Page 12 of The Boys of Summer
“We are having a house party, gentlemen, with many guests. I can promise you a bed and a room that is warm and dry. Beyond that, the lodgings may not be to your standards,” Henry stated. “Follow me, if you please.”
When they exited, Henry left the door open to maintain propriety. Still, they were alone in his study. And suddenly, Clarissa’s bravado failed her. Her knees gave and she started to sink to the floor. Augustus caught her quickly.
“It’s all right,” he soothed. “Everything will be fine.”
“No. No it will not. Father will never let this stand—in part because of his agreement with Squire Timble and in part… well, he’s just that cruel. I defied him and he will want to punish me for that.”
“I should confess something to you now,” he said. “I came here fully prepared to drag you away to the altar if need be. I have a special license in my possession. We can marry immediately if you are willing.”
She looked away. “I should not have simply announced to father that we were betrothed. It was terribly presumptuous of me—”
He laughed at her then, unable to stop himself. “I’ve done nothing since I arrived except harangue you to be my wife. I think I can forgive you making an impromptu announcement of your acceptance.”
Clarissa smiled at that, then her smile spread into a wide grin. After that, a giggle emerged from her, the sound carefree and oh so welcome. “I suppose you’re right about that.”
“Clarissa… your father cannot be trusted and the squire is questionable at best. If you are willing, as soon as there is a break in the rain, I think we should depart. We can ride to the nearest village and be married before morning,” he suggested.
“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“I cannot honestly say… but I would rather err on the side of caution than regret it later,” he stated grimly.
She considered that for a moment and then offered a nod. “I’ll be waiting in my room. Just send for me when you are ready. I think limiting any chances of running into either my father or the squire will be for the best.”
“I concur. A certain amount of subterfuge may be necessary… but for more practical matters, how well do you ride?”
“Well enough if the mount is of a congenial nature,” she replied.
“I’ll take care of it all,” Augustus promised. “Now, let me walk you to your chamber.”
*
Shown to chambersthat were likely reserved for upper servants—valets or governesses, Edward Milson fumed. How dare she! His daughter had been an obedient and docile sheep for the entirety of her life—too shy and awkward to even speak most days. Now, when such traits would be useful, she’d suddenly developed both a backbone and a penchant for rebellion.
Leaving his wretched and monastic cell, he crossed the hall to the one currently occupied by the squire. He knocked. When the man didn’t answer, he knocked again, far louder. Indeterminately past seventy, the man’s hearing had degenerated to near deafness. That was simply the progression of age and the lot of a man who favored sports and shooting. The other things that ailed the squire—French pox and heaven only knew what else—those ailments had been hard earned by years of dissipated living.
Some might balk at marrying their only child to such a repulsive individual. But he had debts that had to be paid. The humiliation he would suffer if he lost his home because he could not pay his creditors would not be borne. If that meant trading his daughter to a debauched, lecherous sot with one foot in the grave, so be it.
When Timble finally opened the door, the man was drinking heavily from a flask. He reeked of sweat and cheap brandy. “What?” he barked.
“They’ll make a run for it,” Edward stated. “I’d say they’ll be heading for London for a license by morning light. We need to be ready.”
Timble grimaced. “If I get back the funds paid to you, I do not care. The girl is comely enough, but not that special. There are pretty enough girls who don’t have the protection of a duke. I’m not going to dig in my heels and make a powerful enemy over a bit of muslin.”
“And what about me? What about the remainder of the marriage settlement?” Edward demanded.
Timble took a deep drink from his flask. “I suggest you take that up with the duke.”
The door closed sharply and Edward was left standing in the hall, humiliated yet again.
Chapter Eight
It was almostdusk when the knock sounded on her door. Clarissa nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d been so focused on writing the letter to Agatha, explaining it all, that the sound had startled her terribly. Folding the note and placing it on the dressing table, she moved toward the door and opened it.
It wasn’t Augustus who stood there, but her father. His gaze was hard and unforgiving as he looked at her with a mixture of disappointment and cold fury. “My daughter—the strumpet.”
“You should go, Father. I will not relent. I will not marry the squire,” she said. “And I’ve no wish to argue the point with you.”
“Oh, we won’t argue, Clarissa. And you aren’t going to marry the squire. He won’t have you now. But I’ll be damned to hell before I see you marry that bloody duke and lord it over me for the rest of my days. No, I’m going to do with you what I should have done years ago—I’ll give you over to the man who holds the marker on my estate. And he can do with you as he pleases.”
