Prologue
The Thorneshire Estate, 1806
His cheeks hurt.
It struck Calum suddenly, the realization that he had never smiled this hard in his nine-and-twenty years on earth. This level of happiness, this zest for his future. He’d meandered through his days lazily, happy only to be able to open his eyes each morning. There was never anything that gave him true, unending pleasure.
Now, the subject of all his happiness stood across the room bearing a smile just as broad.
Calum could not hear what was being said. He only saw her, his eyes tracing the outline of her face as if he hadn’t spent the past year committing her to his memory. He could close his eyes and imagine the gentle curve of her cheeks, her upturned nose, the exact hue of her honey-blond hair currently styled in those lovely curls he adored on her. Calum had a lifetime ahead of him to admire every inch of her, watching her change throughout the years they would spend together. He intended to start right now.
He couldn’t believe that Lady Violet Henderson was now his wife.
“Wouldn’t you say, Your Grace?”
“Certainly,” Calum murmured absently. He didn’t know who he was talking to or what about. He didn’t care. He watched as Violet tilted her head to the side and nodded to whatever her friend was saying to her. But her eyes trailed as well, as if she could not focus either. Eventually, they landed on Calum and her smile widened.
Calum straightened. After a year of courtship, his heart still skipped a beat when she looked at him. Her eyes narrowed a little with that mischievous glint that always excited him. It took everything in him not to leap out of his chair and go to her side.
They would have plenty of time together later, after all. Tomorrow, after the wedding breakfast was over, they would be heading to Scotland for their honeymoon. Alone with each other, they would have all the time in the world for private smiles and loving embraces.
Violet turned slightly to face him and suddenly, no one else existed. Calum ran his hand down his face, shifting in his chair as he watched her slowly lift her glass of wine to her lips. She always knew how to taunt him.
This wedding breakfast could not be over quickly enough.
With a wink, Violet turned her attention back to her friend and Calum tried to do the same today. He realized with a start that it was Stephen by his side, his cousin and estate steward, who did not seem to notice Calum’s absent-mindedness. He focused once more on the conversation and tried to keep his eyes off his wife. Which was easier said than done.
Calum counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours until they were finally alone. At last, the wedding breakfast came to an end. By that time, the sun was slowly giving way to darkness as evening came upon them. Violet went upstairs to change out of her wedding dress while Calum remained in the parlor with his third glass of wine in his hand.
That was when he heard the scream.
At first, he froze, unable to come to terms with what he’d heard. Then realization sank like cold stones in the pit of his stomach. He dropped his wine, hardly hearing the crash of glass as he raced out of the room.
Hallways flew past him in a blur. He didn’t think it possible for him to move so fast but, within what felt like seconds, he burst through the door of their bedchamber. Calum swallowed past the lump in his throat, his heart hammering.
Violet lay lifelessly on the bed.
“What happened?” He heard the words come from his lips even though he didn’t realize that he’d spoken. His limbs seemed to turn to mush as he made his way to her side. “What happened to her?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace.” Mrs. Dawson, the housekeeper, sounded as distraught as he felt. He could hear the tears in her voice. She shifted out of his way but she kept her hands in Violet’s legs, shaking her gently. “I stepped out of the room for a second and when I returned…”
“The physician.” Calum’s voice was raw, hardly audible. But she nodded as if she knew exactly what he wanted.
“Yes, Your Grace.” In a flash, Mrs. Dawson was out the door, leaving him alone with his wife’s lifeless body.
She was ashen. Her beautiful lips were white, her body cold to the touch. Calum pulled her into his arms, blinking away the tears that blurred his vision. The truth of the situation settled in the back of his mind but he refused to acknowledge it. He would wait. He wouldn’t dare to acknowledge the possibility.
Calum didn’t know how long he spent there with her in his arms but all of a sudden, the room was full. Mrs. Dawson and Stephen were there, and Dr. Percival Marsh was gently taking Violet from his arms. Calum made a groan of protest but he knew he couldn’t do anything. Stephen was already by his side, pulling him out of the room.
“He needs space and time, Calum,” Stephen was saying. “She will be all right.”
