Rushed to the Altar (32 page)

“From what I’ve seen, you and that brat have similar appetites,” he observed, turning to pick up the chamber robe that lived permanently in the armoire. His back was turned to her, so he didn’t see the startled flush flooding her cheeks.

Clarissa slipped her arms into her own robe, keeping her own face averted until she felt the flush die down. She was going to have to learn not to react to innocent remarks of that kind. It wouldn’t take long. It
couldn’t
take long. “The difference being that he’s half-starved and I’m not. I’ll probably end up fat as a pig.”

He gave her a mocking smile over his shoulder as he
opened the door. “On the whole I’d rather you didn’t. At least until you’ve worn out your new wardrobe.”

She laughed and followed him down to the kitchen. He seemed to know his way around the shelves and pantry, fetching the punch bowl and ladle, an orange and lemon, the cloves, nutmeg, and brandy bottle.

“Are you an expert at punch making?” she asked, rummaging in the pantry.

“I’ve made many a bowl in my time.” He took a paring knife and began to peel the zest from the fruit. “My father was partial to it. He taught me to make it when I was quite small, and then when he became an invalid he would insist I make it for him whenever I was home from school. No one else would do.”

“How old were you when he died?” She emerged from the pantry with two cold chicken legs, regarding him curiously.

“Twelve.” He shrugged. “Rather too young to ascend to an earldom, however impoverished, but fortunately my brothers were able to prevent it giving me an inflated sense of my own consequence.” He put the freshly peeled zest into the punch bowl.

“What about your mother?” She perched on the edge of the kitchen table, absently gnawing on a drumstick.

“She died a couple of years later.” He began to squeeze the juice from the fruit into the bowl. “She had been ailing for a long time, really a shadow in her children’s lives. Her death didn’t make a lot of difference to our day-to-day existence.”

“So you and your brothers were left quite alone?”

“We had each other,” he said with a quiet smile. “It was enough.” He began piling his ingredients on a tray. “We were luckier than you in that respect. Your parents’ deaths left you without any family.” He threw out the comment, not expecting a response, since she had already told him her parents had died when she was little more than a baby. He had no idea whether that particular fact amongst the farrago of invention happened to be true, although he rather doubted it.

“Yes, I suppose so” was all she said as she grabbed a hunk of cheese before following Jasper back upstairs. She cast a glance towards the attic stairs, hoping that Francis was sound asleep, warmly nestled next to Sally’s comfortable frame.

Jasper stirred the punch slowly over the fire. “I expect your wardrobe will arrive in the morning. I acquired a well-mannered lady’s horse for you at Tattersalls this afternoon, so if you feel comfortable riding, I would like us to ride in the park tomorrow afternoon. Again I don’t wish you to engage in conversation with anyone, only this time you should acknowledge a bow with one of your own. Just a slight inclination of the head. Do you think you can manage that?”

“It sounds simple enough.” She couldn’t quite keep the hint of derision from her voice.

Jasper contented himself with a raised eyebrow. He stirred nutmeg into the bowl. “In the evening we shall go to the theatre. There, again, we shall avoid any introductions.
We’ll arrive just as the first act begins, and we’ll leave in the interval before people start visiting the boxes.” He smiled. “The whole town will be abuzz with speculation.”

Clarissa was aware of a little frisson of excitement at the prospect. They were playing a game, a game with high stakes, and she knew she could play her part to perfection. “Is anyone to know that I’m supp—” She broke off, chose her words again. “That I came from a nunnery?”

“They will know that,” he said smoothly, pretending he hadn’t noticed her slip. “I shall make sure it gets out, but you have no need to behave as you did with Lord Bradley. You will show the world only the impeccable demeanor of a lady of taste and breeding.”

“How else will they accept me as a reformed whore?” she murmured, setting aside a well-gnawed chicken leg.

“How else indeed?”

Clarissa looked sharply at him but his expression was calm as he stirred the punch, before ladling it into goblets.

He raised his goblet in a toast. “To our venture, Clarissa.”

“Our venture.” She drank. Francis was safe upstairs; she would do her part here for as long as necessary.

A carriage delivered Clarissa’s wardrobe late the following morning. Jasper had left after breakfast, saying
he would be back with the horses later. Two footmen obeyed the instructions of the two young women who had helped Hortense with the fittings, carrying the gowns up to the bedchamber, where the women hung them in the armoire, smoothing down the folds with reverent hands.

Clarissa was astounded at the quantity of garments. She had listened to the catalogue that Hortense and Jasper had considered necessary for life in the Polite World, but hadn’t quite managed to envision what that meant.

Sally entered into the spirit of it with boundless enthusiasm, helping to hang the gowns, folding away shawls, placing hats on shelves. Francis stood in the shadows, gazing openmouthed at the proceedings. He was dressed in a shirt of good homespun, jacket and britches of a coarse but serviceable woolen cloth, good stockings, and a pair of boots that were a little too small for him, so he kept scrunching his toes. But he was perfectly happy in his new situation, and rapidly learning his way around the kitchen and servants’ quarters. He knew exactly how to cajole a piece of cake from Mistress Newby, and he and Sammy had already developed a friendly rivalry over who could fill a coal scuttle quickest.

Hortense’s assistants had left when Jasper once again let himself into the house to no greeting. This time, however, he merely gave a mental shrug, discarded his sword and his outer garments, and mounted the stairs, following the sound of voices to the bedchamber.

