Chapter 1
The Archer Mansion
London, 1813
“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Clarissa moaned. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing this scandalous gown! I look like a demi-rep on display at Covent Garden.”
Her best friend, Lillian, Lady Montegue, gave an irritated huff. “Nonsense. You look absolutely beautiful. That dress is divine, and your hair and jewels are exquisite. Everything is just as it should be except for that grimace you call a smile.”
Clarissa, better known to thetonas the widow of Captain Jeremy Middleton, felt the muscles in her jaw contract another notch. It seemed like forever since she’d last attended a ball. She’d never been enamored with large crowds and overheated, cavernous rooms, and this particular event was proving to be worse than anticipated. But Lillian had refused to listen to Clarissa’s excuses, roundly declaring that it was time, after a year and a half, to come out of deep mourning.
Clarissa cast her friend a reproachful glance. “You told me to look happy. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Well, you certainly don’t look happy,” Lillian replied. “You look ready to murder someone. I wish you would stop it.”
Clarissa gratefully dropped her feeble pretense. If only she could cover her bosom as easily as she could transform her face with a smile—or the lack of one. It would be a miracle if she didn’t pop out of the top of her gown before the evening was over.
Resisting the urge to tug the gauzy muslin up over her breasts, she wondered again how she had allowed Lillian to persuade her to wear so revealing a gown. Or, for that matter, to attend the biggest crush of the Little Season. After all, it wasn’t as if shehadto attract a husband. She had a substantial widow’s portion and still had the funds Jeremy had settled on her when they were married. Over a year had passed since her husband’s death, and the initial, searing pangs of grief had finally subsided. But Clarissa couldn’t escape the dull ache that filled her chest every time she thought of Jeremy.
She swallowed hard, forcing down a childish rush of tears. A sea of scarlet uniforms and vibrantly colored gowns swam before her blurred vision, a dazzling display of gaiety and wealth set off to advantage in the splendid ballroom of the Archer family mansion on Brooke Street. But to Clarissa, the red of the soldiers’ uniforms throbbed and pulsed under the blazing chandeliers like a gaping wound—a sickening reminder of all she had lost on the blood-soaked ramparts of a Spanish fort.
Even in the heat of the ballroom, cold prickles raced over her flesh and her heart thudded with a stuttering rhythm. She found it hard to catch her breath.
“What am I doing here, Lillian?” she forced out, barely able to keep her seat. Every muscle in her body urged her to flee to the quiet safety of the town house she shared with her elderly father-in-law, Colonel Middleton. “I’m too oldfor this kind of thing. It was very kind of you to invite me tonight, but I’m just coming out of mourning. And everyone is staring at me. I’m sure I’m making a complete fool of myself.”
Lillian shook her head in gentle reproof.
“Clarissa, you must stop thinking like that. You’re thirty-two—the same age as me. You don’t see me wearing those wretched gowns you’ve grown so fond of. It’s time to stop dressing like an old widow with one foot in the grave.”
“Sometimes I think Iwasburied in that grave in Spain,” Clarissa sighed. “Right alongside Jeremy.”
Lillian’s blue eyes grew misty.
“I know you feel that way, darling. But you’re very much alive, and more beautiful than ever. That’s why people are staring. You cast every other woman in this room into a complete shade—especially in that gown.”
Clarissa rolled her eyes, but the tight feeling inside her eased. Her friend rewarded her with a teasing smile.
“Jeremy used to love it when you dressed up,” Lillian said. “Do you remember? He was so proud of you, forever telling me how lucky he was that you chose him over all the fashionable young bucks who vied for your hand.”
Clarissa smiled at that, even though the memory of Jeremy’s ardent admiration brought her as much pain as pleasure. “I remember. He used to tease me about it, and tell me that he could never understand why I fell in love with such an ordinary fellow. But Jeremy was anything but ordinary. I’ve never known such a kind, wise man—before or since.”
Lillian nodded. “If he were here now, he would tell you not to spend the rest of your life pining for him. You’re still a young woman, Clarissa. You deserve to love, and to be loved again. That’s what Jeremy would want for you.”
Clarissa drew in a deep breath, the ache blooming inher chest. “I don’t know if I can love again. Not after what happened to Jeremy.”
Lillian studied her through narrowed eyes. After several considering moments, she seemed to reach a decision. “He would certainly not want you to molder away in that gloomy house, turning yourself into a nurse for his invalid of a father. Colonel Middleton is as rich as Croesus. He could hire ten nurses to attend him, if only you would agree to it.”
Clarissa shook her head. “But—”
Lillian waved away her attempt to protest. “You know it’s true. And you know part of you wants it, too, or you wouldn’t have come here tonight.”
Clarissa let out a grudging laugh. “I never could hide anything from you, could I?”
“Nor can you resist me. I’ve known what’s best for you since the day we met. I was the one who introduced Jeremy to you, wasn’t I? You must trust me to know what you need.”
Clarissa tamped down a flare of irritation. People always claimed to know what was best for her. And they never had any compunction about telling her what to do.
Not that she could blame her friends and family. Always, she’d been painfully shy. A milksop, her father used to call her. Only Jeremy Middleton had made her feel confident and happy. But her husband had gone off to war and to his death, leaving her alone and frightened once more.
