Page 75 of The Heiress's Daughter
She pulled away and sat back. “I don’t think we should do this again,” she said, her voice shaky and a little husky.
He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Why not, sweetheart? We are betrothed, after all.” His voice deepened. “And don’t try to tell me you don’t like it because I won’t believe you.”
She couldn’t bring herself to deny it, so she changed the subject. “The betrothal is both false and temporary—no, don’t argue—and—”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He picked up her hand, turned it over and traced a long finger slowly down a line in her palm. “Strong Heart line,” he murmured.
A faint shiver ran through her. Snatching her hand back, she fought for a more businesslike tone. Difficult when her insides had turned to warm, quivery jelly. But he didn’t need to know that. “We need to discuss where we go from here.”
“I thought we’d decided that. We’re going to be seen everywhere, together, right?”
She nodded and rose to her feet. Her legs were distressingly shaky: she hoped he couldn’t tell. “In that case I’ll see you tomorrow night at Almack’s.”
“Almack’s?” he echoed.
She frowned, puzzled by his tone. “Yes. What’s wrong with that?” Everyone went to Almack’s. If he wanted everyone to see them together and draw the right conclusion, Almack’s was the best of all possible places for it. All the ton would be there.
“Nothing.” He sighed. “Almack’s it is then.” He tucked her arm into his, apparently intent on escorting her to her door.
“I’d like to walk in the garden for a while,” she said, hoping he would leave so that she could gather her composure before she had to face Lady Scattergood and Mrs. Price-Jones and all their questions.
“Very well then.” He turned down one of the paths.
“I,” she began, and when he looked at her with a question in his eyes, she said, “Oh, nothing.”
They wandered through the lush, fragrant garden, arm in arm but not talking, for which Clarissa was thankful, making their way slowly toward the spreading plane tree that dominated the center of the garden. It was the little Tarrant girls’ favorite place to play, but she could hear no shouts and giggles. They’d probably gone inside.
But when they turned the corner, they saw the three little girls sitting in a tight semicircle on the grass, sobbing, with their nanny standing over them, wringing her hands and expostulating, though in a subdued manner.
Clarissa dropped Lord Randall’s arm and ran forward. “Whatever is the matter?” She dropped down on her knees in front of the little girls.
“It’s Mama,” Lina sobbed.
“She—she—she’s havin’ the baby,” Judy added, her face stiff with the effort not to cry. Judy was the eldest and was very aware she was supposed to set an example, but the effort was showing. A tear or two escaped but she dashed them away.
“An’ she’s gunna diiiie,” Debo wailed.
“What? Why would you think that?” Clarissa exclaimed, shocked.
“Sukey and Ethel said so. We heard them.”
Clarissa turned to the nanny. “Sukey and Ethel?”
“Two foolish kitchen maids who ought to know better,” the nanny said crossly.
Lina wailed. “It’s just like the p-poor p-p-princess.”
Clarissa sighed. The death of Princess Charlotte in childbirth last year had shocked the nation and many were still in mourning for the poor young princess. Clearly it hadmade a big impact on these children. She said in a heartening tone, “You can’t know that.” She looked a silent question at the nanny, who shook her head.
“I certainly never said anything about…” She gave a meaningful glance toward the bedroom window where Lady Tarrant was laboring to produce her child. “But they overheard the kitchen maids and worked themselves into a right state, miss. And nothing I say will make them think any different.”
Children often knew more than adults deigned to tell them. She and Izzy always knew what the servants were trying to hide. “So there’s no reason to think…?”
“No, miss. Nothing at all. But will these bairns listen to their old nanny?” She shook her head in frustration.
Judy threw a fierce glare at the old woman. “Our mother died when she”—she jerked her head at little Debo—“was born, so don’t tell us we’re worrying about nothing. And Papa’s up there with her and everyone knows men only go into a birthing room when…when…”
“Oh, my dear.” Clarissa tried to put her arms around Judy but the child shrugged her off, determined not to be comforted. Debo looked at her, with tear-drenched eyes, her long-suffering cat hugged to her chest, its fur spiky and damp with tears. Clarissa sat down between her and Judy, and put her arm around the little girl. Debo leaned into her.