Clarissa was standing in front of a pier glass buttoning
the waistcoat of a riding habit of dark green wool. She saw Jasper in the mirror, as he stood in the doorway surveying the scene, and said with a seductive smile, “So, my lord, what do you think? Will I disgrace you on the tan this afternoon?” She held out her arms so that Sally could help her into the tightly fitted jacket.

He laughed and came into the room. “Is everything here?”

“Oh, you’ve never seen the like,” she said, waving an expansive hand. “There must be at least forty ball gowns, forty-four day dresses, a hundred walking dresses—”

“Absurd creature.” He caught her up against him, holding her in the air for a moment. “It’s no laughing matter, I’ll have you know.” He let her slide down between his hands until her feet touched the floor again. “Finish dressing and we’ll go for a little ride in Green Park.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you doubt my expertise, sir?”

“No,” he said calmly. “But I would still like to satisfy myself before we try it in public. The horses are below. Finish dressing. I’ll wait in the drawing room.” He turned to leave and his astounded gaze fell on Francis. “What the devil are you doing in here?”

Francis, head down, shot out of his corner and through the door without a word. Jasper looked across at Clarissa. “How long has that brat been in here?”

She shrugged carelessly. “Oh, I don’t know. He probably followed Sally in. He’s only a child, Jasper. He means no harm.”

“I don’t give a damn what he means. But I’d better not see him outside the servants’ quarters again. I suggest in his own interests that you impress that upon him.”

Clarissa bit down on the words of protest that bubbled to her lips. She said quietly, “As you wish, my lord. Sally, would you make sure Frank stays below stairs?”

“Aye, Mistress Ordway. I’ll look out for him next time.” She cast a scared look at the earl, who merely nodded and stalked away.

“Oh, dear,” Clarissa murmured. “I don’t think his lordship cares overmuch for children . . . pass me the boots, Sally.” She sat down in front of the dresser mirror and extended one slender foot.

“I daresay his lordship isn’t accustomed to them.” Sally knelt to help Clarissa into the tight-fitting leather riding boots, lacing them up with deft fingers.

“Well, perhaps we can accustom him gently.” Clarissa held out one foot after the other, examining the boots with a critical air. “They feel comfortable. How do you think they look, Sally?”

“Most elegant, ma’am. The last word,” Sally said in admiration. “And here’s the hat.” She took up a high-crowned black beaver hat with a handsome green plume. She ran the plume through her fingers. “Madame Hortense has a perfect eye.”

“So it would seem,” Clarissa agreed. She swiveled on the stool to face the mirror and set the hat on her head. The clustered ringlets beneath the brim were most attractive,
she decided, turning from the mirror to take the gloves from Sally. “Now, we’ll see what kind of riding horse my lord has selected.”

After what Jasper had said about mild-mannered ladies’ horses she was rather expecting a broad-backed, sedate old mare, and was pleasantly surprised by the pretty dappled mare in the care of the groom on the street outside. The groom also held the reins of a handsome black gelding, who tossed his head when Jasper appeared, and pawed the ground.

“The gelding’s feeling his oats,” Clarissa observed as she went to the mare’s head. She stroked the velvety nose and ran a hand over the animal’s neck. “She’s pretty, Jasper. Does she have a name?”

“Dancer, I believe. Do you like her?”

She turned her head against the mare’s neck and smiled at him. “She’s lovely, very dainty. ‘Dancer’ suits her.”

“Well, let’s put you up and see how she goes.” He cupped a palm and tossed Clarissa into the saddle, his eyes sharp as he watched to see how she handled the maneuver. It seemed second nature to her, he decided, watching covertly as she settled into the saddle, slipping her booted feet into the stirrups, taking up the reins with practiced hands. “How are the stirrups?”

“They need shortening a little.”

He nodded. “See to it, Tom.” He swung onto the gelding and took up the reins.

The groom adjusted the mare’s stirrups and checked the girth. “That better, ma’am?”

“Yes, perfect, thank you.” She nudged the mare’s flanks with her knees and the animal started forward. Clarissa was aware of Jasper’s watchful eyes as they rode towards Green Park. When they crossed Piccadilly, he moved the gelding up close beside the mare, and she could see that he was ready at any moment to seize the bridle should her mount take fright at the traffic.

“I am quite competent, you know,” she said mildly. “If she starts, I can hold her.”

“Mmm.” It was a noncommittal sound. “Where did you learn to ride? Your illicit childhood tutor perhaps?”

“When I wasn’t working I used to hang around the stables a lot. I’ve always liked horses. It amused the grooms to teach me,” she said with a casual shrug. “And, yes, I did go out riding with the son sometimes. Is that so strange?”

“Unusual, certainly.”

Clarissa sucked on her lower lip. She was beginning to feel perilously as if she’d bitten off far more than she could chew with this deception. But as long as Jasper didn’t challenge her outright, then she could muddle through it one invention at a time.

Chapter Sixteen
 

Ed sat comfortably in Bertha’s kitchen, his feet propped on the fender, an ale pot cradled in one huge fist. “So, when’s your old lady due back then, Dirk?”

“Said she’d be back in ’alf an hour. Some lass needs ’elp wi’ a birthing down by the docks. Bertha’ll bring the babby back ’ere like as not.” Dirk tipped the gin bottle to his lips. The shrill wail of a baby pierced the kitchen and he swore, yelling, “Eh, Jude, you lazy bitch . . . do summat about that racket.”

“All right, Pa, all right.” A young girl staggered in from the kitchen yard with a scuttle of sea coal, which she set down with a thump in front of the fire. Her hands were thick with coal dust, and she brushed lank hair out of her eyes with her forearm. “It’ll shut itself up in a minute.”