"Pretty? Yes, I like pretty things. I had the little birds imported from Australia to brighten up this gloomy mausoleum.” His expression had changed. He squeezed Clarissa's fingers again, then stepped back and released her. “But we digress. I believe you wished to ask me something."
"Uh ... nothing urgent, Your Lordship. A minor thought about Lady Beatrice."
"What has she done now?"
"No, nothing terrible. Your daughter and I get along quite well, as a matter of fact. It is only that—"
"Spit it out, Miss Marrick,” he said, interrupting her. “Beatrice has been a worrisome child since her birth. If you are planning to tell me she is backward, I already know that. I was advised through her other governess that she cannot learn anything worthwhile. She is indifferent to every subject and will not pay attention. I cannot do anything about that, since it seems to me that it almost amounts to a vengeance on her part not to learn.
You may have come upon something I wondered about. You ignore her and it hurts her terribly; she does nothing to make you like her in order to get back at you. It is a devastating roundabout.
"Miss Marrick, Beatrice's dowry is large enough that when she debuts, someone will snatch her up whether she is gifted with intelligence or not. I say, let her husband worry about it."
Clarissa thought the marquess's statement was rather insulting and horribly unfeeling. Poor Lady Beatrice. Her father is a callous, heartless beast. And a lecher as well, she added to her thoughts about his uncouth demeanor.
To her, it was obvious the marquess rarely saw or visited the child. When they met him on the landing moments ago, Beatrice seemed shy and in awe of her father. Should a child behave that way toward her parent? Clarissa had never known of any, but then, she had not been out in the aristocratic world long enough to observe.
Adding sisterly affection, and teaching the girl proper manners, Clarissa believed the girl would be a lot happier in the long run. She listened to her charge, made her lessons interesting and different, and tried hard to teach her so that she wanted to learn. Already it was starting to be fun for both of them.
The girl had problems, Clarissa knew from the beginning. But she recognized that she behaved badly at times because she hungered for more than attention. She yearned for affection from her father, her only living parent, and got none. From what she had learned, during early childhood, the girl had only her prissy nanny for company. No relatives or young friends her age.
Clarissa felt she had to make a strong statement about him and his daughter. “I believe, my lord, that Lady Beatrice is quite lonely. After all, her mother died birthing her. That must leave a big hole in her young heart. And she gets no attention from you nor any parental affection to fill it."
His words were sharp when he snapped back at her. “She should not miss things she has never had. I know, she is well taken care of,” he replied. “And besides, I am a busy man."
Doing what? Clarissa thought. Chasing your own pleasure and forgetting about your daughter's?
"Your Lordship, servants talk,” Clarissa replied, “and perhaps Lady Beatrice overheard somewhere that you do not care about her. Her bad behavior is simply a way of getting noticed. By being autocratic, rude, and rather selfish.
The apple does not fall far from the tree, Clarissa mused silently.
"When I first met Lady Beatrice, I am afraid she was not very nice.” Clarissa's smile was tentative.
"Did you put those ideas in her head?"
"Me? No. That happened a long time before I came here. She has bamboozled her nanny during most of those early years, I expect. But she is doing better now."
"What were you hoping for, Miss Marrick? That I pander to the child's wishes? Or to yours?” That black eyebrow of his arched again. “Beatrice has her nanny, and now, you, for company. What else does an eight-year-old need?"
"Perhaps you might consider something, Your Lordship,” Clarissa said, pushing ahead. “I think Beatrice ... Lady Beatrice ... well, it might help for her to meet and make friends her own age. Mrs. Pritchett treats her as if she is still a baby, not a young lady who can make small decisions on her own. Then, she gives into her ladyship's autocratic demands, and lets her have her way."
"Miss Marrick. I have very few friends who sprouted young offspring of any kind.” The tone in the marquess's reply was one of definite annoyance. “And I certainly would not invite them to any of my house parties if they toted their children along with them."
He said he would never invite children to the Priory, Clarissa realized. The marquess's scowling expression, clamped down on those curt words, slammed shut on that idea like a door.
