The Village Spinster (20 page)

The color rose further in her cheeks. “You, you, you. I don’t care what you needed, Kinsford. This is my house, and I wished not to see you. You had my note. I think I have been perfectly clear about my wishes. Will you please let go of my hand?”

“I find I cannot,” he said regretfully. “It seems to belong in mine. Haven’t you noticed that?”

Clarissa stared at him. “You have lost your reason, Kinsford. That’s the only explanation for this kind of behavior.” She tugged unsuccessfully to release her hand. “And I thought it was Lady Aria who was disturbed.”

"You are quite the most attractive woman I know,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry about the money. That was foolish of me, but you seemed intent on refusing everything from me.”

‘‘I’ve told you exactly how much you owe," Clarissa said, watching with bemusement as he continued to press kisses on each of her fingers. “And you’ve taken care of it in the purse you brought.”

“Oh, the money,” he said dismissively, turning her now-passive hand over and placing a gentle kiss on the tender palm. “We don’t need to talk about the money, Clarissa. We need to talk about us.”

“Us.” Clarissa felt a tremor run down her spine. “Really, you are being unpardonably foolish.” She heard the sitting-room door close, but didn’t bother to glance in that direction. Her gaze was entirely captured by the earl’s intense expression. “You’ve forgotten who I am. I’m not that girl by the stile anymore, Alexander. I’m a spinster, without position in county society any longer, without a portion.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, capturing her second hand. “I know who you are. I’ve come to know you over this past week. And yes, you’re the girl by the stile, the goddess of spring, and you’re a village spinster, and you’re a remarkable woman.” He ran his lips along her hand, kissing the crook near her thumb. “You’re full of life and love and charm and eccentricity. You’re the only woman I can imagine spending my life with.”

“Spending your life with,” she repeated, dazed. His lips were making her feel quite warm and vibrant. There was a catch in her throat when she said, “You’ve had a distressing week. Next week, next month, when you return to London, it will seem quite different. I will return to being a dowdy, worthy teacher of drawing and pianoforte. You have quite a different life in London.”

His entranced eyes glowed warmly. “A very lonely life, Clarissa. Without a woman to argue the merits of the bills I carry before the Lords and partake of her meals with me and share my bed. I had hardly realized what a very dull and unsatisfactory arrangement it was.”

“Because it wasn’t unsatisfactory,” she protested, almost unable to breathe when she heard his words. “You just think that now. The feeling will go away. Time will dim it, as it did before.’’

“No.” The decided nature of his answer spoke volumes. “The feeling never went away. I ignored it. I refused to allow it access to my heart. But it never went away. It was there waiting for me when I saw you again.” He drew the shape of her face with his thumb. “Your precious face.” His fingers brushed softly across her lips. “Your sweet lips.”

“Alexander.” Clarissa found she could say no more as his head bent toward hers. His mouth touched hers lightly at first, skimming across her lips, tasting, giving. And then he pressed harder, asking, receiving. She felt her body alight, her lips alive. This was what she had missed, all these years. The sensation of being both whole and shattered, burning and shivering, ecstatic and yet earthly solid.

His arms were around her, his body pressed against hers, his very breath invading her life. She ached for him. “This,” he whispered close to her ear, “is passion. This is what you and I can have. This fire is for just the two of us, Clarissa, to burn brightly and consume, and yet be an ember to fan into flame again and again. Because we were always meant to be together."

She shuddered in his arms. And drew back from him, slowly, reluctantly. He allowed her to go, his questioning gaze fastened to her eyes. “What is it, Clarissa?’’

“I know you mean well, Alexander. And I know there’s some truth to the affection you feel for me.” She held her hand up lightly to prevent his speaking. “Just hear me out, please. We’ve been in close proximity since your sister’s injury. That’s reminded us of all the ‘what might have beens’ that we never settled between us.”

He cocked his head quizzingly. “A very fortunate circumstance, I should think.”

