Page 12 of His Christmas Reluctant Countess (Christmas Matches of Worth #4)

The next morning, Clarissa contemplated her reflection. Even after a full night’s sleep, she still looked flushed, and she could not deny that she anticipated the day with a great mixture of feelings.

She wanted to see Lord Bolton again. But she also wanted to keep her distance from him.

Nothing seemed simple, and as she stared at her face, looking back at her, she could still feel the prickling heat against her palm from the touch of his hand the night before.

She imagined a fantasy of Lord Bolton and herself at a ball as man and wife. It was a silly illusion, but it helped to settle her mind.

She forced herself to picture his wandering eyes as he inevitably grew bored with his wife. She imagined the whispers about them building to a crescendo as her ill-fated choice of husband subjected her and her family to endless gossip all over again.

She shook herself, straightening her sleeve and resolving that today she would be strong, and she would only give a little of herself away to him. It was almost certain he would find Lady Wilde far more diverting, and she had to believe that had been his intention all along.

Otherwise, I will become quite mad from going back and forth on this matter for the remainder of his time here.

She went down to breakfast to Lady Eleanor's happy announcement that the afternoon’s activities would be spent at the frozen pond near her estate. They would be skating as a group on the thick ice that had formed over the winter months.

Clarissa sipped her tea, glancing furtively at Nicholas on the other side of the room. His easy smile flashed as he charmed the other guests and made many of them laugh with his wit.

She could not help feeling a pang of longing that she was not privy to the joke or that she was not in his company and then chided herself fiercely for reneging on her own promise so quickly.

Clarissa spent much of the morning with the other ladies completing their needlework. Although she had always been good enough at sewing, her embroidery was erratic that day, her stitches uneven as her mind wandered through all the possibilities before her.

“Well,” said a voice behind her, “I have heard that he favours Lady Wilde.”

Clarissa’s ears pricked up as Lady Bartholemew spoke in muted tones to Lady Garriton.

“They spoke for some time after Snapdragon, and she is one of the most beautiful women I ever saw. He has returned to the estate after many years away and she is wildly wealthy. I cannot believe it would not be a favourable match.”

Clarissa hissed in a breath as her needle stabbed deep into her finger and spotted her sewing. She glanced about, hoping no one had observed her, only to be met with Rosemary’s concerned gaze from across the table. She smiled and dabbed at the spot with her finger to try and blot out the stain.

This is why any hopes I have pinned on a known rake are beyond foolish. She told herself sternly. I will be undone by him, and I will have only myself to blame.

She prayed that Catherine had not suffered the same fate. What if Mr Harrison had deceived her sister, and he had now run away and left her, finding a new object for his affection?

How she longed for Catherine.

She had not had anyone to confide in for so long, and although her sister’s own decisions in life had not always been enviable, she was an inordinately sensible person. She would have known just what to say about Lord Bolton.

The very reason I am in this situation is because of Catherine, she thought irritably. Am I so weak that I would forgive her merely to benefit from her council?

She put down her sewing in irritation and went to find her cousin. Emily was always able to raise her spirits.

After luncheon, the party made their way down to the large pond on the edge of Lady Eleanor’s estate. The pond was surrounded by a vast, sweeping hillside culminating in a shallow valley that was utterly beautiful to behold.

Long grasses bobbed about in the light breeze, the ground at their base utterly covered with snow. Little had disturbed the white blanket that carpeted everything about them, and the pond was covered with sparkling ice.

Clarissa, wrapped up in her pelisse and fur stole, walked arm in arm with Emily. She was much amused by Emily's shivering frame beside her and felt so sorry for her that she eventually shared her stole. Emily gratefully placed one hand into it, groaning at its warmth.

“You should have brought a scarf along with your hat. Your neck is bare,” Clarissa chided gently.

“I did not think it so cold.”

“The ground is covered with snow, Emily. What did you think the temperature would be?”

“But I will be hot when we are skating, and I did not wish to bring too much with me.”

