Nigel immediately looked away, embarrassment staining his cheeks. Roman huffed a laugh and strode purposely toward the future duke. Perhaps he had the power to make things a little easier for Clarice, after all.
Nigel had been losing in one of Roman’s gaming hells as of late. Losing big. Roman had allowed it because he’d known that eventually, when the little prick became the Duke of Clayton, he would have the means to pay him back. With interest.
“What are you doing here?” Nigel whispered furiously when Roman approached him. “I didn’t know you and the duke were friends.”
“We weren’t,” Roman replied easily, taking a drink from a passing waiter and leaning casually against the wall beside him. “I’m just here to collect on the debt you owe me.”
“Are you threatening me?” Nigel sputtered. “How dare you, sir! This is not the time nor place.”
“I think it’s exactly the right time and place. Might as well collect while you’re actually flush, before you run the entire estate into the ground.” Roman fought a smile as the smaller man shifted uncomfortably. The last thing Nigel probably wanted was for all these good people to know the extent to which he’d wagered on his future inheritance. “Besides, I’m willing to offer you a way out.”
Nigel swallowed, his shifty gaze darting around the room to see if anyone was paying attention to them. “Wh-what do you mean?”
Roman nodded his head in Clarice’s direction. “What do you plan to do about the widow?”
“The widow?” Nigel shook his head. “Uncle didn’t leave her a penny. As soon as we’re certain she’s not with child, she’ll be sent packing, of course.”
Roman had feared as much. Clarice’s fate rested entirely in this bastard’s hands, and Nigel didn’t have a shred of common decency.
“I’m not worried, though,” Nigel hastened to assure him, obviously realizing he’d suddenly introduced doubts about whether he’d be inheriting the dukedom at all. “She and my uncle were married for nine years. Since she didn’t manage to provide an heir during all that time, I doubt it will miraculously happen now. That’s why my uncle didn’t leave her anything in his will. She’s barren. Completely useless as a wife.”
Useless? Fury filled him at Nigel’s dismissive tone. In Roman’s opinion, Clarice’s worth lay in her sharp wit, brilliant mind, and tender heart. He hated to think of the duke making her feel as though she wasn’t enough. As though her only worth was similar to that of a broodmare.
Swallowing down all the things he truly wanted to say, he affected an aura of boredom with the entire conversation. “I want you to see to it that the duchess is well taken care of. If you provide her with an appropriate home of her own and a generous monthly allowance, I’ll be willing to forgive the rest of your debt.”
Nigel narrowed his eyes, obviously realizing that he could be fairly generous with Clarice and still come out ahead. “Why would you do that? What is she to you?”
“That’s none of your business,” Roman said shortly. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Hesitating for only a moment, Nigel nodded eagerly. “We do.”
“I’ll want it in writing, and you’re never to tell a soul of this arrangement,” Roman replied. “I’ll send my solicitor by in the morning with your vowels.”
He turned away, feeling he’d done all that he could. Protectiveness surged within him as he risked one more glance in Clarice’s direction. She once more stood by herself on the other side of the room, a solitary figure in black, looking utterly miserable and alone.
Perhaps he’d never get the chance to hold her and comfort her the way he wanted, but at least he’d made certain she’d be taken care of. Sighing with regret for all that could never be, he headed for the door.
Chapter Two
Eighteen months later...
“Lavender looks lovely on you, Clarice.”
Clarice frowned down at the skirt of her lavender gown with mixed emotions before giving Natalia a grim smile. Her stepdaughter’s family had just arrived in London for the Season, and Natalia had stopped by to pay her a visit before continuing on to the townhouse they’d rented. “After having worn unrelenting black for the past year and a half, I’m thrilled to finally wear something with at least a hint of color, but now I have yet another six months of nothing but muted grays and lavender.”
“At least the color suits you,” Natalia replied supportively. “I don’t think it would look nearly as good on me.”
Natalia was a lovely brunette with blue eyes, and Clarice was certain lavender would look gorgeous on her, but she took the compliment, even though she thought the color washed out her own white-blond hair and pale skin.
“How have you been?” Natalia asked. The two women hadn’t seen each other for nearly six months, and Clarice had missed her dearly. Sometimes she wished that she’d taken Natalia up on her offer to move to Scotland, but much to her surprise, Nigel had granted her a lovely townhouse and a generous allowance that had allowed her to continue to live in London—no doubt at Natalia’s behest. Still, the strict rules placed on a widow had made the last year and a half nearly unbearably lonely.
If it weren’t for the friendships she’d formed in the Wicked Widows League, she’d have certainly gone mad.
Her frown deepened as she picked at the edge of her cuff. “I miss him, of course,” she lied softly, “but I’ll be glad to go to half-mourning. This past year, all the solitude, has been very hard for me.”
“I know it has,” Natalia murmured, reaching over and patting her hand. “You were not made to be alone. Clarice. You deserve to finally find some happiness.”
Biting her lip, a bit nervous to bring up the subject, but having no one else to talk to about such things, she reached for the book on the table near her and pulled out the engraved calling card she’d received all those months ago.