Clarissa sighed. “Yes, in some ways. But look at the other ways, Kinsford. You are left now with the knowledge that your sister cannot go on as she has been, that your stepmother is not a suitable guide for either your sister or brother, that Will is in need of some direction in his life.” She leaned back against the wall to give herself a little support. “I am very much afraid that you have unconsciously come to see me as the solution to your problems.”

“What problems?” Kinsford frowned. “You’re not suggesting that I’d marry you to provide my sister with a companion, are you? Or my stepmother with a keeper? Or my brother with a teacher?”

Her shoulders rose helplessly. “It’s not that you would do it purposely, Alexander. Everything just seems to fall a little too easily into place, doesn’t it?” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “You and I would be married. Then I would come to live at the Hall. Then there would be business that demanded your attention in London. It would be only reasonable that I would stay at the Hall to chaperone your sister. Certainly your stepmother could not be left alone there, even if you were to take Will or Aria to town. It makes so much
sense.”

“How I feel about you doesn’t make the least sense,” he protested, bending to kiss the tip of her nose. “Except that it is so very natural and right. These are all unnecessary doubts, my dear. They have nothing to do with the way I feel about you.”

Ignoring his words, if not his kiss, Clarissa continued, “Then there is the matter of your feeling guilt about your father taking advantage of mine, and your wanting to provide me with financial security because of that. And the children’s affection for me. They would be pleased by your marrying me, I suppose."

“You suppose! I think Aria has planned this from the day I arrived home,” he interjected, grinning provocatively. “Clarissa, Clarissa, all these things are unimportant. All of them have other solutions. Surely you can see that.”

“Yes, but marrying me is the
best
solution.” She ducked her head when he attempted to kiss her again. “Alexander, you’ve let yourself succumb to a romantic fantasy that might have worked ten years ago. Not now. I’ve been alone for a long time. I have my own cottage, modest as it is. I’m used to having my own way. I don’t have to prostrate myself to the whims of propriety. I lead my own life. Can you understand that? Or does it seem to you that leading my own life cannot possibly compete with being married to an earl and fashioning my life around him and around his interests and his family and his estate?”

Kinsford refused to be provoked. “It seems to me that you should wish to be held by one particular earl, and kissed by him, and even irritate him beyond bearing on occasion. It seems to me that you should marry me and love me for the rest of your life.”

His arms were on either side of her now, hands on the wall, framing her like a portrait. Clarissa felt a twinge of anticipation race through her body as he lowered his lips to hers. For long moments her mind was clouded with a haze of euphoria that would not release her to consider his proposal clearly. Reluctantly, she squirmed out from under his arms and stood with her back to him.

“I’ll have to think about all this, Kinsford,” she murmured. “I’ll need some time to figure out what’s really happening here.”

His eyes danced. “Don’t you know? Well, I suppose I must not tease you further tonight. From start to finish I have behaved most unscrupulously this evening and you deserve a chance to consult your own feelings.” He moved behind her but merely bent to kiss the top of her head. “I trust you will find them quite as strong as my own, my dear. Until tomorrow.”

It was no use trying to think about what had happened, Clarissa found as she moved from sofa to chair to escritoire to window in the sitting room. Meg had appeared once to inquire, with a most suspicious light lurking in her eyes, whether she could be of any further assistance to Miss Driscoll that evening. Clarissa had sent her off to bed. And in due time, she herself climbed the stairs to her room.

But she could not seem to rid her mind of the wild variety of sensations she had been assailed with that evening. Much as she wished to review the events with rational clarity, she was unable to do so. Clarissa had never felt this way before, either physically or emotionally. She had never been held in a man’s arms and experienced the response of her body to his touch. She had been offered a chance at love, security, and position all in one breath, as it were.

Why? Did Kinsford really love her, or delude himself because it would be convenient to marry her? Clarissa drew the brush through her hair again and again, unable to reach any conclusion because every time she was distracted by her body’s memory of delight.

