Page 32 of Betting on a Duke
“I don’t know. Tell me what he warned you about?” Clarice stepped back from Samuel so she could see his handsome face. One marred now by sadness, frustration, and anger.
He went on to explain the uncomfortable conversation he had with her father. “Whether people believe any of that nonsense or accusations, my reputation will be damaged or even ruined.”
“He is a monster,” Clarice breathed out. “What will you do?”
Samuel inhaled and exhaled with a groan. “The racing circuit is starting. I’ll be gone for a while. It’ll give us time to think and plan how to move forward with our future... together.” He paused. “That is, if you’ll have me?”
She threw herself into her arms. “Yes. I’ll have you.”
“I should go. No doubt your father has someone watching your house.” His strong arms wrapped around her, and she buried her head in his chest, holding on tight. Afraid she wouldn’t feel the safety and comfort of his arms again for a long time, if ever.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
Tilting her head up, her eyes met his somber, dark-gray ones, and she couldn’t breathe. When she gasped for air, he moved in and kissed her deeply. Her fingers curled into his lapels, and she held on tight. Groaning, he tore his lips away and stepped back. “I would take you to Gretna Green now if I thought your father wouldn’t interfere. But I think we both know he would, and it would cause a disaster for us. We need to plan and think. Once my horses have completed their races, we will be in a better position to face your father and secure our future. Meanwhile, if you need me for anything, I will be staying with Baron and Baroness Ramsbury in Newmarket. Don’t hesitate to send word.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. “I love you, before, now, and forever. Remember my words when you believe all hope is lost. Trust me, we will prevail and come out the victor.”
He left without saying another word, giving her an additional kiss, or looking longingly at her. Clarice left the room and addressed the first footman she saw. “My guest has left. Please have a tray sent up to my rooms.” Once inside her chambers, she sank onto the chaise longue, wrapped her arms around her aching stomach, and let the tears come again.
Never in her wildest imagination, when she found out something had transpired between her father and Samuel, had she expected to learn that her father shot him. Samuel had always been like a son to her father. How could someone go from being a decent, caring father and friend to appearing as a monster so easily? During private moments alone with her mother, had her father been mean and careless with her? Had his kind, caring self only been a façade while in public? Had Samuel’s father ever witnessed her father’s bad temper and behavior? Would he have stayed friends with him if he had?
Clarice wanted to understand how the affair had started. Were there any signs of their love and affection for each other out in the open? She didn’t believe they had ever treated each other with anything more than friendship and respect. Had her father been socold and cruel that her mother had sought comfort from the duke, and it had turned into physical desire and then love?
“Oh dear,” she sighed. She could go in circles forever trying to find the answers. But the truth of the matter was that she would never know. The truth was buried with Samuel’s father and her lovely mother, Countess Portsmouth.
“Enter,” Clarice said as a knock sounded on her door.
“My lady,” Mrs. Shelley said as she entered. “I’ve brought your dinner tray.”
“Thank you. Please put it on the dressing table.” Clarice wasn’t sure anymore if she could stomach eating. “That will be all for tonight, Mrs. Shelley.”
“Yes, my lady,” she said as she curtsied and left, quietly shutting the door behind her.
Clarice curled up on the chaise longue, reached down by her feet for the lightweight throw, and covered herself with it, closing her tired, burning eyes. If only she could go back to when her mother was alive and talk to her, discover all her secrets, so she could understand her past. She wanted to help her mother overcome her heartbreak and melancholy. However, back then she’d been dealing with her own heartbreak and was petrified about her future with a husband chosen by her father.
The Marquess of Chesterfield was a complicated man. Due to his advanced age, he expected everyone except dukes and duchesses to obey his commands. From what she gathered from several of their rare conversations, he was a powerful force in Parliament and had fought against other Parliament members over any reform that could benefit the lower classes. He was truly an abomination.
Memories flooded her mind of her years being married to him. Even though she was the daughter of an earl, he believed she was far beneath him. When he found out she wasn’t pure on their wedding night, he threw a fit. Later, when he discovered she was with child,Samuel’s child, he forced her to drink vile potions in the hope that she would miscarry. Those poisonous potions didn’t work. The son she carried wanted to be born, and born he was.
During those many months, while she was increasing, Chesterfield kept her locked inside her chambers. The only people she saw were the housekeeper and her maid. Both women were mean right down to their souls. Fortunately for her, the delivery had been an easy one. Chesterfield refused to risk a scandal, so no midwife or physician was called to the townhouse. The housekeeper and maid attended to her themselves. Secretly, she knew Chesterfield hoped the baby would die in childbirth. Possibly herself as well.
Tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked the small pillow she rested her head on. The moment the baby was born and the umbilical cord was cut, the housekeeper had whisked him away from the room. Clarice had gotten a quick glimpse at the baby to confirm it was a boy before the housekeeper swaddled him in a blanket and took him away. She swallowed the sobs trying to escape. It never mattered how much she had cried, prayed, and wished for her son; no one would tell her what happened to him. For all she knew, Chesterfield had killed him and he was buried in the garden.
Her lungs rattled as a loud, heart-wrenching groan tore from the depths of her soul. If he were alive, how old would he be? A little older than six. And if he lived, where was he?
Maybe he had been sent to a monastery. Perhaps he lived with a loving couple who adored him.
Right before she drifted into a sorrowful sleep, she wondered how she would tell Samuel. And would he blame her for the baby’s fate?
