Page 5 of The Boys of Summer
“Father always said I was.” Of course, he had not said it in the same admiring manner that her great-aunt just did.
“Fiddle! Your father wouldn’t know a hellion if one bit him on his… nose. You slipped away from your home which has always been filled with his ancient school chums who still haven’t managed to find a bride. You are dodging a marriage to a crotchety and repulsive old relic who is, quite frankly, too old even for me. And you embarked on a rather lengthy journey all by yourself. Likely with money you either took from your father or have been hiding from him.”
“I suppose that does make me a hellion… but I’m also still a spinster and all the things you said earlier hold true,” Clarissa answered.Except that she did have an offer. Of sorts.“Although, given my age, one would argue that any husband would be better than no husband—even Squire Timble. Still, the very idea of it makes me feel ill. Running away was the only solution I could think of to avoid it. But that won’t last forever. Father will eventually figure out where I have gone.”
“You will leave that to me,” Lady Helmsley replied. “It should never have come to this, of course. You should have had a proper debut.”
“Father always insisted that I would have been hopeless in London.”
“A convenient excuse to avoid his duty.”
Clarissa knew that was true. She also knew the why of it did not matter. She was out of her depth. Functioning in social settings, particularly in mixed company, left her terribly uncomfortable. When it came to the notion of flirting, she had no idea what to do. When her great-aunt turned to look at her, she realized she’d uttered that thought aloud. “I don’t. I don’t know how to flirt.”
“Well you start, my girl, by speaking to other men here. If I can find you a suitable husband in Southampton or, heavens, at this very house party, then you need not return to your father’s house at all. But that only happens if you’ll put yourself out there a bit and actually attempt to develop an attachment with someone!”
“That is easier said than done. Every time I speak with a man, I feel tongue-tied and foolish!”
“The duke didn’t seem to make you feel tongue-tied,” Agatha noted perceptively.
“That’s different. We were childhood friends,” Clarissa replied defensively. “And I wasn’t trying to flirt with him! If I had, I would have tripped over something and fallen flat on the floor.”
There was a moment of silence. The weight of Agatha’s speculative gaze grew quite uncomfortable until at last she made a dismissive sound and looked away. “My nephew is a dolt. Of course, you don’t know how to flirt! He’s kept you locked away in the countryside with dour governesses who wouldn’t know flirtation if it literally tumbled in their laps. And now he’s trying to marry you off to a creature that is practically mummified! He ought to be ashamed of himself. Well, we’ve put a stop to that. After dinner, we will speak with dear Sophie—the viscountess—and get things sorted out. What you need is an opportunity to converse with younger women who can actually teach you how to converse with younger men! Dear heavens, it’s been half a century since I did such things.”
“And what will you do while I’m learning how to be a flirt from other young ladies?” Clarissa demanded.
“I’ll be compiling a list of eligible men you should flirt with!”
Chapter Three
The shopping excursionto the village with the Viscountess Marchwood—Sophie—and the other female guests had been a rousing success. She’d managed to talk with a few of the other girls present, making small talk and exchanging pleasantries without tripping over her tongue or putting her foot in her mouth. Of course, most of them had only wanted to talk about the duke.How did she know him? Were they well acquainted? Was he romantically involved with anyone?It was a bit insulting that they’d automatically assumed that his interest in her was not of a romantic nature.
Of course, that had prompted her own mind to manufacture a thousand questions and just as many doubts. Was it romantic? Or was he there simply to keep a promise out of an overdeveloped sense of honor and obligation? She didn’t want that. Not at all.
Pushing thoughts of the duke and his motives aside, she focused on the positive. She was returning with new ribbons to retrim a particularly unflattering bonnet, not that any of her clothing was particularly flattering. She also had a new novel to entertain herself in the afternoon and she’d enjoyed more laughter and conversation that afternoon than she’d had in ages. In truth, Clarissa was feeling quite pleased with her self-imposed summer exile to Southampton and the house party she had been invited to. Or she had been until she returned to find the Duke of Atherton lurking in the entryway waiting for her. Those questions and doubts came rushing back.
The comfort and ease she’d felt in his presence when they were children was long gone. In this current incarnation, as a man fully grown with dark eyes, broad shoulders, towering over her while emitting an air of authority—he made her nervous. She’d avoided him for the remainder of the evening the night before. She didn’t wish to think about their childish promise to one another and what it might signify for her now.
“Miss Milson,” he said as she entered. “It is very good to see you again. I was hoping I might entice you to take a stroll about the gardens with me.”
“I’m not sure that would be appropriate, your grace,” she evaded, looking to the viscountess for assistance.
“It will be fine,” Sophie inserted. “I’ll be on the terrace enjoying the afternoon sun. So long as you stay in view it will be entirely proper.”
“Precisely,” the duke agreed. “A short stroll, Miss Milson, that we might get to renew our acquaintance.”
There was no way to refuse without appearing churlish or simply rude. Ducking her head, keeping her eyes firmly glued on the tile floor, Clarissa murmured, “Your grace, you are too kind.” She could feel the other young women glaring daggers at her back. So much for making friends.
He offered his arm and she had no choice but to take it. Immediately, as she rested her palm on his toned forearm, she regretted it. The firmness of his flesh and the warmth of it that seeped through the fabric of his coat was a pointed reminder of his masculinity—something she was unlikely to forget anyway. She should have claimed a megrim or being overly tired from the outing. Anything to avoid the company of the strangely compelling and also terribly intimidating man. Having grown up in her father’s house, where any hint of extreme emotion was frowned upon or severely punished, maintaining her equilibrium in all situations had become a survival skill. He threatened that in ways she could not begin to fathom.
As he led her through the corridor and toward the French doors that opened onto the terrace, she struggled for something to say. Anything would be better than the uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch and grow into a gaping chasm of awkwardness. “Are you enjoying Southampton?”
His lips quirked at her clear attempt to divert him from weightier topics. “Quite. It is not my first visit to the region, but I have not been for many years. Still, the milder weather and calmer seas are something to be greatly admired. And you, Miss Milson? Do you find Southampton to your liking?” His tone was teasing, as if he were humoring her.
“I think so. In truth, I’ve seen very little of it so far. But the society, thus far, has been very agreeable,” she offered. Or it had been. Now the young women would think she’d lied about her limited acquaintance with him or about the nature of their acquaintance, at the very least. It would not ease her way at all. Still, she strove to continue the perfectly polite and meaningless conversation as befitted two veritable strangers. “The weather has been quite fine. Not overly warm and with enough cool breezes that it has been quite pleasant.”
His smile disappeared, and he pinned her with a knowing side-eyed glance. “As scintillating as the topic of the current weather is, Clarissa, we have a certain matter that must be discussed… our promise.”
Clarissa glanced back at the terrace. They were far enough from the house that they were unlikely to be overheard, and given his very direct approach, there was no avoiding the topic. “We are strangers to one another. More time has passed since that promise was made than either of us had lived before we uttered it. We spoke with the innocence of children without fully understanding what our roles in society would be. I cannot be a duchess. And you cannot marry a woman who has no fortune, no connections and little to recommend her. It would be the height of foolishness.”
