Rushed to the Altar (22 page)

“I haven’t told her,” Clarissa responded. “I don’t consider it her business. If Lord Blackwater chooses to tell her, that’s no concern of mine either.”

“Best hope that he keeps his mouth shut,” the mousy one declared. “Or there’ll be trouble. Mother Griffiths doesn’t take kindly to us setting our own rules.”

“True enough. You’re playing with fire, girl. You take my word on it.” The Amazon was moving to the door as she spoke. “We’ve a card game to finish.” The others left with her except for Emily and Maddy.

“She seems rather intimidating,” Clarissa observed, sitting at the dresser to brush her hair.

“Oh, don’t take any notice of Trudy. She’s got a big heart underneath it all,” Emily said. “You’d be surprised how many men like a bit of bullying. Trudy does very well by them, scolds ’em, then babies ’em until they don’t know which way is up. They love it . . . keep coming back for more. Mother Griffiths thinks the world of her.”

It seemed there was always something new to be learned about the world inhabited by the ladies of the night, Clarissa reflected, pulling the brush through her hair with rhythmic strokes.

“You want I should curl it for you before you go out with his lordship?” Emily inquired. “Won’t take but a minute.”

“Would you really?” Clarissa smiled gratefully. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Not a bit of it,” Emily said cheerfully, and went off to fetch the curling iron.

She was halfway through her hairdressing when Mistress Griffiths came into the bedchamber without ceremony. She carried a hatbox and a wrapped parcel and spoke as she set her burdens down on the bed almost as if she was carrying on a previous conversation. “Oh,
that’s good, Emily. A little curl never goes amiss. The gentlemen do like it.” She surveyed Clarissa critically. “Yes, the curl softens your face, my dear. Now, see what has just been delivered for you.”

“Who from?” Clarissa turned on the stool as Emily suspended her operations.

“I believe it was Lord Blackwater’s footman.” Nan swiftly unfastened the ribbons around the hatbox. She lifted the lid and took out a cream straw hat with black velvet ribbons. “Oh, very modish.” She held it up. “His lordship had always the most exquisite taste. Try it on, my dear, and Emily can arrange the ringlets to cluster around your ears. It will look charming.”

Emily took the hat before Clarissa could reach it. She turned it around between her hands, examining it carefully. “It is very pretty, and the black velvet will be a most fetching contrast to your hair.” She set the hat on Clarissa’s head and deftly tweaked the ringlets to frame her face beneath the brim. She tied the velvet ribbons beneath Clarissa’s chin and then stood back with a nod of satisfaction.

“Yes, delightful,” Nan declared, unwrapping the other parcel to reveal a pair of dark green kidskin half boots and matching gloves.

The hat, boots, and gloves would go beautifully with Hortense’s apple-green gown, Clarissa reflected. Jasper had clearly given much thought to the matter of her costume for her first exposure to the polite world. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about fashion, but
perhaps that wasn’t surprising. Hortense had probably educated him in more ways than those of a good lover. She fetched the gown from the armoire and laid it on the bed beside the boots and gloves.

“Very pretty.” Nan nodded her approval. “I hope you realize how fortunate you are, Clarissa, to have attracted such a notable and generous protector.”

“Oh, believe me, madam, I am all too aware of my situation,” Clarissa murmured, untying the ribbons of the hat. “I am to drive with his lordship in the park at three o’clock. I daresay he wanted to be sure I was suitably dressed to reflect well upon him.”

Nan’s eyes widened. So this was to be a public affair. They were unusual in her business, reserved for affairs of the heart, not the purely commercial liaisons that were her stock-in-trade. But Jasper could not have fallen in love with the girl, not in such a short time. He was too experienced in the ways of the world to allow that to happen.

“Well, make sure you look your best, and don’t keep his lordship waiting.” With which parting shot, she sailed from the chamber.

“Does she never knock on a door before entering?” Clarissa asked.

“Only if we’re with a man,” Maddy responded. “If we’re alone she just comes in when she wishes.”

“It is her house,” Emily pointed out.

“That should not excuse discourtesy,” Clarissa pointed out.

They both looked at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses. Since when did courtesy have anything to do with the lives they led? “Where were you before you came here?” Maddy asked.

“In the country, working for a family,” she improvised. “They treated me well enough until their youngest son said he was in love with me and wanted to marry me. They threw me out then, and I wandered around London for a few days earning my keep as best I could, then ended up here.” Her newfound ability for invention never ceased to amaze her.

“You were lucky then,” Emily stated. “You could’ve found yourself in a lot worse places.”

Clarissa merely nodded and changed the subject before they could come up with any more awkward questions. “I haven’t eaten since dawn and I’m famished.”

“Ring for something.” Emily pulled the bellpull on her way to the door. “The servants are quite used to serving food at different times. I had a man once who wanted dinner at three in the morning . . . a real dinner, mind, three courses, each one served by liveried footmen.” She grinned. “We sat at table as naked as jaybirds, with nothing to cover us but a table napkin on our knees.”

She laughed, Maddy with her, and Clarissa joined them. There was something indomitable about the way these two saw their lives. Instead of seeing themselves as the bond slaves they were, bought and sold to service
men’s needs, they managed to see the good things, to find blessings in the most unblessed situation.

Emily laid a hand on the latch. “Come on, Maddy, you promised to help me sew the torn flounce on my red gown. I need it for tonight. I’m expecting a visit from that young man I told you about, the one who starts sobbing just before he goes off the top. He’s always finished almost before he’s begun and the red dress always gets him so excited I can get rid of him even quicker. See you later, Clarissa.” The door closed behind them as they went off chattering.

Chapter Eleven
 

Promptly at three o’clock Jasper’s curricle drew up at the door. Clarissa had been waiting in the parlor, looking out onto the street, and as soon as she saw him went out into the hall. The steward opened the door for her.

