It was true; she had shouldered much of the weight of her sister’s disgrace to protect her family. She had continued with her charitable work, attempting, where she could, to be seen within their local community. She had attended a few smaller functions, forcing herself to mingle with friends who had turned their backs on her and making polite conversation with the dregs of their social circle.
She did not miss those days. In the end it had done her little good.
In truth, if Clarissa could have torn up Lady Eleanor’s invitation and thrown it into the fire, she would have. She had no wish to walk into a room and find herself the subject of gossip ever again.
And yet…is this our chance at redemption?
Lady Eleanor was exceptionally well connected, not to mention her influence with the Ton knew no bounds. If they could return to her good graces, they might just stand a chance of being accepted back into society by next season. It was perhaps a fool’s hope, but a hope, nonetheless.
She stared at the paper in her mother’s hands as her mind dragged her back to that awful day three years before. She would never forget finding her sister’s note—the spiked, urgent handwriting so unlike Catherine’s neatly looping style. In a few sentences, her sister had managed to destroy everything their family had carefully built over decades. Clarissa felt the familiar ache in her chest at the memory and tried to tamp down her own reaction, aware of her mother’s eyes still fixed on her face.
The idea of returning to society terrified her, but remaining as she was, with no hope of a better life or a good marriage, would be worse.
She glanced at Emily. Her cousin deserved to have a future, too. Someone so happy and carefree, just as Clarissa had once been, should not be downtrodden by Catherine’s mistakes.
“We must attend,” her mother interjected, giving up on hearing any response from Clarissa. “Refusing would surely be seen as an admission of shame. And the shame is not ours.”
Clarissa clenched her fists, and Emily came to sit beside her, taking her hand. Her cousin knew very well how much Clarissa hated negative remarks about Catherine. Sometimes, the two cousins would discuss her secretly before they went to bed. They would imagine the exotic life she lived in Italy. In Clarissa’s mind, Catherine was achingly happy and that was the way she wished her to remain.
She supposed she should have resented her after everything her departure had put her through. But Clarissa could not find it in her heart to do so. In the long years of her absence, Clarissa had come to recognize how brave Catherine had been. Foolish—to be sure—but brave enough to follow her heart.
Her mother’s voice became almost desperate.
“We have been hiding in the countryside for three seasons. We have barely been seen in town and avoided all social functions, only entertaining our closest and dearest friends whostill do not invite us to their soirees. This is our chance, Robert.”
Her mother stood up, going to her husband and gripping his hands, looking at him imploringly.
As her parents began to speak urgently with one another in hushed voices, Clarissa’s gaze floated to the window. The snow had begun to fall again. She watched it whirl and twist against the pane. She could sympathize with the nervous twitches of each snowflake as they floated to the ground, trying to find their place in a changeable world.
Her family had been ostracised for three long and tumultuous years; perhaps it was time for things to change.
She looked back to her parents as silence fell. All the eyes in the room were now trained on her. The whole family was waiting to hear her decision.
“We will go,” she stated finally, watching the smile bloom across her mother’s face.
CHAPTER TWO
Lord Nicholas Bolton looked out of the window, frowning at the snow, hoping his ire might melt it all away. He was only back in England for two weeks and already missing the heat of southern Europe.
He had quite forgotten how chilly England could become at this time of year.
It was beautiful, though. The trees were hunkered down as though tucked under a great white sheet; their limbs outlined in silver frost contrasting against their dark trunks.
The gardener had yet to clear the pathways around Lady Eleanor’s gardens, and they were peaceful, still, and calm.
Nicholas had no time for such things.
He harrumphed good-naturedly, drumming his fingers against the polished wood of the windowsill, imagining he was back in the south of France beside the sea again. For the tenth time that morning, he reminded himself that he could not abandon his duties indefinitely and that it was just those duties and obligations that had necessitated his return.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him out of his melancholy, and he turned as his younger sister entered the room. She looked somewhat perplexed, her freckled face part joyful and part curious.
As soon as her wide blue eyes alighted on him, however, the joy eclipsed everything else, and she ran at him with such force that she almost knocked the air from his lungs.
“Good Lord, Rosemary, you have the strength of a mountain!” he said, chuckling at her as she looked up at him. She had grown in the two years he had been away, and his throat tightened as he thought of everything he had missed.
“I cannot believe you are really here,” Rosemary said, finally releasing him and stepping back. “When Aunt Eleanor told me you would be back for Christmas, I did not believe her.”
“And why not? I gave her my word, and I never break my promises.” His sister scoffed, and Nicholas gave a sharp laugh. “I have already told you I did not promise to bring you back a rocking horse, only that they have beautiful examples of them in Spain.”