Chapter Seventeen

Steven Traling had been particularly unhappy that morning with the way his in-laws were treating him. They barely allowed him to see his poor wife, who was due to produce a child at any moment. “You mustn’t excite her,” Mrs. Wilton had insisted. As though he would do anything to disturb Jane’s well-being! Surely his wife would want him to be there to sustain her during this period before her ordeal. But she was not strength enough against her mother’s insistence that there was no place for Mr. Traling in the proceedings, or even during the wait.

Miffed, Steven had departed.

He had ridden to the outskirts of Pennwick before he remembered that Miss Driscoll still had Lady Aria staying with her. But he was in no mood to have one more female dictate what he could or could not do that day. So he continued on to the cottage, pleased to see on arriving that at least there were no other horses outside the small house. In his opinion, humble as it was, Lord Kinsford was there entirely too often for Miss Driscoll’s peace of mind.

Something had been happening to Clarissa over this last week. Steven recognized that she was not quite as available to him as she had once been, and he suspected that it was not entirely due to the demands of Lady Aria. He guessed that the earl’s threat to cease the children’s instruction with her, which would make it very difficult for Clarissa to survive, was distressing her more than she let on.

Steven was shown into the sitting room where Clarissa greeted him with mild disquiet. “What are you doing here, Steven?” she asked, her brows raised slightly. “Isn’t it almost time for Jane to have the baby?"

“Yes, but no one wants me around,” he grumbled. “So they can very well do without me.”

‘‘I hope you’ve left your direction with someone."

“You sound like a schoolmistress, Clarissa.” He sat down and drew his gloves through restless fingers. “Yes, I’ve left my direction, more or less. In an emergency I could be found.”

Clarissa merely waited for him to continue. She was decidedly distracted and not entirely paying attention to him. “What am I to do with them?” he demanded eventually. “I can’t go on forever not being master in my own home. Surely you can see that.”

Clarissa absently shifted a watercolor pad on the table beside her. “Perhaps men make too much of being masters in their own homes."

“What! A man’s home is his castle,” Steven cried, only half in jest. “Look at you. I don’t think you even realize how important it is to you to have this cottage. And not even a real companion to challenge your authority. Very few women have that kind of independence."

Startled, Clarissa looked at him sharply, but could see no evidence of hidden significance to his words. With a sigh, she said, “Yes, it is very important to me. I should very much dislike having to give it up."

“He’s not threatening you again, is he?” Steven demanded, his hands unconsciously forming fists. “He wouldn’t dare withdraw your livelihood after all you’ve done for his sister during her illness.”

‘‘No, he’s not threatening me."

Steven relaxed and smiled at her. “Well, he’ll be off to London in no time and things will return to normal.”

Clarissa fingered the pages of the watercolor pad without looking at him. “The children need his guidance, Steven, even if he’s not their father. Their mother is hopeless and I don’t have any real authority with them other that what they grant me. He would have to make some arrangement for their care."

The door to the sitting room flew open and there stood Lady Aria in an astonishing outfit. She had draped a coverlet about her person in a most artistic manner. Then, finding that she rather liked the effect, had piled her hair upon her head and tossed a few pieces from Clarissa’s modest jewelry collection into her locks. She stood there triumphantly, smiling benignly on the two of them.

“I’ve decided to go to the ball after all,” she explained regally. “I know you wished me to, and I fear I was being a bit stubborn because I didn’t really want to encounter Sir James there. He’s such a dreadful bore and he will prose on and on at me, to say nothing of asking me to stand up with him more than twice! I’m so glad Will has agreed to chaperone me. He’ll be able to keep all the stupid young pups away from me for long enough to let me breathe, don’t you think?”

Steven turned astonished eyes to Clarissa, who remained seated as she regarded the girl. “My dear Lady Aria, you look delightful but I’m afraid William hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Hasn’t arrived yet?” Lady Aria frowned, her hand going up to secure a pendant that had been twisted around a forelock of hair. “But he was supposed to take me. What am I to do?”

By this time Clarissa had determined that Lady Aria was
not
having a spell of disorientation. The outfit was too ludicrous, the eyes too full of mischief to deceive her. But with Steven there, Clarissa was not about to call the little minx on her subterfuge.