by Cheryl Holt
When her mother had perished, and Clarissa had been brought to Greystone, she’d viewed it as the most remarkable spot in the world, her own personal Heaven. She’d reveled in how the days rolled by with no drama or chaos.
Harold Merrick’s downfall had rendered cataclysmic disruption that culminated in the Harlows taking charge, and the very notion had her pulse racing with dread.
Angela asked, “Will they show their sorry faces before the evening is through?”
“I’ll give the bloody man five more minutes,” Roland replied, “then I’m leaving.”
“There’s no need to curse, Roland,” Clarissa scolded.
“It’s my home, Clarissa,” he snottily retorted. “I will speak however I please.”
She might have reminded him he’d made a slip of the tongue, that it wasn’t his home any longer, but what was the point? It would only increase their bickering.
“Has anyone talked to the butler about them?” Eddie inquired. “Do the servants know where they are? Are we to wait for them or what?”
Angela said, “The butler told me they are sequestered in the Captain’s bedchamber. They are not to be disturbed.”
Roland grimaced with distaste. It was difficult to hear Angela mention the Captain’s bedchamber. The grand suite of rooms had been Harold Merrick’s, and should have been Roland’s instead of his slinking off to the gamekeeper’s cottage when matters got too dicey.
The fact that it was now referred to as the Captain’s quarters indicated how much authority had passed out of Merrick hands.
“I’ll disturb the horse’s ass,” Roland said. “If he’s not here in the next thirty seconds, I’ll…I’ll…”
Evidently he couldn’t devise a suitably horrid ending, and Angela scoffed, “You’ll what?”
“Don’t mock me, dear sister,” Roland seethed. “I am already sufficiently enraged. You exasperate me at your peril.”
“As if I’m afraid of you.” Angela snorted. “Don’t bluster and preen. It’s annoying, and it simply makes you look ridiculous.”
Suddenly footsteps echoed in the hall, booted strides marching toward them. They stopped squabbling and gaped at the door. They’d all been sitting, and Clarissa rose to her feet, feeling as if she was about to face a firing squad, as if the prison guards had arrived to whisk her off to the gallows.
The Harlow brothers entered, the older one first, the younger one behind. They proceeded across the floor until they were in front of Roland and Angela who were seated together on a sofa.
Clarissa studied them and frowned. They were in uniform, but for some reason, they’d switched coats. The older Harlow was now wearing the one with all the ribbons and medals pinned to it. The younger one had barely any trappings affixed at all. What did it mean?
Nervously, she peeked at Eddie, at her cousins. Was she the only one who’d noticed? Apparently yes.
“About damn time,” Roland mumbled.
The older Harlow ignored him, but nodded at Clarissa. “Please be seated, Miss Merrick.”
Even though he’d uttered the word please, the request sounded like an order and, since she hated his commanding tone, she nearly refused. Yet as she was discovering, she had to pick her battles with him, and she didn’t really care if she was standing or sitting.
She settled herself, fussing with her skirt, straightening the fabric, trying to figure out what to do with her hands.
“We apologize for missing the meal,” he brusquely said. “We were detained with pressing business.”
“More pressing than a supper you arranged yourself?” Angela snapped. “If I remember correctly, you informed us to be there—or else.”
“Yes, well, I’m here to tell you about the or else.” He assessed each of them, then announced, “I am Captain Matthew Harlow.”
“What?” Angela gasped.
“I am Captain Harlow. This is my younger brother, Private Rafe Harlow.”
“But…but…” Angela stammered.
“I apologize for deceiving you”—he didn’t look sorry—“but as you might imagine, I was disconcerted to find all of you still in residence. I traded places with my brother so I could have a better chance to learn more about all of you.”
Roland scowled. “You played a trick on us?”
“Yes,” the Captain admitted, “and it’s provided me with an intriguing glimpse of all your characters.”
He glared at Angela and, her cheeks flushing bright red, she wailed with outrage. “You are Captain Harlow? How dare you deceive me, sir!”
“It was cruel,” the Captain said. “I won’t deny it, but it taught me what I needed to know about you.”
“I’ve been developing an emotional attachment to your brother.”
“Because you thought he was me.”
“Yes, and I’ve been maliciously misled.”
“How were you misled?” the Captain coolly responded. “Besides as to his identity, that is.”
“He said he’d marry me,” Angela declared. “He promised, and I accepted.”
Captain Harlow glanced at his brother, and his brother shook his head, refuting Angela’s allegation.
“My brother is many things,” the Captain stated, “but he’s not a liar. If there were any promises voiced, they occurred in your own deluded mind.”
“I’ve been hideously damaged,” Angela huffed, “and amends will have to be made.”
“My poor sister,” Roland crooned. “You’ve toyed with her affections.”
The Captain scoffed. “I wasn’t aware she had any.”
“Don’t insult her,” Roland said. “I won’t stand for it.”
“I wasn’t insulting her; I was merely stating the facts.”
“Angela is correct,” Roland asserted. “Compensation is owed.”
“What compensation would that be?” Captain Harlow asked. “Should I force Rafe to wed her? Would you like to have a lowly army private as your brother-in-law?”
