Love Is Blind Part 23

"You married him knowing how horrid he looks?" Lady Crambray asked. "My G.o.d! Are you mad? How can you stand for him to touch you?"

Sighing, Clarissa lowered her fork. "Actually, Lydia, I not only married Adrian knowing how he looked; I knew how he looked before he ever kissed me or made love to me. I saw him the first night at the ball when he danced with me. Every time he bent close to hear what I said, I caught a glimpse of his face." Clarissa met her stepmother's gaze head-on. "I found him attractive then, and find him attractive still. I am sorry you do not. But then, you are not the one who married him."

She began to eat, aware that Lydia was staring at her once more. Her stepmother was eyeing her as if she were a puzzle she was unable to make out.

'You are actually happy with him," Lydia finally said, wonderingly. And then, sounding bewildered, she asked, "How can you be happy with him?"

Clarissa lifted her head, sadly eyeing the woman across the table from her. Lydia truly did not seem to understand.

"Because he is good and kind," she explained softly, then went on. "Because he treats me like a princess. Because he makes me laugh. Because he makes me happy. Because he took the trouble to read to me when I could not read to myself. Because he fed me and gave me wine when I could not eat or drink at b.a.l.l.s. Because when he kisses me my toes curl, and when he makes love to me I cannot contain my pa.s.sion."

Oddly enough, Lydia's reaction to these words was to pale and blanch as if Clarissa had struck her. Then several other emotions crossed her face: anger, resentment, envy, confusion. Finally, she simply looked lost and dejected.

Clarissa pondered the woman's reaction, as she took up her fork and returned her attention to her food. Several moments pa.s.sed before Lydia recovered suffi ciently to go on the attack again; then she asked, "Has he seen you with your spectacles on? I bet he has not. I have not noticed you wearing them before this. Does he dislike them then?"

Swallowing the food in her mouth, Clarissa set her fork and knife down on either side of her plate. She then dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, set it back in her lap, folded her hands neatly together, raised her eyes back to Lydia, and did what she should have done several years ago. She asked, "Why do you want so much for me to be miserable? Why do you hate me so?"

Jerking in her seat as if slapped, Lydia said, "Do not be ridiculous. You are my stepdaughter. I do not hate you."

"But you do wish me to be miserable."

"Life is miserable, Clarissa," the woman said harshly. "All those dreams you have of children and happiness? A loving husband and home? Forget them. Fate is a fickle b.i.t.c.h, and even when she gives you what you think you want, you soon learn you have nothing at all. It is better to learn while young how hard life can be than to grow up soft and coddled and have it taught to you in heartbreak."

Clarissa stared at her stepmother silently, feeling as if she were very close to understanding. After a moment she asked, "Were you soft and coddled, Lydia?"

"Oh, yes." She gave a brittle laugh. "I was spoiled beyond imagining. Anything I wanted I could have. Anything I needed was there,"

"Until you married my father," Clarissa guessed.

Lydia stared down at her plate. After a pause, she said quietly, "I wanted him from the moment I saw him. I saw how he was with your mother and-"

'You knew him while my mother was alive?" Clarissa asked with surprise.

Lydia nodded, her downward gaze almost ashamed. "They loved each other so. I envied your mother. When she died, I thought, 'Brilliant! Now it is my turn.' And I went after him."

Her hand moved to her teacup, and she gave a short laugh. "Oh, not outright, of course. I was there to comfort and soothe him, to murmur sympathetically about how hard it must be for you without a mother. How hard for him, too. You needed someone to guide you into womanhood, especially after the scandal. And raising a child alone and running a household must be a terrible burden alone."

"And he married you," Clarissa said quiedy. She recalled that Lydia had been kind to her upon first arriving at Crambray. They had laughed a time or two. And then, slowly, she had withdrawn and grown cool, then cold, then downright unpleasant. Not just with Clarissa, but with everyone.

'Yes. He married me," Lydia said miserably. "As I say, I always got what I wanted."

"But you didn't, did you?" Clarissa said with realization. "Because you did not really want my father; you wanted the sort of relations.h.i.+p he and my mother had."

'Yes," Lydia said wearily, then gave a wry smile. "You always were a clever girl. Had I been half so clever, I would not have ruined my own life." Sighing, she ran a hand over her hair, then shook her head. "Oh, he is good and kind in his distant way, but I felt nothing when he kissed me. This toe curling and uhcontain-able pa.s.sion you speak of is alien to me. I blamed him for it. He married me to mother you and run his home, and that was all he really cared about. You were the daughter of his precious Margaret, and he showed you more affection, attention, and consideration than he ever showed me, his wife.

