Page 69 of Unmasking a Wicked Marquess
“Well? What do you think?” Clarissa took back the letter, looking lovingly down at it.
“What do I think?”
“Edward, you have always been a constant friend to me. Even when you returned from your travels, it is as if we have never been apart. You and I understand one another’s mind, and you have always advised me wisely, giving me good counsel.”
“That is what you want from me now?” he whispered in realization. “You wish me to counsel you?”
“Yes. What should I do?”
“What should you do? Clarissa! I cannot possibly tell you what to do.” He waved his hand towards her. “This is a matter of your own heart, of your own life. Do you love Mr Darcy? Do you wish to marry him?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then what is stopping you?” he asked, holding his arms out wide. “What possible reason is there not to go?”
“My father …” She looked down at the letter, now holding it close to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in her life. “He would certainly never forgive me for eloping. He might refuse to ever speak to me again.”
“My friend, listen to me.” Edward caught one of her hands and held it between both of his own. “If your father is worthy of having you in his life, he would not think of cutting you out. He will understand your heart is chosen, and above all, a father should want his child to be happy. Happiness should always come above rules and, as your beau so rightly calls it, above indignation.
For that is what it is, your father’s pride against the idea of you marrying a merchant. This man can provide for you, he earns good money, and if you love him, then you can indeed be happy together. It’s just whether you are prepared to take the gamble and run off to Scotland to be wed.”
Clarissa smiled. It was so sudden that even Edward was affected by it, smiling with her.
A sudden sound beyond the windows caught his attention. He had been so captured by their conversation and the need to help Clarissa that he hadn’t been aware before that a carriage was drawing up outside. Releasing Clarissa’s hand, he went to the window and peered out, startled when he saw that an entire party of people was getting into the carriage.
Lord and Lady Clarence were issuing instructions, urging Lady Violet and her husband into the carriage, followed by Mr Pensky, and lastly, by Juliet.
“Juliet?” Edward whispered aloud.
Juliet halted, almost as if she had magically heard his whisper through the window of the house. She turned on the spot, her eyes finding his through the glass. She smiled, but it was a miserable sort of smile, one that was quite resigned.
What does that look mean?
Then she climbed into the carriage, turning away from him, with her head hung low. Her mother and father stepped into the carriage after her, and the driver flicked the reins, urging the coach away.
“What the … no!” Edward suddenly declared aloud. He ran from the room, darting past Clarissa, out to the entrance hall, and then bursting through the door. He leapt down the front steps onto the gravel track, his eyes on the coach. Yet it was impossible to catch up with it now; the horses pulled it away too fast.
“Edward?” Clarissa appeared behind him in the doorway. “Edward, what is going on?”
“I …” He couldn’t explain it. He stared in wonder at the retreating carriage, wishing she would come back again, but it felt somehow as if Juliet was riding away from him for good. Their bags were latched to the back of the coach, and clearly, they were not coming back to the Duke of Darby’s house again.
***
“My Lady?” The butler’s voice drew Juliet’s attention.
She sat in the corner of the library with her knees tucked under her in the armchair, a book in her lap. It was a story she had not read for some time, yet she felt herself drawn to the tale of her namesake now. William Shakespeare’sRomeo and Julietwas laid open on one of the early pages where the couple met.
They were thrown together in this heady and heated romance, though to her mind, both seemed now childish, too young, for such a relationship. She thought them foolish, unable to see that both had flaws as well as virtues and that their relationship, forbidden by their parents, could surely not lead anywhere good.
“Forgive my interruption,” the butler said, poking his head through the door.
“That’s quite all right, Travers.” She forced a smile for the butler. He was a kind soul and had been with the family for years. She had often looked upon him as if he were some distant uncle when he was young, for he was always pulling her up again when she fell as a child. “What can I do for you?”
“There is a gentleman here to see you.” Travers stepped into the library, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder. His old and withered face was set in a panic-stricken expression. “If I am not mistaken, he has taken advantage of your parents being out to call on you now.”
“Ah, it’s Mr Pensky again, is it?” She sighed and stood from the chair, still holding the book in front of her.
They had been back from Ascot for three days now, and each day, Arthur had called upon her again. He seemed to have taken the time that passed between them in the Duke of Darby’s home as some sort of encouragement to his attachment.