That silenced Roland and Angela, and Clarissa tried to think of a comment that would relieve the tension. She wasn’t surprised to have the truth revealed about the two brothers. It was obvious the older Harlow would be the great war hero—not the younger man—and it definitely explained very much that had confused her about them.
Before she could speak up, Roland recovered himself. “I demand you marry her, Captain. She associated with your brother, assuming it would lead to a proposal from Captain Harlow. As you are claiming to be that Captain, I insist you do the right thing.”
The Captain glanced at his brother again. “Were you ever going to wed her?”
“No.”
The Captain stared Roland down. “It appears your sister was mistaken as to his intentions.”
“Now see here, Harlow—”
Roland started to rise, but one glower from the Captain had him plopping back down.
“I agree though,” Captain Harlow said, “that your idea of my marrying into the family was valid. I’m sorry for your father’s troubles, and I’ve decided I should wed a Merrick. Your plight has been enormously unjust, and when I have benefited from your loss, it seems the kind and appropriate path. Therefore, while I have no interest in marrying Angela Merrick”—he swung his intense blue gaze to Clarissa—“I am happy to wed Clarissa Merrick.”
“What? What? What?” Clarissa chirped like a bird, certain she’d misheard him.
Angela moaned, “You can’t mean it.”
“Oh, but I do,” the annoying fiend said as he turned to Roland. “Mr. Merrick, while I wish I had better news, I’m sure you understand that I can’t allow you to remain at Greystone.”
“Excuse me!” Clarissa jumped up, but the discussion continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.
“You can’t make me leave,” Roland ludicrously said. “I won’t.”
Captain Harlow ignored his complaint. “Get your affairs in order, say your goodbyes, and be gone two weeks from today.”
“You’re mad!” Roland fumed.
/>
“I’m familiar with the state of your finances,” the Captain told him, “and I shan’t toss you out without a penny.”
“I won’t accept your bloody charity,” Roland raged.
“Watch your language around the ladies,” Rafe Harlow warned, suddenly looking more lethal than Clarissa had deemed him to be.
“Excuse me!” Clarissa said again, and she stomped her foot, trying to pull all eyes in her direction, but no one paid her any heed.
The Captain kept speaking to Roland. “I shall give you five hundred pounds to see you on your way. I’m not a poor man, and I assume it will take some time for you to establish yourself elsewhere. In the future, should you experience difficulties, you may apply to me for more if need be, and I’ll be happy to confer with you about your fiscal problems—for a period of three years.”
“How generous you are!” Roland sarcastically sneered.
“Aren’t I though?” the Captain calmly retorted.
“What if I refuse to obey?” Roland blustered. “What if I refuse to depart?”
“Then I will have you forcibly removed, I will close my purse and you won’t get a farthing.”
At the curtly delivered threat, there was a shocked pause, then Eddie asked, “What of Clarissa, Angela, and myself, Captain? Are we to stay or to go?”
“It is a household matter, so it shall be my wife’s decision.”
“Whoa!” Clarissa waved her arms and stomped her foot again. “You seem to be laboring under the oddest impression that I’ll wed you.”
The Captain leveled his gaze on her. “It’s not an impression, Miss Merrick. I’m giving you the chance to help your relatives. I am being…generous, just as your cousin accused. What other option do you have but to agree?”
“You can’t marry Clarissa!” Angela sobbed. “You absolutely can’t!”
“And why can’t I?” the Captain inquired.
“Because you were supposed to marry me!” Angela wailed. “Me! Not her! Never her!”
She leapt up and ran out, but though Roland made a half-hearted attempt to grab her wrist, she vanished out the door. They froze, rooted to their spots, as her footsteps faded away.
Then the Captain turned to Clarissa. “You were saying, Miss Merrick?”
“I have no desire to be your bride.”
“I’m not particularly keen on it myself,” he insulted her by claiming, “but it will be best for all concerned.”
“You aren’t listening to me. I have no desire to marry you.”
“Yes, and you’ve already been apprised as to my opinion of women and their silly choices. When you’re obviously so misguided, why would I care what you think?”
“This isn’t the Middle Ages. You can’t force me.”
He shrugged. “Who said anything about force? I’m positive—after you’ve had opportunity to reflect—you’ll realize this is the perfect solution.”
“The perfect solution for whom?” she demanded. “For I must tell you, I don’t see any benefit in it for me at all.”
“No benefit?” He scowled. “You’ll be mistress of Greystone, one of the finest estates in England. You’ll wed Britain’s hero, the kingdom’s most sought-after bachelor. You’ll always be safe and clothed and fed. Those certainly sound like benefits to me.”
“Yes, but it means I’ll have you as my husband.”
“There is that,” he mused.
“Poor girl,” Rafe Harlow muttered.
“I won’t do it,” she seethed. “You can bluster and preen. You can threaten and nag. I won’t do it. You’ll never convince me.”
“Today is Monday,” was his casual reply. “I’ve sent to London for a Special License. We’ll hold the ceremony here in the parlor on Thursday—or at the church in the village if you prefer. That gives you a few days to plan the wedding breakfast and invite some guests.”
