Rosemary smiled. “Do you remember the old oak tree at the bottom of the garden?” she asked suddenly.
“I do,” Clarissa conceded. “I am not as tall as that.”
“I am afraid it is dead now. Aunt Eleanor could not understand why it was not flourishing, and in the last two years or so, it has lost all its leaves.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I enjoyed our time on the old swing. I think we were lucky not to break any bones.”
“I believe the tree has been pining for you. We should take a turn tomorrow and see if it perks up at the sight of its old friend.”
Clarissa’s throat tightened at the memories of sitting on the swing with Rosemary. They had been much younger and more innocent than they were now.
She remembered a year when it had begun to rain so heavily that they were soaked to the bone. The cook had given them hot chocolate and placed them in front of the fire in the drawing room, wrapped in blankets. They had talked of secrets and daring adventures they would never attempt. It had been a gentle time, and she yearned for it now with an intensity that surprised her.
“Is the swing still there?”
“It is. For better or worse. Perhaps we should both sit on it to see if the rope will snap.”
They shared a grin of secret pleasure. Rosemary’s grip tightened a little more on her arm, and she glanced sideways at her before continuing. Clarissa knew what was coming before she spoke.
“I will not speak much of it, as I can imagine it is difficult. But have you heard from your sister?” Rosemary’s eyes were sorrowful and genuine. Clarissa knew how hard it must have been for her to broach the topic.
“No. No word. She is safe, I hope. Still in Italy.”
They fell silent, for there was nothing else to say on the matter, but then Clarissa stiffened as the atmosphere in the room changed.
Immediately on high alert, she looked for her family. Is something amiss? Has one mention of Catherine destroyed us all? She was unable to believe that any change in the environment was not due to her family.
Instead, she found the guests just as they had been, but a great many people were turning to the doorway of the ballroom.
Clarissa glanced over a multitude of heads to see a man standing in the doorway. He was exceedingly handsome, his face sharp, his features pleasing to the eye.
He had dark tousled brown hair and sharp, green eyes and was looking about the ballroom with interest. But it was his expression that intrigued Clarissa the most. He did not appear pompous or arrogant. Many men in good society looked down their noses with cold scrutiny. There was something easy about him, almost suave. Clarissa found herself briefly captivated.
Somehow, despite all the people around them, their eyes connected across the room. As that bright green gaze met hers, Clarissa felt a shudder of something skitter through her. But as soon as she felt it, she looked away. She knew the perils of ahandsome face and the wicked allure of charm.
He was announced as Nicholas Bolton, the Earl of Bernewood, and Clarissa was amazed to find that she was standing with her arm linked to the man’s sister.
Rosemary had spoken very little of her brother. Clarissa had believed him to be travelling and never expected to meet him in person.
She was aware of his less-than-wholesome reputation. He was well known for entertaining many women abroad. It had been the stuff of salacious gossip she had never paid heed to. Now, her stomach fluttered wildly as she looked upon him. No wonder he had a reputation as a rake. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen with a wide, beguiling smile.
She looked away.
She would not let her guard down and uphold her family name. He would be an acquaintance, nothing more. Her heart might be beating wildly in her chest, but she would ensure she did not let that fascinating gaze, or his charm, penetrate the carefully constructed walls she had built over the last three years.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nicholas descended the stairs, watching the whirling dancing with practiced nonchalance.
As he entered the room, he was struck by the interest his arrival prompted. He was not surprised by it, for any eligible Earl returning from years on the continent would pique the interest of society. It was more that he was once again reminded of his status in the world. A status he had been running from for a long time.
He scanned the crowds, noting the usual array of social climbers in the mix. Many mamas were already eyeing him for their daughters. He could almost hear the cogs whirring across the room.
He noticed Rosemary in the corner, standing beside another woman he did not recognize. This must be the ‘Miss Crompton’ she had mentioned. She caught his eyes momentarily but swiftly looked away.
Nicholas frowned. That in itself was uncommon. Most of the women he had met lingered on his countenance rather longer—he would even go so far as to say boldly. Her gaze suggested shyness, which he was not used to. She did not return to look at him again; he found himself a little put out by it. He was unaccustomed to indifference by the fairer sex.
His aunt approached him through the throng, and a familiar pang of guilt passed through him at her disapproving air. He was late. Again.