Jasper jumped lightly down from the curricle. “I approve of punctuality,” he said with a smile. “And I’m glad I was right about the hat. It suits you to perfection.”

“I can only commend your taste, sir.” She gave him her gloved hand as she stepped up into the vehicle. “I trust it won’t become too chilly. I thought you would probably not wish me to hide my expensive finery from inquisitive eyes under a cloak, so I’m prepared to shiver if that is your pleasure.” She settled on the bench, smoothing down her skirts as she spoke, her teasing tone matching the somewhat mischievous smile she cast him.

“Indeed, madam, I have no desire to see you suffer,” he returned with mock gravity, the gleam in his black
eyes matching her own. He reached under the bench and drew out a fur-trimmed rug, which he wrapped around her legs. “There now; you should know, madam, that your comfort is always at the forefront of my mind.”

Clarissa went into an involuntary peal of laughter. His tone was so sanctimonious, his expression so earnest, it was irresistible. He was so instantly responsive to her moods, so more than ready to match her point for point when the urge to say or do something provocative overtook her. And she realized suddenly that she felt more comfortable in his company than she had ever felt in anyone’s outside her own family.

The realization stunned her, and her laughter died. Jasper shot her a quick, questioning glance. She looked surprised about something, he thought, plaiting her gloved fingers against the lap robe as if it were the most absorbing activity.

She looked up, aware of his regard, and a faint flush highlighted her cheekbones. “Is something the matter, my lord?”

“No, except that as I’ve pointed out before, I have a name, and I would like you to use it.” It was a dry comment. He took up the reins, flicked the whip lightly, and his horses set off, the groom jumping up on the box behind.

“Sometimes
my lord
comes more naturally to my tongue.” The dryness of his tone enabled Clarissa to reclaim her equilibrium, banishing whatever fanciful
reflections she’d been having, or at least putting them in abeyance. “It seems more suited to the true nature of our relationship.”

His lips thinned and a quick frown creased his brow, but this time he chose not to fence with her. Nothing further was said as they trotted down Piccadilly and turned into the park. The driveway was graveled; alongside it ran the tan, a broad path of packed earth where riders showed off their horses and their own form. Pedestrians for the most part strolled along the grassy edge between the driveway and the tan.

Clarissa watched the scene with fascination. It was clearly a parade . . . a spectacle. The ladies in the latest fashions, taking delicate little steps in their high-heeled shoes, their
cicisbeos
accompanying them, flourishing gold-knobbed canes and pomanders. The Earl of Blackwater bore little resemblance to any of these fashion plates, she thought, sneaking another surreptitious glance. There was nothing about his appearance to attract attention, but perhaps that was exactly what set him apart. A certain understated elegance, a certain carelessness to his manner as he drove, as if he had no interest at all in being a part of the display around them. She watched his hands, long and slender, on the reins, the infinitesimal movements that directed the horses, the occasional deft flick of his long driving whip.

“Jasper . . . Jasper, don’t you dare pass me as if I didn’t exist,” an indignant voice called from the tan. A rider on a showy chestnut caught up with them.

Jasper gave a mock sigh of resignation. “Ah, brother, how could I ever overlook you?” He regarded his brother’s mount with a raised eyebrow. “How much did you pay for that hack? Too much, I’ll lay odds.”

“Well, there you’re wrong, Brother. It’s not mine, I paid not a penny for him. I’m riding him as a favor for a friend . . . schooling him, you might say. Although I doubt it’s worth my trouble.” He looked disparagingly at his mount. “Never mind, one does what one may for one’s friends.”

His gaze fell on Clarissa and he bowed from the saddle. “I’m delighted to renew our acquaintance, madam. Do you consider my brother a fair whip?”

“More than fair.” Clarissa smiled as she tried desperately to remember which of the twin brothers this one was.

“I’m Sebastian,” Sebastian said with a quick and complicit smile. “Don’t feel badly, ma’am. Few people can tell us apart if we’re not together.”

Clarissa warmed to him immediately. “You are kind to take pity on me, sir.”

“Not at all.” His gaze was appreciative as he smiled at her again. “May I say how well that hat becomes you?”

“You may, sir, but the compliments should go to your brother,” she returned with her own smile. “He is responsible for the garments on my back, for both the choice and the expense. I have had nothing to do with it.”

His eyes widened in surprise at this swift rejoinder. He glanced at Jasper, saw that his brother wore an air of mild resignation, and he laughed. “Jasper, my friend, you may just have a winning hand.” He doffed his hat with another bow to Clarissa. “My congratulations, Mistress Clarissa Ordway.”

“What did he mean by that?” Clarissa asked, watching as the young man set his horse to high-step down the tan. “What hand have you won?”

Jasper set his pair in motion again. He said evenly, “Sebastian clearly thinks that you have the ability to play the game to its conclusion. He does not, of course, know that you’re a party to the game. I would ask you again to ensure he stays in ignorance.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “But why would it matter?”

“Because I’m cheating,” Jasper stated. A look of distaste crossed his features. Since earliest childhood he had been taught to despise even the remotest hint of cheating. A gentleman did not cheat, any more than he failed to honor his gaming debts. But on this occasion, he had decided that his uncle’s loathsome bargain deserved an equally loathsome response.

“How are you?” She had little difficulty interpreting his look of distaste at the idea of dishonorable behavior; she had been educated in the same school. Her father would have taken a horse whip to a cheat.

He said curtly, “For the agreement to run true, the women in question must be saved out of love.”

“Women?”

“Yes, in order for us to inherit from our uncle, my brothers must also achieve their own miraculous conversion of a lost soul.” His tone was as sardonic as his words.

Clarissa absorbed this for a moment. “What’s to stop them coming up with the same idea as yours?”