Calum shook his head and wiped his tears. He didn’t dare to acknowledge the truth lingering in the back of his head but it settled in his heart.
By the time the physician emerged from the bedchamber, Calum took one look at his face and the fragile pieces left of his heart crumbled into dust.
Chapter One
Thorneshire Estate, London Countryside, 1811
She stared at him with betrayal in her eyes. That was the first thing he noticed. Not the blood running from her eyes, staining her cheeks and lips red. Not the way she shivered, her wet hair plastered to her neck as if she had been dunked into a pool of water. Not the manner in which her hands flexed at her sides—open and close, open and close, open and close.
It was the raw pain of hurt that shone in those once-beautiful eyes that tore him to shreds.
“You did this,” Violet said. “You did not save me.”
“I tried to.” His words would not reach her. Even as they echoed around him, he could tell she heard nothing.
Her hands closed again. She was in her nightgown, he realized suddenly, the same thing she had been in when she’d passed away. And they were…they were in that room again.
“You should have been there,” she said softly. Not soft enough though to keep from slicing through him. “You should have stopped this from happening.”
“Violet—”
“No!” Her screech sent him careening to the other side of the room.
“Violet, please!”
“You should have helped me!” she wailed. “You should have—”
Calum shot upright, heaving. Sweat clung to his skin, his heart racing. Another night enduring the same dream. This time, it had taken every strength he possessed to force himself out of it.
Her presence lingered though, as it always did. Night after night, she visited him. And each time, he either suffered through the guilt and pain or forced himself awake when it became too much. Either way, his days were destined to be long and lonesome.
He raked his fingers through his damp hair, trying to calm his breathing. At least he’d slept through the night this time. Most times, he woke in the middle of the night with no hope of resting again. Sunlight peaked through his heavy drapes and the sight was enough to darken his mood. If he had any strength he would pull the drapes fully closed and stew in the darkness.
Violet’s pained eyes flashed in his mind again. Calum pulled himself out of the bed, staggering over to the chamber pot. Every step he took filled him with the familiar wave of anger.
Violet was right. He should have been there. If he had been fast enough, if only he hadn’t allowed her to leave his side, she would still be here. It was his fault.
With a roar of frustration, he picked up the chamber pot and threw it across the room. The resounding crash gave him a small bit of satisfaction, it wasn’t enough though to distract him from the gaping hole in the middle of his chest.
The door burst open and a stocky man with graying hair raced in, panting. His valet, never too far at this hour of the day, looked terrified. “Your Grace? Your Grace!”
“Stop the shouting,” Calum grumbled. “I’m right here.”
Relief and worry washed over the valet’s face the moment he spotted Calum standing near the far corner of the room. He took a tentative step in Calum’s direction. “Are you all right, Your Grace? I heard a loud crash and—”
“I am fine.” He stared at the mess he’d caused at the other end of the room. “Leave me be.”
“But, Your Grace—”
“I said, leave me be!” Calum roared. He whirled on the man, feeling another bite of satisfaction when the concern on his face melted into true fear. “I have no patience for your pity nor do I wish to be in the presence of a bumbling man who can hardly get his words out! Do not let me repeat myself!”
His valet nodded hastily and scrambled out of the room, leaving Calum alone again. Just the way he liked it. He didn’t need anyone’s empathy when he could hardly muster up any for himself. If he could spend his days alone in his manor, lurking in the darkness with nothing but whiskey as company, it would be a fitting punishment.
But the Duke of Thorneshire had duties. Duties he was content to ignore until they became pressing.
He dressed alone, dragging himself through the motions. He had little urge to leave his chambers but being here only brought back memories of that day with a vengeance. So the next best thing would be to drink his sorrows away until he could remember nothing at all.
Without his valet’s help, it took him nearly an hour to don suitable clothing for the day. By the time he was ready to leave his chambers, none of his anger had abated. He marched down the hallway, heading in the direction of his study where he could lock himself away without a soul to bother him.
He had no such luck. The first soul that happened upon him came in the form of kind eyes and homely features.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Mrs. Dawson greeted with a slight curtsy.
Calum forced his scowl into submission. Something about the way she looked at him made him think he didn’t do a very good job. “Good morning, Mrs. Dawson.”
