Love Is Blind Part 7

"And your lips were still a touch swollen from kissing Lord Mowbray outside the salon doors."

Clarissa felt herself freeze inside. "You saw?"

"I saw," Lydia agreed in a voice full of rage. "Lord Prudhomme wished to speak to me, and we went for a short walk in the gardens. We saw you on our way back, and watched from the trees as you let Mowbray paw you like an animal and-"

Lydia paused abruptly, as if too sickened to continue. But Clarissa hardly noticed; she had stiffened at the mention of Prudhomme and a walk in the garden, distinctly recalling what she'd witnessed of the man's walks in the garden with other women.

"How you can let that man touch you?" Lydia snarled. "Here you have a good man like Lord Prudhomme willing to overlook your scandalous past, and you choose to-once again-throw yourself toward ruin. This time with Mowbray."

"Prudhomme? A good man?" Clarissa asked with amazement. Then she realized she'd never told her stepmother what she'd seen in the gardens.

"Yes. A good man," Lydia snapped. "He is willing to overlook the scandal, your clumsiness, and even the kiss he witnessed."

"Is that not kind of him," Clarissa said dryly. "I suppose in return I am to overlook his affairs?"

"What? Whatever are you talking about?" Lydia asked, but there was far more than curiosity in her voice. Clarissa was sure she heard panic there, and wished like crazy that she could see well enough to make out the woman's expression.

"I mean Lady Havard and Lady Achard," she explained slowly. "The night you found me in the garden, I witnessed him toying with both women."

"What?" Lydia said. "What are you rambling about?"

"I am saying that I nearly ran into him and Lady Achard in the gardens, but ducked into the bushes." There was no need to mention Adrian at this point. "I overheard them talking. It seems they had just made love. He proclaimed his undying devotion, cursed Lord Achard's good health, as he was keeping them from proclaiming their love to all; then Lady Havard interrupted to announce that Lord Achard was at the ball. Lady Achard hurried back to the ballroom, and Prudhomme proceeded to proclaim his undying pa.s.sion and love for Lady Havard, cursing Lord Havard's good health in exactly the same words he used with Lord Achard. Then he proceeded to disappear under Lady Havard's skirt."

Silence met her announcement. While Clarissa couldn't make out Lydia's expression, she could tell that her stepmother had gone pale.

'You are lying," the woman said shakily.

"No. I am not," Clarissa replied. She added, "I was not alone. I was not the only one to witness this."

"Who else?"

Clarissa hesitated. She was already in trouble over Mowbray, and hesitated to bring him up. On the other hand, perhaps Lydia would stop pus.h.i.+ng Prudhomme at her if she could be convinced of the truth.

"Mowbray," she said at last. "You may ask him if you do not believe me."

Clarissa never saw the slap coming, but she certainly felt it. The pain was sharp and sudden and her head jerked to the side from the impact. Reaching up, she clasped her cheek and slowly turned to squint at her stepmother.

"We will not speak of this any more," Lydia said. "But you will not be seeing Mowbray again ... ever."

Clarissa sat stiff and still, inwardly seething. In all the years Lydia had been her stepmother, Clarissa had never once been hit.

The carriage door opened. They'd arrived at home without her even noticing. Clarissa nearly tripped over her skirt in her haste to disembark the carriage. The footman caught her arm to steady her. She murmured thank you as she pulled away and hurried up the path to the front door.

Ffoulkes, or someone Clarissa presumed was Ffoulkes, opened the door as she approached. She sailed in and hurried straight upstairs, and had just reached the privacy and safety of her room when Lydia caught up to her.

"Clarissa," her stepmother hissed, catching her arm in a painful grip and opening the door. Releasing a slow breath, Clarissa turned to face her stepmother, then simply waited, unwilling to speak and draw more anger down upon herself.

