He walked for quite a while and ended up in a wooded area a good distance from the little village. “Damn you, Hamilton!” he roared, letting his frustrations out on innocent nearby trees. When he had expelled all his anger and frustration, he slowly slid down the trunk of one of the largest trees. He pulled his knees up, and draped his arms over them, his hands loosely clasped. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, deep in thought. The snap of a twig caught his attention, but he dare not move a muscle. He hoped the interloper would take the hint and move on, but that did not happen. What if Franklin had finally caught up with them?
Justin felt a nudge in his side and let instinct take over. He could not recall what happened exactly in the next few moments, he just knew that he heard a decidedly unmanly squeal and saw Clarissa fly through the air. She landed on her back, her eyes wide. Her mouth made a motion like a fish.
“Dear God, what have I done? Talk to me, Clare. God, please let her be all right,” he prayed fervently. “Talk to me,” he pleaded.
“C…c…can…can…can’t,” she finally got out. She desperately tried to suck in enough air just to breathe.
“I’ve killed you, haven’t I?” He watched her as she shook her head and placed a hand on his shoulder, while she continued to attempt to breathe normally.
After several minutes passed Clarissa finally dragged in a full, natural breath. She pulled in several more before looking warily at him. He continued to hover over her, a look of horror and misery on his face.
“How do you feel?”
“I’ve been better, but I will live.”
“The babe?” A look of utter horror crossed his face.
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Clare, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t expecting it to be you. I thought you would still be in the room. I just wanted to be left alone. Then I heard someone and thought it might be Franklin, and I just reacted.”
“Do most people ‘just react’ like that?”
“Perhaps I was spoiling for a fight.”
“Perhaps,” she lifted one of his hands to inspect the knuckles that were bruised, scraped, and swollen.
“Here, let me help you up.”
“No, I like looking up at the sky like this.”
“Be serious.”
“I am. Look at the birds flittering back and forth and all the little flying insects going about their business. The way the branches on the trees look as if they are reaching for one another. Even the earth smells, I don’t know…new and refreshing somehow.”
He looked at her for a moment as if she had lost her mind then stretched out beside her. The ground here felt spongy from the discarded leaves of last fall, the recent rains, and the moss that covered the ground. He had to admit she was right. It almost looked ethereal, the things of fairy tales.
“I didn’t plan this, Justin.” Silence. “I wanted to be your wife in every sense of the word, but I didn’t plan it. You have to believe me,” a hint of desperation entered her voice and she turned her head to look at him.
Justin looked into the depths of her brown eyes. The sun caused the amber flecks in them to shimmer brilliantly. He gave her a crooked smile and reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers.
“Justin,” she tried once more, but he cut her off.
“Shhh. I apologize for raising my voice. It is just a bit of a shock.”
“For us both,” she answered before turning to look up through the trees once more. The limbs were full of small leaves. Everywhere around them nature showed signs of new life.
“We are more than likely filthy, lying here like this.”
“I don’t care. Justin, promise me, in years to come, regardless of what is going on in our lives, we will take the time to do this every year. We will teach our children to do this. To appreciate all that is around them, including each other.” She turned to look at Justin once more, her words holding a deeper meaning to her.
“Of course, we will,” he replied, kissing her gently on the lips. She tasted of mint. Their lips clung tenaciously to each other before he pulled away, breaking the spell. They lay like that for what seemed like ages. Then he helped her rise, and they strolled together arm-in-arm back to the inn.
Chapter 18
They rolled into London late in the night five days later. Clarissa had been wretchedly miserable every morning, unable to keep any food down. In the afternoons and late into the evening they traveled because that is when she felt the best. He gave directions to the coachman, and before long they pulled up in front of his parents’ townhouse. Since they spent so much time in Scotland, he used it the most. Clarissa had drifted off to sleep, so after climbing out of the carriage, he leaned back in and maneuvered her into his arms. The coachman ran up and knocked loudly on the door, rousing his very sleepy butler.
“My lord, we were not expecting you,” the man said, rubbing he eyes sleepily as a yawn overcame him.
“Don’t worry, Higgins. I forgot to send word ahead. We only need my bedroom anyway.”
“My lord, you have never,” the man began indignantly, wide-awake now.
“And I never will. This is my wife, formerly Lady Clarissa Blackerby, the Duke of Hamilton’s daughter.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, my lord, she doesn’t look well.”
“I agree and if you don’t mind, I’ll explain all to you in a day or two. Right now, I would just like to put her to bed and let her rest.”
“Yes, sir. The bed should be made up since you were only planning on being gone a short while. Should I send for Cook to make a tray up for you?”
Clarissa moaned in his arms at the word. She must be waking.
“I don’t believe so, Higgins. In the morning, would you have dry toast and chamomile tea delivered to our room?”
“Of course, sir,” Higgins said, and Justin could not miss the gleam in the man’s eye. Higgins had been his father’s valet as a young man. Then when Papa married mamma and decided to spend most of his time in Scotland, the valet found the cold did not agree with him. So he returned to London and took over the duties of butler at the death of his predecessor. The man never missed a thing.
