"Lord Stratton seems quite taken with you." Her mother's voice was smug, as if she had something to do with it.
Yes, he's a very good actor, she wanted to say. Instead, she murmured, "He's very kind."
"He is handsome, I'll grant you that," her mother said. As if perhaps kind and handsome were synonyms. "And so well connected. Your father is pleased."
Clarissa nodded as her mother continued on. She didn't bother to listen. For the first time in hours, Clarissa felt like she could breathe properly. Her shoulders relaxed now that her arms weren't brushing up against Kit's. Even her cheeks quit aching now that she could stop the relentless smiling.
Was this what married life would be like? Tension and false smiles in public, and stilted silence when they were alone?
Not for long, she told herself. Just until… What? She'd provided a son? Her belly churned as she tried to imagine this new reality.
Then what? Would she and the children go live in the country so Kit could have his freedom? Her heart ached at the thought. But that was what she'd promised, hadn't she? That was the bargain. They'd each have their independence.
Her mother hadn't stopped prattling on about Kit, but now she ended with, "Yes, you've done very well, dear."
You've done very well. There it was again. The praise she'd always longed for. And now it was being handed out like candy.
It should have felt like a triumph. Instead, it filled her with unease. Had she done well? Was this what success felt like, because she did not care for it. She did not like it one bit.
She spotted John nearby, and his gaze met hers. He gave her a small smile and a nod of acknowledgment as they passed. But she hated that too.
Oh, not John. No, of course not. Her brother had been nothing but supportive and encouraging these past weeks.
But he was not the actor Kit was, and he could not hide the sadness in his eyes whenever he looked at her. It wasn't disappointment, necessarily. It was more like sympathy.
And maybe just a whiff of pity.
He'd never say so aloud, but she knew John disapproved. But John was, deep down, a romantic. He'd been fortunate enough to find real affection and love with his wife, and he wanted the same for his sister.
She couldn't fault him for that, but she was growing tired of his pity all the same.
It wasn't her fault she had not found love. She'd tried with Edmund, hadn't she? And look where that had landed her.
Her mother brought them to a cluster of young ladies Clarissa recognized. They were Lady Arabella's friends from the milliner's shop. Lady Arabella had declined the invitation, and Clarissa couldn't say she was sorry. Her friends were on their best behavior, and they fell into an easy conversation with her mother, in which Clarissa was fortunately not expected to participate much.
So she just kept smiling. It was better that way. With her lips pressed together like this, there was little chance she'd say something to embarrass her mother.
From where she stood, she could see Kit talking to Estella now. His smile was easy, his posture relaxed. But as Clarissa watched, she saw Estella lean in and ask him something with a frown of concern—and Kit's expression flickered.
It only lasted a heartbeat, but Clarissa caught it. A crack in the illusion. A glimpse of the real Kit beneath. A second later his smile was back, and Clarissa might have imagined it.
But she didn't. And that little glimpse of the real Kit was enough to leave her winded. Her lungs couldn't quite get their fill, and the room felt suffocatingly warm.
The thing was, she knew that flicker. She'd seen it many times. The first was at the opera when he'd spotted his father. And again at the luncheon after the duke had walked away.
Right now, the moment she remembered with acute clarity was when she'd seen it on the terrace that night just before Lord Hartley had interrupted. What if I—? he'd started.
She never had figured out how he'd meant to finish.
And here it was again. Tonight. The briefest glimpse of a very real emotion.
He was in pain. And he was hiding it.
Because you told him to. She shifted in place, the urge to go to him making her limbs twitch. She'd made it clear that there was no room for real emotion in this farce of theirs, and he was abiding by that.
The urge to cry came on so suddenly, she had to blink rapidly to fight it.
"Are you alright, Lady Clarissa?" One of Arabella's friends had apparently noticed the convulsive blinking.