"I never want to speak of this night again," Lydia repeated firmly. "But I just want to be clear that you will not see Lord Mowbray. How you could let him touch you..." The woman was clearly still furious, her breathing heavy as she paused and-no doubt- glared at Clarissa. "Your father would never forgive me if I let that man ruin you. And Prudhomme will not be welcome in our home anymore either. Courting you while ..." Her voice cracked, and Clarissa was even more convinced that Lydia had somehow been involved with the man. If he hadn't already been having an affair with her, he'd certainly worked hard at obtaining one. The woman was struggling under strong upset.

After a moment, Lydia gave up the struggle and turned away to hurry off to her own room. When that door slammed shut, Clarissa allowed the tension to drain from her body with a sigh. She then stepped into her bedroom, and started as a figure appeared from behind the door.

"I am sorry, my lady," her maid, Joan, said. "I did not mean to startle you. I was waiting for you to return so I could help you undress."

"Of course you were," Clarissa said quietly, and let the door close behind her. She was still getting used to the girl's silent ways. Her old maid had been slightly more outspoken, likely due to her age.

Joan set to work, but there was a tension about the girl while helping her undress that Clarissa wasn't used to. After several minutes, she finally said, "What is it, Joan? I can tell you want to say something, but-"

"I am sorry, my lady," the maid murmured, then blurted, 'Your gown is wrinkled, you have a mark on your face where it appears you have been slapped, your lips are slightly swollen as if you have been kissed, and I overheard what Lady Crambray said about Lord Mowbray. It seems obvious that something has gone on between the two of you. My lady, he ... they say his heart is as deformed as his face, and that he ..." Her voice trailed off as Clarissa turned a hard look her way. "I am just worried about you, my lady. You are sweet and kind and good, and-I think-a little naive. I would not wish to see him take advantage of you."

Clarissa turned away, anger burning inside her. Adrian had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration. He listened to what she said, to the things she missed or wished for, and he set out to give them to her. And he hadn't once tried to take advantage of her. For a moment, Clarissa considered telling Joan to mind her own business, but then she decided Adrian deserved better; he deserved for her to defend him. Besides, she wanted at least one person on her side, even if it was only her maid.

Settling onto the dressing table chair for Joan to let her hair down, Clarissa cleared her throat and recounted the night she'd first met Adrian, then the second time, and so on, not leaving out a single detail. Once she finished recounting everything, right up to the conversation Joan had overheard between Clarissa and her stepmother, Clarissa fell silent and waited.

"He sounds wonderful," Joan said in a quiet voice. "Nothing like those tales people whisper behind his back."

"He is wonderful," Clarissa said, and blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It was ridiculous, but she was extremely grateful that the maid thought well of Adrian. His own family did, of course; but they would. It was nice to have some objective validation of her own feelings for the man.

"Well," Joan said, finis.h.i.+ng brus.h.i.+ng out Clarissa's hair. "I think you should continue to see him. If he arranges another picnic, enjoy it."

"Really?" Clarissa asked.

"Certainly," the maid said firmly, then added, "My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft smile claims your lips. Tis obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be."

Clarissa blinked in surprise at the girl's suggestion, and remained silent as she finished preparing for sleep. Joan then turned down the covers, watched her slip into bed, wished her good night, and left the room. The maid's words were still playing through Clarissa's head as Joan pulled the door closed.

My lady, I have not seen you this happy in all the time I have worked here. Your eyes light up when you talk about him, and a soft, smile claims your lips. Tis obvious that if you are not in love with him already, you soon will be.

Was it true? she wondered. Was she falling in love with him? Or, was she even already in love with him?

Clarissa didn't know. All she knew was that she liked Adrian, that she was bored and weary when he wasn't around, and that she seemed to come alive only when he appeared. She laughed with him, and enjoyed talking to him and now that he'd kissed her ... it seemed to be all she could think about-that, and the next opportunity she might have to experience those kisses again. All of that seemed to suggest that she was falling in love with the man. And if she was ... it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Clarissa couldn't wait to see him again.

She just didn't know how it would happen.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

"Your shawl, my lady."

