Candice Hern (28 page)

"Damn. I suppose I'd better find her and talk to her." He rose slowly to his feet, feeling suddenly stiff and old.

"Don't look so glum, Cazenove. This could be the perfect opportunity to remove yourself from a betrothal that was idiotic to begin with. That girl would have made your life a misery and you know it."

"I rather suspect it would have been the other way around," Adam said. "But I'm not out of it yet. Clarissa may still want to go through with the marriage." Though he could not imagine why if she was truly in love with Sherwood. And her parents would surely prefer his bloody lordship as a son-in-law. He was the son of a duke and the owner of this grand estate. Adam's fortune could not begin to match Sherwood's.

Rochdale snorted. "Wouldn't that be a happy prospect? Each of you in love with someone else. No, my boy, you must let her go to Sherwood and then you will be free to woo the beautiful Marianne."

That possibility had been spinning around in his brain the whole time. However, Adam was not ready to latch on to that glimmer of hope just yet. Everything was in Clarissa's hands. It would be her choice. If she wanted out of the betrothal, then he would step aside. But if she, and her parents, decided it was best to proceed with the wedding, so be it. He had committed to it, and he would honor that commitment.

But if she wanted out ... no, he would not consider it yet. He would not set himself up for disappointment. He had braced himself for the worst sort of punishment, and he was still prepared to face it.

On his way back to the drawing room, a footman approached Adam.

"Mr. Leighton-Blair asks if you would meet with him in the library, if you please."

"Yes, of course."

"Follow me, sir."

Adam steeled himself for the interview. Would he be asked to overlook Clarissa's behavior and follow through with the wedding? Is that what Leighton-Blair wanted? To convince him to honor his commitment? Would he sweeten the dowry if Adam agreed? God, he hoped it would not be such a vulgar scene as that.

The footman opened the door to the library and Adam stepped inside. Mr. Leighton-Blair leaned back against a large desk. Mrs. Leighton-Blair, scowling furiously, was seated nearby. Clarissa, looking red-eyed and miserable, sat in a window seat.

"Ah, Cazenove," Mr. Leighton-Blair said. "Come in. Have a seat." He gestured toward a chair beside his wife's.

Adam would have preferred to stand, but it would be rude to refuse Leighton-Blair's offer, so he took the chair instead. He glanced at Clarissa. She kept her head down and twisted a ribbon that hung from the high waist of her dress.

"I presume," Leighton-Blair said, "you have heard what happened."

"I have heard about Clarissa's vigil at Sherwood's bedside."

Mrs. Leighton-Blair gave a disgusted snort. She looked about to say something, but her husband's glare stopped her.

"I am afraid," Leighton-Blair said, "she reacted rather hysterically when Jane Stillman told her that Lord Julian had been killed. Foolish girl! That is no excuse, however, for such wanton disregard of propriety. I fear that my daughter's disgraceful behavior will make a marriage between you two somewhat difficult. Awkward at best. If you wish it, Cazenove, I am prepared to call off the betrothal."

That glimmer of hope began to glow brighter, but with a supreme effort, Adam kept it in check. He looked at his fiancée. "Is that what you want, Clarissa?"

"I don't know," she said in a small voice. She still had not looked up, but kept her eyes on the ribbon she was tying into knots. "It is up to you, sir."

Adam rose and went to her. He leaned down on his haunches and took her hands in his. They were cold, and he gently rubbed his thumbs against them to make them warm. For once, she did not seem to mind. "Are you in love with Lord Julian?"

She said nothing, but after a moment she nodded her head.

"And you are not in love with me?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"Well, then, I do not think you should be forced to marry someone you do not love. Do you?"

"I don't know, sir. I will do whatever you want."

"What I want is for you to be happy, Clarissa. And I suspect you will not be happy with me." He studied her for a long moment, but she would not lift her head. "Shall we call it off? Shall we end our betrothal?"

She looked up for the first time. Her big blue eyes were swimming in unshed tears and she chewed on her lower lip. And then, in the tiniest of voices, she spoke the two words that would change his life. "Yes, please."

