Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
Clarissa knew the sonnet well. It was from Shakespeare, who she knew they both admired.
It spoke of a man who did not like himself. Who longed to overcome his reputation. He envies what others have achieved and wishes he could be like them. When he thinks of the one he loves he is rich indeed.
The one he loves…
Clarissa’s hands were clasped in her skirts as those emerald eyes found hers as Lord Bolton finished. Despite her own fears, there could be little doubt of his meaning. Her heart soared at the idea that all her forbidden hopes had been answered. Her mother’s hand rested on Clarissa’s lap, and she took her hand as Lord Bolton returned to his seat.
As they watched the remainder of the poems, Clarissa felt the heat of him beside her like a physical force. Her breath became more laboured, her chest tight with excitement and fear.
He has thrown down his gauntlet then, she thought hopelessly. Will I answer? Can I answer? She still did not know.
That night, as Clarissa lay in bed, staring at the snow falling outside, she watched the candle beside her bed gutter and twirl in the half-light. She could not get Nicholas’s performance out of her mind.
He must have chosen the poem specifically for her. There was no other explanation. They had both talked of their love of Shakespeare; he would have known she understood hismeaning.
Did he truly wish to throw off the shackles of the man he had once been and forget his time as a rake? Did he long for her as she longed for him in the deepest parts of her heart? No matter how unwise it was, she could no longer deny that her feelings for him were deep and endless.
Over the past few days, she had seen him for who he truly was—kind, genuine, and earnest. The memory of his steady, deep voice reciting the sonnet made a thrill rush through her, a spark of joy that could not be concealed.
She could not bear the thought of leaving him, and that made anxiety form in her chest. She had never been so enamoured with a man. His obvious affection and the heat in his gaze as his performance had concluded left her hopelessly breathless.
She clenched her fingers in the covers, pulling them up and over her shoulders and huddling down into the bed. The snow fell silently, acting as a hanging curtain that hid her from the world.
She was terrified to hope that Nicholas felt the same way. It would mean she would finally have to face all the reasons she had convinced herself they could not be together. If he had truly changed, perhaps there was a chance they could be happy. She wished she did not have to tackle so much uncertainty.
At least on one thing she was certain. Against her better judgment and her reason, against her own trepidation and fear, she was falling deeply and irrevocably in love with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nicholas opened his eyes to a bright, cold morning.
Today was the day when they would all be taking part in a sleigh ride. Some of the party had returned home to their families, but many remained for the event.
He was alive with desire and excitement. Finally, his mind was clear about what it wanted. He would stay with Miss Crompton for as long as she would have him and if she agreed to be with him forever, he would be the happiest man alive.
The familiar nervousness in his gut remained, but it was overpowered by his feelings of excitement. As he rose, he made the final decision to find time with Miss Crompton—Clarissa—alone and make his feelings known.
As Hargreaves helped him to dress, he selected his very finest attire for the occasion. The locket was a comforting weight in his pocket as he pictured giving it to Miss Crompton. Silver would look beautiful against her porcelain skin, and he could imagine her eyes lighting up at the gift.
At breakfast, his gaze was continuously drawn to her. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the day. She was discussing the sleigh ride’s location with Henry and Emily. Henry was explaining the height of the hill he had been sleighing down since he was a boy.
“Lord Bolton,” Nicholas looked across at Lord Crompton, who was slathering his bread with almost an inch of butter. “I wondered if I might discuss with you the matter of my steward.”