Clarissa tried a different gambit. “Saving that, Your Lordship, why not visit Beatrice and I while she is having lessons? She is trying to teach one of those little birds to talk. We have one living in a cage in the schoolroom right now."
The marquess's eyes brightened with interest instead of haughtiness. “Now, that is fascinating. Who suggested that? You? Have you taught the bird to talk? I read that the budgerigar can be taught to mimic voices in the same way that parrots can."
"No. This is all new to me, too, my lord. Trial and error. But your daughter and I are working on it together."
His expression had lightened, but he answered with a new thought. “As you know, Miss Marrick, I have a number of invited guests to entertain right now and no time to spare. Some other time, perhaps."
At that point he turned to leave the room, but paused. “You are not under my protection, Miss Marrick, but I would like you to ride out with me some morning soon. I shall let you know when. Then we can discuss how you are doing to teach the little birds to talk."
Clarissa saw that was not an invitation, but a subtle command.
"Thank you, Your Lordship. I am sure—"
"We shall ride alone, Miss Marrick. Without Beatrice."
The marquess unlocked the door, leaving Clarissa in the dim lit room. She never noticed him locking the door when they entered, and wondered what his purpose had been for doing so. For privacy? Or for the same reason as Mr. Black? Her seduction? A shiver rippled up Clarissa's spine.
Chapter Nineteen
When she was alive, Clarissa's mother insisted they dress for supper and ordered them to eat together as a family. So, today Clarissa bathed, then changed into another gown, even though she sometimes ate alone. The choice for a number of gowns in her wardrobe was scanty since even Jane's borrowed clothing was not elaborate or new. Though she thought it was a waste of time, she pulled on a light green gown that emphasized the green of her eyes. She was about to fashion her hair into a bulky chignon when someone knocked on her bedchamber door. Again, Clarissa's heart took a fast turn around her chest cavity.
Fiddlesticks! It is too early for Mr. Black to show up at my door. And besides, I am NOT going to let him discompose me again.
Quickly, Clarissa answered the knock, her heart beating in double time. It turned out to be Beth, the housemaid.
"Sorry I am so late, miss,” she apologized, “but we been ever so busy what with all His Lordship's guests."
"Not to worry, Beth. I can take care of myself."
"'Tis been a rush to finish everythin’ before supper. The lady's maids needed our help to do all the hard work."
"Well, then, you can rest a bit.” Clarissa leaned down to tidy up her coiffure. “Has the Countess of Devon come back to the Priory a second time?” she asked curiously.
"Aye.” Beth giggled. “And from what I hears His Lordship was not expectin’ her. She said she planned to be elsewhere, but things changed, and she showed up for the marquess's latest party uninvited. Looked to me that himself was not pleased to see her."
"Is that right?"
"Mr. Graves, the marquess's butler, he told us that His Lordship was terrible annoyed. As a matter of fact, wagers in the servant hall started right afterward as to how soon himself will be looking for a new face."
Clarissa tucked that bit of informatio
n into the back of her mind.
I should be sorry for the countess, Clarissa told herself, recalling the strange conversation in the woods between Lady Ponsonsby and her companion.
But I feel it is wrong to look for amorous feelings from someone else when you are already married.
"Will you have time to do up my rose gown for tomorrow, Beth? It is quite wrinkled,” Clarissa said, changing the subject.
"Aye, Miss Marrick. And I hopes we gets a peek at the Prince tomorrow night. I'm told the marquess plans a special dinner and a ball in his honor. Oooee! ‘Tis then ye'll get a gander at all the ladies and gents in their finery."
Beth left with Clarissa's gown when a footman knocked on the door, bringing the supper tray. A bit later, he returned for the tray. Clarissa locked the schoolroom door after him and went to write more notes for her research. When she conjured up her hero, the only face she saw was that of the marquess. The literary hero she envisaged before arriving at the Priory now looked totally different from Beatrice's father. She put down her pen and mused, staring into space instead of writing.
