“Of course you wouldn’t.”
Clarissa made a face. She was in no mood for his whims. She’d find shelter elsewhere. She started to shut the door. He stopped her by pushing one booted foot against it. “What are you doing skulking around out here?”
“I don’t believe that is your business.” She tried to shut the door again. He kept his boot in place.
“Oh, come, I told you what I was doing.”
“It isn’t a mystery,” she replied, nodding to his flask. And then, because she was in a foul mood, she had to ask, “Do you tire of behaving like a ploughman?”
He appeared to consider her question, and then, taking a good draw on the flask, answered, “If a ploughman does whatever he likes, I believe I’m fine with it.”
Of course. What was it Mrs. Taylor had always said? One can’t talk sense with a simpleton.
Or, apparently, an earl.
Clarissa decided to leave the door open. She didn’t have time for this. She made a fast turn and would have headed off to search for a place with more privacy, except he sat up then and hung out the door.
“Oh, come back. Don’t be a ninny.”
Those words stopped her. Slowly, she faced him. “What did you call me?”
He grinned. There was the devil in that expression. “You heard me.”
How dismissive. How rude. How everything everyone expected her to swallow.
Clarissa rounded on him. “I am well aware that for some reason I annoy you, but I have no idea why. Fortunately, I do not concern myself with your affairs. You mean nothing to me.” She emphasized her words by snapping her fingers, except her snap wasn’t very good, not in gloves. It ended up being more of an angry gesture and less cavalier than she would have liked.
He frowned and stretched his back. “Oh, please, Miss Taylor. No dramatics. However shall I stand it?” he finished with mock horror.
“I’m not being dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” he mimicked, and Clarissa felt like a pot ready to boil.
She never let herself be angry. Anger was the first step to sin. That is what the Reverend Taylor had always said. And although she didn’t know her feelings about sin, she knew those she depended upon wouldn’t be pleased with her if she spoke her mind or had a bout of frustration.
So she didn’t know the depths of her temper. She’d never allowed herself to experience it, until this moment.
Clarissa grabbed hold of the door with both hands and shoved it with such force, the earl fell back, holding his flask high so that he didn’t spill a drop.
“You, you, you, YOU.” She didn’t know why she was repeating the word except it felt good to give voice to her feelings. “I am tired of your attitude, my lord. Of you acting as if you know what I think or of judging me and always finding me coming up short. You are a small-minded man.”
“Ouch, that hurts,” he responded and then laughed.
“What is the matter with you? My life is falling apart. Everyone I thought I could trust is either gone or they have—” She paused, needing a word strong enough, and found it. “Betrayed me.” Oh, yes, that was a good word. “Of course, I don’t know what you would understand about the matter. You are his lordship. You live in your big house. You have generations of family behind you and never have to worry about being thrown into the streets if you don’t act pretty or if you say the wrong word and the family’s daughters complain. No one criticizes you or gives you the silent treatment. Oh, I hate the silent treatment.
“And the worst,” she continued, “is that I have so wanted to escape that house. And now I can’t. I won’t ever be able to leave. And I have to tell them and they will be furious. They want me gone. There will be a big meeting and everyone will talk about me. Poor Clarissa, what are we going to do with her? She has no one. She has nowhere to go. And I’m trapped. I will live my life trapped. Don’t you see how terrible it all is?”
To his credit, Lord Marsden, who appeared stunned by her verbal assault, had the good sense to merely nod.
“And I have to live with this,” Clarissa said. “I trusted he was going to come through for me. Instead, I see him choosing another. He chose another.”
Lord Marsden found his voice. “Who did?”
With all the disdain she could muster, Clarissa said, “You men are so blind.”
“Perhaps, but will you give me a hint?”
She ignored his request. Instead, she admitted, “I really didn’t care for him that much.” She talked more to herself than his lordship. Saying those words aloud was like uncorking a bottle. “He was kind. He was being kind. However, I am tired of kind. I did trust him. I believed he was true to his word. I wouldn’t have waited otherwise, and now I don’t know what to do. If I don’t marry him, what will become of me?”
“Ah, that is who you are talking about. What will become of you if you do marry him?”
Lord Marsden’s question caught her off guard.
“The answer is obvious. I’m safe.”
“And if you don’t?”
Her imagination took over. Everyone had given her dire predictions of the fate of women alone. “I will have to take a position being some old lady’s companion. Or I could fall into bad hands—”
“Bad hands?”
“Yes, I could be carried away by brigands.”
He leaned to hang out the window, his elbows on the door. “Being carried off sounds far more entertaining than marriage.”
“Are you mad? It sounds scary.”
“Well, life is scary.”
She frowned at him. “Only because you don’t have any challenges.”
“I have challenges.”
“Oh, yes? Such as?”
“There are so many expectations on my shoulders it is as if I am weighed down by blocks from ancient pyramids—”
“Blocks from pyramids? What are you talking about?”
“The big stone blocks that they used to make the pyramids.” He acted as if she should understand. “I feel as if I’m weighed down by one of them, much like Sisyphus, who had to roll that stone up a steep hill for eternity, except his is round and mine is rectangular.”
Clarissa frowned, and then she said carefully, “You are foxed.”
He held up the flask. “Here was your first clue. I do carry it off well, don’t I?”
“Not if I can notice.”
“I miss Old Andy.”
His change of topic caught her. “We all do. He was a kind man.”
Lord Marsden hummed his thoughts and then said, “He always gave good advice. Occasionally, he’d take me to task. He was the only one who would. See,” he said, wagging a finger at her, “that is what you are missing. Someone who can help you sort out what is bedeviling you. Of course, I have a sense of what you might need.”
“You do? You know nothing of me.”
“I have some clever powers of deduction.” She snorted her derision. He ignored her. “I am certain this all involves Thurlowe, who is one of my closest friends. He is also deadly dull. I admit it. I would say it to his face. In fact, I believe I have a time or two. All he thinks about is science, and studies and lectures and studies. And purpose. This is a big theme of his—”