart shriveled at her words.

***

Francis bundled Clarissa into a hackney and hurried to the Bishop's Chambers in London House next to the Bishop's Chapel in Aldersgate Street. By some luck or grace, he was admitted to see the bishop, because his last appointment of the day had not shown up. Francis left Clarissa in the waiting room, preferring to meet the bishop alone to explain the situation and stop him questioning Clarissa directly, unless he insisted upon doing so. For now, he would prefer it was not known that she was an actress.

William Howley, Bishop of London since 1813, was a learned man of advancing years, who had held a professorship at Oxford University. Tall and lean, he turned from the window looking out at the grim day. His wig of office was discarded on his desk, to reveal brown hair swept back in waves from his broad forehead.

The bishop sent Francis a brief smile. "Reverend Brody, how may I assist you?"

Francis bowed his head respectfully. "My lord. You may regard this as sudden and unexpected, but I wish to marry by common license. The lady in question is without family who will support her and under threat of imminent homelessness. We have formed an attachment. She is of age and there is no legal impediment to our marriage. We see no reason to delay our plans to marry when her situation is so dire and I can assist her."

"This is very sudden, Francis. Marriage is a serious business. I had heard talk in the past of you and Miss Hodges considering marrying."

"There was no formal engagement and Miss Hodges believes we are no longer suited. I agree."

"If the situation is as serious as you claim, could the lady in distress not abide with your family while banns are read?"

"Yes, that could be done, were my sisters in London, but they are in Hampshire for some weeks more."

"Could she not travel to them?"

"I think you would agree that she shouldn't travel such a distance alone?"

"Ah." Bishop Howley fiddled with the pens on the desk in front of him. "And this lady is a woman of good character?"

"Of the best," he averred. He honestly believed that, even if all the world did not.

"You have sworn statements?"

"I do." He handed the two statements, devised by his solicitor and signed by himself and Clarissa already.

The bishop read them before he rang a small brass bell on his desk. "In that case, I agree. There is a fee."

"Certainly." Francis pulled a one-pound bank note from his pocketbook.

The bishop's clerk entered. "An ordinary marriage license for my signature please," he requested of him.

With the license safe in his pocket, Francis strode outside to collect Clarissa from the antechamber. Now he just had to keep her safe from Travener and her aunt until they could marry in seven days' time. And then keep her at arm's length for a lifetime after that.

Lord, help me. To preserve this woman's reputation, I have just condemned myself to a life of torment.