Clarissa roused halfway up the stairs.
“Where are we?”
“Home.”
“Home?”
“My...our townhouse.”
“No more coaches?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she curled into him.
“Don’t go back to sleep yet. We at least need to get you out of your dress and shoes, and it is much easier when you are awake to help.” He placed her on the bed and quickly undid the buttons down the back of her dress.
“You have gotten good at being a lady’s maid.”
“I’ll be sad to give up my duties,” he laid a quick kiss on her exposed neck. “You get undressed, and I will get a fire started to warm up the room.” Spring in London could find you with chilly evenings more often than not. The fire blazed when he returned to the bed, finding Clarissa curled in the middle under the bedding. He quickly undressed and joined her. She burrowed into him as if she could not get close enough and then her breathing evened out into sleep.
He held her close, watching the flames dance on the ceiling. Justin knew he loved her, but he kept holding back from telling her. He wanted to know that she returned his feelings. He knew they cared deeply about each other and enjoyed the physical aspect of their marriage, but he wanted more. Until he knew for certain, he could not allow her to break through the last part of the wall he had erected around his emotions.
He promised to watch over her. He would do everything he could to see to her physical comfort. But he could not place his heart out there for her to destroy. How would he know the truth, and would he ever? Would he ever have a marriage like his parents and grandparents? Had Clarissa’s growing up in a one-parent house denied her seeing what a real relationship could be like?
She had sworn to him that d
ay that she had not used him. He ached to believe her, but he had not said anything and kept her professing more. Justin found he hated himself for it, but he didn’t know that he completely trusted that some part of her had, unwittingly, used him. After the tray had been delivered, he locked the door to ensure their privacy, and lay for hours in their bed, his wife in his arms and worries running through his mind.
***
Several days later, Clarissa felt much more like herself. She still had bouts of nausea, but nothing resembled the last leg of their journey from Scotland. If she had not been so weak, she swore she would have done bodily harm to Justin. There were beginning to be other signs of her pregnancy now. Her breasts were tender, and she tired, finding she often needed a nap in the early afternoon, but her waist remained small. Several more months would pass before she began to gain the telltale weight.
Deep down, Clarissa felt excitement course through her. She was happy about having Justin’s child. It upset her that Justin still held himself aloof, even though she knew that they were wary of each other emotionally. She had meticulously calculated every possible scenario and thought it would be born several weeks past her birthday. Clarissa had attempted to share that news with Justin, but he just nodded his head and returned to his paperwork.
They had not made love since the innkeeper’s wife had made public her suspicions. Clarissa thought that one important fact perhaps hurt the most. She had truly begun to love him, and she missed the closeness of that intimacy. They shared the same bed every night, but it felt like a chasm separated them. On several occasions, she had attempted to curl into him only to have him roll over, turning his back to her. These days, she found depression to be her constant companion.
Clarissa roamed the townhouse for the first time since their arrival. For the last few days, she had been too weak and tired to do much more than lift her head. There was a definite masculinity to the appearance of the home, and she found herself enjoying it, which surprised her. Her room in her father’s house had been decidedly feminine along with the parlor that she welcomed her guests in. Regardless of which room she found herself in, she always felt surrounded by Justin.
She walked outside to find a small garden area at the back of the townhouse. The furrows had hardened with disuse, and the plants had died off. As she walked and examined, Clarissa made mental notes about what she wanted to do in this area. She ambled slowly around the corner and found a flower garden that appeared to be in worse shape than the vegetable and herb garden. Dead flower stocks lay crisscrossed on the soil. The weeds overtook the grass, and both threatened the other plants. A rose bower loaded with roses and branches allowed no one the ability to sit on the bench below it to enjoy its shade and scent.
Somehow brambles had mixed in with the roses, and were attempting to strangle the roses’ life force. Except for the arbor, no roses or flowers bloomed. A small terrace with a table and two chairs lay off of a set of French doors that led to a room in the house. Clarissa walked over to one of the chairs and sat down, observing the dilapidated garden and mentally making plans. She noticed a birdbath that contained very little water. A bird, attempting to refresh himself, perched on the edge.
A calico cat caught her eye as it prowled toward the unsuspecting bird. The cat leapt mid-air, and the bird must have felt its presence, for it took off into the murky London sky. The calico landed nimbly on the edge of the birdbath, scowling when it realized lunch had flown away.
“Serves you right,” Clarissa said giggling. The cat jumped down and lay in the weak sun grooming itself.
A light breeze played on the air and Clarissa pulled her shawl close around her shoulders. Justin forbade her to leave the house. Her husband, those words still caught her off guard at times, had gone to check in with the Foreign Office. A skeleton crew ran the house because they were used to bachelor quarters. Rooms needed to be aired out upstairs. The parlors needed to be freshened, and a nursery would need to be created, but Clarissa could do none of that without hurting the feelings of the current staff and alienating herself from them. It would be easier if there were female staff members employed. She would find a way to approach Higgins about hiring on female staff.
