She did not know where it was headed, this friendship that was quickly renewing itself after so long and at the same time turning into something else. Romance? Sexual desire? Love?
At the age of almost fifty she had no experience with the first. She was surprised when she considered the matter and realized it was true. Yes, there had been a great deal of external romance surrounding her marriage to Caleb. They had been the golden couple, the fairy-tale couple, the happily-ever-after couple. She had been completely dazzled by her bridegroom and head over heels in love with him. There had even been seeming romance within the marriage itself, for he had remained charming and attentive, and she had made no effort to hide her infatuation with him. Why would she? In addition to everything else, she had had something resembling a palace in which to live and luxury wherever she turned. The physical side of their marriage had been, and had remained almost to the end, sensual and satisfying and frequent. He had been proudof her and almost worshipful of her until the end of his life. He had not once spoken a harsh or indifferent word to her.
She had equated it all with love and romance. For a long while, even after she had begun to suspect and then knew that all was not paradise with her marriage, she had thought of herself as the most fortunate and the happiest of women.
But there really had been no romance.
They had never stolen off to the summerhouse alone together, she and Caleb, to watch the sunset—or sunrise. They had never picnicked alone together at the lake or sat in the thatched grotto to drink champagne and gaze into each other’s eyes. They had never walked hand in hand in the park or anywhere else. They had danced together, but only in the presence of their neighbors and really for their benefit so all could see them as the eternal golden couple. Though maybe she was being overly cynical. Caleb had loved to open a ball with his countess. He had loved to set the tone for an evening of happy revelry with his friends and neighbors.
But he had never taken her in the middle of a ball up the hill to the temple folly to marvel at the night sky—and to steal a few kisses and perhaps a bit more while their family and friends danced in the ballroom and on the terrace below them.
No. Romance was new to Clarissa, as she had admitted during a day spent alone yesterday, most of it either in her private sitting room or up in the turret room. It was so new and so intoxicating that she really did not want to put a stop to it.
She still did not want to end it today, even after the morning visit three of her friends paid her together—Lady Hardington; Mrs. Danver, the vicar’s wife; and Miss Wexford. They were amiability itself, their faces wreathed in smiles as they invaded the drawingroom, where she had hurried after witnessing their arrival in Lord Hardington’s carriage through the window of her sitting room. They hugged her and kissed her cheek and apologized for descending upon her with no prior warning.
“But it is such a gloomy morning,” Mrs. Danver explained. “We needed to find a way to cheer ourselves up. And we could only imagine how lonely you must feel here sometimes, all alone, especially on a raw day like today, Lady Stratton. So here we are.”
“We are sorry if we have interrupted some congenial activity, Clarissa,” Lady Hardington added. “But here we are indeed, and we do not intend to go away until you have warmed us up with some coffee or, better yet, chocolate.”
They all laughed and sat down, and Miss Wexford informed Clarissa that Mr. Taylor was hard at work on her dining table in her brother’s barn.
“It is very close to completion,” she said. “He may even finish it today, but will almost certainly do so no later than tomorrow. I cannot wait to see it set up in the dining room and to invite a party to dine with us—provided each guest promises solemnly to admire it profusely, that is.”
They all laughed again.
And they continued to speak of Matthew, all three of them, with the greatest good humor and tact. They spoke of his marvelous skill as a carpenter—and they had heard he had taken on a commission from Clarissa herself. They spoke of the wonderful wood carvings he had entered in contests at the summer fetes and wondered if he had made many others and what he had done with them. They regretted that the long estrangement with his family had apparently never been resolved. They wished at least that hewould find a more genteel home in which to live. It would surely be more comfortable for him than those rooms above the smithy and more indicative of the social status he could claim by right of birth. As it was, no one who did not know his history would even suspect that he was a gentleman.
“Except for the way he speaks,” Mrs. Danver said.
“And as far as anyone knows,” Miss Wexford said, “he does still own the manor house and property his maternal grandmother left him.”
“As things stand,” Lady Hardington said, “there is an unfortunate air of near poverty about the dear man. When did he last purchase a new coat? Or new boots? One does wonder, since there must be income from the lease of the home that was left him, why he needs to pretend to be nothing more than a humble carpenter living on the edge of poverty. Perhaps it is because he does not have a wife. You have been gracious enough to extend some hospitality to him lately, Clarissa. Perhaps you have asked him some of these questions?”
“I have not,” Clarissa said, and smiled.
It was more or less the answer she gave to all their musings over the half hour of their visit.
“It might almost be said, Lady Stratton,” Mrs. Danver said eventually, “that Mr. Taylor is not being fair to you. If you are kind enough to invite him to walk with you in the park and enjoy a picnic with you at the lake, the very least he can do in return is try to look and behave more like the gentleman he is. Not that it is any of my business.”
“But I do not issue invitations on the understanding that the person concerned rise to any preconceived conditions I may set,” Clarissa said. “How presumptuous of me that would be. Besides,Mr. Taylor has always been the perfect gentleman when in my company.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” Miss Wexford said, beaming at her. “And it is not at all surprising, given the fact that he was raised a gentleman. He has always treated me with the utmost respect whenever I have gone to the barn to ask about his progress with the table. I have never felt the necessity of taking a maid with me. Nor has Andrew ever suggested that I ought. I daresay you have never felt the need either.”
“I would not dream of any need for a chaperon when I am with him,” Clarissa said. “We grew up as close neighbors and friends, there being less than a year between our ages. I never needed a chaperon then. My parents trusted us while we spent hours together roaming the park and climbing trees and making daisy chains.”
“Climbing trees,” Miss Wexford said. “Oh my. I am envious, Lady Stratton. My mama and papa would never allow me to climb any, though Andrew was forever pretending they were the high tower of a fortress or the mast of his imaginary ship and climbing to the very top to survey the land or sea around him. I do wish girls were allowed to do at least some of the adventurous things boys do all the time.”
“Well, do be aware, Clarissa, that there are comments being made about your apparent friendship with Mr. Taylor,” Lady Hardington finally said, getting to her feet at last as a signal to the other two ladies that it was time to take their leave. “None of them openly malicious, of course, as far as I have heard.”
“There are probably comments too about Mr. Taylor working in our barn and me taking him cups of tea there a couple of times each day,” Miss Wexford said. “I know myself innocent and youknow yourself innocent, Lady Stratton. But it behooves friends to watch out for one another and pass along gentle warnings.”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Danver said, “your family will all be home soon, Lady Stratton, as the Season in London must be drawing to a close. Then there will be no further cause for gossip. It really is sad that women are never quite trusted to behave rationally when they are alone.”
“Alone with a houseful of servants,” Clarissa said, rising too to see them on their way.
They all laughed again. The three of them hugged her once more and beamed at her—and were genuinely concerned for her.
But Clarissa was not having any of it. She had decided that during her blessed day of solitude yesterday. She was going to live in future as she wished to live. That did not mean that henceforth she was going to throw upbringing and respectability to the winds and live a life of open scandal. But it did mean that her behavior was not going to be determined by what others expected of her, whether those others were her family or her friends or more casual acquaintances—or servants.
