The Mysterious Lord Millcroft. Virginia Heath

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СКАЧАТЬ her with bravado, as men usually did. He was a genuine hero. A man who had selflessly been prepared to sacrifice his own life to save another and was lucky to be alive. Every gentleman she knew would have crowed about his bravery from the highest rooftops, revelling in the deserved admiration he received from his peers. Not so Mr Leatham. As her sister had promised, he was a man of few words and those he did utter were curt. That curtness didn’t put her off him in the slightest because behind his brief, gruff answers and standoffishness, he had nice eyes. Kind eyes. Eyes that told her he listened carefully to everything she said rather than treat her as a purely decorative companion whose only purpose was to listen to what he said. Eyes that frequently, shyly struggled to hold her gaze as he spoke.

      How adorable was that?

      Once or twice, between glares, Clarissa was convinced he even blushed—which was an unusually endearing trait in a man in his prime and one which made her predisposed to like Mr Leatham a great deal. Even though she knew next to nothing about him and had promised herself not to be so trusting ever again with so little background knowledge of a man’s true character.

      ‘I can’t say I know any Leathams. Who are your people?’ A ploy to change the subject, although she was curious about the enigmatic man who said so little but she suspected saw so much.

      ‘They were farmers. In Norfolk.’

      ‘Were?’

      ‘I’m the last of the line.’

      He said it in such a matter-of-fact way, as if being all alone in the world didn’t matter, but immediately her heart went out to him. Clarissa hated being alone at the best of times because it allowed the doubts to creep in. She preferred to be in company because when socialising her mind was occupied and socialising was one of the few things she was good at. To have no one who cared about you—loved you—to be all alone with your thoughts didn’t bear thinking about. How awful must it be to have nobody to go to in times of need? Nowhere safe and comforting to escape to when you felt inadequate, which she did daily. Or when the bottom had fallen out of your world and your poor heart was bleeding.

      ‘Is the Season very dull this year?’ Bella stepped in to save him and inadvertently hit another sore spot with her question. They both knew that the most exciting entertainments happened in the spring when everyone was in town because the weather was at its best.

      ‘It is the same as it always is.’ Except it wasn’t. ‘I thought I would squeeze in a quick visit to my favourite sister before the garden parties begin in earnest.’ She flicked her eyes towards the reticent man in the chair opposite and hoped she appeared and sounded nonchalant. ‘It all becomes very tiring Mr Leatham.’

      ‘I wouldn’t know, my lady.’ Although something in his dark, intelligent eyes told her he knew much more than he let on. Saw far more than he said, which was unnerving and this time it was Clarissa who looked away first because she was frightened he would see the truth. Beneath the pretty face there was nothing else. An empty void of disappointing, below-average woman.

      ‘Clarissa is being courted by a duke.’

      ‘Is she now.’

      ‘Yes indeed.’ Bella had turned to her conspiratorially. ‘Do we anticipate the announcement of your engagement imminently?’

      The canny Mr Leatham had seen her lip tremble, his dark eyes had flicked to it, then back to look into hers, but regardless the practised lie still tripped off her tongue.

      ‘I haven’t said yes yet.’

      Because the Duke still hadn’t asked. Not once in the eighteen months of their much-gossiped-about acquaintance had the word marriage come up in conversation, let alone talk of affection, and Clarissa had become quite overt in her hints. He waltzed with her at every party. Sent her a bouquet of scarlet hot-house roses every Wednesday, drove her up and down Rotten Row each Saturday when the rest of Mayfair was there, all of which had served to scare off every other suitor she’d had, but the wretch hadn’t so much as hinted at making their liaison official or once tried to steal a kiss. The conflicting behaviours had kept her on tense tenterhooks from the outset, something the Duke doubtless knew, but didn’t seem to care about.

      At first, Clarissa had assumed those things would come with time, that he was just being careful as a man befitting his high station should be careful when choosing a wife, but now she knew better. The Duke of Westbridge, although enamoured, wasn’t nearly enamoured enough. She had accidentally overheard his own mother say as much in the retiring room at the Renshaws’ ball only last week. A cruel coincidence seeing as that was the second ball at which he had failed to waltz with her once despite the fact she had saved both for him, and the third in which he had waltzed with Lady Olivia Spencer. The latest and brightest Incomparable—now Clarissa’s significantly younger rival. If the gossip columns were to be believed—and she had no reason to doubt them—Lady Olivia had also received a bouquet of scarlet roses last Wednesday.

      Thankfully, they hadn’t learned that Clarissa’s roses had suddenly been relegated to pink else she’d be a laughing stock as well as yesterday’s news. She’d stamped on the damning stems before packing her bags and dragging her surprised maid halfway up the country, praying that absence really did make the heart grow fonder. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, it was now her only remaining hope of securing a suitable husband and making something of the poor arsenal of attributes the good Lord had graced her with.

      ‘I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before we all have to refer to you as your Grace.’

      Bella’s teasing tone was almost her undoing, but she managed to force a smile in response before hiding behind her own teacup, thoroughly disgusted at her own youthful foolishness at allowing herself to be seduced by the idea of being better than she was. Then she caught Mr Leatham staring at her quizzically. Almost as if he knew that the whole Incomparable Lady Clarissa was indeed one big, fat sham and the real Clarissa wasn’t much of a catch for anyone. A sad truth which couldn’t be denied.

      After that, the rest of the lunch was pure torture. Mr Leatham listened to Bella regale tale after tale about Clarissa’s legions of suitors, expecting her to embellish certain stories in her customary witty manner. It was exhausting and humbling to remember exactly how far she had fallen since her empty head had been turned. When Bella had insisted her patient return to bed because he looked worn out, Clarissa, too, pleaded tiredness from her travels. She needed time to lick her wounds in private and to repair her mask before dinner, which had been more of the same—only worse. Much worse.

      * * *

      Throughout the evening she had not only had to contend with Mr Leatham’s intelligent, silent assessment as she pretended to be engrossed in a book to avoid conversation, but the sight of her baby sister and her husband together. Deliriously happy, perfectly content. Hopelessly in love. A stark reminder that Clarissa had failed to manage that in much the same way as she failed at everything else Bella excelled at. Yet hardly a surprise really. Bella had substance and Clarissa had none. Dreaming of finding a man who loved her was as futile as believing she could pull the wool over the eyes of the ton indefinitely.

      Fleeing here had been a huge mistake. Her unexpected visit would be fleeting. Another day at most. Any more would likely destroy what was left of her self-esteem and render her a gibbering, self-pitying wreck. If she shed any more tears, it would show in her face—while Lady Olivia’s fresh face would undoubtedly be strain-free.

      She let her maid come in and help her prepare for bed, endured the pain of her hair being bound in the tight rags which kept her trademark ringlets in place, better than any curling irons, СКАЧАТЬ