“Captain Harlow! You’re not listening to me!”
“No, I’m not.”
He spun and marched out, and Rafe Harlow addressed Roland. “If you’ll come with me, Mr. Merrick? My brother would like to discuss the terms of your separation from the property.”
“I’d rather be boiled in oil than talk to him on any topic,” Roland spat.
“As you wish,” the younger Harlow said.
He winked at Eddie then marched out too, leaving them alone in a stunned condition, their jaws agape.
Clarissa was shocked, offended and very, very angry. What highhanded twaddle! What odious imperiousness! She wouldn’t be bossed, wouldn’t be commanded, wouldn’t be bullied into wedding a man she didn’t love.
Despite how set he was on himself, she would not do it!
She raced out and chased after him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Clarissa tiptoed down the hall toward Captain Harlow’s suite. It was very late, the whole house abed, but she couldn’t sleep and was desperate to talk to him.
Since his abrupt announcements in the parlor, she hadn’t seen him again. She’d spent hours searching, but had had no luck. How could such a large, imposing person disappear so easily?
By the time she’d given up, she’d wanted to confer with Roland and Angela, to tell them she’d never betray them or usurp their spot, but they’d vanished. Then she’d looked for Eddie, anxious to hear Eddie’s opinion as to what had occurred, but Eddie couldn’t be located either.
Eventually Clarissa had returned to her room, but there was no rest to be had. She’d undressed, then she’d dressed again, but without the benefit of a maid, she couldn’t pin up her hair or tie her laces. She was without corset, but wearing her lavender gown, her robe over top, her hair pulled into a ponytail. And she was barefoot, not having the patience to fuss with the buckles on her shoes.
In her state of dishabille, she was definitely a sight, but her condition couldn’t be helped. She had to converse with the wretch.
His door was ajar, and she slowed and peeked into his sitting room, surprised to find him napping in a chair by the fire. His coat was off, his shirt open to reveal much of his glorious, muscled chest. The vision was as riveting as it had been earlier in the day out by the barn, and she forced herself not to gape.
He’d been drinking. On a table next to him, there was a decanter of liquor and a glass. Much of the whiskey was gone.
She was about to call out to him when she realized he was dreaming. He moaned and scowled, then lurched awake, his hand extended as if he was reaching out to someone. For just a moment, his gaze was unfocused and confused, but it rapidly cleared, and he saw her in the doorway.
He relaxed and lifted his glass in her direction.
“Miss Merrick, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“May I come in?”
“It’s awfully late, and I’m alone. Have you lost your sense of propriety?”
“No, I’ve been searching for you all evening, and I’ve finally found you. I’m not about to let the opportunity pass.”
“Why were you searching?”
“Because you insisted we were marrying, you vain oaf, and I don’t want to.”
“Oh, that.” He waved off her complaint as if it was of no accord. “You’ll get over it—once you’ve had some time to think.”
Had there ever been a more obstinate, infuriating man? How was an ordinary woman such as herself supposed to deal with such bombast and conceit? How could she ever fight him and win?
“Sit down, would you?” he said. “I’m not about to shout at you from across the room.”
“No one is shouting.”
“Not yet anyway.”
There was a chair beside him, and she went over and eased herself down. He moved his own chair, so he was facing her.
“Pardon me for a minute,” he said.
He picked up the decanter and drank straight from the bottle, taking several long swallows.
“Are you a drunkard, Captain?” she baldly asked.
“Not usually.” He shook himself, like a dog shaking off water. “I ha
te that dream. It always upsets me.”
“You, upset?”
“It’s hard to imagine, I know.”
“What’s it about?” She could have kicked herself for inquiring, but apparently she was curious about him when there was no reason to be.
“I was in a fire at a coaching inn when I was a little boy.”
“A fire!”
“My parents and I were staying there overnight. They were killed, and I was orphaned. It was very frightening, and the memory plagues me.”
“Don’t tell me such a sad story,” she scolded. “It will make me feel sorry for you, and I might start liking you.”
“I doubt there’s any chance of you liking me.”
“Your parents were killed in a fire,” she murmured, and she shuddered, the news eerie and distressing.
“Yes, and I still dream about it occasionally—when I’m under stress or…whatever.”
“Are you under stress?”
“Not right this second.” He grinned and took another long swig of liquor.
“What happened after the fire? Did you go to live with relatives?”
“No, none of my family was ever found.”
“Captain Harlow! Stop saying sad things.”
“You asked, Miss Merrick, but don’t fret. It turned out fine. My brother, Rafe? His mother was staying there too, and I went home with her while they hunted for someone to claim me, but no one did. I grew up with them.”
“Ah…that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You and your brother look nothing alike. You’re not blood kin.”
“We are nothing alike either. He’s happy and silly, and I am…well, you can see what I am.”
“A bully and a lout?”
“That describes me perfectly.”
“You bark out commands and expect to have them obeyed.”
“Yes, I’ve always been domineering. I can’t seem to help it.”
“I’m sure you won’t believe me, but I won’t allow you to bully me.”
“I could swear I already am.”
“We’re not marrying.”
“Yes, we are. On Thursday. I suggest you get used to the idea.”
