“Her father knows she’s engaged your services? He’s agreed to this?”
“You think I would cross the Duke of Wellington? I’m not a fool. The lady secured his blessing before coming to me. You have nothing to fear from him, provided you play your part without complaint.”
David had a great many complaints. They filled his head in a tumbling tumult each tripping over the other to make it to his tongue.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Mrs. Dove-Lyon rose with a swish of black silk. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go greet her. Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Hell and damnation!There had to be a way out. What if he made a run for it?
No, he’d seen her guards. He wouldn’t make it to the stairs, let alone out the door. And he had Timothy to think of, not to mention his lout of a brother.
If he had to do this, then he’d make certain not to repeat the mistakes of the past. He would treat her with respect, keep his distance, and make certain his heart never got involved in what should be a strictly practical arrangement. His mistake with Laura had been letting himself fall in love. But, fortunately, she had cured him of all romance.
Lady Clarissa couldn’t touch his heart when it was already cold and dead. In the years since Laura’s death, that organ had petrified. Nothing could pierce it. Well, perhaps Timothy. And on this occasion, Charles. But to everyone else, his heart was hard as granite.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and David braced himself for battle. He’d faced down death at the end of a bayonet with less trepidation, but he would show no weakness.I have a heart of stone. This woman cannot break it. I am safe.
The doorknob turned, and all he could do was pray that his words were true.
Chapter 2
Clarissa hoped her luck wouldn’t fail her as she stepped into Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office. It rarely did, at least not when it counted. Fortune had intervened to show her Jeffrey’s true nature before they’d married. Some might have considered that bad luck, but she chose to see the bright side of it.
Providence had led her to confide her troubles in her new friend Rose, the Duchess of Cranston, who told her all about the discreet services the Widow of Whitehall offered to young ladiesin complicated situations. Miraculously, Papa had agreed when she proposed the idea. Granted, he didn’t have much choice, given the horrid rumors Jeffrey was spreading out of spite. Though Papa had insisted that she choose quickly, giving her a mere fortnight to make her choice.
As she looked over her prospective husband, relief swept through her. The man before her, with his cropped blond hair, eyes the color of fine cognac, and shoulders like Atlas nearly made her heart stop. He was her knight in shining armor from last year’s musicale at the Carringtons’! And he was every bit as handsome as she’d remembered.
The only problem was his frown, which she also remembered from the Carringtons’. But hopefully, with a bit of luck and determination, she could fix that. Given the need for haste, she couldn’t afford to wait for perfection.
Putting on her brightest smile, she held out her hand. “Lord Whitcomb, I’m absolutely overjoyed to see that it’s you!”
He turned carmine as he raised her hand to his lips. Sadly, his frown only deepened. “Lady Clarissa. I’m pleased to see you again.”
Pleased. Not enchanted or delighted. She would have her work cut out for her. But she did love a challenge, and the man before her would be such a delicious reward if she could win his heart. No, not if. When.Have faith. You can do this!
The widow had promised her a perfect match and charged Papa an exorbitant fee for it. And far be it from her to question Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s skills. Besides, didn’t the romances she read always promise a happy ending? She noticed such a romance on the edge of the widow’s desk, with a scarlet ribbon marking her place. Clarissa’s spirits rose. She’d read that very same book and it had a particularly happy ending. Surely, it was a sign of good fortune.
Destiny had brought her Lord Whitcomb, though it might take time for him to realize it too. She couldn’t get ahead of herself, or she might scare her knight away. After all, hadn’t Mama said she nearly scared Papa away when they first met? And yet their love had blossomed so beautifully that no one would ever question that theirs was a love match.
“Don’t mind me, my lord. I’ve always been rather forward. You’ll get used to me, eventually. Everyone does.” Why was her voice so breathy? How embarrassing! Her nerves must have been getting the better of her.
“Er…” Lord Whitcomb was tensing every muscle in his body, poor man. She would have to find a way to relax him. Even Papa had a chink in his armor and she’d found it. Thus, she would find Lord Whitcomb’s, one way or another.
It wasn’t as if she had much choice under the circumstances.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon coughed quietly. “I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted.” She headed for the door behind her desk. “I’ll leave the door ajar for propriety’s sake, and I’ll be in the next room to make certain everyone behaves. All you have to do is call out if you need me.”
Perfect! Clarissa couldn’t help her grin as the widow disappeared from the room, leaving her alone with him to work her magic. Or at least try. Papa called her good cheer “uncanny”. Mama called it “infectious”. She could only hope it wouldn’t fail her with Lord Whitcomb. “There. Now we can be at ease with one another. You must call me Clarissa, since we’re to be wed. And what should I call you?”
She leaned forward, gazing hopefully into the depths of his gorgeous, golden-brown eyes. His face might have been rigid as stone, but some spark deep within them told her he wasn’t entirely immune to her charms.
Good.It worked.She’d put extra care into her appearance before coming. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman met her perfect match. Her lucky day dress was working its magic. Her mother said the green of the fabric brought out her eyes, and the cut of the dress made the most of her thin figure. Her maid had wrangled her wretched flame-red curls into admirable order, showing off her heart-shaped face to its best advantage.
Blinking, Lord Whitcomb leaned back as if she were threatening him with a knife. “I will call youLady Clarissa, and you will call me,Lord Whitcomb.”
So stiff and formal! She couldn’t help but laugh. He and Papa were peas in a pod. “Very well. Keep your secrets, but I’ll winkle them out of you eventually. If nothing else, I’ll learn your Christian name when we wed. In the meantime, I’ll simply call you ‘darling.’”
His cheeks turned pale. “Please, don’t.”
