The Viscount’s Darling Adventure by Maggie Dallen

6

Clarissa stood in the crush of the theater’s lobby, her head seemingly mounted on a swivel. Back and forth, she scanned the crowd.

Was he here?

She looked to her left and then to her right as though she hadn’t made that same visual pass moments before. A week had passed since the disastrous dinner with the flying cutlery and the realization that the man she’d fallen instantly in love with was her family’s sworn enemy. Lord Ware.

Even thinking his name caused her to shiver.

Because the woman who’d been so certain she’d never find anyone had fallen in love at first sight. All right. Perhaps not first sight since they’d been wearing masks. But it had been love at first...conversation. She’d been so certain they’d shared a connection.

She bit her lip as she scoured the crowd one last time. Still no sign of him.

She’d seen Lord Ware one other time since the night of the dinner party. He’d been cool, distant. Annoyingly so. But also… She sighed.

His controlled demeanor had quieted much of the whispers that always seemed to follow her family and for that, she was grateful. And she had to confess, much like her sister-in-law Evelyn, who was always polite, she better understood the merit of social grace watching the way he navigated awkward interactions.

It was something to consider.

“He’s here,” Mariah whispered in her ear as she tugged on Clarissa’s sleeve. “I should have known they’d come. For a while, we were never at the same events and now, we can’t seem to get away from them. Are they doing it on purpose?”

“Where?” Clarissa asked, her head twisting about once again as she ignored Mariah’s question. Partially because she had no clue of the answer. Were all these meetings intentional? But mostly because she couldn't search and talk at the same time. Making one last desperate sweep of room, she found him. He stood near the doors, his gaze locking with hers. Her breath caught as he started toward her.

For a minute she allowed her imagination to run wild again. He came over here to tell her that he’d changed his mind. That it didn’t matter she was the Earl of Darling’s sister. He wished to court her. Marry her.

This romantic side of her she didn’t even know existed swelled up like a rising tide, filling her with light hope and a giddy need to be close to him.

She stomped her foot as though that would stamp out these silly thoughts.

“I know,” Mariah replied. “He’s infuriating.”

She grimaced, not looking at her sister. Truth be told, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Mariah was usually so in tune with her feelings, but when it came to Lord Ware, they didn’t seem to understand one another at all.

Granted, she still hadn’t told her family about their interlude at the masquerade. It felt like her special secret, her evening to cherish. She was certain they wouldn’t understand. She’d thought Mariah might, but now it seemed her sister found Lord Ware vexing—simply by existing. “Infuriating? How so?”

Mariah’s hand tightened on her arm. “He always looks angry, and his tone is so stiff. He’s attempting to torture us by continually seeking us out, I just know it.”

She did look away from Lord Ware then to focus her attention on her sister. Her brows drawing together, her lips parted. How could Mariah not see the truth? “That’s not true. He’s—” Clarissa’s voice came out louder than she’d intended, and her entire family stopped to listen.

They were guests of Lady Harriet’s, but their hostess had left momentarily to greet a friend, leaving the family alone in the crowd. Which meant she had no one to save her from explaining. But when it came to Lord Ware, she wasn’t certain she wished to explain anything. She was too busy feeling.

“He’s what?” Tabetha asked, her hand on her fiancé's arm.

She turned to her other sister, letting out a sigh of resignation. Clearly she needed to explain because apparently no one else had noticed. “He hasn’t been antagonizing us. He’s been smoothing the public tensions between our families.”

The entire family went still as they considered this.

Tabetha’s fiancé, the Duke of Walton, cocked his head. “By Jove, I do believe you’re right.”

Mariah shook her head. “I can’t deny it's true, but I have to confess, I wish he could be a bit kinder about it. He always looks as though talking to us is the most painful thing he’s ever done.”

Clarissa suspected it just might be exactly that. Painful. It pained her whenever they spoke, and she wasn’t nearly as concerned about social propriety as most others.

But then again, the more time that passed, the more she wondered if she’d done everything since the masquerade exactly wrong. At least the parts that involved Lord Ware. What if she’d been open and honest from the start?

“Good evening,” his deep voice reverberated through her and she jumped. Mariah’s squeezed her arm tighter.

Clarissa dipped into a curtsy, made harder by Mariah’s iron grip.

“Ware,” Walton replied with a tilt to his chin.

“Lovely evening for the theater,” Lord Ware started, standing straighter.

“It’s raining,” Tabetha interjected.

“Yes,” he replied. “Quite.”

Silence fell again, and Clarissa shifted. She wanted to say something. Anything. That wasn’t true. She wished to say real things. Like how she appreciated his efforts to keep the peace between their families, and that...she wished she’d asked his name that night.

Even better, she wished that she’d leaned in at Lady Harriet’s dinner party and, when he’d asked if she wanted to travel to Africa, she’d made some clever remark about how she’d rather face a pack of lions than the matrons of the ton. Mostly, she wanted to tell him that she still thought about the masquerade constantly.

But if she started talking, all the words might tumble out.

So she didn’t say any of it, and no one else spoke either. Lord, she wished Evelyn were here this evening. Even Darius might have been a help.

No, probably not.

“I wish you all a pleasant evening,” Lord Ware said a bit louder than was necessary. But many had stopped around them to witness the interaction and the uncomfortable silence was nearly as bad as glares and barbs.

“Same to you,” she murmured. “Thanks so much for your well wishes. They were most appreciated.”

Tabetha scrunched her brows as she looked at Clarissa. What? she mouthed as she stared at her youngest sister.