“How did you sleep?” she asked like she always did. Every day for the past five years now.
“Good,” he responded, like he always would even though they both knew that he was lying.
They delved into brief seconds of silence that spoke far too loudly. Calum knew what Mrs. Dawson was thinking. She’d been the manor’s housekeeper since he was an infant and understood him far better than he would like. He didn’t have to say that he was still in mourning. And she didn’t have to say that she prayed day and night for him to be better one day. He didn’t like the pity in her eyes any more than he liked it in anyone else’s, but Mrs. Dawson was the only servant in the manor he wouldn’t dare shout at.
After a long while, she said, “Your breakfast is ready in your study, Your Grace. Should I open the drapes?”
“No.” He stalked by her and she fell in step with him, just slightly behind. Calum gritted his teeth.
“It is a lovely morning,” she insisted. “Perhaps it shall brighten your mood.”
Calum stopped to look at her, barely holding back his scowl.
“Or perhaps it shall not,” she said calmly. She clasped her hands in front of her. “I hope you enjoy your meal and your morning nonetheless.”
They both knew that was impossible. Calum hadn’t enjoyed a single thing since the day Violet died.
But his only response was a curt nod before continuing on his way, grateful that she didn’t continue to follow him. He hoped to continue his usual practice of wallowing in his pain alone. Later in the morning, Stephen would find him, he knew. And Calum would have to pretend to listen to everything his cousin said even though they both knew that Stephen would be taking care of his ducal matters anyhow.
For now, he was alone.
For now, he could honor Violet’s memory by refusing to live.
The food tasted like ash but Calum barreled through it since it had been a day since he’d eaten a proper meal. His hands moved without thinking, falling back into his old practice of eating anything put in front of him. While his mind and heart lacked an appetite for food, his body still yearned for it.
He finished it quickly and was already heading to the sideboard to pour himself his first glass of whiskey, even though it was still morning. The proper hours to drink did not matter to him any longer.
“Your Grace?’ Without waiting for a response, the door opened and his butler stepped in.
“What do you want?” Calum snapped, annoyed.
Unlike the other servants, his butler had mastered the art of hiding his expressions. But Calum knew he feared him. “You have a visitor, Your Grace.”
“Are you out of your mind? I am in no mood for company. Send them away.”
“I told them, Your Grace, but…” He trailed off, a look of uncertainty cracking his usually placid expression.
Calum glowered at him. “But what?”
“But he knows better than to send me away, that’s what.” A petite lady breezed past the threshold, stopping in the center of the study. She gave Calum a broad smile. “How lovely to see you up, my dear. Have you had breakfast yet?”
Calum sighed. His godmother, Lady Eleanor Gardner of Yulebridge, was not someone his butler could simply send away. Calum could only imagine how terrible such a conversation would go.
He waved a hand, silently sending his butler away. Then he poured himself his drink, knowing that he would need it in order to get through the conversation he was about to have.
“Why are you here, Eleanor?” he asked wearily.
Eleanor regarded him calmly, saying nothing about the drink in his hand, though he knew she wanted to. She waited until he sank into the chair behind his desk before saying, “I came to check on you. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
“I suppose.” He hardly paid attention to the passage of time any longer. The days blended together endlessly.
“A week, I believe,” she went on. She began to walk back and forth, her hands folded in front of her. Though a widow and sister to his late father, Eleanor looked half her age, with dark hair barely touched with gray and a nearly wrinkle free face. “It has been so long that I nearly forgot that you are a paramour of liquor.”
Calum regarded his aunt with thinly veiled annoyance. He was in no mood for her dramatics today. “Is there a reason you’ve paid me a visit so early?”
“Yes,” she answered simply. “But can’t I ask you how you are feeling first?”
“Right now? I am a bit irritated.”
“That is a pity.” Her bottom lip popped out in a pout. “I believe what I am about to say will only irritate you further.”
Calum braced himself. That didn’t sound good.
She continued to walk back and forth in silence. Calum watched her, sipping his whiskey as he tried to wait it out.
At last, she said, “Very well, I shall simply be direct and speak my mind. I have come to invite you to attend my annual spring ball next week.”