Another knock on the schoolroom door brought her back to reality. If anyone passed by, they could easily see a sliver of light shining beneath the door jam and would know she was still awake. Another tap and a whispery voice insisted, “Let me in, Miss Marrick. I wish to speak with you."
Clarissa felt her heart jerk in her chest again, until she remembered she had locked the door. She sat back and waited, careful not to make a sound.
After several more seconds, she heard muttering and solid footsteps moving away.
Glancing at the schoolroom clock, she was aghast that it was one o'clock, well after midnight. Quickly, she doused the lamp and headed for her bedchamber to undress for sleep. Unfortunately, she did not sleep soundly. Early the next morning a bell clanging outside her window woke her. She wondered what had caused the commotion, but she turned over, dozed, and fell back to sleep.
* * * *
When Beth showed up later that morning with her gown freshly pressed, Clarissa asked about the bell ringing. “The noise startled me, but I did not hear a commotion going on outside."
"'Tis the stable yard bell, miss,” Beth explained. “And well ... p'haps I'd best not tell ye the reason. ‘Tis a bit disgraceful."
"Beth! Tell me! I wish to know."
"'Tis to warn those who did not sleep in their rightful beds to get to their assigned bedchambers before us housemaids are up and about.” Beth giggled. “Aye, I got a surprise when a gent sneaked in real late. I was already in his room to tidy up. Most men are randy in the morning, miss. I've been caught with me skirts up a time or two if ye must know."
Oh, my, Clarissa thought. My father would be shocked at the goings on here. Better yet, he would have a fit knowing I was staying at the Priory at all.
Clarissa was reminded of Mr. Black knocking on the schoolroom door again last night. His behavior is appalling! she had ranted to herself. Perhaps, I shall complain to the marquess more strenuously, and ask for his protection. But sooner or later, I will get even with the scoundrel for frightening Jane.
Then Clarissa paused and thought better of it. The marquess did not seem overly surprised, concerned, or angry that his friend approached her. And he, too, hinted at things she did not wish to comprehend. Did every male aristocrat like to wager who was the greatest seducer?
Oh! Fiddlesticks! It seems I am finding out that this is a man's world, after all.
Chapter Twenty
After a busy day, Mrs. Pritchett was putting Beatrice to bed when Beth put her head through the doorway to the schoolroom. “Miss Marrick, come quick! Several of the ladies are going down to supper."
Clarissa followed the maid up another set of stairs and along a narrow passage until they reached the center of the house. Here they overlooked the central staircase below them.
"Nobody looks up here. They's allus lookin’ down. Lean over, miss, and get a good gander."
In the immense foyer, numerous footmen stood about in formal evening livery. Powdered wigs, silk stockings, and satin breeches seemed the reason for the visit of the Prince Regent.
As Clarissa watched, a lady appeared on the stairs. So many diamonds adorned her head, throat, ears, and wrists that she dazzled the eyes. Looking from this angle, her gown was scandalously décolleté. At the same time, it was elaborate and exquisitely beautiful.
Whoever she was, several other women trailed behind her immediately. Two men accompanied the group. One gray-haired gentleman wore the Order of the Garter draped across his chest.
Beth nudged Clarissa, pointing to him. “'Tis Lord Barthelmew. He came in the Prince's caravan with one of the ladies."
One after another, the marquess's guests descended the stairway in glittering waves of color and brilliance that left Clarissa all but breathless.
Finally, a somewhat overly plump gentleman clomped down the stairs in solo magnificence. Prinny, the Prince Regent, had arrived to grace the sumptuous supper and ball in his honor. Alex walked over and met him in the foyer. The two men chatted while entering the large drawing room together.
Clarissa, three stories high, sighed audibly. She was wondering how accurately she could describe what she had seen below. It was important that she made notes while the scene was still fresh in her mind.
"Do you wish to see where the Prince is sleeping, Miss?” Beth asked, her eyes shining. “There's a large sitting room, too. And a lady's boudoir on the other side.” Beth giggled. “'Tweren't me that tidied the Prince's rooms, so I ain't sure what lady he brought with him this time."
It finally dawned on Clarissa what this arrangement of rooms implied.