But Clarissa didn’t reply, and with a stiff nod Lord Ware turned again, rejoining his aunt and uncle on the other side of the room.

“Well wishes?” Tabetha repeated as soon as he was out of earshot. “Since when did have a pleasant evening become worthy of well wishes?”

“I agree,” Mariah chimed in. “That sort of minimal effort—”

Clarissa grimaced. “He is trying. Can you say the same for us?”

Her family fell silent again just as Lady Harriet returned. “Did I see Lord Ware? What a wonderful surprise,” their hostess gushed. “I’m so glad relations have improved between your two families.”

“As am I,” Clarissa added with a pleasant smile plastered on her face.

Lady Harriet gave her a long, exaggerated wink. “I’m sure you are. And all the better, the Ainsworth box is directly next to ours.”

Her family managed to not audibly groan. Barely.

But Lady Harriet’s words seemed to suck the air from around them. Not that Lady Harriet noticed. Their hostess turned with a flourish, her dark red silk gown rustling as she loudly called, “We should make our way to our seats. The performance is sure to start soon.” She proceeded up the stairs, head high as she smiled and waved to several other patrons.

Tabetha, Walton, and Mariah followed, looking more like they were marching to a funeral than to the opera’s performance of the Alcina.

“What are they doing here?” Mariah asked over her shoulder. “I thought Handel had all but fallen out of favor. Why would they bother to come?”

“We’re here,” she replied through a clenched jaw. “Why should they not be allowed to attend?”

Better question, when had her family become so entrenched in their feelings of ill will? She’d always seen them as the victims of the Ainsworths’ cruelty, but she wondered how much of the bad feelings were brought on by their own behavior.

They settled into their seats, Clarissa on the far left side of the box. Which would have been fine, but as the Ainsworths sat, Lord Ware took the seat to the most right, putting him within an arm’s length of her person. She could have reached out and touched him.

Her fingers itched to do exactly that. She remembered the feel of his strong arm under her hand, his touch gentle.

“Do you smell something?” Charlotte’s mother asked Lord Ware, leaning around him to make eye contact. “I’m getting a whiff of—”

“Aunt,” Lord Ware cut her off sharply, his jaw turning to granite.

Clarissa got the meaning loud and clear—and so did the rest of her family. The guests in the Ainsworths’ box snickered.

Heat filled her cheeks. That was exactly the sort of behavior that they did not need.

Walton, who generally did not partake in confrontation, loudly cleared his throat. “I do believe the scent you’re catching is that of donkeys. If I’m not mistaken there are some real as—”

“Walton,” Clarissa hissed before he could complete his insult. Then she leaned closer to the duke, attempting not to be overheard. “Please, do not undo all of Lord Ware’s hard work. No matter how much they provoke.”

“Quite right,” Lady Harriet chimed in just as the curtains opened. Clarissa nearly sighed with relief to know that for some period of time, at least, talking would be difficult.

This evening was turning into a disaster.

“When did you become the voice of decorum?” Tabetha asked, her look thoughtful again. “This is the second time in an evening.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Clarissa snuck a glance over at Lord Ware. Had he heard that? What was he thinking? She could admit that she’d hoped to see him tonight. But not like this.

Because the more she thought, the more she realized that she’d overreacted at Lady Harriet’s dinner party. An act she confessed she was prone to making. She’d been so shocked by Lord Ware’s identity and her own misconceptions that she’d not been very articulate nor kind.

Of course, with her sister at hand, and the rest of the party scrutinizing their every move, it had been difficult to say much at all. If only they’d been able to speak freely. There were so many things she wished she’d said, so many questions she should have asked.

Not that it would have changed anything, really. She understood romance was out of the question, no matter how much she wished that wasn’t true. It simply wasn’t possible to make a match with an Ainsworth.

No matter what she wanted, this last interaction had concisely demonstrated just how strained relations were between their two families. Something had to be done.

She ignored the voice that chided her. Was she truly so very noble that she wished for peace between the families for the good of all?

Or was it because peace between the families might lead to romance?

As she snuck another glance in his direction, his gaze caught hers. For a brief moment, she forgot to breathe as they locked eyes. Then, with the tiniest jerk of his head, he gestured toward the doorway.

Her lips parted in surprise as he slowly rose, making his way around his chair and then disappearing from view.

For several seconds she sat still, contemplating her next move.

Did she follow?

Why did he wish to speak with her? Did he wish to blame her for her family’s outrageous behavior the way he’d blamed her in the garden the last time?

If that were the case…

Rising, she started for the doorway.

“Where are you going?” Tabetha asked, her gaze narrowing.

“I just need a moment to compose myself,” Clarissa replied. “I’ll be just outside the door.”

Tabetha nodded. “Good idea. That was most upsetting.” Then her sister patted her hand with a kind smile. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

Clarissa winced. How upsetting would it be if they discovered she was actually going out to cavort with one of the Ainsworths?

The quiet and dark of the hall settled around her as she drew in a deep breath, attempting to slow her thrumming pulse. Her eyes quickly adjusted as they caught Lord Ware standing against the far wall.

She swallowed, words failing her once again.

“You came,” he said, reaching out a hand.

She slipped her gloved fingers into his as he drew her closer. Tingling spread down her arm at his touch. “I came.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured then. “For what my aunt just said.”

She blinked several times, not sure what she’d expected. But it definitely wasn’t that. Of all the words she thought he might utter, I’m sorry had never entered her mind. “You’re sorry?”