Clarissa smiled. “I cannot argue with that. You are right. You will soon be warm. Here. Have the stole for now; I am quite warm as it is.”

She handed it over, and Emily beamed as she placed her gloved hands within it. Clarissa felt the cold bite at her fingertips, but she welcomed it. She loved the winter and the snow and was feeling most content as they all reached the edges of the lake.

Her eyes found Lord Bolton at the head of the party, looking exceedingly dashing in his greatcoat and top hat. He cut a very fine figure indeed, and, aware that she was unobserved, she allowed her eyes to run over him briefly, feeling a thrill at the sight of his wide shoulders and strong build.

She was alarmed, however, when he turned to look at her as though he had felt her gaze upon him and approached with a warm smile.

She could hardly pull in a full breath—she had thought him the most handsome man she had ever beheld in a frock coat, but the greatcoat and gloves suited him above all else.

She smiled shyly as he came over, his eyes dancing as he looked at Emily.

“You are shivering,” he said with amusement.

“She insists she will be very warm upon the ice,” Clarissa answered for her cousin. Emily had been complaining she had not slept overly well and was a little short of temper that afternoon.

“May I help you onto the ice, Miss Crompton? It is a rather steep step down.”

Clarissa hesitated, torn between honouring her promise to herself and her deep desire to be close to him again.

“That is an excellent idea,” Rosemary piped up behind her. She walked over to them, full of smiles and a slightly mischievous air. “We have not skated on this pond since we were eight. Do you remember?”

Lord Bolton watched her carefully.

“Indeed I do, I also remember pulling you down onto the ice many times as I fell over. You have my apologies, Rosemary.”

Rosemary laughed prettily. “Nonsense, I am certain I pulled you down just as often. Why were we so horribly coordinated as children?”

“I would say it was due to lack of practice,” Clarissa confessed, and even Lord Bolton laughed at that.

They made their way down to the ice, Clarissa’s hand in Lord Bolton’s as he walked ahead. Her heart beat wildly at the chance to hold his hand, but she was aware of Lady Wilde’s venomous gaze as they approached the ice.

Lord Bolton was very attentive. After Clarissa had donned her skates, he helped her down the slope and held her hand until he was certain that she was steady on her feet.

Clarissa and her mother enjoyed skating a great deal. Clarissa was very confident on her feet as a result. Emily was rather less so and had an ungainly and erratic style, but as soon as she was out on the pond, she was much more cheerful and seemed a good deal warmer, too.

Lord Addison skated up beside her, and the two chatted amiably. He occasionally offered her cousin his arm as she repeatedly lost her balance.

The pond was large and allowed space for them all to roam freely. Clarissa was both delighted and astonished when, having escorted her, Lord Bolton exhibited a disinclination to part ways and glided alongside her. He had an excellent stance and held his hands pleasingly behind his back, utterly sure of his next step.

The world around them was glistening, sparkling frost on every surface. The cut and glide of the skates reminded her of skating with her sister on the ice many Christmases before. But this time, the memory did not prompt sadness. She was merely happy to be out again with such agreeable people.

As she watched, Lady Eleanor and her mother glided past, laughing hysterically as Lady Eleanor attempted to stay upright. On the other side of the pond, Rosemary was trying to remain standing while laughing merrily at her aunt.

“I declare, if my aunt were so without poise on the dance floor, she would have been cast out of society long ago,” Nicholas said affectionately.

Clarissa laughed, despite herself, as she watched Lady Eleanor falter over the surface. But when she looked back at Lord Bolton, his expression was grave.

“My apologies, Miss Crompton.” He said softly. “I did not wish to speak of the fickle nature of society so lightly.”

Clarissa should have felt alarmed that he knew of her circumstance, but, in fact, she was relieved. She realized that not knowing what he knew of her family’s disgrace had been a heavy burden for her. She did not wish to discuss it further, but she was grateful he acknowledged it.

