Love Is Blind (11 page)

"That is my fault," Lady
Mowbray
said with a smile. "I am afraid the girls were getting along so well, I did not have the heart to bring an end to it."

"Well, I am glad," Lydia murmured, but Clarissa frowned, recognizing that her stepmother wasn't appeased. Something was wrong.

"Well, the two of you must come to tea soon," Lady
Mowbray
went on cheerfully, not knowing Lydia well enough to recognize anything amiss. "I shall invite you and Mary, too, so that the girls can have another visit."

"That would be delightful," Lydia replied.

Lady
Mowbray
hesitated and then nodded. "Till we meet again then."

Adrian's mother gave Clarissa's hand a little squeeze, then turned and left them alone. The moment she was out of hearing, Lydia took Clarissa's arm and urged her to move.

"Where are we going?" Clarissa asked warily. Her stepmother led her across the ballroom.

"Home," the woman snapped.

Clarissa bit her lip, but she remained silent as they left the
Devereaux
home and waited for their carriage. Lydia didn't go on the attack until they were safely seated inside with the door closed.

"You were awfully flushed when you returned from your 'visit with Mary.'" Lydia's voice was cold and emotionless.

Clarissa went still, feeling extremely wary. "We were seated by the fire. It was a bit warm."

"And your lips were still a touch swollen from kissing Lord
Mowbray
outside the salon doors."

Clarissa felt herself freeze inside. "You saw?"

"I saw," Lydia agreed in a voice full of rage. "Lord
Prudhomme
wished to speak to me, and we went for a short walk in the gardens. We saw you on our way back, and watched from the trees as you let
Mowbray
paw you like an animal and—"

Lydia paused abruptly, as if too sickened to continue. But Clarissa hardly noticed; she had stiffened at the mention of
Prudhomme
and a walk in the garden, distinctly recalling what she'd witnessed of the man's walks in the garden with other women.

"How you can let that man touch you?" Lydia snarled. "Here you have a good man like Lord
Prudhomme
willing to overlook your scandalous past, and you choose to—once again—throw yourself toward ruin. This time with
Mowbray
."

"
Prudhomme
? A good man?" Clarissa asked with amazement. Then she realized she'd never told her stepmother what she'd seen in the gardens.

"Yes. A good man," Lydia snapped. "He is willing to

overlook the scandal, your clumsiness, and even the kiss he witnessed."

"Is that not kind of him," Clarissa said dryly. "I suppose in return I am to overlook his affairs?"

"What? Whatever are you talking about?" Lydia asked, but there was far more than curiosity in her voice. Clarissa was sure she heard panic there, and wished like crazy that she could see well enough to make out the woman's expression.

"I mean Lady
Havard
and Lady
Achard
," she explained slowly. "The night you found me in the garden, I witnessed him toying with both women."

"What?" Lydia said. "What are you rambling about?"

"I am saying that I nearly ran into him and Lady
Achard
in the gardens, but ducked into the bushes." There was no need to mention Adrian at this point. "I overheard them talking. It seems they had just made love. He proclaimed his undying devotion, cursed Lord
Achard's
good health, as he was keeping them from proclaiming their love to all; then Lady
Havard
interrupted to announce that Lord
Achard
was at the ball. Lady
Achard
hurried back to the ballroom, and
Prudhomme
proceeded to proclaim his undying passion and love for Lady
Havard
, cursing Lord
Havard's
good health in exactly the same words he used with Lord
Achard
. Then he proceeded to disappear under Lady
Havard's
skirt."

Silence met her announcement. While Clarissa couldn't make out Lydia's expression, she could tell that her stepmother had gone pale.

'You are lying," the woman said shakily.

"No. I am not," Clarissa replied. She added, "I was not alone. I was not the only one to witness this."

"Who else?"

Clarissa hesitated. She was already in trouble over
Mowbray
, and hesitated to bring him up. On the other hand, perhaps Lydia would stop pushing
Prudhomme
at her if she could be convinced of the truth.

"
Mowbray
," she said at last. "You may ask him if you do not believe me."

Clarissa never saw the slap coming, but she certainly felt it. The pain was sharp and sudden and her head jerked to the side from the impact. Reaching up, she clasped her cheek and slowly turned to squint at her stepmother.

"We will not speak of this any more," Lydia said. "But you will not be seeing
Mowbray
again ... ever."

Clarissa sat stiff and still, inwardly seething. In all the years Lydia had been her stepmother, Clarissa had never once been hit.

The carriage door opened. They'd arrived at home without her even noticing. Clarissa nearly tripped over her skirt in her haste to disembark the carriage. The footman caught her arm to steady her. She murmured thank you as she pulled away and hurried up the path to the front door.

Ffoulkes
, or someone Clarissa presumed was
Ffoulkes
, opened the door as she approached. She sailed in and hurried straight upstairs, and had just reached the privacy and safety of her room when Lydia caught up to her.

