Page 43 of A Captain For Clarissa
If only she could make him see the truth in her heart...but what if it was already too late?
The distant rumble of carriage wheels in the castle courtyard jolted Clarissa from her tumultuous thoughts.
“Now who is arriving?” she muttered, walking back around to the courtyard and watching as a rather grand carriage drew to a halt. Neither Lucia nor Rafael had mentioned expecting any more visitors.
The door swung open, and out stepped the Earl and Countess of Creighton, their expressions a mixture of relief and disapproval as they saw her. Shocked, Clarissa swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as parchment.
“Mama, Papa,” she managed, dropping into a curtsy. “What...what are you doing here?”
“What are we doing here?” the Countess repeated, her voice rising in pitch. “We’ve been worried sick about you, Clarissa!”
The Earl’s sharp gaze swept over the crumbling facade of the castle, his lips thinning. “And now we find you living in...in this ruin? With a family of strangers? What in heaven’s name were you thinking, girl?”
Clarissa felt her cheeks heat with a mixture of shame and defiance. “They’re not strangers, Papa. They’re...they’re friends. And Rafael...Captain de Silva...he saved my life.”
“Saved your life?” the Countess echoed, her hand fluttering to her throat. “What on earth happened?”
Clarissa drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. She had to make them understand, had to convince them that this was where she belonged. With Rafael, and his family.
But as she opened her mouth to speak, she caught a glimpse of Rafael over her father’s shoulder. He stood in the shadows of the entryway, his face an inscrutable mask.
And in that moment, Clarissa knew that no matter what she said, it wouldn’t be enough. Not now, with the weight of her parents’ expectations bearing down upon her.
Her shoulders slumped, defeat washing over her like a cold wave. “It’s...it’s a long story,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to the ground. “But I’m fine, truly. And I...I want to stay.”
“Absolutely not,” the Earl declared, his voice brooking no argument. “You’re coming home with us, Clarissa. At once.”
Clarissa’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with dismay. “But Papa-”
“No buts,” he interrupted, his expression stern. “Your reputation is at stake, and I will not have you ruining your prospects with this...this foolishness. Have your things packed, and we will return to Lisbon immediately. I have a ship waiting for us.”
Tears blurred Clarissa’s vision, hot and stinging. She blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall. Not here, not now.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please don’t do this.”
But even as the words left her lips, she knew it was futile. Her parents had made up their minds, and there was nothing she could do to change them.
“Lavinia!” A calm voice behind Clarissa made sudden hope leap in her chest. Marianne emerged from the castle, smiling welcomingly. “How lovely to see you! Do come in out of the sun, it’s dreadfully hot.”
Marianne, lovely and gracious, could soften almost anyone. Both Clarissa’s parents were swept up in her greeting, findingthemselves agreeing that it was indeed terribly hot and a cool drink would be pleasant.
Clarissa trailed along in their wake, fighting back tears. The misunderstanding with Rafael had been distressing enough, but for her parents to arrive at just this moment could spell the death knell for even the hope of reconciliation.
Lucia was waiting in the salon with Isabella, both the picture of propriety as they welcomed the Earl and Countess, and Alex came striding in a moment later, all calm authority.
Marianne extricated herself from the group a little later and slipped away to where Clarissa stood in the shadows near the doorway. Grasping her hand, Marianne led her out into the hallway.
“I must speak to you. I sent a letter to your parents from Gibraltar,” Marianne confessed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I told them about our travels, which is obviously how they knew we were here, but I didn’t mention your disappearance in Athens. I thought it would be best if they heard it from you, in person.”
Clarissa’s eyes widened, a surge of relief washing over her. “You mean they don’t know?” she breathed, hardly daring to hope.
Marianne nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I had sent a letter from Florence when we first received word you had disappeared, but it seems that letter hadn’t arrived by the time they left England. They don’t know about the kidnapping, for now.”
Clarissa sagged back against the plush velvet seat, her heart racing. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, Marianne’s expression sobered, her eyes searching Clarissa’s face.
“You know they can’t be kept ignorant forever,” she cautioned gently. “Sooner or later, the truth will come out. And then...”