Clarissa blinked in confusion as Joan suddenly appeared at her side with the garment in hand. "My shawl?"

"Yes. You said you were chilly and asked me to bring you your shawl," Joan repeated firmly, then bent and tsked over a spot on Clarissa's skirt. "I fear we did not get all the punch out of your dress from the night you spilled it at the Brudmans' ball. Perhaps you should accompany me upstairs to change."

"What?" Clarissa squinted down at her skirt. Not that she would have been able to make out anything anyway, but she was sure this wasn't the gown she'd been wearing when she'd spilled the punch. That had been her forest green dress.

'Yes, yes, take her upstairs to change, Joan," Lydia said with obvious irritation. "The girl cannot be in a stained gown at my first ball. I do hope no one has noticed."

"I am sure they did not, my lady," Joan said soothingly, her hand firm as she pulled Clarissa to her feet.

"But..." Clarissa began only to be shushed by Joan, who rushed her through the ballroom and out of it. The maid didn't let her speak until they were in the hall, when Clarissa was allowed to whisper, "But this was not the gown I was wearing when I spilled punch at the Brudmans' ball."

"I know, my lady," her maid admitted, "but Lady Crambray has a bad memory, and I needed to get you out of there."

"Why?" Clarissa asked with surprise.

"Because there is a boy at the door with a message for you, and he will not give it to anyone but you."

"Oh," Clarissa said. "I wonder what it is?"

"I do not know, my lady. But it was just fortunate I happened to be pa.s.sing the door on the way upstairs, else Ffoulkes might have answered, and then your stepmother would know."

Clarissa grimaced. Ffoulkes was very proper and upright, and would certainly have informed Lydia. With Clarissa's luck, it would be a message from Adrian and she would never have known what it was, because Lydia would have s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter and burned it right in front of her.

"Do you think it is from Adrian?" she asked Joan hopefully. She hadn't seen him since the night of the Devereauxs' ball, a week ago, and all she'd been able to think of was how he'd treated her to a picnic and then kissed her. She'd been missing him terribly.

"I do not know, my lady, but if it is, you must tell him not to send messages like that. Tell him to send the boy to me in future. It will not raise eyebrows if a poor boy brings me a message. I can claim he is my little brother."

"Do you have a little brother?" Clarissa asked curiously as they approached the front door.

"No," Joan admitted. "I have no family at all anymore."

"I am sorry," Clarissa murmured, but they reached the door, and Joan merely shrugged and opened it to reveal a small boy of perhaps six on the front stoop.

"Here she is," Joan said, gesturing to Clarissa. "Now, give us the message."

The boy peered up at Clarissa, his eyes huge in a dirty face. He pulled something from inside his s.h.i.+rt and held it out. "I was told I'd get a coin for me trouble."

"Oh." Clarissa stared, nonplussed, and then turned to Joan. "My coin purse is up in my room."

"Here." Joan dug a small bag out of the folds of her skirt and handed over the money. "Off with you now."

"Thank you, Joan," Clarissa said as the maid closed the door. "Take a coin from my change purse to replace it."

"I would not presume to go into your purse, my lady," Joan murmured, then glanced up the hall as Ffoulkes appeared and started to walk toward them.

Taking the note from Clarissa, the maid tucked it between them as she took her lady's arm to lead her to the stairs, saying loudly, "Come, we had best take care of getting you changed, my lady."

Clarissa waited until they got to her room to open the message and try to read it. Of course, she couldn't read a darned thing without her spectacles, so Joan took it from her to read.

"It says, 'Meet me at the fountain.' 'Tis signed, 'A.M.'"

"A.M.? It is Adrian," Clarissa said happily.

"You must tell him to send the messages to me from now on," Joan reminded her with worry. "If Ffoulkes had got this and given it to your stepmother..."

'Yes," Clarissa agreed, then glanced around with surprise as the maid herded her to the door. "Should I not change first?"