“No.”
His response came so quickly that she started, blinking at him. “Perhaps you should give it a bit of thought before you answer, Calum.”
“There is no need to. I cannot think of anything I would hate more than to attend a ball.”
“It is not as bad as you think,” she insisted. She finally sat in one of the armchairs facing the desk, looking distressed. “You once enjoyed them, if you can recall.”
There were many things Calum once enjoyed. Now he hardly tolerated opening his eyes in the mornings. “I will not be attending the ball, Eleanor.”
“Well, I will not be taking no for an answer,” she insisted. “Need I remind you that you are the Duke of Thorneshire? You have duties to fulfill and right now, the most important duty is securing the dukedom by producing an heir.”
“An heir?” Calum echoed, incredulous. How could she suggest such a thing after what happened five years ago?
She nodded, lips pulled into a tight line of determination. “Yes, an heir.” Then she reached across the table to touch his hand gently. “I understand your pain, Calum. I do. Losing someone you love so suddenly takes something from you than cannot easily be recovered.”
Calum said nothing, fighting the urge to tell her that no one could possibly understand him. He’d been there when Eleanor’s husband died. Since she’d been quite young when she married, and her husband had been a wealthy but elderly viscount, one would think she would be relieved when he finally passed. But Calum knew Eleanor had grown to love her late husband. And the loss of his absence was void not easily filled.
But he died peacefully in his sleep, at an age that would be deemed easy to accept by those who loved him. Violet had been young. They’d just begun their life together. One minute she was there and the next she was gone.
Calum didn’t need to say the words, he realized, because Eleanor looked at him as if she knew what he did not speak aloud. Even so, she continued, “Your father would want you to carry on your name, Calum. The Hawthorn legacy and the Thorneshire dukedom cannot end with you.”
She just knew to strike him where it hurt. Calum avoided her eyes, finishing the rest of his drink. “It’s too soon,” he pushed out.
“It’s been five years,” she countered. “If left to yourself, you will mourn her forever.”
“There is nothing wrong with that,” he snapped without thinking.
Eleanor didn’t draw back. Instead, she curled her fingers around his, eyes softening. “I don’t want you to lose who you are by the end of it, Calum. You must remember your duties. And perhaps finding someone to share your company may bring some sunlight to your dark days.”
That he sincerely doubted. There was no brightening his days. He was destined to mourn Violet for as long as he lived, giving up pieces of himself if that was what it took to atone for his sins.
But he didn’t dare to voice such morose thoughts to his aunt. He knew she worried about him enough already.
“Just attend the ball,” she urged again. “That is all I ask. And then we can take it from there.”
Calum heaved a sigh. She was right. Even though he hated to admit it, he would be doing a disservice to his late father if he let their name die with him. The duties he had been running from all this time were finally catching up to him.
“Just the ball then,” he conceded at last.
Eleanor’s face lit up with pleasure. “Marvelous! You shall not regret it, I assure you.”
Calum sincerely doubted that. He said nothing though as he stood to get his next drink. This time, he brought the decanter back to the desk, ignoring Eleanor’s look of disapproval.
Even though she’d succeeded in what she had come here to do, Eleanor did not seem to be in any urgency to leave. Calum sat back and listened as she talked about trivial nonsense like conversations she’d had with her friends or upcoming events she was excited about. He knew what she was trying to do—filling the emptiness with lively chatter. Perhaps she hoped that he would not feel too lonely. Calum left her be and at one point, he fell so deeply into his thoughts that he hardly heard a word she said.
After a while, there was a knock on the door. “Calum?” came Stephen’s low baritone.
“Oh, Stephen, come!” Eleanor responded before Calum got the chance.
Stephen slipped into the room bearing the account books in one hand. He pushed his spectacles up his nose, looking mildly surprised at Eleanor’s presence. “Aunt Eleanor, I am surprised to see you here.”
“Yes, well, I had something important to speak with Calum about,” she explained, rising. “But I shall take my leave now. I see that you two are about to talk about more important things than my silly gossip.”
It occurred to Calum that he should walk her to the front door. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, the way he was raised by his upright parents. But he stayed seated, like the heavy hand of lingering sorrow was keeping him in his seat.
