Page 18 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
“I do not imagine him being very happy with me either,” Clarissa replied.
“Happiness is not necessary for a long marriage.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Clarissa was sure that both of them were thinking about her father, who had proven that happinesswasnot necessary for a long marriage.
“Surely,” Clarissa said, choosing her words with the utmost care, “no marriage at all would be preferable to being wed to a man through trickery. He would not merely be ambivalent towards me. He would find me repulsive.”
Clarissa also was not entirely certain that such a marriage would be legal. Divorce could be devastating to one’s reputation, but surely, a marriage forged from one party’s deliberate deception would be grounds for an annulment.
“No, it would not be,” Lady Bentley said. “At least, marriage will mean that you are a duchess. It may vex you early in the marriage, but eventually, you will learn to manage. You will learn to survive, and in this world, that is enough.”
Clarissa did not think so. It was inconceivable that survival was all a woman could aspire to have. There must be more, like love and art.
“As you say, Mother,” Clarissa said. “I promise that I shall do my best to enchant His Grace if we encounter him in Bath.”
Her mother smiled thinly. Clarissa had no doubt that her mother had already made plans for them to “encounter” His Grace. She only hoped that the circumstances were not too embarrassing.
Lady Bentley peered out the window, and there was a subtle shift in her expression. Clarissa could not have said precisely what it was, but her mother’s face seemed to take on a new brightness. “We must stop,” she said, signalling for the driver to halt the stagecoach.
“Stop?” Clarissa asked.
She glanced out the window. It appeared as though they had halted right before an inn.
“This is not Bath, though,” Clarissa said. “Surely, we could continue the journey a little further.”
“Perhaps you could, but my back is aching terribly. No, we must stop, and it is most convenient that we are near an inn.”
Clarissa narrowed her eyes. It was true that her mother’s back hurt her on occasion. However, this all seemed suspicious to Clarissa. Her mother left the stagecoach. Clarissa followed. Once they were near the inn, Clarissa drew in a sharp breath of air.
This was the Swan’s Inn.
“Mother!’ Clarissa exclaimed. “You cannot seriously expect us to stay here! His Grace will think we are obsessed with him!”
“Nonsense,” Lady Bentley replied. “I shall tell Lady Matilda that her mention of Bath made me think of our poor relations down here. We happened to stop at this inn for the next because I recalled Lady Matilda mentioning it. If this inn is sufficient lodging for her, it is also adequate for our stay.”
Clarissa grimaced. For all that her mother’s excuse sounded plausible, Clarissa had doubts that either the Duke of Hartingdale or Lady Matilda would believe them. At least Clarissa would not have to worry about His Grace wanting to court her. When he realised what Lady Bentley was doing and how far she had gone to win his hand for Clarissa, His Grace would be horrified. Appalled, even.
Clarissa reluctantly followed her mother down the path towards the inn. From a distance, it was an unremarkable stone building. Upon closer inspection, however, Clarissa saw that all manner of seashells were embedded into the stone walls. As her mother received the keys to the room, Clarissa looked about her.
Inside, the inn was small but warm. It was not the sort of place that Clarissa’s mother would ever have chosen to stay at. She wondered why Lady Matilda loved it so.
“I expected something grander,” Lady Bentley murmured, almost as if she knew Clarissa’s thoughts. “No matter. Such rustic surroundings may be an advantage, as you will shine all the more brightly for them.”
Clarissa grimaced and tightened her grip on the book of Shakespeare’s poems, as if the poems had the power to make this situation more bearable. Maybe she would be fortunate, and His Grace and his aunt would have already left the inn. Clarissa knew it was unlikely, but anything sounded better than the inevitable moment that the Duke of Hartingdale realised he had been followed all the way from London by an overzealous mother and her sheepish daughter.
They took the stairs and emerged in a large hall decorated with tapestries of pheasants and foxes. Their room was at the end of the hall. It was small and sparsely decorated, but something was nonetheless charming about the place.
“Well, this is something. I am surprised to see that Lady Matilda favours this place when it is so utterly pedestrian,” Lady Bentley said. “At least, the furniture is sufficient.”
There were two beds and a polished writing desk. A gold and scarlet rug covered the floor. Like the outside hall, tapestries of woodland scenes and animals covered the walls. This would be a lovely place for someone to stay for a few days and just write poetry. It was a pity that her mother had forced her to come and seduce His Grace. Bath seemed as if it would be a lovely place to stay for just a little while.
“Well,” Clarissa’s mother said. “It is best that we refresh ourselves and prepare for dinner. There is evidently a private parlour which may be used for dinners, but it seems that another guest has already rented the place for the evening. I imagine it can only be His Grace, given we are such a distance from any real town.”
“Not necessarily,” Clarissa said. “This inn is on the way to Bath, and I am sure there will be many of the ton spending the night here.”
Bath was a popular place for the ton to travel for their health treatments and baths. With the Season at an end, there would doubtlessly be many men and women coming to Bath in the hopes of refreshing themselves after a long Season of balls and parties. Such activities could be exhausting, even for those who enjoyed them.
“Certainly,” Lady Bentley said, “but considering the timing, I think it is safe to assume that it is His Grace. We should have arrived at this inn around the same time.”
