In her arms, Dora had stopped sucking on the bottle and followed their conversation, her gaze going back and forth as if she understoodperfectly. Then, as if siding with Clarissa, she made a soft sound.
“There, see? Even Dora agrees that you should not lie,” Clarissa remarked. “You are setting a terrible example.”
“When I want a sermon, I will go to church,” he responded, clearly not pleased with her obstinance.
“Or take a wife,” Clarissa flashed back, and was rewarded with the knowledge that she had, at last, gained the upper hand. He didn’t look as if he had a reply—and then he started to laugh.
The sound began as a chuckle, as if the absurdity of the situation had finally dawned on him. The laugh grew in tone and tenor.
The unexpected thing was, Dora seemed to laugh with him. Her lips curved into the shape of a smile. Her brown eyes lit up with interest and she moved her legs as if performing a jig.
Both Clarissa and Mars stared in wonder. He even knelt in front of the rocker. “She has a personality,” he marveled.
“She’s a bright one,” Clarissa assured him, sitting the baby up. “Curious and engaged. You are very lucky.”
His chest puffed up with her compliment. Again he touched Dora’s hair with an air of reverence that Clarissa found unexpected from him. He did care for this child. He might even love her the way Clarissa had always imagined a father should feel for his children.
She could also understand the attachment.She hadn’t known Dora three hours and yet she, too, felt a strong desire to protect the child, to be a comfort to her, and do everything in her power to see that Dora only experienced the best in life.
Sensing she had restored harmony between the two of them, Dora leaned forward to take the teat in her mouth to resume eating.
Mars didn’t move. He stayed right where he was, kneeling in front of the rocker, his gaze on this perfect baby, but his words were for Clarissa. “I know you didn’t come here to pretend to be my wife. Unfortunately, my first thought when I saw my mother was panic. She is not one to trust with sensitive information. She wouldn’t hesitate to use it to gain her way. Meanwhile, Dora is still too new to me.”
“She is still new to the world.”
“Yes... and I don’t want whispers to follow her. I know I can’t protect her from gossip forever. But right now, she is defenseless.” He stood. “And you are right. I should not have pulled you into such an uncomfortable situation without some sort of notice—”
“Or permission?”
He frowned at her interruption then finished handsomely, “It was disrespectful and I am sorry.”
Clarissa didn’t respond, uncertain to trust such a straightforward apology. Or really, anything he said.
“Iam,” he assured her.
Feeling prodded to good manners, she answered quietly, “Thank you.”
“And we shouldn’t even be arguing about this,” he pointed out. “Our marriage is over, before it even started. By now Lady Fenton has left. She was uninvited and she knows I don’t wish her here.”
“It seems a callous way to treat your mother.”
“Don’t worry. She has treated me worse.”
It was on the tip of Clarissa’s tongue to ask how. So far, his mother hadn’t done anything that made her believe his distrust was justified—but a knock on the door interrupted them.
It opened without the person waiting for an answer. Lady Fenton entered. She had removed her hat and outer garments and gave every indication that she was here to stay. Clarissa removed the bottle, setting it on the floor, and shifted the baby to her shoulder as both she and Lord Marsden stood, but there was no greeting.
“Ah, the nursery,” her ladyship said expansively as if she had been invited in. “It is as I remembered when you were little, Lawrence.”
He’d moved forward as if to place a barrier between his mother and Dora. “You need to leave,” he answered coldly. There was no patience or gentle humor in his voice.
“Not until I’ve spoken to you,” she replied, and then she leaned around him to see Clarissa. “There’s the little one. And what a pleasure to meet your aunt, Mrs. Warbler, Clarissa. I may call you Clarissa, no? We are family—”
“We arenotfamily,” Lord Marsden corrected. His hands were balled into fists at hisside. Clarissa had never seen him tense. He was usually a bit too carefree for her tastes.
Lady Fenton drew a deep breath as if he tried her patience before saying brightly, “I don’t believe your wife realized you were this mean-spirited, Lawrence.”
“Anddon’tcall me Lawrence,” her son answered.