Eleanor flashed Calum a smile that was laced with her own sorrow. He could only imagine how difficult it was for her to see him this way, but he didn’t allow himself to linger on it. This was who he was now. A shell of his former self without Violet.
Stephen straightened as Eleanor drew closer. “Allow me to—”
“Don’t you worry,” she said, laying a hand on his chest as she went by. “I am confident in my ability to navigate my way out. Don’t forget I have been wandering these hallways far before you boys were born.”
Stephen was polite enough to offer up a laugh for that. Calum was not. Thankfully, his aunt did not stay any longer, leaving him alone with his cousin.
He sighed heavily. He supposed his lonely morning was not going to be as lonely as he hoped.
Stephen turned to him and Calum didn’t have to look at his face to know he wore a quizzical expression. “What was that about?”
Calum heaved another sigh. “Eleanor thought it fit to invite me to her upcoming spring ball.”
“Ball?” Stephen sounded incredulous. He drew nearer, sinking into the same armchair Eleanor had just vacated. “Why would she do that?”
“She believes that it is time for me to bear an heir.” Saying it aloud sounded like a betrayal. How could he even think about tying himself to another lady?
“Hm.” Stephen said nothing and they lapsed into silence as he laid out the account books. Calum ignored him. He knew what that sound meant. Either he disapproved of the idea or was waiting for the right moment to voice his opinion. He hoped it was the former—that way, Stephen would keep it to himself.
So Calum felt a bite of surprise when Stephen said, “I do not think that is a good idea.”
Calum frowned a little. “You do not?”
Stephen shook his head, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. Calum couldn’t understand why he didn’t buy a smaller pair since those were clearly too big. Or had his face just gotten slimmer? Stephen had always been quite lanky with slim features, from the slant of his nose to the jut of his chin to his bony limbs.
“Allow me to be precise,” Stephen said, which was odd since he was nothing but precise. “What I mean to say is that such a thing makes me a bit trepidant. Reemerging in society amongst the gossip that spreads like wildfire about you may only harm your reputation further rather than aid it.”
Calum’s frown only deepened at that. “Not that it matters to me but I do not care about my reputation. You know that.”
“I know.” Stephen regarded him evenly. “But such gossip hinges on your late wife’s name. Whispers will begin once more regarding her mysterious death.”
“There was nothing mysterious about it,” Calum pushed through gritted teeth. This conversation was quickly going into territory that he could not handle. “She died of natural causes”, he said, even though in his mind he could feel that the cause of her death was inexplicable.
“I know that,” Stephen stated calmly. “But the ton cares not about the truth. Only about what sounds more interesting.”
“Enough,” Calum snapped. “I do not want to talk about this.”
“Very well. But consider my words, cousin. I only speak in your best interest.”
Calum didn’t grace that with a response and Stephen didn’t seem to care about receiving one. Ever the diligent one, he began the task of reviewing the account books, clearly unperturbed by Calum’s lack of interest in what he was doing. Calum would not have been able to participate even if he wanted to. Not when the only thing he could think about was Violet. Her memory, her death. They warred together in his head, driving him to drink more.
They were both right. Deep down, he knew it. If he dared to step out into society, rumors will rise once more about how his wife died. If he continued to hide away in his manor, he may lose the chance to bear an heir and pass on his name.
Calum finished his drink and poured himself another. All of a sudden, the full decanter of whiskey didn’t seem nearly enough.
Chapter Two
The dress was three years old and hopelessly out of fashion. Clarissa smoothed her hand down the front of it, narrowing her eyes at any suspicious area that might need mending. She didn’t like it. It was too small for her now, the color did not complement her complexion, and worse of all, it was old-fashioned. But it was one of the only dresses she had left.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to her face. And sighed. She missed her earrings. She missed wearing that small locket around her neck no matter what time of day it was. She missed the lovely headdresses she would don on special days, sitting prettily between her silky, dark brown hair. There were so many things about her old life that she wanted back. Things she would never get again.
For one, she was no longer in her own bedchamber. Clarissa couldn’t even remember how it looked. It had been two years since she’d left their London townhouse to stay with her aunt and uncle and the lovely bedchamber they had put her in looked nothing like her own. She was yet to make it her own, as empty of character as she felt.
