“Of course not,” Roderick said.
His mind went back to the terrace, when Miss Lockhart had looked up at him in the moonlight, her expression soft and fascinating eyes holding his. Perhaps there had been a bit of temptation, albeit brief, in that moment. But that was different. The woman was attractive, he was allowed to notice that. It didn’t mean anything, though.
None of it meant anything at all.
CHAPTER 5
The following day, Clarissa sat one the same veranda where she had encountered Kirkwood the night before, but this time she had a cup of tea in her hand and was joined by the Marquess of Mickenshire, one of the potential suitors her parents had dragged out to the country for her to impress. She was trying not to yawn. Ladies did not yawn in public. Certainly they never gave any hint that they were bored. She wasn’t even certain she was allowed to be bored. She would have to check her book later.
“At any rate, I’ve decided to have my tenants plant barley this year,” the marquess was droning on.
She nodded and supposed that it was good the gentleman was so involved in matters of his estate. She didn’t want to marry a layabout who had no interest in maintaining his responsibilities. But when she looked at the gentleman, her heart sank. He was older than her father.
“Lord Mickenshire,” her mother called out, drawing the attention of the entire party toward her. “You must tell Clarissa about yourdarlinggrandchildren.”
The marquess started at that demand and Clarissa’s cheeks heated. Trust her mother to insert herself and make the age difference she had just been pondering all the more obvious.
“You’ve grandchildren?” she asked, though she knew the answer already.
“I have three,” the marquess said. “My daughters are both married now. You may recall them.”
She shifted. “I-I do. Though they came out a few years before I did.”
Almost ten years. That was how wide the gap was between this man’s youth and her own. Even his children were far older.
“Ah, yes, of course.” The marquess appeared to be as uncomfortable as she was. After all, talk of his daughters had to make the entire party think of the fact that the marquess had no sons. He’d had two previous wives who had died trying to produce one so his title would live on without going to another part of his line.
Hence why he needed a young woman as bride so he could continue to try the same. She shivered at the thought. She knew little about the entire act that produced children, but enough to feel she didn’t want to try it with this man.
“Will you excuse me, Miss Lockhart?” the marquess said with a tight smile as he rose.
She nodded and when he was gone, she caught her father’s eye. He glared at her, as if she had frightened the man off, rather than her mother’s heavy-handed intrusion into their conversation. She sighed. She was about to get up herself and freshen her tea when her cousin George flopped himself into the chair the marquess had departed.
“Dearest cousin,” he said with a little chuckle. “It seems my aunt and uncle are much the same. Do they ever change?”
She stifled a smile. Once upon a time she and George had put their heads together and giggled over the sometimes awkward behavior of her parents. As the years ticked by, though, she found less humor in how their grasping seemed to frighten suitors off or how they increased the pressure on her to save them through marriage.
Besides, she wasn’t supposed to feel or express such things about her parents. One was meant to receive what they presented with grace and gratitude.
“They mean well,” she said softly even though the words tasted bitter on her tongue. “I must respect their methods, either way. They’re my elders and deserve respect.”
George’s normally playful expression fell a fraction. “Clarissa.”
She met his gaze and shrugged. “I must behave well.”
“You’ve never done anything less,” he said and covered her hand briefly. They were quiet together a moment as she enjoyed his company. For all his faults and frivolities, George had never made her feel pressured or judged. He shifted in his seat. “You offer them forgiveness. Will you do the same for me?”
She tilted her head in surprise at the question. “What have you done that needs—” She cut herself off and pursed her lips as she thought of her encounter with Kirkwood the night before. “Oh, you are talking about the earl.”
He nodded. “I am. I’ve heard you’ve been judging him for my bad behavior.”
She sucked in a breath. “He told you that, did he?”
She wanted to be annoyed that he’d done so. It almost felt like he’d tattled on her by running off to her cousin to declare their conversation. But then again, there was a tiny thrill that filled her at the idea that he’d spoken to George about her. It was ludicrous, but there even if she didn’t wish it to be.
“He did,” George admitted. “But even if he hadn’t, it’s been obvious. You’re normally so welcoming to all comers, but you’ve been icy cold to him since our arrival.”
She tensed at the idea that she’d been so noticeably rude. “Well, he’s a rake, you know.”
