The Clarendon Rose (28 page)

Tina forced herself to ignore the sinking feeling she experienced at that announcement.
 
It upset her to realize how much she would miss him.
 
They had been married less than a week—had known each other for not much longer—and already the thought of his absence evoked a strange kind of pain.
 
But then, you didn’t need much time at all to fall in love with the man.
 
So, it should hardly be surprising that you could as easily accustom yourself to his presence.
Somehow, that particular line of reasoning did little to console her.

“I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

He nodded, already turning to leave.
 
Then, he paused and swung back around.
 
He walked swiftly to where she sat and took her face between his hands before leaning in to give her a penetrating kiss that melted her from the inside out.
 

Then, he released her, and left without a backwards glance.

The rest of the day dragged by without Clarendon’s company, and she spent more time than she liked lost in thoughts about her new husband and the strange circumstances of their marriage.
 
But, she also managed to keep herself on task for a goodly amount of the day.
 
Nonetheless, it was with some relief that she greeted the announcement that dinner would soon be ready.
 

Of course, she was not particularly looking forward to the meal itself.
 
Even with Clarendon and Edmund as buffers between herself and the dowager duchess, the other woman’s sulks and petty digs had contrived to make the evening repast an awkward affair over the last few days.
 
As Tina allowed Jane to tidy her hair and dress it more formally, she could only imagine how unpleasant it would be with one of those buffers absent.
 

But, to her surprise, other than Edmund’s talk about India and the progression of his preparations, the meal passed uneventfully—no snide comments or nasty asides.
 
After they had finished, the two women rose to take their leave.

Edmund winked at Tina.
 
“I shan’t be long,” he murmured and Tina flashed him a smile.

As she and the dowager entered the sitting room, the other woman spoke, “I’m so glad to see that you are going to be reasonable about my son’s escapades.”

“I’d hardly call Edmund’s trip to India an escapade, Your Grace.”

“I was referring to my other son, Your Grace.”
 
The dowager’s smile was frosty.
 

Tina flushed at the woman’s tone.
 
“Ah yes, my husband,” she said, deliberately emphasizing the word.
 
She noted the irritation on the dowager’s face with some satisfaction, even though Tina knew she was just being petty.

“Your husband, yes.
 
I’ve often noted that my elder son is a man of intense drives.
 
It is good that you’ve decided to resign yourself to that aspect of his personality—fashionable marriages can often be quite successful after all, and it is not our place as wives to inquire too closely into the reasons for our husbands’ trips to London.”

Tina felt the air whoosh out of her lungs as the implications of the dowager’s comments became clear.
 
She slowly sank down into a seat.
 
No doubt the duchess is glad to see her barbs hit home so effectively.

“Of course, my dearest Charles never indulged in such peccadilloes during our marriage, but I would have understood if he had,” the duchess continued, perching on a nearby sofa, while Tina sat, suddenly rigid, her expression schooled into blankness.

“I’m sure you would have,” Tina managed as she tried to recover herself.
 
Hadn’t she begun to suspect that Clarendon’s interest was starting to stray?
 
Perhaps his claim of business in town really was a pretext.
 
He may well have sampled what she had to offer, found her lacking, and decided to set up a London establishment in order to address his real needs.
 
You’re overreacting, Tina.
 

But the insidious notion would not leave her.
 

The dowager continued to speak in that confiding, consolatory tone, talking about how men’s drives were so very different from those of women and how it was the wife’s duty to look the other way when her husband chose to stray.
 
Tina rose abruptly, unable to listen to any more.

Then, turning back towards the dowager, Tina leveled a cold glare at the woman who had gone to every effort to ensure Tina was aware of her status as an interloper who lived off the charity of others.
 
This woman had unrelentingly disparaged every aspect of Tina’s appearance, demeanor and background, often hinting that all Tina’s flaws could be traced back to her scandalous parents and their inferior bloodlines.

Often enough—particularly in the months just following her arrival at the Somersby household—Tina had retreated from these assaults to shed private tears and lick her wounds in solitude.
 
Edmund and Uncle Charles had both spoken to the other woman, but that had not curbed the duchess—only made her more discreet, at least in front of her husband.
 

Enough of what the dowager said had sunk in over the years—certainly, Tina had never thought of herself a real family member.
 

Still, after the first while, Tina had also learned to harden herself against the dowager’s attacks.
 
She had learned to tune them out, disregard them—or, at the very worst, to swallow her retorts and rage in private.
 
But now, for the first time in years, the dowager had truly pierced Tina’s defenses.

Anger helped Tina smother the pain she felt at the thought of Clarendon’s infidelities—that could wait until later.
 
Tilting her head from her standing position, she regarded the dowager, her features bland.
 
The other woman trailed off in the face of Tina’s blank stare, but still Tina held it, unwavering, until the dowager began to shift uncomfortably.

“What is it?” the older woman asked eventually, her tone defensive.
 
“Why are you looking me like that?”

“Why do you think?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion why someone like you would see fit to stare so rudely—though, of course, it is hardly surprising.”

“What an odd coincidence,” Tina replied pleasantly.
 
“I was just standing here trying to fathom why someone like
you
would see fit to speak so rudely—though of course, it
is
hardly surprising.”

The dowager rose, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at Tina with open dislike.
 
“Such insolence!”

“Indeed,” Tina retorted, her tone still light.
 
“That is
precisely
the word I would use.”

“I shall not stand for it!”
 

Tina bared her teeth in a smile that was not a smile at all.
 
“You are welcome to take your leave at any time, Your Grace,” she replied, the hint of a growl in her voice.
 