She didn’t sigh. She was tired of sighing. It had been two years so this was her life now. It was about time she got used to it.
Clarissa ran her fingers through her hair in an idle manner as she turned and left her room. She hadn’t bothered to style it the way she usually did. Rather than intricate curls, she twisted the top of her hair into a chignon while the rest tumbled down her back. It comforted her to touch her hair, the only thing that remained truly hers.
“You look lovely, Clarissa!”
Clarissa came to a halt, smiling at her sister emerging from her own chambers. Again she was struck by how mature Louisa looked, now at ten-and-five years old. It was like looking at her younger self. Louisa was still so full of life that it was hard to believe she’d been there when their lives had been turned upside down two years ago. She endured everything with a smile while Clarissa constantly remained in the past.
“As do you, Louisa,” Clarissa said, slipping her arm through hers. Even though Louisa’s dress was also out of fashion, it fit her far better. She’d styled her hair, the same dark brown as Clarissa’s though much shorter. “And I see that you are in a good mood.”
“Because it is a lovely day,” Louisa chirped. “Can you blame me?”
Clarissa’s laugh came easily, surprisingly so. “No, I suppose I cannot. Then I take it you intend on spending it outdoors?”
Louisa pouted in thought. Together, they turned and continued along their way down the hallway. “I am not sure. Do you think Uncle will be willing to let me go horse riding today?”
“I do not see why not,” Clarissa said honestly. “Uncle falls prey to your charm like everyone else. If you ask, I doubt that he will deny you.”
Louisa laughed, the sound instantly lifting her spirits. If she let her mind wander too far, she would begin to wonder when Louisa would lose her spark, if she would become as fearful of the future as Clarissa was. But she didn’t dare let that train of thought take hold. As the eldest, Clarissa would do anything to save her sister from worrying about a single thing.
“Let us see then, shall we?” Louisa said, a spark of challenge in her eyes.
They made it down to the drawing room and the moment they walked through the door, Clarissa’s mood plummeted to the floor. Her mother sat in her usual spot by the window, gazing out with that blank look on her face. She looked hastily dressed, as if she had barely given much thought into what she was wearing. Her hair seemed unbrushed. And she sat so still that Clarissa was almost afraid to draw closer, lest she startled her.
The Dowager Baroness of Quelshire had once been a proud woman. Her shell sat there now, nothing but a husk without a soul. After everything that happened two years ago, Lady Olivia Wyndham fell into a deep melancholy and never recovered.
“Good morning, Mother!” Louisa chirped, letting go of Clarissa’s arm to flock to their mother’s side.
Clarissa warily drew nearer, sitting next to Louisa. She studied Olivia’s face, searching for signs of life like she usually did. And as usual, disappointment came swiftly when she saw nothing shining back at her.
Louisa barreled on, as if unperturbed by her mother’s state. “Don’t you think it is a lovely day? I have not gone horse-riding in quite some time so I am hoping to ask Uncle if he will allow me to have one of the horses for the afternoon.”
Olivia did not answer. Clarissa couldn’t remember the last time Olivia spoke. The shock of her husband’s death and the state he had left them in seemed to have settled far too deeply in her mind and she was yet to recover.
A part of Clarissa couldn’t blame her. She’d only been ten-and-nine when the Baron of Quelshire passed away. The death of her father had been sad enough, but the trauma that came with learning of his horrible financial decisions nearly broke her. In a matter of a month, their comfortable life had been turned upside down. Debt was far too simple a word for the destitution they’d found themselves in. And with it came such a horrible mark on their reputation as a family that Clarissa had lost all hope of finding a husband.
Clarissa had lost more than one parent in the span of a month. And with it came the constantly distressing worry about how they would survive. Their lacking reputation and no dowry meant the chances of Louisa and her getting married were slim. And she did not want to be dependent on her aunt and uncle for any longer than was necessary, though she saw no way out of it right now.
Louisa chattered on. Clarissa bit her tongue, wanting to tell Louisa to stop. But the sound of her voice was comforting. If she tried hard enough, Clarissa could pretend that nothing bad had happened at all.
