At the sight of them, a cheer went up along with shouts of congratulations and a few good-natured comments about this being the end to the Logical Men’s Society. If Mars was botheredby the suggestions, he gave no indication. He was the very model of a solicitous groom.
He helped her into the waiting coach and they rode through Maidenshop as if they were royalty. Mrs. Warbler and the Summeralls followed in a barouche provided by Belvoir while a stable lad brought up the rear on Mars’s horse Bruno.
“Do you like the ring?” he asked.
“I do. I haven’t put my glove back on.”
He smiled as if pleased. “It belonged to my grandmother. She valued being the countess. I hope you do as well, Clarissa.”
At the house, most of the guests had already arrived for the wedding breakfast. These were people Clarissa had grown up around, and included the Dowager Duchess of Winderton. There was also a good number of the former and present members of the Logical Men’s Society, though their numbers were dwindling. They didn’t seem to regret losing Mars as a member—well, Sir Lionel grumbled but he couldn’t say much since he was a widower himself. At one point he had donned the parson’s noose. He groused about that as well.
Their neighbors, their friends, their mentors toasted Clarissa’s health, Mars’s health, and called for their future happiness. Clarissa could not recall ever feeling so included.
At one point, Mars fetched Dora. She had just risen from a nap and her cheeks were rosy red. Her hair went every which way, but no one criticized because she looked so precious with her inquisitive brown eyes and cherub lips.
The matrons all gathered around her. Mrs. Burnham announced that they would be her “grannies,” a phrase that caused the dowager’s lip to curl in dislike and the others just laughed.
The laughter startled Dora. She began fussing, her worried gaze searching the room—and then she saw Clarissa. Dora held out her arms, begging to be transferred to Clarissa’s care. It felt good to take the baby. She hid her face against Clarissa’s neck as if she was shy. Eventually, she gained the courage to survey the room as if she was the princess of Belvoir until Mrs. Rucker came and took Dora back to the nursery.
Several times throughout the day, Clarissa’s breath would catch in wonder at how magically her life had changed. It was like a story in a child’s tale. She was the disgraced heroine and Mars the huntsman who rescued her.
She was determined to live up to the vows she had shared with Mars. She was going to be the best wife he couldeverfind. While she wasn’t certain of all the details of running a stately home like Belvoir, she was certain that she could successfully learn. She’d helped Reverend Taylor manage the parish. Could the servants be more difficult than the parishioners? She doubted it.
Later, after the wedding breakfast guests left sometime around midafternoon, Clarissa and Mars visited Belvoir’s granary, the large hall where grain was threshed and stored. At thistime of the year, it was empty and a good place for the servants to hold their party in honor of their earl’s marriage.
Families were included and Mars had given them kegs of good ale and thrown open the larder. By the time the earl and his new wife made an appearance, most were in very good spirits. The others, Mr. Gibson, the footmen who had served the wedding breakfast, and the kitchen servants were ready to be included and making up for lost time. This was a far more raucous event than the breakfast had been. It was obvious her husband was well-liked amongst the members of his staff.
They stayed longer than Clarissa anticipated. The servants’ party was fun. There was much drinking and eating but there was also music.
At one point, calls went up for she and Mars to dance together, something they had never done before. Even at the Cotillion Dance, the highlight of Maidenshop’s social calendar, Mars had never asked her to dance.
He offered his hand with a smile and a small shrug as if to say that they had no choice. She was self-conscious as he led her to the dance floor.
The other dancers moved back, leaving the floor to them. The music started. It wasn’t one of the high-spirited country dances they had been playing.
Instead, it was a lilting ballad that she recognized but couldn’t place the song title. And before she could really grasp what was happening, she found Mars’s gloved hand at her waist, her other palm in his as he swept her up into a waltz.
Clarissa had never waltzed before. Many of the matrons had thought it scandalous although it had been quite popular at the last two Cotillions. Still, she’d never been asked to dance it.
Now, in the arms of a man who was an accomplished dancer, she found herself lost in the moment. Even with their difference in height, Mars didn’t make her feel awkward. Instead, his hand at her waist helped guide her, and she let him, giving herself over to the magic of music and movement.
When they finished, there was an explosion of applause. Clarissa felt herself embarrassed until Mars looked down at her and smiled as if he was proud of her. Proud ofthem. Heat rushed to her cheeks... and to other places. Clarissa had never experienced such complete harmony with another soul as she had in that dance. It was almost as if she—trusted him?
Apparently sensing her confusion, he said, “Smile, nod to them.” She did and he led her into the crowd with the servants shouting their approval. At the edge of the gathering, he turned, placing his hands on her shoulders as they watched the dancing continue. She liked the weight of them there, of being so close to him.
“These people know me better than anyone,” he admitted. “In many ways, they raised me from boyhood.” There was a beat and then he said, “They are pleased with our marriage.”
“Are you?” She had to ask. She couldn’t help herself. She was cautious by nature and he was very quickly stripping her doubts away. She could barely remember thinking him an enemy . . . and that had only been a week ago.
“I am.” And then, to her shock, she felt him kiss the back of her neck, brushing her skin in the most sensitive of places.
Anyone could notice what he was doing. Her breath caught in her throat at his audacity. Still, she held herself very still, almost afraid to breathe, caught the exquisite sensation of his touch.
“Are you ready to return to the house?” His voice was deep, low, seductive.
She nodded mutely. They should leave before she forgot her “terms.” Before she threw all common sense to the wind. What she needed was space—and the privacy of her own room.
He reached for her gloved hand. It seemed the most natural thing to let him take it, to feel him clasp her fingers and lead her away, pausing to say a word here and give a nod and a wave there. The people around them acted as if it was normal to see she and the earl so close.
