“Because you are to be married tomorrow,” Ramsbury said. “And there hasn’t exactly been celebrating out in the countryside, has there?”
Roderick glanced at George, who shrugged, as if giving him permission to grouse. “No,” he said slowly. “Clarissa is as much a victim of this rushed union as I am, but her parents…”
George laughed. “You needn’t cut yourself off for me. My aunt and uncle are like cackling crows, cawing out their triumph without a thought to how desperate and pale both the future husband and wife look.”
Roderick finished his drink and set the glass down. He thought of Clarissa in her bedchamber, the night they had last been alone. When they’d spoken about what a marriage would look like. He’d been attracted to her then. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted her to want to kiss him. At least there would be that.
He sighed. “Not entirely desperate,” he said. “Though I can only speak for myself. Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart were very careful to keep Clarissa and I apart after the engagement.”
George pursed his lips. “They do love to cut off their noses despite their faces, those two. They have so little faith in my cousin that they cannot see that if the two of you were allowed to get to know each other better, it would smooth the way for the marriage.”
“I suppose we’ll have a lifetime to get to know each other after tomorrow.” Roderick sighed and poured himself another drink. He didn’t want to get drunk. He wanted to be sharp and aware for tomorrow,so he sipped this one more slowly. “I hope we can become friends over time.”
Ramsbury wrinkled his brow. “I thought you were the great believer in true love.”
“But I’d know by now, certainly,” Roderick said.
“It took Marianne and I years to fall in love,” Ramsbury said. “Much to the disapproval of this one here.” He pointed at Delacourt, who gave a brief, playfully dark look.
“I very much approve of you making my sister happy,” he said with a little smile. “As for Esme and I, she certainly wasn’t in love with me the moment we met. And I felt desire for her, but I wouldn’t have labeled it love.”
“AndIdon’t believe in love at all.” George laughed and threw up his hands. “So I’m not any help. Though I do think if anyone could convince a man to love, it’s my dear cousin. Tightly wound as she has been trained to be, she is also the very best of women.”
Roderick stared into the amber liquid of his drink. His two married friends, at least, were challenging his idea that love was a lightning bolt, instantaneously felt and understood. They were implying that he could fall in love with Clarissa. It was an odd thought. One that gave his chest the strangest ache.
Still, he wasn’t ready to give up the plans, the hopes and dreams he’d spent his life cultivating. Not even to spin up an illusion that would make all of this more palatable.
“Either way,” he murmured. “This is happening tomorrow. So I must toast the marriage, toast my future bride, and toast the hope that we’ll come to some accord that will keep us content through a long life together.”
He lifted his glass and his friends exchanged worried looks, but then did the same. “To Kirkwood and Clarissa,” Delacourt said.
They clinked glasses and Roderick downed the rest. If he’d hoped to spend the evening getting some level of calm before the wedding, that had not happened. His mind was only more tangled now. He only hoped Clarissa was having a better time across London.
“Tomorrow is your wedding and I believe it is time you and I had a talk.”
Clarissa looked up from the letter she had been writing and found her mother had entered the parlor and was worrying her hands at the door. “A talk?” she repeated, rising from the escritoire and coming toward Mrs. Lockhart.
“About…about your wedding night.” Her mother blushed dark red.
Clarissa’s heart jumped a little. She’d expected her mother to have this conversation with her after any engagement she managed to procure, and here the moment was. Her stomach turned a little.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I see.Thetalk.”
Her mother waved her to the settee and took a place beside her. She glared at Clarissa, almost as if she was doing something wrong. “Do you know anything?”
“No, Mama. Few of my friends are married and those that are don’t exactly go around talking about their, er, relations with their husbands. I know very little.”
She thought for a moment about the way Roderick’s mouth had felt against hers when he kissed her. About the heated thrill his touch caused to ricochet through her body. In the library she had wanted more. She didn’t know what more was, but she’d still felt this base longing for it. Something she wasn’t certain was wrong or right.
“A marriage is meant for procreation,” her mother began. “Especially when it comes to a man like Kirkwood, who is titled. He’ll want at least an heir and a spare for inheritance. And since women cannot control whether we produce a boy or girl child, that means you may not be able to fulfill your duty with only two pregnancies. Anything can happen."
Clarissa heard the bitterness in her mother’s tone and worried her lip. She had long known what a disappointment she had been as the only viable pregnancy her mother had been able to complete. Her parents had wanted more children, boys preferably, but even moregirls to marry off. But in the end, it had just been her. Her to place all their hopes and goals and disappointments on.
The weight still felt so heavy.
“I realize that part of my purpose as countess will be to bear children,” she said.
“Your main purpose, more than anything else you do. A purpose you may be forced to sacrifice your life for.” Her mother shook her head. “It is the only thing of real value you can provide to keep a man interested in you as his wife.”
