"But Clarissa?—"
"I know him, John." Words swelled up in a torrent, and she let them tumble out. "I know it won't be a love match. And I don't expect him to be faithful. But that's the thing, isn't it? Expectations. So long as I know what to expect— I cannot be hurt if I go into it with eyes open. And really, we'd both get what we need. A marriage between us would actually make sense. I'd get a husband of my choosing. A man I know, and you know what they say… The devil you know, and all that— And his debts are—" She faltered, because the word debts made her think of Clementine and the child, and that particular thought still had the ability to steal her breath. "Manageable."
She swallowed hard.
She'd get over it. Whatever this feeling was when she thought of Kit with another woman?—
She'd learned her lesson and wouldn't make the same mistake again. "He could not say no to my dowry, John. And we'd both have what we want. Our reputations intact, and I'd have…"
What? Some level of independence? Odd how that thought only made her stomach sink. But independence and the knowledge that she'd made this choice —
That was worth something.
"You want to marry Kit." John said it flatly.
She hated the look in his eyes. It wasn't quite pity, but it was close.
"I want to propose an arrangement." She held up a hand before he could interrupt. "Not a love match. I'm done with those. A business arrangement. He gets a wife who expects nothing. No love, no romance, no—" She took a breath. "No illusions. And I get to choose. That's all I've ever wanted, John. To choose for myself."
Even if the choice was a bleak one.
She braced herself against another wave of hurt. It was an ache for what might have been. Her ridiculous, fantasy-loving mind conjured up a memory of laughing until her sides ached, of teasing and talking and laughing and?—
And that was not the man she'd marry. That relationship was not the choice she was talking about now, and it was best if she remembered that. But she supposed the real reason she ached—the real pity of it all—was that it would be a marvelous choice.
If it hadn't all been an act.
John studied her. "You've given this a lot of thought."
She nodded.
"And you're sure," he said.
No. But… "It makes sense."
He tilted his head to the side as he gave her a look. "That's not what I asked."
She met his eyes. "I'm sure."
He stared at her for another long moment, but then he stood with a sigh and kissed her forehead. "Then you have my support, if that's what you choose."
He left without another word and Clarissa turned back to her desk. Beside her list of facts, her latest letter to Lucy waited. She'd started the next installment of the princess story, but hadn't been able to finish.
Now she pushed it to the side and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. She dipped her pen and began to write. Not a fairy tale this time, but something considerably less romantic.
A proposal. With terms.
She would be clear-eyed about this, laying out the arrangement in plain language, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
Once she was done, she would rehearse it until every word was steady. Only when she was certain she would not stray from her speech would she set a meeting with Kit.
And then she'd propose.
22
She asked for me.
That was Kit's first thought when his aunt told him Clarissa had requested a private meeting.