She stared off into the garden, bored. Reading did not appeal to her today. Going for a walk was out of the question until Justin returned home, and who knew when that would be? Or if he will even take you, she chided herself. Their townhouse was not located in the elite neighborhoods of London, and Clarissa found herself very happy about that. Many families with small children lived near them. In fact, she heard children shouting and laughing as their nannies took them out to play.
She stood knowing that she could not sit around all day feeling sorry for herself, and attempted to enter the house through the French doors behind her. Locked. She retraced her steps to the servants’ entrance and went upstairs to her bedroom. After searching through her meager wardrobe she found nothing suitable to wear to toil in the garden. Since there were no maids, Clarissa had few choices left—ruin the only nice dress she currently had in her possession, slowly go insane from being locked inside, or loot her husband’s belongings. Choice three held much more appeal for her. She rummaged through Justin’s belongings and found clothing that looked as if it had seen better days.
Her appearance would most definitely shock the staff, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Sanity fell into the desperation category as nothing else did. Clarissa knew she could not stay in the house listening to the clock wind down the hours and minutes of the day a moment longer. She slipped back outside and into the neglected garden. A gardener’s shed sat back near the wall of the yard. Luckily, the door opened easily allowing her to go about her business without seeking assistance.
The handle let out a grating sound as she twisted it open. Clarissa pulled, but nothing happened. She pushed and nothing happened. The door was well and truly stuck. Swollen from the recent dampness, it refused to budge. Clarissa made a mental note to mention to Justin the need for someone to trim the door down a smidgeon. After battling the stubborn monstrosity for longer than any sane person would, it finally gave up the fight.
It flew open, catching Clarissa unawares. She stumbled backwards and landed awkwardly on her bottom. Blonde tresses fell across her face and she pushed them back, leaving dirt smears along her cheeks and forehead. Clarissa stood and entered the shadowy shed. She jumped as spiders scattered to the four corners of the building.
“They are more frightened of you,” she whispered to herself, but did not sound at all convincing. She found a table under a wide and narrow window set high up in the wall. On top of the table she found an old pair of gloves. She beat them together to make certain that no creatures had claimed them for their home. They swallowed her hands, but offered the protection she needed to fight the brambles. She also found a pair of oversized shears that would be perfect to cut back the overgrowth.
After gathering the equipment, she walked back outside and gazed around the garden. So much needed pruning that it momentarily overwhelmed her. Her eyes landed on the overgrown arbor. Clarissa took a deep breath before striding purposefully to the enemy. She tugged on the borrowed gloves and lowered herself to her knees. Starting at the bottom, she began to meticulously cut away the overgrowth until it aligned with the wooden form that it had overtaken.
She had several sneezing attacks, but refused to let the dust win. She was so intent on her work, she unknowingly worked through lunch. Clarissa also did not realize that she had a keeper that kept looking out the French doors checking on her. By mid-afternoon she had successfully carved out the inside of the arbor. She found a rake in the old shed and maneuvered the fallen boughs to a deserted corner of the yard in a neat pile. She walked back over and stood admiring her work.
“What a nice little place to put a bench and pass away the afternoon,” a raspy, yet sultry, feminine voice sounded behind her.
Clarissa whirled around and saw a familiar face standing there. Cl
arissa quickly sank into a deep curtsy.
“Duchess, it is a pleasure to have you at our home,” Clarissa said when she once more stood upright.
“My name is Mikala. Kala to my friends, as you well know. I hope I can still count you among my friends. The number is small you realize. Duchess is just a yoke Hawkescliffe burdened me with upon our marriage.” The other woman saw Clarissa’s eyes widen. “No, the title is a yoke. Not my marriage. At least, not anymore,” she said, a smile hovering on her bow-shaped lips.
“I truly am glad. And remember, you are to call me Clarissa. How did you know I had returned to London, let alone here?”
“Your husband,” Kala emphasized the word before continuing, “sent word that you might could use a visit.”
“He did not go by to see you? I thought you still considered him a friend.”
“Me, yes. My husband, however, is another story. He and Justin had a, well, let’s just call it a disagreement a while back.”
“I dare not even ask.”
“No. But it helped my marriage infinitely. I also have a feeling that now Gabe knows that Justin is happily married, they will soon become friends. You are bleeding.” The duchess nodded towards her.
“Scratches from the roses and brambles.” She turned once again to admire her work. “I knew it would be beautiful once it was trimmed a bit.”
“A bit?” Both women laughed.
“Thank you for coming. I was going a bit mad, being under house arrest.”
“This does sound interesting.”
“I don’t know that interesting is the right word. Why don’t we go inside? I’ll run up and make myself presentable while tea is prepared,” her stomach growled. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “I worked right through the noon meal. No wonder I’m starving. Come. It will be so delightful to have someone to talk to that isn’t trying to look out for my own good.”
To Love and Protect Page 29
