Candice Hern (15 page)

Marianne had been fortunate to find Clarissa without a partner for the next set, and it was no great effort to convince the girl to join her in the tearoom. One of the anterooms at Ellenborough House had been set out with small tables and chairs, and a counter had been placed along one wall, where tea and biscuits were served. Marianne had appropriated an empty table in a corner, slightly removed from the bustle and chatter of the rest of the room.

Clarissa looked up and smiled. "Of course."

"I remember the time before my own wedding very well," Marianne said, hoping she could get more than a few words out of the young woman. "It was a busy time, what with bridal clothes and wedding plans. Not to mention packing up my belongings to move to a new home. I found the idea of leaving my old life behind forever a rather frightening prospect. I suppose you must be feeling much the same."

Clarissa shrugged her slim shoulders. "A little, perhaps."

"You will miss your father's house in Wiltshire, I imagine."

"Yes, I will. I have always loved it there. But I look forward to creating a new life with Mr. Cazenove."

"Then, you are pleased with your betrothal to him?"

She pulled a face. "Of course. Why should I not be?"

"No reason at all," Marianne said. "I was just thinking of my own betrothal. I had known Mr. Nesbitt forever and was very much in love with him. You do not have that advantage, I think. You have not known Mr. Cazenove very long. I would not be at all surprised if you felt some apprehension about entering into a marriage with him."

Clarissa's eye grew wide. "You would be afraid to marry Mr. Cazenove?"

Marianne laughed. "I would not be afraid to marry
him
, because I know him well. But I would be a bit nervous about marrying someone I had not known as long. That is what I meant. There is nothing I know about Mr. Cazenove that should give you alarm, Clarissa. He is a good man." She studied the young woman closely and detected a hint of anxiety in her eyes. "Have
you
heard something about him that gives you alarm? He does have a bit of a reputation with women. Does that worry you?"

Clarissa looked down at her teacup and said nothing.

"Clarissa? Is there something troubling you about him? You may tell me, you know, and I will keep your confidence. I do want us to be friends."

After a long pause, the girl looked up and said, "I am a little nervous, I suppose. He is so much older and has so much experience ... of the world."

"With other women, you mean?"

"Yes."

"He
is
considered something of a rake."

"I know."

Marianne smiled. "That only makes him all the more exciting, don't you think?"

The girl's cheeks flushed and she averted her eyes. "I suppose so."

"Do you find him exciting?"

Her blush deepened. "Sometimes."

"When he touches you?"

Clarissa did not respond. Perhaps she was embarrassed by such frank speech. The Merry Widows had surely become a bad influence on Marianne, for not so very long ago talking of such private matters would have embarrassed her as well.

"Don't you like it when he touches you?" she asked.

It was a long moment before the girl spoke. "He seems to like to touch me," she said in a small, timorous voice. "He is always touching me."

Marianne could believe it. Adam was a toucher. He was always reaching for her hand or stroking her arm or touching her cheek. It had always been so with him. Perhaps it was the rake in him, or a sense of playfulness, or just an innate craving for human contact. Touching was so natural with him that he probably wasn't even aware of doing it. It was only lately that his touch had provoked new sensations for Marianne. Clarissa was no doubt experiencing those same sensations.

"But you do not like it?" Marianne repeated.

Clarissa's shoulders hunched inward slightly. "I like it. But it scares me a little, too. The way it makes me feel."

Marianne knew exactly what she was talking about. There was a potent masculinity about Adam that had a strong effect even on a widow like herself. To an innocent like Clarissa, it must be overwhelming.

"That feeling is part of what happens between men and women," she said. "It is nothing to be afraid of."

"I know. Mama told me so. But I never know what to do. I suppose I worry what he will think of me. I sometimes fear he finds me ignorant and gauche. And not just ... in that way. In other ways, too. I daresay it is silly, but I worry that he thinks me inexperienced and stupid. I am afraid it makes me a bit insecure and shy around him."

