“He wants his heir, yes.” Clarissa blushed. She knew very little about how that was acquired, but what she did know didn’t make her feel better about this. “I would do my best to provide that. His rank would appease my parents and he certainly is viewed with great respect.”
“Because he’s older than Zeus, himself,” Marianne said with a dry chuckle. “One must respect someone who has been around since the beginning of time immemorial.”
Clarissa giggled despite herself. “He isn’tthatancient. You are very wicked.”
“But it made you laugh, so it was worth it.” Marianne grasped her hand again. “I can see you’re a woman who cannot be deterred when you make your mind up. And I understand what it’s like to be in anuntenable position. So if I can help you land your gentleman, I will if you’d like.”
Clarissa shifted in her place. “I’d be grateful for your assistance.”
And she was. But there was something in her chest that made that statement feel like a lie. A sinking horror at the idea that she might actually succeed at making a match with the marquess. Not because she thought him terrible, of course, but because she realized how little she was interested in the man.
But her interest didn’t matter, did it? Attraction was a lark that would fade anyway. What she needed was a longer-term stability and a matching of temperaments. It was time to stop mincing around and do her duty, before it was done for her.
“Thank you,” she said. “You are too good.”
Marianne nodded as they rose together, but she didn’t look certain. And any certainty Clarissa felt was fleeting and forced. But this was her life. She was going to lead it.
CHAPTER 7
It had been two days since Roderick encountered Clarissa outside the library and she warned him away. And she had been true to her word and avoided him strenuously ever since. Or at least as well as she could. They’d been seated next to each other at supper once in that time, though she had only briefly spoken to him and hadn’t met his eyes.
She’d been much more verbose and friendly with another of the partygoers. The very man she was standing with now, across the garden, chatting away with a serene smile on her face like he was the most interesting person in the world: the Marquess of Mickenshire.
Roderick pursed his lips. He had no idea why Clarissa was putting so much of her attention on the man. Mickenshire was boring as plain toast, certainly not matched to her wit and the fire she tried so hard to hide from everyone around her.
George stepped up beside him and offered him punch. He took it but didn’t drink. “Did something happen regarding your cousin?”
George blinked and looked toward her in the crowd. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve simply noticed her putting a great deal of attention into the marquess.” Roderick motioned toward them. “And I sometimes sensea little desperation in the way she interacts with him. She laughs too hard at what cannot be interesting stories. She ignores it when he treads on her feet while they dance.”
George’s lips pursed and he observed the marquess and Clarissa a moment. “Hmm. She does seem to be paying particular attention to the man, you are right. I don’t know why—she doesn’t talk to me about such things, of course. But I do know my aunt and uncle are singular. They’ve been pressing harder and harder on her to marry and marry well in the last year. Perhaps she has decided to acquiesce at last and has chosen the marquess as her way out of their noose.”
Roderick flinched at the idea. For Clarissa tomarryMickenshire? She couldn’t possibly be happy with such a life.
“I suppose if she did choose him,” George continued, “at least the union would likely be brief. If she can produce him his heir, she’ll be well taken care of in the end.”
That was true. At his age, Mickenshire would likely have ten years left if he was lucky. But he couldn’t see Clarissa being so mercenary. Her attention to propriety wouldn’t allow for it, if nothing else.
“I do not understand these parents who will sacrifice their children, especially their daughters, in such a way,” he said with a scowl. “Brief or not, can they possibly be happy with the idea of her marrying a man older than her father who will only see her as a broodmare?”
Now it was George who flinched. “I agree, it’s not palatable. But I’ve no say in the matter. The higher title and the money that comes with it is tied up with my parents until I inherit and you know my father is hale and hearty. I cannot do anything to support Clarissa away from the desires of her parents. Even if I could, she is so driven to be meek to their demands thanks to those awful comportment books…she might bend to their will even if she saw another exit to the situation.” George shook his head. “This is entirely depressing. I think I’ll get another drink.”
George strode off and Roderick pursed his lips harder as he continued to stare at Clarissa. That serene smile that tilted her lipsdidn’t reach her eyes. She almost looked…haunted, and his stomach turned on her behalf. She stepped away, out of his view and he realized her father was standing behind her. And Mr. Lockhart was watching…himevenly and with purpose. Roderick shifted and dropped his gaze away.
Did Mr. Lockhart resent his attention to Clarissa? Fear that he might intrude upon the match he and his wife so desired? And why did Roderick wish to intrude? He wasn’t going to marry Clarissa, himself. He barely knew her, she didn’t like him. And yet he wished very much to discuss this matter with her. To try to convince her that her future didn’t have to be sopallid. Mickenshire was pallid, as plain as Clarissa’s gowns.
He found her in the crowd again. She was crossing away from the group, across the lawn and around toward the back of the house. He drew a brief breath and followed, setting his drink down on the edge of a table as he exited the party.
When he came around the house, he didn’t see her for a moment, but then he caught a glimpse of her gown as she disappeared into one of the doors that led back into the house. He walked faster to catch up with her and entered the house as she made her way down the hallway. She hadn’t noticed him yet, it seemed, but he noticed everything about her. There was nothing calm in the way she walked, hands clenched at her sides, body stiff as she moved. She was upset, just as she had been when they last spoke in the library.
It seemed the library would be the same place they would speak today for she staggered into the room out of his sight. He drew a few long breaths as he slowed his pace. He had a choice here. He could do as she’d requested days ago and leave her alone. He could go back to the party, pretend he hadn’t seen her unraveling. Or he could follow. Insert himself where he didn’t belong. He could try to help her, though he’d never considered himself any great hero to ladies.
He couldn’t stop himself, it seemed. He entered the library behind her.
Clarissa couldn’t draw a full breath as she entered the library. Once this had been her sanctuary, but she had found no pleasure in it for days. She found no pleasure in anything, truth be told.
She had been raised to marry for position, but now that she was making headway with the marquess…and shewasmaking headway with him, she could feel his interest increasing…she felt sick. There was no attraction whatsoever there for her. When she looked at him, she was put to mind of her dear grandfather, not of a husband. And he was boring, so boring. He repeated himself and talked over her and had no interest in anything modern or fun. All hedidhave interest in was producing an heir. He wasn’t crude about it, of course he wouldn’t be. But he did keep making not-so-subtle inquiries about her health. She kept expecting him to check her teeth like she was some pony he was considering buying.