The dowager’s eyes widened.
 

Tina ignored the flash of shame she felt at indulging in such small-mindedness—she had spent too many years forcing herself into a stoicism she often did not feel, because of this woman’s malice.

The woman turned to leave, head high, when Tina reached out and grabbed her arm.
 
This was the first time she had ever touched the dowager and she felt the older woman’s body tense.

“But before you undertake the long, tedious journey to Clarendon House, just answer me this: why?
 
I’ve always known that you feel I must never be permitted to forget my place.
 
But I have never been able to fathom how you thought I could possibly lose sight of what a worthless, lowly specimen I am, with you constantly reminding me of it.
 
Would it really have hurt anything to show a little civility now and then?”

The duchess drew herself to her full height, though that still left her several inches short of Tina.
 
Tilting her chin up to glare at her nemesis, the dowager straightened her shoulders.
 
For those brief moments, she actually acquired a touch of the dignity of her title.
 

Watching the dowager draw the tatters of her dignity about her, Tina finally felt a surge of sadness for the bitter creature who had caused such torment over the years.

“You are impudent,” the dowager said, then swept from the room without a backward glance.

Tina slumped as she watched her leave.
 
“And you are a sad, petty woman,” she murmured on a sigh.
 

She sat down again, still thinking about the dowager.
 
Tina had finally spoken out, but she did not feel any particular flush of victory, for all that the dragon had been vanquished.
 
She just felt like a bully who had taken advantage of her power over someone else.
 

Edmund found her frowning and lost in thought.
 
He looked around, eyebrows raised.
 
“Now where’s that darling mother of mine?”

“I’m afraid I banished her, Edmund.
 
I’m sorry.”

He stared at her, expression almost comical with surprise.
 
“Did you actually speak out, Tina?
 
That’s fabulous.
 
About bloody time, I say, if you’ll pardon my language.”

“I suggested it might be time for her to leave,” Tina clarified, for he had evidently missed the full implications of what she said.
 
“And you’ll be going soon, too, which just made me realize that it means you might not be seeing as much of her as you’d like.”

Edmund sobered, his mouth wry as he sank down beside her.
 
“I hate to say it, Tina, but I’ll be glad of the break.
 
I know she’s my mother, but she’s been plaguing me terribly while you and Clarendon have been closeted away in the study.
 
I’ve taken to staying out as much as possible, just to avoid her.”

“Is
that
why you’ve been out so much?”
 
Tina couldn’t resist teasing him, for Jane had recently reported that Lord Edmund was now a regular caller at Sir Roland’s residence.
 
In addition, he was frequently seen walking or riding with the lovely Miss Fielding.

“
Et tu
, Valentina?” Edmund affected a hurt expression, but Tina couldn’t help grinning at his heightened color.
 
“Don’t tell me you’ve also heard the ridiculous rumors?”

“Are they ridiculous?”
 

Edmund sighed.
 
“I admit to being surprised at what good company she is, but it’s nothing to merit all these wild speculations.”

Tina grew serious.
 
“You really shouldn’t toy with the girl, you know.
 
You’ll be leaving soon, and she’ll be bereft.”

“Good God, Tina, it’s nothing like that!
 
Miss Fielding will be having a London season next year.
 
She is delightful company and I have every confidence she’ll make an excellent match there—certainly far better than what she might find with a stubborn and impoverished younger son bound for India and determined to make his own way in the world.”
 

She examined his expression and found genuine regret, tinged with a hint of pain.
 
He looked away, his mouth twisting into a smile.
 
“You always could read me too well.
 
Miss Fielding may fancy herself enamored of me—though I can’t even be sure of that, for I think it as possible she’s simply playing the coquette for her upcoming Season. But regardless, she’s a young thing.
 
She’ll be over it within a month of my departure.”

“And you?” Tina asked softly.

He shrugged.
 
“I expect I will be kept busy enough once I arrive.
 
Though the passage will be a difficult one—confined to a ship with little to distract me.”

“Except thoughts of Miss Fielding.
 
Why don’t you speak, Edmund?”

“Miss Fielding knows I’m respectable and am unlikely to compromise her in any way. Which makes me the perfect target on which to practice her feminine wiles without fear of consequences.
 
She’s quite good, you know.”

Tina raised her brows.
 
“Evidently.
 
But why not offer for her?
 
Tell her how you feel.
 
She may surprise you.”

He turned to look at her, head tilted.
 
“Why don’t
you
tell Clarendon how you feel, Tina?” he asked, his tone sardonic.
 
“He may surprise you.”

Tina stiffened.
 
“That’s different.”

“In what way, exactly?
 
Ah yes.
 
You two are actually married.
 
Committed to each other.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t say anything, Edmund.
 
Surely you must see it!
 
I speak out—and not only embarrass myself, but also elicit his pity because he doesn’t feel the same way.
 
He may be infatuated with me for now—“
though I cannot even be sure of that anymore,
she amended bitterly, “—but that’s likely to fade after a time.
 
And then I’ll have to face him the next day, and the day after.
 
And on and on, all the while knowing he pities me—that I’m some pathetic, languishing creature in his eyes.”

“Ah love, that’s doing it a bit brown, wouldn’t you say?”

She ignored his interjection.
 
“You on the other hand, can speak.
 
The worst she can do is refuse.
 
And then you leave, no worse off than before, but at least never feeling regret that you did not act.
 
If you know, then you’ll never need wonder what she might have said, if only you had dared.
 
And you will never have to face her again if you don’t want to.”