Marianne reached out a hand and touched Clarissa's arm. "That is perfectly understandable, you know, especially when there is such a difference in age. But when you get to know him better, you will be less intimidated."

"Yes, I'm sure that's true. It is just that I often feel so tongue-tied round him. I never know what to say. I want to please him, but I feel so stupid and childish. He took me to see some pictures at Somerset House yesterday, and he knew so much about the artists and the subjects. I know he wanted me to appreciate them, but ..." She gave a little shake of her head.

"You did not enjoy the paintings?"

She shrugged. "They were just pictures. Faces and figures and such, nothing more. They either look pretty or they do not. I could not understand any of what he said about light and color and symbolism. I felt the same way at the opera when he spoke so knowledgeably about Mozart. I am just too unsophisticated, I suppose."

"Or perhaps you simply have other interests. You would likely be more comfortable speaking of things that interest you, things you know about and enjoy. What are your favorite pastimes, Clarissa?"

She looked pensive for a moment, as though the question perplexed her. "Well, I like to take long walks in the countryside. I like flowers, and enjoy gardening. Mama has always scolded me for being so friendly with our gardeners, but I love watching how they tend the plantings from season to season. I embroider quite a lot, mostly floral designs. Oh, and I love festivals and fairs — the midsummer's eve bonfires, the harvest festivals, the winter mummings, and spring maypoles."

"You love the country, then. You enjoy the outdoors."

"Mama quite despairs of my complexion because I spend so much time outside. She thinks I will turn brown and give Mr. Cazenove a disgust of me. But I never turn brown. I turn pink." She gave one of her infamous giggles, and a few heads turned in their direction.

Poor Clarissa. She would not appreciate Adam's plan to live in town all year. Marianne was becoming more and more convinced that this marriage would require considerable compromise for both of them.

"You see how easily you speak of things familiar and dear to you?" she said. "If you steer the conversation to those topics, you will likely be much more comfortable in speaking with Mr. Cazenove."

"Perhaps you are right. It would certainly be less awkward than trying to converse about painting and opera. I shall try to introduce topics closer to home."

Marianne assumed that meant home in the country. Would this young woman ever truly be at home in town?

"You obviously love country life," she said. "How would you feel if you had to give it up and live in town?"

Clarissa gave a little moue of distaste. "I do not believe I would like that very much at all, but it is not likely to happen, is it? Mr. Cazenove has an estate in Dorset as well as the house in town."

Unless he'd already sold it. Good Lord, this poor girl was going to be miserably disappointed, and that in turn was bound to make Adam miserable as well.

"I do enjoy London," Clarissa said. "It is exceedingly entertaining, and I am having the most wonderful Season. The Benevolent Widows' balls are the best of it all. I am ever so grateful for your invitations. But I daresay it is a dead bore here in the summer and winter months when everyone is gone."

London was never a dead bore, in Marianne's opinion, at any time of year. She subscribed to Dr. Johnson's opinion: "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford." Those who came to London only for the Season missed a great deal.

"You must be sure that Mr. Cazenove knows of your preference for the country," she said. And she must tell him before he sold that estate in Dorset.

Poor Adam. He would have to live in the country after all if he wanted to keep his bride happy. She liked harvest festivals and he liked the opera. It was a match, or mismatch, destined to fail.

The best possible solution would be for Clarissa to cry off. It was not a love match. Neither of them would be terribly hurt. Adam would be embarrassed, and perhaps even publicly ridiculed. But the alternative was an unhappy union and she did not want that for him.

It was surely not her place to do so, but Marianne decided she simply had to interfere.

"Clarissa, I hope you will not mind if I speak frankly, but are you quite certain Mr. Cazenove is the right man for you? He is so much older, and his interests are so different — I am wondering if you will be happy with him."

Clarissa looked chagrined. "I am afraid I have given the wrong impression. Yes, he is older and we have different interests, but so do lots of other married couples. I will endeavor to overcome my shyness around him. You can be sure I will do my best to make him happy."