"His Lordship sleeps in the master suite at the far end of this corridor, a good ways from the schoolroom,” Beth went on, pointing out a pair of large carved doors. “I told ye that Lady Ponsonsby was in a huff when she saw her usual room, the one next to His Lordship, was given to someone else. Surprised me, it did, that the room list was not changed to suit her, until I heard the housekeeper had orders to leave things like they was."
Uh oh, Clarissa thought. So Georgianna Ponsonsby is really out of favor with the marquess?
"Well now, ‘tis best I get back to work, miss, or I will be in deep trouble."
"Yes, of course, Beth. Thank you for showing me what goes on."
"My mother says it don't cost anythin’ to look,” the little maid replied, grinning, the one tooth missing in the front showing. She left Clarissa.
Looking around, Clarissa realized she was a long way from the central staircase. She would have to walk from the East Wing to the West Wing to reach the schoolroom. As she strolled, she wondered what lady the marquess was squiring this evening.
Even as she did so, she saw his dark head coming up the central staircase, and she panicked. He would be curious, perhaps, irritated, wondering why she was in his end of the hall near the guests’ quarters. Not sure where to hide, Clarissa glanced over at a nearby door and quickly slipped behind it. Inside was a tiny hall with two other doors opening from it. It dawned on her that this must be one of the large suites in this area with a bedchamber and sitting room for each guest on either side. In that way, it made it easy to go from room to room without being seen out in the corridor.
Clarissa mentally crossed her fingers and hoped she had been fast enough so the marquess did not catch sight of her. She felt her heart racing, and she pressed a hand against her bosom while listening for his footsteps to pass by the door.
To her horror, the door snapped open and the marquess's broad shoulders filled the doorway. For an instant his silhouette limned the glow from the lit sconces burning along the hallway. Then everything went dark.
Clarissa was acutely aware of the marquess standing near her in the inky darkness. She could not see him, but somehow strong vibrations seemed to reach out from his powerful presence. Then, astonishingly, his arms went round her and pulled her to him. Before she could utter a sound, his mouth came dow
n on hers, warm and wet, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that held her spellbound. Dumbfounded, she did not think to fight him off even though this was happening to her. Again.
But this time her body truly betrayed her. This time she knew who it was. This time she was aware of the strength and warmth of his male body pressed against her so intimately. A strange male had embraced her without her permission. She fought off the person she thought to be Mr. Black, unexpectedly petrified of him. But now ... she had been caught and seized by the same man that clasped her to him while on horseback.
Clarissa went limp for a few seconds before allowing herself to lean into his embrace. His kiss was wonderful, and she realized she did not want it to end. Not yet. She wanted to experience what she read about in the romance novels that she read so avidly. So, she let the marquess kiss her longer ... let him embrace her.
The marquess's demanding kiss escalated, forcing open Clarissa's lips. She had to gasp when his tongue plunged into her mouth, but the feeling was so delicious that she did not pull away. Instead, she kissed him back. Her knees began to buckle from the powerful way he kissed. Oh yes!
Arms tightened around Clarissa. His hands rubbed up and down her spine in sensuous caresses that had her blood pulsing in her ears. Her breasts felt oddly painful where they lay against his chest like pages in a book. Her nipples tingled warmly beneath her lightly boned corset. A subtle movement of his feet had shifted and nudged her to spread her legs. She felt him press one of his heavy thighs between hers. He rubbed it against her in a place she had never been rubbed before. Sensations she never experienced sped through her, rolling over her like waves with an unknown but essential imperative, strange and enormously provocative. The sensations felt incredibly exciting. She clung to him like a limpet, too weak to stand without help.
Again, her parted lips opened wide. She reached up to encircle his neck with her hands. His swirling tongue met hers deep inside her mouth, her ardor melding with his in a passionate flurry of delicious, devastating kisses. She was more than willing to let him kiss her again and again. Clarissa knew that this was how she wanted to feel when she read a romance novel. This feeling was different from anything she had imagined, and so marvelous that there were no words sufficient to adequately describe it.
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