Hope finally did burst into dazzling light, bathing him in the brilliance of promise. Marianne! Adam made an effort not to show his overwhelming relief. "So be it." He kissed both her hands. "Be happy, Clarissa."

"Thank you, sir. You are very kind."

He rose to his feet and turned to her parents. Her mother looked ready to have an apoplexy. Her father merely frowned.

"I commend you, Cazenove," he said, "for behaving in such a gentlemanly manner when my daughter deserves no such condescension. We knew of her infatuation with Lord Julian, of course. Considering his position and our friendship with his family, we had welcomed a match between them. But Clarissa told us she no longer cared for the young man and wanted nothing more to do with him. I am sorry we had to learn in so publicly embarrassing a manner that she had deceived us. You can be certain we will make it known that you were the perfect gentleman throughout this business. No blame will attach itself to you."

"Thank you, sir, but you must not worry about me. Look to Clarissa's happiness."

Adam tuned to look at her once more, and she smiled. He bowed to her, and took his leave of the library, closing the door behind him.

He paused in the passage outside the library and gave in to the full force of his relief. Afraid he might be seen with a ridiculous grin on his face, he bent his head and placed a finger and thumb at his temples to shade his eyes. He heard someone approaching but did not look up. From the corner of his eye he saw two women coming toward him. As they got closer, he recognized Lady Troutbeck and Lady Presteign. He massaged his temples briefly, then looked up to acknowledge them as they walked by.

"Poor man," one of them whispered as they passed.

And so now he was the object of pity, a jilted bridegroom. But he did not care what any of them thought. He'd never felt so elated in his life.

He was free!

Adam knew what he had to do. Now that he was free of the commitment to Clarissa, he could go to Marianne and confess all. There would be no more secrets. No more pretending he did not love her. No more using David's memory as an excuse not to act on his love. He would bare his soul to her, beg her forgiveness, and ask her to marry him.

Yes, he wanted to marry her. It was ironic that it had taken a betrothal to the wrong sort of woman to make very clear to him what, and who, would be the right sort of wife for him. He wanted what he always thought David and Marianne had. He wanted a friend as well as a lover. He wanted someone whose mind he admired as much as her body. What was it Marianne has said to him?

Why would you not want someone who excites you, who challenges you, who makes you a better person?

Why not, indeed? And she was all those things, and more. So he would grovel at her feet in apology for deceiving her, and beg her to marry him.

It all sounded so simple, but he did not fool himself. It would be a difficult and painful confession. She would be angry with him for what he'd done. She might even despise him for it, and send him packing. But he had to try. He had to tell her the truth.

And so, for the second time that day, Adam began to map out a new future. A different one this time, in London with Marianne. If she would have him.

Would she have him? He had no reason to believe she would. She had wanted a lover and not a husband. She had been very clear on that point. She enjoyed her independence, and was determined to remain true to David's memory.

Or had she in fact scorned another marriage simply because she assumed it would be the same as with David, an affectionate union without physical passion? If that was the case, might she reconsider, now that she knew there was more to be shared between a man and woman than friendship and affection? Surely she would know he could give her more than that.

Wouldn't she?

He must remember, though, that he had got himself into this mess through selfishness. He saw now that he could not always have what he wanted, and that if he insisted on it, he only caused harm. If Marianne did not want him, as a husband or as a lover, he would accept her decision. And maybe he would leave town and go down to Dorset after all.

But first, he had to square up one other piece of business. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked on Sherwood's door. Jarvis, the valet, opened it.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said.

"How is the patient?"

Jarvis lowered his voice. "Awake and alert, but in a great deal of pain, I fear."

"Is that you, Cazenove?" Sherwood called from his bed. "Come on in."

Jarvis stepped aside and Adam entered the room. Sherwood was propped up on a mountain of pillows. The bandage around his head, with his blond hair falling over it, gave him a rakish look. His left leg was uncovered, the splint still in place.

"How are you feeling?" Adam asked.

"Like I'd been run over by a mail coach," Sherwood said with a grimace. "Dashed stupid thing to have done, tripping over my own feet like that. Must have been the punch, eh?"