"But I could have lived with that," she went on quiedy. "Most marriages are simply business arrangements. I could have been content with his mild affection and lack of interest if only I had borne children of my own. But that never happened." Her hand tightened around the teacup handle until her knuckles were white, and Clarissa feared she might snap it with her anger. "I have been with your father for many years with no sign of a child."

Clarissa's eyes went blurry even with her spectacles on, and she realized they were filled with tears of empathy. Blinking the tears away, she cleared her throat and said, 'You had me. I would have been your daughter."

"I did not want you," Lydia said harshly, and her eyes were hard; then she looked away with shame. "I am sorry, Clarissa, but you were full grown when I came to Crambray. A woman already, formed in personality and att.i.tudes ... and an exact replica of your mother, who'd had the marriage I wanted but could not seem to have." She grimaced and shook her had. "I wanted what your mother, Margaret, had: a husband to love and cherish me, and a baby of my own. My own daughter to look like me and to spoil and coddle."

Clarissa nodded slowly. "And I am sure my mother would have liked what you had."

Lydia blinked in confusion. "What is it I have that she did not?"

"Her health," Clarissa said. "Mother was always frail and ill. She did not have the strength to do much. A slight chill could make her ill for days. And all our love could not keep her healthy and alive."

A flash of shame sparked in Lydia's eyes, and she looked away, her mouth going tight.

"I am not telling you this to humiliate you," Clarissa said quickly. "I am telling you that, with all she had that you want, she did not have it all. Perhaps no one does."

Lydia turned slowly back, curiosity replacing her shame. "Was she happy?"

Clarissa sighed and glanced into the past, recalling her mother's laughter and smiles despite how ill she often got. Margaret Crambray had never shown how wearying it must have been for her, or how frustrating. She had been unendingly cheerful and smiling through all her ailments. It was why they had loved her so.

"I think a part of her must have been terribly unhappy," Clarissa said finally. "I know I should have found it frustrating myself. However, she never showed it. Mother once told me that happiness is a choice. If you choose to mope and be glum, you shall be; but if you wish to be happy and determine to enjoy what life has to offer, then you can have that as well.

"She said that nothing is all good or all bad, that life offers everyone a mix of both-though sometimes it does not seem so, and bad is all we can see in our lives, while in the lives of others we see only good and feel envy. She said we must enjoy the good despite the bad, else life can beat us down and leave us hopeless, and that is no way to live."

"Your mother sounds very wise," Lydia said quiedy. There were tears in her eyes. "I wish I had got to know her while she lived. Mayhap with a few words of wisdom from her I might not have made such an irreparable muddle of my life."

"Is it irreparable?" Clarissa asked. Lydia gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"Oh, I do not know," she said dryly. 'You tell me. I am growing old and fat-a matron, in fact-and am married to a man who hates me, with a stepdaughter who hates me."

"I do not hate you," Clarissa said quiedy.

"Your father does."

"He-"

"Please." Lydia held up a hand. "Do not try to tell me he does not. At first I think he was just indifferent. He loved your mother, and she died while still young. She will always be young and beautiful in his eyes. I could never compete with her, either then or now. But with the pa.s.sing of time came contempt. I suppose I deserve it. I have been miserable in my disappointment and have made you all miserable too. Now your father does not even like me anymore." She lifted stark eyes to Clarissa and said, "He loathes me so much he even believes that I am trying to kill you." Lydia shook her head, a wounded look in her eyes. "How could he think that? I understand that he does not like me, but does he not know me at all after all these years?"

"I am sure he does not really believe it," Clarissa said, her heart going out to her stepmother. She had never seen Lydia so vulnerable. She'd never realized how unhappy the woman was. Or, to be more exact, she'd known Lydia must be unhappy to cause so much misery for everyone else, but had not understood-or troubled herself to find out-why. It had never occurred to Clarissa to wonder why she hadn't any half-brothers or -sisters. Or to wonder what dreams Lydia had and if they'd come to fruition. It seemed Lydia had lived a charmed life as a child, and had not been as lucky in adulthood.

