Clarissa walked to the oak. She knelt and pulled some of the ever-present grass threatening to overtake the stone before closing her eyes and saying a silent prayer. She told her mother that Lord Dervil was sorry.I wish you were alive.Because she could use a mother’s advice right now. The matrons were good mentors although they had other purposes in mind when they offered their opinions. They worried about her security, not her heart.
“Please, Mother, give me a sign—”
And then she heard a step behind her. She waited, expecting whomever it was to move on. People often walked the graves before the service.
Then, as if she’d conjured him, she heard Mars say her name. “Rissa.”
For a second, she feared she was imagining his voice. Slowly, she rose to her feet and turned around. Of course, he was standing there not more than five feet from her. Her senses had not lied.
He’d been traveling. His boots showed the dust of the road. He held his hat in his hand and his hair was windswept and careless. He smelled of fresh, wild air and horses. And he had never looked better... because he’d come to her.
But exactly what did that mean? There was an expression in his eye, a solemnity, that she’d not seen before.
He spoke. “Dervil is alive.”
She nodded. “He sent me a letter. He told me you chose not to shoot him.”
“I realized even before we started that you were right. I am not a duelist.”
Clarissa could have collapsed in thankful relief.
“How is Dora?” he asked.
Of course, Dora. “She is growing chubby and will soon have a tooth. I know she will be happy to see you.”
“And I her.”
“What of the vote?” she asked. “Did you exact your revenge?”
“In an astounding way.” He took a few steps toward her. “I did as you suggested and offered some leadership.”
“Leadership?” He’d startled her. “I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with all of that?”
His smile was rueful, and charming. “When one has an intelligent wife, he should listen to her.”
Clarissa cocked her head. “Possibly.” She thought about what the women had told her yesterday and of her fears that he would not come back. “Sometimes, intelligent women can make matters a bit of a muddle.”
“We all can,” he said kindly and took another step toward her. “What I did was form my own coalition and encourage a good number of members to support a third candidate for Chairman. He’s younger, more progressive, and will bring intelligence and energy to theposition. It was not difficult to convince others to join me.”
“Who is the new Chairman?”
“Lord Jessup. You will be hearing about him. Clever man. I have known him for years.”
“Your mother must be furious.”
“I assume so. We haven’t spoken. Fenton appeared relieved. Well, I assume he will be relieved when he wakes up and someone tells him what happened.”
“Now he can nap without pretending to be listening.”
He laughed. “Too true.” There was a beat of silence and then he said, “I don’t like my mother. I don’t like your father.”
“I don’t even know him,” Clarissa answered. “When he wrote, he asked permission to call on me. I wanted to wait and talk to you.”
“It is your decision, Clarissa. I have strong reasons not to trust him, however, I will support whatever you decide.”
Clarissa was shocked. Was this even the same man? “I can’t see inviting him into my life, Mars. He killed your father.”
“He apologized.”
