She sat back in her seat with a sigh. The princess in her story would no doubt appreciate the irony. Escaping from a tower only to discover the prince had married someone else while she was climbing down.
But no, that was too sad an ending for her niece. Lucy preferred her heroines triumphant and her villains soundly defeated, and Clarissa was not about to disappoint her one and only reader.
She was composing a daring escape involving a stolen horse when the parlor door opened.
"A letter for you, my lady." John's butler extended a silver tray.
Clarissa took the letter and turned it over. Heavy cream paper. A wax seal she didn't recognize. She broke it open.
Lady Clarissa,
I write at the suggestion of our mutual friend, Miss Hale, who speaks very warmly of you. I would be delighted if you would join me for tea on Wednesday afternoon. Shall we say three o'clock?
Yours, etc., Philippa, Dowager Duchess of Ashworth
Clarissa read it twice. Then a third time, just in case she'd missed something. Like the reason for this visit, for example.
She stared at the name with a frown. The Dowager Duchess of Ashworth. The most formidable woman in London, if the gossip was to be believed. And she had invited her to tea.
Her. Cast-Off Clarissa.
"John?" she called.
Her brother appeared in the doorway, a book under his arm. "Hmm?"
She held up the letter. "The Dowager Duchess of Ashworth has invited me to tea."
John's expression flickered with surprise, then comprehension, and then something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "Has she."
She frowned. "Why are you smiling?"
His face went blank. "I'm not smiling."
"Why would the Duchess of Ashworth invite me to tea? I've never met the woman. I've never even been in the same room. Is she a friend of our father's? He never mentioned it. Then again… But no. I don't—" She caught herself. Clamping her mouth shut, she drew a breath. "Do you know something?"
John leaned against the doorframe. He seemed to be enjoying himself far more than the situation warranted. "I know that the Duchess of Ashworth is a woman of considerable influence who takes an interest in young ladies she believes could benefit from her guidance."
"Her guidance." Clarissa stared at him. "You mean…her patronage?"
He lifted a shoulder. "If you like."
"Why would she want to patronize me?"
His eyes sparkled with mirth. "I imagine Miss Hale mentioned you."
Clarissa looked down at the letter again. Estella. Of course. Estella, who'd been so kind at the ball, looking at her with those guilty, sympathetic eyes. Estella had gone to the duchess about her because…
Because she felt sorry for her.
The thought made her stomach tighten. She didn't want to be someone's charitable project. But she also wanted to not be alone. And the Duchess of Ashworth was offering to be in her corner, and refusing an invitation from a dowager duchess was not something one did.
"Should I go?" she asked.
John's smile was kind. "I think you should."
On Wednesday afternoon, Clarissa stood outside the Duchess of Ashworth's townhouse and reminded herself that she had once faced down a marquess.
A dowager duchess could not be worse than a marquess. Probably.