"He accused me of it flat-out, and warned me that if anything happened to you he would see me hang. I do believe he does indeed think I am behind these accidents," Lydia said. She sighed. "And that, too, is my own fault, since I insisted on taking your spectacles away."

"I am sure he does not really believe it," Clarissa re- peated. "It is just that the men have decided it must be someone who is here now and was also in the city, and that is a very short list."

"And I am on it," Lydia muttered, sitting back with a sigh. "I suppose I shall never earn anything but loathing from your father now."

Clarissa was silent for a moment, then said tentatively, "Lydia, if my mother was right and we can choose to be happy ... I mean, perhaps if you were not always moping about and making everyone else unhappy, maybe Father would find his way to caring for you."

Lydia stared at her blankly for a moment; then her eyes sharpened. "Speaking of making everyone else unhappy... why are you being so nice to me, when I have been so horrid to you?"

Clarissa frowned. "I realize now that I was a selfish child when it came to you. I fear I took you for granted. It never occurred to me that you might want children of your own or that my father was not perfect. I knew you were unhappy, but just thought it was vour choice. I did not trouble myself to care." She frowned and then said sincerely, "I am sorry, Lydia. I am sorry for your disappointment, and I am sorry that I was not more aware."

"You were a child," Lydia said. "I was not. I should have handled the disappointments better. If I could not have children of my own, I should have been grateful to have been given the chance to be a mother to you. I overheard Lady Mowbray talking to you the morning you woke after the poisoning. I was on the way down to the salon from my own room, and pa.s.sed yours along the way. I heard her say that she had always wanted a daughter, but had not been able to i any more children after Adrian, but that she would like to be a mother to you." She frowned. "I should have taken that opportunity myself."

Her gaze was full of regret as she continued. "I am sorry, Clarissa. I wish ... I wish I could do it all over again. If I could, I would do it differently. I would be your friend and a mother."

"It is not too late. We can start fresh now and be friends," Clarissa offered. "I am willing."

Lydia smiled uncertainly. "Really? After all the horrible tilings I have done? Could you really forgive me and start anew?"

Clarissa waved her hand dismissively. "You were not so horrible, Lydia. Mostly you just were cranky a lot of the times, and I avoided you then. It was only in London that you truly started to be bothersome. However," she added quickly, as a shamed look covered her stepmother's face, "all of that led to my meeting and marrying my husband, so I can hardly complain, can I? He makes me very happy."

A small, relieved smile curved Lydia's lips. "I am glad you are happy, Clarissa. I can see that you are. I can also see that he is attentive and kind and caring with you. I suppose that goes a long way toward making up for that hideous scar."

Clarissa blinked in surprise. She truly did not understand everyone's fixation on his scar. It was just a part of him, like an ear or a finger, and she thought it added character to his handsome face. Yet Lydia obviously found it ugly and distressing.

Shaking her head, Clarissa said, "I was thinking about going down to look around the village today. Would you care to go with me?"

Lydia stilled, her eyes going wide, like those of a child being offered an unexpected treat. "Truly?"

"Aye." Clarissa laughed. "Well, if we are to become friends we must do things together, must we not?"

"Aye, I suppose we must," the woman said slowlv, then beamed. "When shall we go?"

"Right now, if you like," Clarissa offered. "I am finished eating."

"Oh!" Lydia leaped to her feet, excitement on her face. "I need to fetch some coins from my room in case we find something to buy." She started for the door, then turned back to ask, "Are we taking the carriage or walking?"

"I thought we might walk," Clarissa said, rising to join her by the door. "It is not supposed to be far. However, if you would prefer to take the carriage-"

"Nay, nay. A walk would be nice." She turned and bustled into the hall, chattering excitedly. Clarissa smiled. Lydia's new att.i.tude made her feel bad that she'd not confronted the woman on matters and had this talk a long time ago. They might have been the best of friends had she done so.

"Clarissa."

Jerking to a halt at her husband's voice behind her, Clarissa s.n.a.t.c.hed the spectacles off her face and slid them through the slit in her skirts. She was aware of the startled glance Lydia cast her way, but ignored it as she turned to face Adrian. "Aye, husband?"

"Where are you off to?" he asked, his narrowed eyes sliding from her to her stepmother.

"I shall just run up and fetch some coins," Lydia murmured, moving away. "I will not be a moment."

Clarissa watched the woman's blur disappear up-stairs, then turned back to Adrian. "I was just going to walk down to the village and have a look around."

