Page 58 of The Heiress's Daughter
Mrs. Price-Jones leaned forward and put a hand on Clarissa’s arm. “Talk to him, my dear. You don’t have to commit yourself. I explained to him yesterday that you need your guardian’s permission to marry. He told me how he felt he’d compromised you and felt it incumbent on him to offer—”
“Compromised?” Lady Scattergood sat up. “Compromised her, did he? The scoundrel! The villain! Toss him out in the street, Treadwell!”
“He didn’t compromise me in the least,” Clarissa hastily assured the old lady. “Mr. Clayborn is being overly sensitive.” Ridiculously so.
Lady Scattergood raised her lorgnette and scrutinized Clarissa’s face. “Is that true, gel?”
“Absolutely.” If anyone’s kiss could be said to be compromising it was Lord Randall’s, but Clarissa was determined to keep that a secret.
“Hmph, well, all right then. I suppose it wouldn’t do anyharm to talk to him. Put him in the front drawing room, Treadwell—but keep an eye on the fellow.”
“But I—” Clarissa began.
The old lady waved her objections aside. “He can’t propose without Leo’s permission, so talk to the fellow, tell him to stop filling my house with dying flowers, and find out what his travel arrangements are.”
“Travel arrangements?” Clarissa repeated, bewildered.
“Of course. How many times do I have to tell you young gels that the secret of a successful marriage is for the husband to head off to the other side of the world shortly after the wedding? Traveling and sending you back delightful gifts from time to time as a token of his regard.” She waved vaguely at the clutter of exotic ornaments—valuable and not so valuable—that crammed every surface of the room. “As my dear Scattergood did for the twenty years of our marriage.” She gave a fond glance at the cloisonné urn that held her husband’s ashes. “So find out what young Claymore’s travel plans are.”
“Clayborn,” Clarissa corrected her halfheartedly.
“Yes, him. And if he has none, make sure you plant the notion in his mind. Now, run along.”
“Miss Studley!” As Clarissa entered the front drawing room Mr. Clayborn jumped to his feet, sending his cane flying. “Dear Miss Studley, you have consented to see me.” He beamed at her. “Dare I say you have forgiven me my impetuosity?”
“Mr. Clayborn.” She picked up his cane and handed it back to him. “Please be seated.”
His face fell. “So cold. You haven’t forgiven me?”
Clarissa repressed a sigh. “As I have said previously—several times—there is nothing to forgive. Now, I believe you have something you wish to say to me?”
To her horror, Mr. Clayborn clutched his cane tightly inone hand, and with a groan, attempted to go down onto one knee.
Clarissa leapt to her feet. “Please, I beg of you, stop this at once! There is no need for you to kneel.”
He struggled back up. “So kind, so considerate.” He took a step toward her. “My dear Miss Studley, you know of my feelings toward you, which grow more powerful each time I am allowed into your charming company. Would you do me the honor—”
“Mr. Clayborn, stop right there,” Clarissa said firmly. “I know what you are going to ask, but my answer is still no.”
“I know, you must get permission from your guardian. But—”
“This has nothing to do with my guardian. I’ve already indicated to you—very clearly, I think—that though I hold you in…esteem, there is no chance, absolutely no chance of—”
Clayborn reeled back. “Oh, do not say it, you cannot be so cruel!”
Cruel? Clarissa frowned. “I am sorry if you think so, nevertheless as I have told you before, flattering as your offer may be, I will not marry you.”
He clapped a hand over his heart. “You have led me on, cruel lady, broken my heart.”
She rang the bell for Treadwell, who, having been listening at the door, appeared instantly. “Goodbye, Mr. Clayborn.”
“No, no, you cannot send me away like that. Oh, heartless, callous creature.”
“Treadwell, please show Mr. Clayborn out.”
“Yes, miss.” Treadwell bowed, handed Mr. Clayborn his hat, and when the man didn’t move, slipped a hand under his elbow and escorted him to the door.
“Oh, cruel, Miss Studley—it’s because I’m not a whole man, isn’t it? You are heartless, heartless! I fought for my country and yet you spurn me for my…” The door shut behind him and his words died away.
