Page 49 of A Captain For Clarissa
Clarissa pulled her hands away, frustration rising in her chest. “And what of my happiness, Marianne? Am I to sacrifice it for the sake of propriety and the opinions of others?”
The Countess stepped forward, her voice stern. “Clarissa, that’s enough. You will do your duty as a daughter of this family and accept Lord Weatherby’s proposal. There will be no more talk of Portugal or Captain de Silva. Marianne.” The Countess nodded towards the door, making it clear she did not intend to leave the two of them alone, probably not trusting Marianne.
Indeed, Clarissa thought, she would have begged Marianne to help her escape if she could.
Marianne cast Clarissa a pained look before reluctantly departing. The Countess followed her, closing the door with a decisive click, and Clarissa sank onto the edge of her bed, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
No, she thought, Marianne would not help her run away. That would be asking too much. But perhaps… perhaps she would send a letter?
“I could write to Rafael,” Clarissa said aloud, dashing the tears from her eyes and setting her jaw stubbornly. “I never had the chance to tell him how I feel about him. If he knows… perhaps…” Perhaps he would not care. She had thought, so many times, he was on the verge of asking, but he never had. Well. She squared her shoulders. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
She crossed to her writing desk and pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill.
My dearest Rafael,she wrote.I fear I have made a terrible mistake in leaving Portugal, in leaving you. Every day, I find myself dreaming of the life we could have had, of the love we could have shared.
The words poured out of her, a torrent of longing and despair. She told Rafael of her misery, of the emptiness she felt without him by her side. She confessed her love, her dreams of a future together, far from the constraints of English society.
Clarissa clutched the finished letter to her chest, her heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation. She knew she was taking a tremendous risk, defying her parents and society’s expectations, but the thought of a life without Rafael was too much to bear. She would put it into Marianne’s hands as soon as she could, and trust that her aunt would send it for her.
With trembling hands, she opened her dresser drawer and carefully placed the letter inside, hiding it beneath a stack of handkerchiefs. It was her last link to Rafael, a tangible reminder of the love and passion they had shared.
A sudden knock at the door startled Clarissa from her reverie. “Clarissa, you must make ready. We are leaving in one hour!” It was her mother’s voice, tinged with impatience.
“Yes, Mama,” Clarissa called back, knowing she must maintain a pliable facade for now, at least. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the evening ahead, and rang the bell for her maid.
The ball was a grand affair, the ballroom glittering with candlelight and filled with the chatter of London’s elite. Clarissa moved through the crowd, exchanging polite greetings and forced smiles, but her heart was not in it. Her thoughts were with Rafael, and the letter hidden in her dresser.
“Ah, there you are, my dear.” Lord Weatherby’s oily voice cut through the din, and Clarissa suppressed a shudder as he took her hand, his clammy fingers enveloping hers. “I’ve been looking forward to a dance with you all evening.”
Clarissa glanced desperately around the room, seeking an escape, but her father’s stern gaze caught hers from across the ballroom. She knew what he expected of her, knew the pressure he was under to secure her future.
But as Lord Weatherby led her onto the dance floor, his hand sliding possessively around her waist, Clarissa felt something inside her snap. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t, couldn’t resign herself to a life of misery and regret.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she gasped, wrenching herself free of Lord Weatherby’s grasp. Ignoring his sputtered protests and her father’s furious glare, she gathered her skirts and fled the ballroom, tears streaming down her face.
She ran blindly through the halls, her heart pounding in her ears, until she found herself in a quiet alcove, hidden from view. She sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands as sobs wracked her body.
“There you are,” a soft voice said, and the scent of jasmine enveloped her as Marianne, resplendent in a gown of shimmering emerald silk, crouched at her side. “Come, dearest. Alex has our carriage waiting. Let me take you home.”
Home. The only home she wanted was a crumbling castle on a Portuguese cliffside, beside the only man who would ever hold her heart. Despondently, Clarissa let Marianne help her up and lead her outside, where the Glenkellie carriage waited for them.
“I’ll let your parents know Marianne’s taken you home,” Alex said quietly, helping her into the carriage, his face full of sympathy.
Clarissa could only nod, grateful, but understanding this was all the help they could offer her. She stared out of the window in silence, unseeing as the carriage rolled through the darkened streets, unaware of the worry on Marianne’s face as her aunt watched her.
As the carriage halted outside the Creighton townhouse, Clarissa turned to her aunt.
“Marianne, I need your help. I must send a letter. Will you post it for me, discreetly?”
Marianne’s eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded without hesitation. “Of course, my dear. You know you can always count on me. But what is this letter? And to whom are you sending it?”
Clarissa took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confession. “It’s to Rafael, Marianne. I love him, truly and deeply, and Icannot bear the thought of losing him forever. I must tell him how I feel, even if it means defying my father and risking everything.”
Marianne’s expression softened, and she reached out to clasp Clarissa’s hands in her own. “Oh, my darling girl. I understand. Love is a precious thing, and it’s worth fighting for. Give me the letter, and I will see that it reaches him safely.”
Clarissa felt a rush of gratitude and affection for her aunt. Rushing up to her room, she brought the letter back down and pressed it into Marianne’s hands, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “Thank you, Marianne. Thank you for everything.”
As Marianne slipped out, the letter hidden in the folds of her skirt, Clarissa felt a glimmer of hope ignite in her heart. She had taken the first step, had dared to reach out for the love she so desperately craved. Now, all she could do was wait and pray that Rafael would answer her call, that he would come for her and sweep her away to a life of passion and adventure, far from the suffocating confines of London society.