“Do not worry, my Lord, I assure you,” she said. “Society and its favour touches us all throughout our lives. I do not object to anyone bringing up its fickle nature.”

He smiled a smaller, more charming smile that he seemed to reserve for his more intimate acquaintances. She fancied that it was more genuine than the charming grin he often employed in company.

“Tell me, Miss Crompton, what do you think of all this snow? I declare I have never known a winter like this one.”

They were a little further from the rest of the group, and Clarissa was gratified to note that they were very much the superior skaters. Some of the others stayed close to the bank, but she and Lord Bolton were making wide circles about the edges of the pond.

“I adore the winter,” she said unguardedly.

His sharp eyes met hers. “Is that so?”

“It is. My mother longs for summer, but I have always loved the snow and ice. The dark days and darker evenings are tiresome, but sitting by the fire watching the logs spit and crackle, warm and content is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

He was quiet for a while, and when she looked at him, he was smiling.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he confessed.

“But surely you have not experienced many harsh winters in Europe?” she added.

“You are quite right. I have not encountered too many, but when I was younger, I always preferred the winter months. The idea of Persephone leaving our world, only to return on the first day of spring, was one of my favourite stories. I like that the world sleeps, just as we do, to gather its strength for the seasons to come.”

Clarissa nodded as they passed by the others on their second circle.

“I am also rather partial to a thunderstorm,” she confessed. Lord Bolton chuckled as he glanced at her, his expression unguarded and delighted.

“There is nothing like being tucked up in bed listening to a storm raging against the windows,” he said. There was less than a foot between them now, and Clarissa suddenly felt that the open space and wide country around them was very small.

Clarissa found herself embroiled in a fantasy once more, but this time, she was not the source of her family’s disgrace. She imagined just the kind of intimate setting she had described. Lord Bolton and herself sitting beside a fire, speaking of their interests as she learned of the real man behind the rake.

“Oh dear!”

She looked around as a shape came into her peripheral vision at a rapid pace, and Clarissa only just managed to skate out of the path of Lady Wilde as she hurtled headlong into Lord Bolton’s path. He had no choice but to catch her before she fell onto the bank before them.

Clarissa was utterly dismayed as Lady Wilde collapsed against Lord Bolton’s body, his legs coming out from beneath her as she exclaimed in alarm.

Lord Bolton’s strong arms lifted her back to her feet, but the action of righting her brought their faces very close together. Clarissa saw their eyes meet. Lady Wilde smiled widely at him as he slowly released her, and she began apologizing profusely.

“I had not realised the speed with which I was going, and suddenly, the bank was all upon me!” she said, looking very embarrassed. However, Clarissa wondered at her lack of control as she had been skating quite perfectly about the pond until that moment.

“No matter, my Lady, are you injured?” Lord Bolton asked with concern.

Lady Wilde was still incredibly close to him and only distanced herself when Lord Bolton himself stepped away from her to right his balance upon his skates.

“I am uninjured, my Lord, but perhaps a little unsteady on my feet.”

“Let me give you my arm, and we shall skate back together,” Lord Bolton replied, the very picture of a gentleman as Lady Wilde wound her arm in his.

Clarissa moved out of the way as Lord Bolton moved to skate past her.

“My apologies, Miss Crompton. I shall return to you momentarily.”

“Not at all; be sure to make Lady Wilde comfortable; I shall continue alone,” she said with a brightness in her voice that she did not feel. She watched them skate away, Lady Wilde’s long blonde hair contrasting with Lord Bolton’s dark, their arms remaining linked together all the way around the pond.

Clarissa followed at a leisurely pace, noticing how well Lady Wilde was now skating without any suggestion that she might lose her balance.

Clarissa kept her expression blank as she continued past them as Lord Bolton helped Lady Wilde to the edge. She felt betrayed by her weakness and irrationally angry that Lady Wilde had again insinuated herself into Lord Bolton’s good graces. Since she had arrived at the manor, it did not feel that the woman had given him a moment’s peace.