Before long, two maids entered the room bearing trays, cutlery, and pots of tea. Behind them was Lord Robert Miller, the Earl of Santbury and his wife, Martha. Robert’s eyes instantly fell on Olivia. As her older brother, Clarissa could only imagine how distressing it had to be for him to see his younger sister in such a state.
“Good morning, Uncle!” Louisa chirped. “Good morning, Aunt.”
“Louisa, darling, you seem to be in a lovely mood,” Martha observed as she came to sit with them. “It makes me wonder if you know of our news already.”
“News?” Clarissa spoke up, frowning.
Robert claimed the spot next to his wife. He rested a hand on her rotund belly, clearly without thought. They were a lovely couple, Clarissa thought again. Though he was far older than Olivia, he’d married much later. Now, after four years of trying, Martha was finally with child.
“Goodness, Martha,” he said lovingly. “And here I thought you wanted to create suspense before telling them.”
“I cannot help myself,” Martha giggled. She leaned into her husband’s loving touch and Clarissa had to fight the pang of envy at the sight. “I am so excited that I can hardly contain it.”
“Excited about what?” Louisa asked. “What are you talking about?”
The earl and countess exchanged looks. Clarissa squirmed uncertainly. What if they intended to put them out? They had been dependent on Robert and Martha for almost two years now, contributing very little to their household. And at her age of one-and-twenty, with no wealth at all, she had no hopes of marrying. Were they going to tell them to leave to fend for themselves?
She’d been dreading this moment. Even though their happy smiles told her that perhaps her pessimistic thoughts were only that, Clarissa knew that it was only a matter of time before her uncle grew tired of their presence. Family or no, they were burdens. Her mother was like a raggedy, lifeless doll. Her sister was far too young to be of any help to anyone. And Clarissa was quickly nearing spinsterhood with no suitable matches. They were doomed.
No one noticed her guard building up around her as Robert said, “I have decided to fund a dowry for Clarissa to attend the upcoming season.”
“I understand,” Clarissa began. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her gaze fixed on her lap in the hopes that no one would see her tears. “We shall begin packing our things.”
“Clarissa, didn’t you hear?” Louisa nudged her excitedly. “Uncle said he would fund your dowry! You will be attending the Season!”
“Yes, I heard—” She broke off, looking sharply at her sister. “I am what?”
Martha’s laughter drew Clarissa’s attention. “I told you that she would be too stunned to speak. Oh just thinking about it brings me back to when I debuted at my first Season. I can only imagine how excited you are, Clarissa”
Excited? No, not at all. Stunned and in a debilitating state of disbelief. Quite so.
“I don’t understand,” she managed to say. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Robert countered as if the answer was obvious. “You are my niece. And after all that has happened to you, I think it rather sad that you are unable to step into society the way you should have by now. If I remember correctly, you were to debut before Edward passed, correct?”
Clarissa could only manage a nod. Louisa was buzzing with elation next to her.
“And once you found out the truth of his management, you were unable to.” Robert shook his head as if he was sincerely saddened by the thought. “Business has been going quite well as of late so it will not harm us to contribute to your launch into society. It is about time you marry, don’t you think?”
Clarissa didn’t know what to say. Her mind was a whirlwind, uncertainty and hope warring in her heart. Thankfully, Louisa easily filled the silence.
“How exciting!” she gushed. “I’ve always wanted to attend balls during the Season. What about Clarissa’s wardrobe? Surely she shouldn’t attend a single event in such old-fashioned garments.”
“I am grateful to be attending at all,” Clarissa said quickly, shooting her sister a warning glance.
Martha laughed again. “Not to worry. I shall oversee the improvement of all your wardrobes. Yours as well, Olivia.”
There was a brief moment of silence as they waited for Olivia to acknowledge what was being said. Of course, she said nothing, hardly moving.
Robert went on as if they hadn’t paused at all. “And, to make this news even more exciting, we have already received our first invitation to a ball.”
“Oh, tell us!” Louisa squealed. Clarissa found herself leaning over slightly in anticipation.