"After," Joan said firmly. "If I change you now and he wrinkles your gown as he did last time, I shall just have to change you again."

"Oh, yes, of course," Clarissa said, but she was blus.h.i.+ng at how her gown had gotten wrinkled the last time. He might kiss her again, she realized, and she felt her toes curl up in her shoes at the very idea.

Joan walked her down to the main floor using the servants' stairwell, checked to be sure the hallway was empty, then hustled her out the French doors in the dining room to avoid guests or staff. Stopping at the door, die maid turned to her. "Can you make it from here?"

'Yes." Clarissa nodded. One of the advantages of the town house was that she knew her way around it and its grounds pretty well. She was certain she could make her way to the fountain without a.s.sistance.

"Good, then I shall wait here to sneak you back upstairs. It will give the two of you some privacy," Joan said. At the last moment she added, "Be careful."

"I will," Clarissa a.s.sured her, but could hear the frown in Joan's voice as the servant replied.

"Maybe I should come with you. You could-"

"No, no," Clarissa said quickly. "I shall be fine. And I will try to hurry."

"No, take your time. I do not want you rus.h.i.+ng and hurting yourself," Joan insisted, then opened the door and urged her out.

Clarissa slid through the door and made her way quickly but carefully toward where she knew the path would be that led down to the clearing with the fountain. She found the path easily enough and hurried along, excited at the prospect of seeing Adrian. It seemed so long. Lydia had canceled all their outings this past week and had refused any and all visitors. No matter who approached, Ffoulkes had answered the door with the announcement that the ladies Crambray were not in to visitors. Clarissa wasn't sure if it was meant as a punishment, or intentionally to keep her from Adrian, but in the end the result was the same: she hadn't seen him in a week.

Clarissa had been surprised to find that Lydia refused even to see Lady Havard and Lady Achard. The three women had been inseparable before this. It was more suggestion that Lydia had been having an affair with Prudhomme as she'd suspected, and that she was now refusing to see any of them out of humiliation.

Clarissa saw the blurry shape of the fountain ahead, and picked up speed in her eagerness to reach it and see Adrian. And then ... crash. She didn't see the branch she ran into. Light exploded inside her head, along with pain, and Clarissa stumbled forward several feet and felt herself falling.

When next she opened her eyes, it was to an anxious voice calling her name over and over. It took a moment for her to realize it was Adrian. Blinking, Clarissa winced as pain made an appearance. It was no little headache type of pain either, but a serious hammering along the front of her forehead. Clarissa quickly closed her eyes again.

"Oh, thank G.o.d," Adrian murmured by her ear, and she thought she felt him press a kiss to her brow.

"Adrian?" She forced her eyes open again. His face was dark above her, but almost in focus for a change.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "When I found you in the fountain, I thought you were dead."

"In the fountain?" Clarissa asked with confusion, and frowned as she raised a hand to touch his face. Water dripped down her arm. "Why am I wet?"

'You were in the fountain," Adrian repeated- slowly, as if the reduced speed might make it easier for her to comprehend. He eased her to an almost upright position in his arms. "How are you? Are you seeing double or anything?"

"I do not think so." She forced herself to sit up fully and take her own weight, then peered around the darkness surrounding them. She could see enough to know they were right beside the fountain. Adrian was wet, too, and she supposed it had happened when he'd pulled her out.

She turned to peer at the fountain, knowing exactly how it looked despite her blindness. The edifice had stood as long as she could recall, it being her favorite spot as a child. It was huge around the base, but really quite shallow, with perhaps a foot and a half to two feet of water. Enough to drown in, she supposed. "I was in the fountain?" she echoed.

'Yes."

"What was I doing there?" she asked with confusion.

"Floating," Adrian said. "I thought you'd fallen in and drowned."

"Fallen in." She recalled hurrying out to meet him, running into the branch and then cras.h.i.+ng forward... . She must have stumbled into the fountain, Clarissa realized with a frown. Then she decided it was good she hadn't changed into a clean dress after all.