Page 3 of His Christmas Reluctant Countess
The change was almost instantaneous. Her mother began thrashing; great wails ripped from her throat as her arms flailed wildly, a fit coming on so suddenly Clarissa was almost struck across the face in her haste to rise.
She rushed from the room, jerking to a halt as Annabelle ran back up the stairs toward her.
“Call for the doctor,” Clarissa said urgently. “Tell him to come at once.”
Annabelle took to her task, leaving Clarissa feeling utterly helpless as she listened to her mother’s desperate cries through the walls.
Perhaps I should have lied for the remainder of my life to appease my mother, she thought bitterly. I could have fooled everyone into believing that any man would still look at me.
Her jaw tightened, and she placed her hands on her stomach with determination, interlacing her fingers and clenching herteeth.
If she could not live her life as she once had, then she would need to carve out a new one. Her father needed her help, as did her mother. With Catherine gone, she was now the oldest daughter in the house. She would rise to the task of assisting her parents however she could.
Perhaps society had abandoned them, but she would do everything in her power to ensure that their family did not crumble into nothing. Clarissa had no suitors, prospects, or future and she would have to find a way to accept that. At the tender age of eight and ten, she was a spinster.
Her decision made, she went back into the bedroom, determined to hold her mother’s hand until the doctor arrived. It was all she could do.
As the months became years and the Cromptons settled into their new life on the fringes of society, their once vivacious and hopeful daughter became withdrawn, stoic, and old beyond her years.
She was devoted to her parents and rebuilding their shattered lives, but she had no time for her own happiness, love, or anything to do with it.
CHAPTER ONE
The Country, 1818
The rays of the sun flooded through the high, mullioned windows of the drawing room. As usual, Clarissa was up before the lark, looking out on the wide expanse of the gardens at their country estate.
A robin was pecking at the lawn amidst the snow, and she had been watching him for some time. Over the years, she had learned that little distractions could be a balm for the soul.
His merry red breast fluttered about, his beak burrowing into the hardened ground beneath. The gardener had left a spade in one of the beds, and the little bird fluttered up onto the handle. It was an image straight from a Christmas card. She smiled at him, wondering how he might spend the remainder of his day and whether he would successfully catch the worm.
She had already had a productive morning herself, settling several matters with the housekeeper and writing three letters—all before her father was out of bed. As she waited for her tea to be brought to her, she turned her face up to the sun, feeling the faint warmth of it over her skin.
The snow had settled on the ground overnight, carpeting everything in a blanket of glistening white diamonds. She sighed as she looked out at it. No doubt her mother would fuss terribly if she took a turn about the grounds later, but she was determined to do so.
The door opened, and their maid entered. She had been with the Crompton family for many years and had a severe stoop that Clarissa found hard to look at. She carried the tray expertly, butClarissa could not imagine she was comfortable.
Clarissa stepped forward, took the tray, and placed it on the side table beside the settee. She smiled at the maid.
“Thank you, Poppy. How are you this morning?”
“Oh, cannot complain, Miss Crompton.”
“Is there enough coal below stairs for the fires to remain lit?” she asked. “It is a bitterly cold day.”
“Indeed, Miss Crompton, with the ovens in the kitchen, it is quite pleasant. Too many bodies to feel the cold down there. Never fear.”
Clarissa had spent a great deal of her time analysing her father's accounts over the years. At first, he had forbidden her from any such notion, but as the toll on his faculties had risen, she had begun to assist him more and more. During the winter months, she had taken to deliberately diverting funds, that they might otherwise have spent on her wardrobe or her mother’s frivolities, to the servants’ quarters. She knew how abominably cold it could become with snow on the ground.
“Very well, thank you, Poppy. Is Papa awake, as yet?”
“His Lordship is in his study. I have brought him some tea. I believe Miss Emily was looking for you.”
“Do send her in.”
Clarissa smiled. She could already hear her cousin’s pattering footsteps approaching.
Emily burst into the room only seconds after Poppy had left it. Her dark brown hair was curled in ringlets at either side of her face, and her round, happy expression always brought joy to Clarissa’s heart.
