“Gemma, no more. Either way, each of us is in our own little hell, caught up with honor, expectations, and the choices we’ve made.”
“If she isn’t inside?”
He suddenly looked very tired. “Then I find her, apologize abjectly, and let her decide what she wants.”
“I’m sorry, Ned. I should have stayed home.”
“No, this had to happen. We’ll just see our way through.”
He took her arm by the elbow and guided her toward the front of the building. He went in first and then returned to the doorway and gave a small, discreet sign to Gemma that it was safe for her to go inside. He himself took off into the night in search of his intended.
Clarissa didn’t know where she was heading. She just knew she had to put as much distance between what she’d seen and herself as possible.
She didn’t bother going back into the dance. She didn’t even think about it. She was too stunned by the sight of two people she trusted kissing each other.
He’d been kissing Gemma.
Clarissa had begged him for a kiss. She’d swallowed her pride and asked foranyshow of emotion from him that could waylay her fears about the marriage. What she’d received was little more than a brotherly peck on the cheek.
And she knew what was going to happen next. They would search her out and then make excuses, the sort of excuses that always made it sound like it was Clarissa’s fault and not their bad behavior. Hadn’t that been the pattern of her life? She was always blamed, no matter what she did. She was also always expected to be well behaved and accommodate others because she was the orphan... the burden... the village project.
However, her future was at stake now. She was not ready for confessions or questions. She also feared that when that moment came, she might completely break down. Ned was her only chance for freedom. Why else had she patiently tolerated his reluctance to marry her?
She needed time to think. She also couldn’t walk all the way back to Squire Nelson’s house. First, she wasn’t about to return to the hall to let her hosts know she was leaving. She didn’t wish to make an announcement. She also couldn’t just disappear. The worst would be if, when the dance was over, they started looking for her and discovered her gone. She didn’t want to hear the lectures that would come out of that. She’d be chastised for being irresponsible, and she didn’t believe she could stomachthataccusation, not tonight.
What she needed was a place where Ned andGemma couldn’t find her. She didn’t want them to tell her that what she saw hadn’t been the truth. Living with different families over the years, she’d heard that more than once.Don’t believe what your eyes see, Clarissa. Or your ears hear. Only believe what we tell you.
Therefore, the best place to go, the only place, was over by the horses. The coaches, carriages, and even pony carts were lined up in the shelter of some trees. There had to be at least fifty of them, and the sounds of the animals would provide cover if she gave in to a good cry. The area was dark and appeared safe. The local lads hired to watch that all was safe had gathered as far away from the front door of the barn as they could. They were busy telling stories and wouldn’t notice her as she picked her way through the vehicles, searching for a place to hide.
Her intention was to wait here until the dance was over. She knew the Nelsons were so preoccupied with watching their daughters, they would not even notice Clarissa wasn’t in the room until she joined them as they left. And they were not going to leave until it was over, not if the Nelson sisters had their way.
She spied a covered barouche located in the deepest night shade. It would be a perfect spot to wait. Quietly, so as not to alarm the horses, she moved to the door, opened it, and bit back a shriek of surprise when she saw the shadows move and a grumbly voice said, “What are you doing here?”
Clarissa frowned at Lord Marsden, who hadspread his long body across the interior of the vehicle. “You gave me a fright. What areyoudoing here?”
“Drinking.”
Her eyes adjusted to the shadowy darkness. She could see the glint off the flask as he held it up.
“You should be inside dancing,” she said, rather sanctimoniously.
“Thank you for ordering me about, Miss Straitlaced,” he countered.
He’d called her that before. She was not in the mood to ignore it tonight. “I don’t see that having morals is a bad thing.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
Clarissa made a face. She was in no mood for his whims. She’d find shelter elsewhere. She started to shut the door. He stopped her by pushing one booted foot against it. “What are you doing skulking around out here?”
“I don’t believe that is your business.” She tried to shut the door again. He kept his boot in place.
“Oh, come, I told you what I was doing.”
“It isn’t a mystery,” she replied, nodding to his flask. And then, because she was in a foul mood, she had to ask, “Do you tire of behaving like a ploughman?”
He appeared to consider her question, and then, taking a good draw on the flask, answered, “If a ploughman does whatever he likes, I believe I’m fine with it.”
Of course. What was it Mrs. Taylor had always said? One can’t talk sense with a simpleton.
