you have been slapped, your lips are slightly swollen as if you have been kissed, and I overheard what Lady Crambray said about Lord
Mowbray . It seems obvious that something has gone on between the two of you. My lady, he . . . they say his heart is as deformed as his face, and that he . . ." Her voice trailed off as Clarissa turned a hard look her way. "I am just worried about you, my lady. You are sweet and kind and good, and—I think—a little naive. I would not wish to see him take advantage of you."
Clarissa turned away, anger burning inside her. Adrian had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration. He listened to what she said, to the things she missed or wished for, and he set out to give them to her. And he hadn't once tried to take advantage of her. For a moment, Clarissa considered telling Joan to mind her own business, but then she decided Adrian deserved better; he deserved for her to defend him. Besides, she wanted at least one person on her side, even if it was only her maid.
Settling onto the dressing table chair for Joan to let her hair down, Clarissa cleared her throat and recounted the night she'd first met Adrian, then the second time, and so on, not leaving out a single detail. Once she finished recounting everything, right up to the conversation Joan had overheard between Clarissa and her stepmother, Clarissa fell silent and waited.
"He sounds wonderful," Joan said in a quiet voice. "Nothing like those tales people whisper behind his back."
"He is wonderful," Clarissa said, and blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It was ridiculous, but she was extremely grateful that the maid thought well of Adrian. His own family did, of course; but they would. It was nice to have some objective validation of her own feelings for the man.
"Well," Joan said, finishing brushing out Clarissa's
hair. "I think you should continue to see him. If he arranges another picnic, enjoy it."
"Really?" Clarissa asked.
"Certainly," the maid said firmly, then added, "My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft smile claims your lips. Tis obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be."
Clarissa blinked in surprise at the girl's suggestion, and remained silent as she finished preparing for sleep. Joan then turned down the covers, watched her slip into bed, wished her good night, and left the room. The maid's words were still playing through Clarissa's head as Joan pulled the door closed.
My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft, smile claims your lips. Tis obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be.
Was it true? she wondered. Was she falling in love with him? Or, was she even already in love with him?
Clarissa didn't know. All she knew was that she liked Adrian, that she was bored and weary when he wasn't around, and that she seemed to come alive only when he appeared. She laughed with him, and enjoyed talking to him and now that he'd kissed her ... it seemed to be all she could think about—that, and the next opportunity she might have to experience those kisses again. All of that seemed to suggest that she was falling in love with the man. And if she was ... it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Clarissa couldn't wait to see him again.
She just didn't know how it would happen.
Chapter Seven
"Your shawl, my lady."
Clarissa blinked in confusion as Joan suddenly appeared at her side with the garment in hand. "My shawl?"
"Yes. You said you were chilly and asked me to bring you your shawl," Joan repeated firmly, then bent and tsked over a spot on Clarissa's skirt. "I fear we did not get all the punch out of your dress from the night you spilled it at the Brudmans ' ball. Perhaps you should accompany me upstairs to change."
"What?" Clarissa squinted down at her
Mowbray . It seems obvious that something has gone on between the two of you. My lady, he . . . they say his heart is as deformed as his face, and that he . . ." Her voice trailed off as Clarissa turned a hard look her way. "I am just worried about you, my lady. You are sweet and kind and good, and—I think—a little naive. I would not wish to see him take advantage of you."
Clarissa turned away, anger burning inside her. Adrian had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration. He listened to what she said, to the things she missed or wished for, and he set out to give them to her. And he hadn't once tried to take advantage of her. For a moment, Clarissa considered telling Joan to mind her own business, but then she decided Adrian deserved better; he deserved for her to defend him. Besides, she wanted at least one person on her side, even if it was only her maid.
Settling onto the dressing table chair for Joan to let her hair down, Clarissa cleared her throat and recounted the night she'd first met Adrian, then the second time, and so on, not leaving out a single detail. Once she finished recounting everything, right up to the conversation Joan had overheard between Clarissa and her stepmother, Clarissa fell silent and waited.
"He sounds wonderful," Joan said in a quiet voice. "Nothing like those tales people whisper behind his back."
"He is wonderful," Clarissa said, and blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It was ridiculous, but she was extremely grateful that the maid thought well of Adrian. His own family did, of course; but they would. It was nice to have some objective validation of her own feelings for the man.
"Well," Joan said, finishing brushing out Clarissa's
hair. "I think you should continue to see him. If he arranges another picnic, enjoy it."
"Really?" Clarissa asked.
"Certainly," the maid said firmly, then added, "My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft smile claims your lips. Tis obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be."
Clarissa blinked in surprise at the girl's suggestion, and remained silent as she finished preparing for sleep. Joan then turned down the covers, watched her slip into bed, wished her good night, and left the room. The maid's words were still playing through Clarissa's head as Joan pulled the door closed.
My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft, smile claims your lips. Tis obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be.
Was it true? she wondered. Was she falling in love with him? Or, was she even already in love with him?
Clarissa didn't know. All she knew was that she liked Adrian, that she was bored and weary when he wasn't around, and that she seemed to come alive only when he appeared. She laughed with him, and enjoyed talking to him and now that he'd kissed her ... it seemed to be all she could think about—that, and the next opportunity she might have to experience those kisses again. All of that seemed to suggest that she was falling in love with the man. And if she was ... it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Clarissa couldn't wait to see him again.
She just didn't know how it would happen.
Chapter Seven
"Your shawl, my lady."
Clarissa blinked in confusion as Joan suddenly appeared at her side with the garment in hand. "My shawl?"
"Yes. You said you were chilly and asked me to bring you your shawl," Joan repeated firmly, then bent and tsked over a spot on Clarissa's skirt. "I fear we did not get all the punch out of your dress from the night you spilled it at the Brudmans ' ball. Perhaps you should accompany me upstairs to change."
"What?" Clarissa squinted down at her
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