"I have no doubt of it," Marianne said. "It is what is expected of you, is it not? But allow me to give you a word of advice. I had a wonderful marriage, filled with love and happiness. Mr. Nesbitt and I shared everything together because we were kindred souls. We shared ideas and likes and dislikes. We had our disagreements, to be sure, as all couples do. But we survived them because of all we shared. I would like the same sort of happiness for you and Mr. Cazenove, as you are both my friends."

"Thank you, ma'am. I hope that over time, we will be as happy as you were."

"I hope so, too. But just remember, you need not be forced into something you do not truly want. I realize you probably had little say in the betrothal arrangements, but this is not the Middle Ages, after all. No one can force you into a marriage against your will. If you conclude that you cannot be happy in this marriage, then you must not be afraid to say so. Tell Mr. Cazenove and your father. Neither, I am certain, would insist you marry a man with whom you could not be happy. There are, after all, hundreds of other fish in the sea. Just tonight I have watched a dozen young men tripping over themselves for the favor of one of your smiles."

Clarissa frowned. "If you are suggesting I throw over Mr. Cazenove, then I must tell you that will never happen. I don't mind that he is older. I despise all those silly young men tripping over themselves. I prefer a more mature man, someone not so frivolous and care-for-nothing. And we will work out whatever differences we have, I assure you. I am determined upon it."

"An excellent attitude, my dear girl. You put my mind at ease. Now, let us return to the ballroom. You must allow me to introduce you to some of the other guests."

After they left the tearoom, Marianne took on the role of patroness of the ball, introducing Clarissa to a few eligible, handsome young men who would be infinitely more suitable for her than Adam. Young Peregrin Jekyll was thrilled to lead Clarissa into the next set of dancing.

Clarissa might believe she was committed to the betrothal, but Marianne hoped she had not only planted a few seeds of doubt, but had also thrown a bit of temptation in her path.

It felt distastefully meddlesome, but she did not care. She had to save Adam from his own foolishness.

* * *

"And then we picked wild strawberries," Clarissa said, "and walked all the way back through the eastern wood to the hermitage. We did not return until the sun was down and were roundly scolded for it."

Adam steered the team through the park and marveled at this new gregariousness of Clarissa's. For the first time that he could recall, she had actually initiated conversation, and he'd allowed her to chatter on while he drove. She positively glowed as she spoke, looking so pretty that he could almost forget that she talked of nothing but life in the country.

It appeared he would have to reconsider selling that blasted house in Dorset. His dream of a bigger house in town faded with every anecdote about the spring plantings and harvest home suppers and sheep-shearing festivals. He would have to bite his tongue and become a country squire after all if he wanted his young wife to be as happy as she was at this moment. She looked so deliciously appealing that he wanted to pull the team to a halt and kiss her.

By Jove, that was precisely what he would do. He'd been waiting for just the right moment to try again. Only twice before had he managed a kiss, and both times had been less than memorable. But she was so animated today that she was almost irresistible. Perhaps he would explore Rochdale's notion that she secretly wanted more from him. He would not pounce. Not on a public thoroughfare with a team of horses to control. But that parasol of hers could be used to advantage. He led the team in the direction of a particular stand of trees away from the crowds.

"What is your favorite thing to do when you're at home in the country?" He wanted to stick to her favorite topic in hopes of maintaining that animated glow.

"I like to take long, long walks. I like to sit on a log by the river and watch the ducks and the geese. I like to lay back in the tall grass and stare up at the sky." She gave a sheepish giggle. "I suppose you could say that I like doing nothing."

"Do you never stay indoors, my dear?"

"Yes, of course. Heavens, I have made it sound as though I am completely lazy, have I not? I do enjoy those lazy moments with nothing to do, but you must have no fear that I will not take proper care of your home, sir. I have been well trained in household management and know my duty."

He reached out and patted her gloved hand. "I have no doubt of it. But what do you like to do when all the household work is done and it is raining cats and dogs outside? How do you occupy your time indoors? Do you like to read?"