"Clarissa," her stepmother hissed, catching her arm in a painful grip and opening the door. Releasing a slow breath, Clarissa turned to face her stepmother, then simply waited, unwilling to speak and draw more anger down upon herself.

"I never want to speak of this night again," Lydia repeated firmly. "But I just want to be clear that you will

not see Lord
Mowbray
. How you could let him touch you..." The woman was clearly still furious, her breathing heavy as she paused and—no doubt— glared at Clarissa. "Your father would never forgive me if I let that man ruin you. And
Prudhomme
will not be welcome in our home anymore either. Courting you while ..." Her voice cracked, and Clarissa was even more convinced that Lydia had somehow been involved with the man. If he hadn't already been having an affair with her, he'd certainly worked hard at obtaining one. The woman was struggling under strong upset.

After a moment, Lydia gave up the struggle and turned away to hurry off to her own room. When that door slammed shut, Clarissa allowed the tension to drain from her body with a sigh. She then stepped into her bedroom, and started as a figure appeared from behind the door.

"I am sorry, my lady," her maid, Joan, said. "I did not mean to startle you. I was waiting for you to return so I could help you undress."

"Of course you were," Clarissa said quietly, and let the door close behind her. She was still getting used to the girl's silent ways. Her old maid had been slightly more outspoken, likely due to her age.

Joan set to work, but there was a tension about the girl while helping her undress that Clarissa wasn't used to. After several minutes, she finally said, "What is it, Joan? I can tell you want to say something, but—"

"I am sorry, my lady," the maid murmured, then blurted, 'Your gown is wrinkled, you have a mark on your face where it appears you have been slapped, your lips are slightly swollen as if you have been kissed, and I overheard what Lady
Crambray
said about Lord

Mowbray
. It seems obvious that something has gone on between the two of you. My lady, he . . . they say his heart is as deformed as his face, and that he . . ." Her voice trailed off as Clarissa turned a hard look her way. "I am just worried about you, my lady. You are sweet and kind and good, and—I think—a little naive. I would not wish to see him take advantage of you."

Clarissa turned away, anger burning inside her. Adrian had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration. He listened to what she said, to the things she missed or wished for, and he set out to give them to her. And he hadn't once tried to take advantage of her. For a moment, Clarissa considered telling Joan to mind her own business, but then she decided Adrian deserved better; he deserved for her to defend him. Besides, she wanted at least one person on her side, even if it was only her maid.

Settling onto the dressing table chair for Joan to let her hair down, Clarissa cleared her throat and recounted the night she'd first met Adrian, then the second time, and so on, not leaving out a single detail. Once she finished recounting everything, right up to the conversation Joan had overheard between Clarissa and her stepmother, Clarissa fell silent and waited.

"He sounds wonderful," Joan said in a quiet voice. "Nothing like those tales people whisper behind his back."

"He
is
wonderful," Clarissa said, and blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It was ridiculous, but she was extremely grateful that the maid thought well of Adrian. His own family did, of course; but they would. It was nice to have some objective validation of her own feelings for the man.

"Well," Joan said, finishing brushing out Clarissa's

hair. "I think you should continue to see him. If he arranges another picnic, enjoy it."

"Really?" Clarissa asked.

"Certainly," the maid said firmly, then added, "My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft smile claims your lips.
Tis
obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be."

Clarissa blinked in surprise at the girl's suggestion, and remained silent as she finished preparing for sleep. Joan then turned down the covers, watched her slip into bed, wished her good night, and left the room. The maid's words were still playing through Clarissa's head as Joan pulled the door closed.

My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft, smile claims your lips.
Tis
obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be.

Was it true? she wondered. Was she falling in love with him? Or, was she even
already
in love with him?

Clarissa didn't know. All she knew was that she liked Adrian, that she was bored and weary when he wasn't around, and that she seemed to come alive only when he appeared. She laughed with him, and enjoyed talking to him and now that he'd kissed her ... it seemed to be all she could think about—that, and the next opportunity she might have to experience those kisses again. All of that seemed to suggest that she was falling in love with the man. And if she was ... it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Clarissa couldn't wait to see him again.

She just didn't know how it would happen.

Chapter Seven

"Your shawl, my lady."

Clarissa blinked in confusion as Joan suddenly appeared at her side with the garment in hand. "My shawl?"

"Yes. You said you were chilly and asked me to bring you your shawl," Joan repeated firmly, then bent and
tsked
over a spot on Clarissa's skirt. "I fear we did not get all the punch out of your dress from the night you spilled it at the
Brudmans
' ball. Perhaps you should accompany me upstairs to change."

"What?" Clarissa squinted down at her skirt. Not that she would have been able to make out anything anyway, but she was sure this wasn't the gown she'd been wearing when she'd spilled the punch. That had been her forest green dress.

'Yes, yes, take her upstairs to change, Joan," Lydia said with obvious irritation. "The girl cannot be in a

stained gown at my first ball. I do hope no one has noticed."

"I am sure they did not, my lady," Joan said soothingly, her hand firm as she pulled Clarissa to her feet.