"I'm afraid it was my feet you tripped over."

"Did I, by Jove? Well, it was still deuced clumsy of me."

"I ought to have moved my legs out of your way," Adam said, feeling in a confessional mood. He wanted to get everything off his chest — the lies, the secrets, the guilt — and start his new future, whatever it would be, with a clean slate. "If I had made the effort," he said, "you might not have fallen."

"We were both more than a bit castaway, as I recall. Can't be blamed for bosky legs, old chap. Nobody's fault."

"That's good of you to say, Sherwood, but I still feel responsible."

"Well, you weren’t responsible, and that's that. It's a clean break, I'm told. Bothersome, to be sure, but it will heal. Nothing to raise a breeze about."

"I am glad to hear it. But I hope you will accept my apology nonetheless."

"If you insist, apology accepted."

"Thank you. Now, if I might have a word in private."

Sherwood signaled to Jarvis that he should leave. The valet made sure the splinted leg was properly situated, straightened the covers a bit, fluffed the pillows, then took his leave through the dressing room door.

"Bit of a fusspot, old Jarvis," Sherwood said. "Excellent valet, though." A sheepish expression crossed his face. "I daresay I know what it is you wish to talk about."

"Clarissa."

"Yes. Don't know what to say, Cazenove. Had no idea she'd been here all night. Had no idea she'd been here at all, in fact. I imagine Sneed gave me a prodigious amount of laudanum. That and all the punch I'd had ... well, I was out cold the whole night. Never stirred. Too painful to move in any case, with this damned splint. I didn't know anything until my sister walked in and shrieked loud enough to pull the house down. No amount of laudanum is a match for Marjorie's screams. It was only then that I opened my eyes and saw Clarrie beside me, her hand holding mine."

"We have ended our betrothal."

Sherwood frowned. "Damn. I'm dreadfully sorry, Cazenove. I had hoped it would not come to that."

"She claims to be in love with you."

"Yes, I know. The silly goose."

Adam lifted an eyebrow. "Quite a little scandal has been created here, Sherwood. Everyone here knows that Clarissa was found in a compromising situation. Now that she is no longer betrothed to me, the field is clear for you to make her an offer." Adam narrowed his eyes and glared at the young man. "And I trust you will do so. It would not go easy with me to know that her reputation was in jeopardy."

"I know my duty, Cazenove. No need to lecture. She will have her offer."

"Duty?" Adam said. "Then her affections are not returned?"

Sherwood chuckled. "I've been crazy in love with the chit since she turned sixteen and was suddenly no longer a skinny, big-eyed nuisance. I thought she loved me, too, but she took offense to what she called my 'wild behavior' in town. I was always trying to impress her with how worldly I'd become, what a man-about-town I was. But she was not impressed. One day she announced I was too young and frivolous to be taken seriously. She wanted nothing more to do with me. Claimed that when she went up to town for her Season, she would only accept the addresses of 'true gentlemen' and not young popinjays."

Had she thought Adam a "true gentleman?" Or had she only wanted to make Sherwood jealous?

"So I stepped aside," he said, "and watched her blossom into a diamond of the first water, with a constant court of swains dangling after her. She treated me as a friend whenever she saw me, never giving me the slightest hope of anything more. I figured I had been a youthful fancy, and she was finished with me. I confess, though, that I was surprised when I heard of her betrothal to you. I was devilish disappointed, but I assumed I never had a chance."

"So you have no objection to marrying her?"

"Objection?" He crowed with laughter. "By heaven, it's all I've ever wanted."

"Well, then."

Sherwood sobered. "I am sorry, old chap. Are you in love with her, too?"

"No, I am not," Adam said. But he was feeling a bit of the fool. Had Clarissa really only used him? Had she never intended to go through with the marriage? Is that why she had been reluctant to set a wedding date?

"I suppose we must be thankful for that broken leg of yours," Adam said. "Otherwise she would have been stuck with me and none of us would have been happy."

Sherwood smiled. "Then you must take back your apology and accept my gratitude for allowing me to trip over your feet."