Perhaps he merely does not wish to make his affection for her known publicly. Perhaps it is easier for him to associate with someone such as me.
Lady Wilde and her father joined them. Clarissa was quickly pushed to the back, either by accident or by design, and Lady Wilde walked beside Lord Bolton.
After his initial stiffness, Lord Bolton relaxed again and spoke with her easily as they walked about the gardens. Clarissaattempted to engage Lord Wilde in a discussion, but the man mainly complained that he had left his pipe and Tobacco in the house and bemoaned the cold so much that Clarissa had very little to say to him.
Unfortunately, this left her alone with her thoughts, and she found that her mind played back the words Lord Bolton had spoken repeatedly. Whatever did he mean by “finding a companion”? What would he have said if we were not interrupted?
She was alarmed by the strength of her feelings on the subject. Despite all of the reasons she had for fearing a connection with him, she could not dismiss what he had said. She was intrigued by it, and an excitement fluttered in her breast that was most unwelcome.
She knew her feelings toward him had grown beyond anything she could have imagined. Lord Bolton was affability itself; he was kind, good-humoured, and intelligent. Yet there was so much about him she did not understand. She could not go into such an association with her eyes closed to his reputation.
As Clarissa followed behind Madeline Wilde and listened to their inconsequential talk, her mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty. She was still none the wiser as to whether Lord Bolton liked her, or whether she was a useful foil for his real intentions for the widow. He had a widow in Paris, a voice in her head reminded her. Surely, for a rake, Madeline would be the easier path.
As they all regrouped and returned to the house, Clarissa walked beside a silent Lord Wilde. He appeared entirely indifferent to everyone and walked ahead of her, rather rudely, no doubt to get his pipe and a glass of port. She had never seen a man drink so much port in her life.
Clarissa returned to her room, walking swiftly to her bed and dispensing with the many layers of her clothing. BeforeAnnie arrived to help her dress for dinner, she paced before the fire, trying to settle her nerves and her inner thoughts.
She walked to the window, looking down at the myriad footprints the party had left in the snow. Did she dare open her heart to him? Her mother and father approved of the match, but her mother also dismissed everything about his past.
What if I allow this association and it ends in scandal? What if he is interested in me today and follows another woman tomorrow? What if we marry, and he has affairs all over the country? What then?
She could feel the tears banked at the back of her eyes and as they began to fall, she wished she had a simple answer for what she should do.
She enjoyed Lord Bolton’s company, and she admired him. Every time he walked into a room, she could feel his presence before she saw him. There was a connection between them, at least on her side, that she was unable to deny. It seemed that every interaction she had with him was destined to be a joy and a torment.
But how does he feel? Is everything I believe exists between us an illusion?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nicholas paced before the fire in his room. He was frustrated and angry, attempting to calm himself before he went down to dinner.
Whenever he felt he was growing closer to Miss Crompton, he was thwarted somehow. He knew he needed to prove to her that he was a different man from the one she had been told of. But how was he to convince her when he was constantly dogged by Lady Wilde?
She was beautiful, to be sure, but it had been many days since he had looked at her twice in the same instance. She had a shrewdness and a meanness in her character that he had seen many times. When she believed the company were engaged elsewhere, she criticised everything.
He did not like her and liked even less that she seemed to think she had some kind of claim on him. She was so familiar with him—as though they had known one another all their lives. His irritation at her interruption in the gardens had almost undone him. He had been seconds from telling her to leave them alone. Yet he knew it would have caused Clarissa great embarrassment if he had done so.
Henry’s advice had been useful in its way, but Nicholas was at a loss as to how to proceed. He recognized that he needed real advice from someone who truly knew him. Someone who, despite his reputation, still believed him to be the good man he was beneath the rake.
He left his room, walking quickly through the corridors of the house, ignoring any of the guests that he saw. He avoided eye contact with anyone as he passed them and set his expression as one of agitation so as to dissuade the Lady Bartholemews of theworld from interrupting him.
He found Lady Eleanor in her private sitting room working on her embroidery. She looked up as he entered, and the smile on her face was telling. He was convinced she had expected him to seek her out. She was a devilishly clever woman, and she knew him well. If she had not seen his regard for Miss Crompton, no one would have.
“Good evening, aunt,” he said as he closed the door.
“Good evening, Nicholas. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Nicholas walked to the fireplace, putting his hand on the mantel as he stared into the flames. Then he walked to the window, then back to the fireplace. His aunt was entirely still as he did so, her eyes on her embroidery, waiting for him to speak.
After a pause, the damn broke, and Nicholas found himself confessing it all.
“I believe I have formed an attachment,” he said quietly. “I am aware that you have warned me against such a thing with Miss Crompton, but I have found I am unable to stay away from her. She has the sweetest temperament of any woman alive. She is intelligent, witty, and vibrant. I cannot think of another lady I have admired so much.”
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “You know of my past, aunt. You have admonished me many times over the years, both in person and in your letters, about my conduct. I know I have not always done as I should, and I allowed myself liberties out of the excuse of a heart I believed to be broken.
“But I would urgently welcome your advice on this matter. I do not wish to cause Miss Crompton any more pain than she has already suffered. I know what she must think of me. Yet I dare to hope that she might find it in herself to see through to the man I truly am. Who I should have been long ago. I deeply regret my past actions and wish to convey my feelings to her. I cannotcontinue to wear the mask that I have perfected over the years. I have defended my heart to the point of pain, never forming any real attachment to anyone. Henry, Rosemary and you were the only people truly dear to me. Until today.”
He covered his face with his hands, running his fingers over his cheeks and heaving a great sigh. It was a relief to get it out in the open, to speak it aloud to someone who knew him so well. But he was terrified that his aunt would tell him that all was lost, that his reputation was beyond repair, and that he would never be acceptable to someone like Clarissa.
