“Is something wrong, my lord?” She looked up at him with such innocent concern and sweetness that he wanted to die on the spot.
Thank heavens she couldn’t see his inner thoughts! It was bad enough that he’d allowed himself to think them. “Er…no. Nothing at all. Just need a spot of tea.” He drank down his Darjeeling as if it was brandy.
“This cake is simply marvelous! Your cook is very talented. Please send her my compliments.” She beamed and, God help him, took another bite.
“Quite right, my dear. Don’t tell Mr. Pierre, but I think this may be even better than his tarte citron.”
Right. The duke. Look at the duke. That will keep your foolish, errant thoughts in check.
Wellington, fortunately, was too absorbed in his cake to notice David’s discomfiture.
Tiny footsteps pattered outside the door, heralding Timothy’s arrival. A moment later, his son ran into the room at full speed and came to an abrupt stop in front of Clarissa, panting and wide-eyed, clutching Mister Flopsy-Tail.
Clarissa, radiating warmth and cheer, reached out to clasp his son’s tiny hands in her own. The stuffed rabbitdangled between them. His son’s eyes were wide and bright, and he apparently had forgotten there were any other people—or biscuits!—in the room.
David swallowed hard and knelt beside Timothy so that they’d be at eye level. “Timothy, this is Lady Clarissa, who we spoke about the other day. She’ll be staying with us for a while.” he explained, his heart in his throat.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Timothy. I hope we’ll be fast friends.” It was obvious they were already smitten with each other. And there wasn’t a thing David could do about it.
Indeed, the boy said in an awed-sounding voice, “Lady Clarissa, will you please be my mama? I promise to be ever so good!”
Heavens above! Did those have to be the first words out of his mouth?
“Poppet, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Not that it wasn’t already too late for that.
Clarissa’s expression was beatific as she reached out and pulled Timothy into a hug. “Of course, you darling boy! It would be my honor.”
All of David’s worst fears and fondest hopes collided in his chest with the force of a cannonball as he watched their embrace, and he fell back on his heels, gaping. Every defense around his ravaged heart crumbled to dust, leaving him raw and exposed. This was everything he had yearned for, even as he had taken every possible measure to keep it from happening. He had wanted to protect Timothy from any chance of heartbreak, but it was too late. For both of them.
“Lady Clarissa, I…” He had no idea how to finish his sentence. He wanted to tell her this was all a terrible mistake, that Timothy didn’t mean it. He also wanted to shout to the mountaintops that his heart was full, and that their tiny family was whole at last. He would gladly spend the rest of his life as herhumble servant if she would only make good on her promise to Timothy.
As he looked on, helplessly fumbling for words, his world rearranged itself. It had been foolish of him to think he could keep her at a remove. With that, it was if a dam had fallen, and words he hadn’t planned and couldn’t control tumbled out of his mouth. “Lady Clarissa, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my son. If you meant what you just said, if you truly wish to be a mother to Timothy, then I am at your command for the rest of eternity. All I ask is that you keep your promise and swear that you will not break his heart. I need your solemn oath.”
Still clasping Timothy to her side with one hand, Clarissa reached out her other hand, and he took it, squeezing it more firmly than he ought. She squeezed right back, meeting his gaze with a smile. “I solemnly swear I will do everything in my power to be a good mother to Timothy and will guard his heart like my own. You have nothing to fear from me.”
He had everything to fear from her, but it was too late. She had promised Timothy, and now David would move heaven and earth to ensure she kept her word. “Then I am yours from this day forward until death do us part.”
The duke chuckled. “Now, now. The wedding isn’t until this evening. Save your promises for the minister.”
But to David, the wedding was a mere formality. As far as he was concerned, the oaths they had just spoken were irrevocable. He was hers, and she was his. He would make her happy no matter what it cost him. For Timothy, he would gladly give her his heart and soul, damaged and imperfect as they were.
Chapter 8
Clarissa took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach as she walked down the hall of her family home onher father’s arm. As she turned into the ballroom, David stood beside the minister, gazing solemnly at her.
This was all happening so fast! She wanted to marry David. Truly, she did! And she had high hopes for their future, especially after their promises of a few hours ago. But the full weight of what she was doing settled in her gut. He had made those promises for the sake of his son, not out of love for her. What if she was no more than a duty to him? What if his heart never fully opened to her?
She thought she would have more time to win him over before making vows before God and her family, but there he was, his customary frown fixed firmly in place as if he stood on the gallows rather than at the altar. Not that there was an altar, per se. It was simply a table with a crisp white cloth, a bouquet of flowers, and two candelabras.
Mama and the staff had done their best on short notice. The grand room glimmered with candlelight, and someone had strewn pink rose petals on the path from the door to the makeshift altar. Chairs had been set out for everyone in the Wellington household, from the duke down to the stable boys, and the room was as full as it had been during their annual Christmas ball. Timothy stood in the front beside her mother, his new honorary grandmother, who was dabbing tears with a handkerchief.
It warmed Clarissa’s heart to have them all here. If she’d had a high society wedding at St. George’s, the staff wouldn’t have been able to come. But they had always been a second family to her, and it brought tears to her eyes to see them all decked out in their Sunday best, standing to watch her entrance as her aunt played a wedding march on the grand piano in the corner of the room.
Her gaze met David’s, and she was pleased to see him swallow hard. At least he was reacting to her. His stoicism had cracks.
She might have been wearing a pale blue ballgown instead of a special dress made for the occasion, and she had no veil to hide behind. But her mother and her maid had seen to it that she looked her very best, weaving pearls and flowers in her hair and letting her wear Mama’s finest diamonds.
David’s lips parted as she approached, and the intensity of his gaze left her breathless.
