Her aunt’s betrayal hurt her more than her slap. Dora had spent her mother’s money and concealed information about her father. And to think Clarissa had ever trusted her.The vice that gripped her heart squeezed tighter.
“Miss Bartlett!”
Francis’s shout reached Clarissa through the fog in her brain. She turned her head towards that sound of salvation and saw him running towards her. She halted and turned to face him. Her aunt tugged against her, trying to urge her to the carriage.
“What’s going on here?” Francis demanded as he stopped in front of her.
“We’re going to lunch. Not that it’s any business of yours, I’m sure, Reverend,” Aunt Dora replied with a sneer.
Francis ignored her aunt. “Clarissa, do you wish to go to lunch with these people?”
She shook her head. Good Lord, no she did not, but she wanted the information her aunt held.
“Then why are you going with them?” he asked in a gentle voice.
“Aunt Dora will only tell me what she knows about my father if I do as she asks. I desperately want to know about him. I always have.” She sounded like a lost child. Disgust at her weakness filled her.
“What? She’s blackmailing you?”
Clarissa wanted to cry. “What choice do I have?”
“I’ll help you find out about your father. We can visit The Duke Street Orphanage. There must be some information there that your mother provided them if she sought shelter there.”
Why did I never think to do that myself?Because I vowed never to set foot over that threshold again.She stared up into his brown eyes. They were so kind and warm that she just wanted to fall into their reassuring depths.Maybe I can face my fear if Frank is beside me.
He put out his hand to her, but the hand she extended never reached him. Aunt Dora yanked her back as Lord Travener curled his fingers around her upper arm. He must have exited the carriage. Standing frozen on the pavement, Clarissa stared down at his hand—the same hand that had taken liberties with her. Her stomach curdled.
“Unhand her!” Francis demanded.
She glanced towards the curate. He had drawn a small sword from his walking stick and held it pointed at Lord Travener’s neck.
Travener released Clarissa’s arm, but her aunt still hauled on her other side. She resisted, planting her feet solidly on the pavement, then pushed her aunt. “Get away from me!” She hurried back from the yawning carriage door, and ripped the hatpin from her bonnet, holding it ready in her hand.
Travener may have let her go, but he wasn’t vanquished yet. He pulled a short knife from a top boot. “Do you wish to take me on, parson?” he scoffed.
Francis didn’t answer, but with a swift double step forward he lunged towards the Viscount. With a deft thrust, his swordstick shredded Travener’s coat sleeve and scored a linedown the hand holding the knife. Blood rapidly filled the sword’s path.
Travener dropped the blade and clutched his injured hand to his chest. “You’ll pay for that, parson!” He scanned the crowd that had gathered around them. With a sneer at Francis and Clarissa, he elbowed his way through and marched up the street.
Clarissa hurried to Francis’s side. After wiping the thin blade of his swordstick with a handkerchief, he sheathed the weapon, transforming it once again into a walking stick. “Are you all right?” he asked her in his calm way.
She nodded then turned to the last of the players in this melodrama. Marchmere had exited the carriage and was now aiding Aunt Dora into it. The look her aunt sent her through promised vengeance to come. With a trembling hand, Clarissa returned her hatpin to its rightful place.
When the couple departed in the carriage without any further argument, Clarissa breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re a man of surprises, Reverend Frank.” She didn’t try to keep the wonder out of her voice. Who would have suspected that the mild-mannered man of God walked around London armed with a concealed sword and was able to use it proficiently?
“Come, let us go inside and stop giving the whole world a free street performance.” He escorted her into the boarding house. In the sitting room once again, she sank onto the sofa to which he had guided her. And began to shake.
Francis slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the circle of his arms. “It will be all right. I have a solution. You’ll be free of them from now on.” His undemanding presence and reassuring words comforted her.
The only thing more comforting would be if only he kissed her.What! Don’t even think that, Clarissa.
Francis held her for a few moments longer, then dropped his arms and rose from the sofa. “I wondered how long it would be before Mrs. Jenkins turned up to renew her parasitic relationship with you.” He pulled his watch from his waistcoat and checked the time on its face. “Approximately thirty-six hours.”
Clarissa bowed her head.Not long at all. And now Dora knew where she lived, there would be no avoiding her. “I need to move again.”
“Yes, I fear you do,” he agreed, his voice full of resignation. Then he sent her a swift glance of misgiving.“If you can’t bear to go to the Mission…well, that is…not that I would ever suggest it if the situation weren’t truly…” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s only one alternative until my sisters return from Hampshire.”
She stared at him. Blankly so, she was sure.