"Not with Lydia?" he asked sharply.

Clarissa sighed, knowing he would give her trouble about this. "I know you think she was the one behind the poisoned pie, my lord, but she and I have had a nice long talk this morning, and I truly do not think it was her. Lydia is unhappy and p.r.o.ne to make others unhappy because of it, but she is not trying to kill me."

"Clarissa-" Adrian began grimly.

She interrupted. "You must trust me on this. Lydia is not the culprit. I would stake my life on it."

'You are staking your life on it," Adrian snapped. "And I will not have it. I refuse to allow you to go to the village alone with her."

Clarissa squinted, trying to bring his panicked expression into better focus, and smiled. Leaning up, she kissed him softly on the lips. 'You are so cute when you get all demanding and bossy, my lord. Truly, it makes me just want to take you upstairs and throw you on the bed."

Adrian's tension eased somewhat, and a small smile pulled at his lips. "Throw me on the bed, huh?" He slipped his arms around her waist. "I may be willing to sacrifice some time to the endeavor, if you are very persuasive."

"How persuasive?" Clarissa asked, running her tongue sensuously along his lower lip.

Adrian growled. Catching her by the back of her head, he denied her retreat and claimed her mouth. His tongue swept between her lips, and she moaned and arched against him, always easily excited by the man.

Clarissa's arms crept about Adrian's neck, and she gasped as his hands clamped firmly onto her bottom and lifted her against him so that their bodies rubbed together. But at the sound of footsteps quickly pounding down the stairwell beside them, they both stiff- ened. Adrian reluctantly set her back on the floor, and she broke their kiss. They both turned as Lydia reappeared.

"I am ready," the woman said cheerfully, then paused, her eyes widening as she seemed to realize what she'd interrupted. "Oh," she said uncertainly. "Shall I-"

"I am ready too," Clarissa interrupted firmly, slipping from her husband's slack hold and moving to join Lydia by the door. "Come along. Lucy says there is a lovely little tea shop in the village that serves the finest tea cakes around."

"Clarissa," Adrian growled, but Clarissa simply pulled the door open and urged Lydia out.

"We shall be back soon," she cried cheerfully, following her stepmother out the door and pulling it closed behind them. She then hurried Lydia up the drive, unsure that Adrian wouldn't come chasing after them. Really, he was so difficult where her well-being was concerned! Slipping her spectacles out of the small bag under her skirt, she popped them onto her nose.

"I could not help but notice that you removed your spectacles when your husband appeared," Lydia murmured suddenly as they reached the end of the drive. They slowed to a walk on the way up the lane. "He does not know you have them, does he?"

"Nay," Clarissa admitted on a sigh.

"Why?"

Clarissa shrugged. "As you said, I look ugly in spectacles. I do not wish him to see me in them."

"Oh, Clarissa," Lydia said sadly. 'You do not look ugly in spectacles. I am so sorry I said that. I was just being..."

"Difficult?" Clarissa suggested lightly.

"A b.i.t.c.h," Lydia countered. Sighing, she shook her head. "I do not even know what I was thinking when we were in London. We got there, and you are so beautiful and young, and have your whole life before you... while I am growing old and fat and am beyond hope."

"Oh, Lydia." Clarissa took her arm and hugged it to her. "You are hardly old and fat."

"None of it matters," Lydia said, pulling her arm away and then slipping it tentatively about Clarissa's waist. When Clarissa did not withdraw, she relaxed a little, the half embrace becoming more natural. "The point is, you do not look ugly with spectacles, and I apologize for ever saying you did."

"Apology accepted," Clarissa said. "Now, enough of this old business; we have shops to visit. I wonder if they have a baker who makes those little cream-stuffed buns."

Lydia's eyes widened with delight. "Or those shortcakes with chocolate and caramel!"

Smiling, Clarissa slid her arm around Lydia. "We always did have similar taste in food."

"In sweets, you mean." Lydia laughed.

"And books," Clarissa added. 'You were forever reading the books I wanted to read before I could get my hands on them. And clothes," she added. "I have always liked your fas.h.i.+on sense."

"Really?" Lydia asked. She seemed surprised.

Clarissa nodded solemnly. 'You have a good eye for color, and seem to have a natural instinct for what will look good on you."

"Thank you, dear." Lydia glowed with pleasure, and the two women began to natter about fas.h.i.+on as they walked.