But the little voice in the back of his mind whispered as he did so – ‘see, a good win – you could do that again, and again, and again….’.
~~~~~
Miss Clarisse Weston groaned as her step mother Helena threw open the window covering, allowing the bright light of morning into her bedchamber.
“Surely it is not yet time to get up,” Clarisse said as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“It is indeed,” Helena said sharply, her eyes narrowing at her step daughter. “Your father may allow you to sleep half the day away, but now that I am here, you shall not.”
Clarisse’s father was Arthur Weston, heir to the Weston fortune, which had been made throughout the years by her father’s, and before him his father’s, astute business dealings.
Her mother had died giving birth to her, leaving her an only child. Other women came and went in her father’s life, but only for short moments.
It had seemed that it would just be Clarisse and her father, as close as two peas in a pod, at least until she married, which she supposed she eventually would.
And then Helena had come into their lives, her features soft and pretty, her frame lithe and slim.
She was far younger than Arthur, but significantly older than Clarisse. She had captured Arthur’s heart, though she had done little to endear herself to Clarisse. The younger woman was sure that her new stepmother was more attracted to her father’s money than she was to his person – but she knew that her father would not believe that, he was far too enamoured of Helena.
Clarisse rolled out of bed and Helena left her. Abby, her maid, hurried in and helped her to dress. When she made her way downstairs shortly after, she found her father in the breakfast room, smoking a cigar as he perused a newspaper, his breakfast on the plate before him.
“Father,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
He folded his paper and set it aside as he smiled. When she said nothing more, he shook his head a little.
“I thought you would chastise me for having a cigar so early in the morning”
He was barrel chested and strong, with dark hair, a bushy greying moustache, and grey eyes.
His daughter was slim, with delicate pale skin, and soft brown hair. Her eyes were hazel, and took on more green when she was outside, or by the window. She took a seat opposite her father. They often ate together in the breakfast room, and Helena rarely, if ever, joined them, preferring to take her morning meal in her own rooms.
“I would normally, but I understand why you might need such a soothing vice of late.”
Her father shook his head and held his hand up.
“If this is to be another attack on my wife…”
“No, nothing of the sort.”
She was eighteen years old, and her father had spoiled her. Whatever she had wanted he had provided for her, but her nature was such that she had never abused her father's willingness to shower her with gifts. They had survived together in what she had thought was utter bliss. The fact that he had married Helena suggested that he had not been of the same opinion. That thought hurt. It was not as though her father had begun treating her differently since he had married, it was simply that Helena seemed determined to overstep her bounds.
An eighteen-year-old girl who had done without a mother did not suddenly need one, in Clarisse’s opinion. Helena felt differently. She seemed intent on providing rules and structure, where none was needed, or at least wanted.
“When will you and Helena have your own children?”
“Do not start that,” her father chuckled as he extinguished his cigar and pulled his plate before him. “I am too old.”
“Helena is not.” Clarisse’s tone was tart.
She always reminded her father that his new wife was rather apart from him in age.
“I wonder if, just once, you would not tease me,” Arthur said with a barking laugh.
“Perhaps, but if so, it will not be today.”
Clarisse grinned, and they ate in silence, until her father pushed his plate away, finished and, looked at Clarisse, meeting her eyes squarely.
“I know that you do not like her. I know you would never speak so plainly, but I know it.”
Clarisse sighed, and opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to honestly refute her father’s words, so closed her mouth again and waited for the man to say more.
“Though you never met your mother, I know that there must be some sort of… loyalty you feel towards her. Believe me, I do understand - it’s that same loyalty that I carried which kept me from marrying again for so long.”
Clarisse nodded. Her father was right of course, as he so often was. Though she hadn’t known her mother, she had still been her mother, and her father moving on, even after eighteen years, seemed like a betrayal to her, though she knew that most men remarried far sooner.
Helena had, from the start, irritated Clarisse, and the idea of letting her into Clarisse’s good graces and confidence had felt as if it would also be a betrayal. So she had built a wall up between her and the older woman, unwilling to allow any kind of friendly interaction.
Her stepmother’s irritating attitudes had made that somewhat simpler to do, as well.
“I loved your mother,” Arthur went on to his daughter. “She was a light so bright in my already bright life that she made it seem that much duller when she was out of it. I’m a blessed man. My family made a name for itself long before I had to do any real work. I’ve simply steered the ship enough to keep it away from crashing into the rocks near the shore, and reaped the reward. I met your mother, a beautiful woman who blessed me with you, who somehow filled me with even more love than she did. Losing your mother was the worst thing that ever happened to me, I have no doubt that you will believe that.”
He paused a moment, watching her, then went on.
“Even though all around me told me that I should remarry, that I should get myself a son who could inherit the business, for so very long, I simply couldn’t bear the thought. Until Helena.”
Clarisse felt hot tears sting her eyes, and she dabbed at them with the corner of her napkin. She thought of her mother often, and had through the years, having to settle upon an imaginary representation of the woman she had never actually known. In her mind her mother had been kind and loving and full of life. Her father had spoken of her often, and she had built up her image of the woman from that. And then she had been replaced. It hadn’t been sudden, it had taken a long time, but still, it felt as though her mother had lost her place in her father’s heart. No matter how many times he assured her that had not happened.
“Helena woke me up this morning, again,” Clarisse said, when her father had fallen quiet, apparently considering his explanation of his marriage over.
“How horrid,” her father remarked dryly.
“She makes me tighten my stays. I can barely breathe.”
“She wants you to look feminine.” Clarisse laughed.
“I’m a woman. I can’t get much more feminine, father.”
“You actively misunderstand me,” her father scowled. “Helena has your best interests at heart, if you can believe that.” Clarisse narrowed her eyes, but she did not speak. Arthur went on. “She wishes for you to find a man, to marry well.”
“I have a man. My father. The best man I know.”
She could see the pride shine in her father’s eyes, but he shook his head gently and waved his hand at her.
“You cannot marry your father my dear,” he said.
“I’m only eighteen.”
“More than one girl has been married at seventeen or eighteen,” her father warned.
“I am willing to consider marrying. Just don’t let her have a say in it.”
Her father shook his head sadly.
“I tire of having this conversation, over and over.”
Clarisse knew that the discussion was finished, that nothing useful would be gained by persisting. Sighing, she stood and left the table.
/> Continued…
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The Duke and the Spinster: Clean Regency Romance (The Nettlefold Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