“The Dowager Viscountess of Yulebridge will be hosting her spring ball in the coming week and wishes for all to be in attendance. Which means there is quite a lot of preparation to be done before then. I hope you two are ready.”
“We are,” Clarissa and Louisa said in unison, Louisa in her usual excitable manner and Clarissa with firm determination. Her own enthusiasm lingered underneath the trepidation she felt at this sudden turn of events. After losing hope of their future, slowly beginning to believe that their ruined reputation would be the end of them, she was being given another chance.
And she couldn’t squander it. She would take this opportunity by the horns and emerge at the other end in a secured marriage. One where she could take care of her mother and sister and secure Louisa’s own future one day.
“Marry?”
All eyes turned to Olivia. Stunned silence settled around them.
Olivia’s eyes fluttered and Clarissa realized she had not been mistaken. Her mother had spoken. “You will marry?” Olivia whispered. Painstakingly slow, she turned and locked eyes with Clarissa. Something shadowed her expression, the sight of it making Clarissa’s tongue grow thick in her mouth.
Before anyone could attempt to respond, Olivia’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. Robert caught her before she could hit the ground.
“Quickly, call the butler!” he barked to no one in particular but Louisa was already on her feet, rushing out the door. Clarissa didn’t know what Martha did. Her attention was on her mother, already sinking to her knees to come face to face with her.
“Mother,” she called desperately, patting her cheek. She swallowed the bile of fear that rushed up her throat, realizing that her mother’s face was hot to the touch. As hot as her father’s had been days before his death. “Mother, open your eyes, please.”
That day came rushing back to her. It was her father laying limp before her instead, breathing so heavily that she had been afraid to touch him. Fear tore at her insides as she tried her best to remain calm, as she tried not to think that she might be losing another parent all over again.
And then the door opened and the butler came rushing in with Louisa on his heels. He sank to Olivia’s side, popping open a bottle of smelling salt and putting it under her chin. They all waited with bated breaths for her to stir.
At least she did. It began as another flutter of her eyelids and Louisa let out a sob. Clarissa put her hand over her mouth, holding back her own silent cries of relief when her mother’s eyes opened.
“Bring her up to her room,” Robert ordered, even though he didn’t have to. Clarissa was already moving to her mother’s side, guiding her to a stand. Louisa quickly claimed her other side and, together, they helped her out of the room with the butler trailing behind, smelling salt still in hand.
As they went on, Olivia seemed to regain more of her consciousness. She hardly helped herself walk, dragging herself along and weighing them down. Clarissa didn’t complain though. It had been so long since she’d heard her mother speak that she couldn’t help the sparkle of hope that her health was beginning to improve. Right now she could handle a little dead weight if it meant that her mother’s mind might be returning.
“Lay her down gently,” Clarissa said softly upon reaching Olivia’s room. With Louisa’s help, they laid her on the bed. Olivia immediately curled onto her side, tucked her arm under her head, and stared at the wall.
The butler returned to his duties shortly after, but not before leaving the bottle of smelling salts by her bedside. After a moment, Louisa did as well, claiming that she needed a bit of sunshine and fresh air. Clarissa stood there for far too long, staring down at her mother and wondering when things would begin to feel normal again.
The last time she’d felt anything close to normalcy had been a façade designed by her father. They’d been living a false life without knowing it—every frivolous purchase they made, every platter of food on their table, only making things worse. And with her mother in the state she was in now, the responsibility rested on Clarissa to save her family. A responsibility that did nothing but distress her every day since she hadn’t a clue how to go about it.
Now she was being given a chance. She would not let it slip through her fingers.
After a long while, she left her mother alone and went to the only room that brought her solace—the library. Clarissa quickly found the writing desk tucked between two bookshelves in the corner of the room and pulled free clean sheets of paper.
Her poems were the only thing of the past she had, the only way of expressing the deep waves of conflicting emotions that plagued her day by day. She could spend hours writing, pouring her heart into the words that would never be seen by another soul. Some day were more despondent than others. But her poetry today sang a different tune.
They spoke of hope and longing, and a perfect night at Lady Yulebridge’s ball.
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Thank you for the start of what seems a marvellous story. I cannot wait to read the rest of it. Norma.