Free Rushed to the Altar by Jane Feather Page A

Mother Griffiths bustled in a few minutes later looking distinctly annoyed. “Why wouldn’t you wear the gown?”
    “It’s not mine,” Clarissa said simply. “And it didn’t suit me. I prefer to wear my own clothes.”
    The woman raised her eyebrows and examined Clarissa’s appearance with disapproval. “That gown’s all very well for a vicarage tea party, but it won’t attract a man’s interest.”
    “I think I’ve already done that,” Clarissa returned.
    Mother Griffiths frowned. Then her eyes narrowed, her expression sharpened. “So, how will you answer his lordship? I’ll tell you now, you’d be a fool to turn down such a proposition.”
    “I won’t turn him down.”
    Nan’s expression relaxed. “Now that’s a sensible girl. But in that case I really think you should dress to please him.”
    “The earl didn’t express any objections to the gown I was wearing yesterday,” Clarissa pointed out. “Maybe he was in the mood for something different.”
    “I suppose it’s possible. Men do take some strange fancies on occasion. Well, if he’s in the mood for a little virginal innocence, I’m sure you can supply it, my dear. Maybe his lordship fancies a little schoolroom play; they do sometimes.” She nodded her head. “Just play it by ear, dear, and give him what he wants. The earl is one of the easy ones to please. He won’t make any unpleasant demands.”
    “I’m relieved,” Clarissa murmured. Once again she felt as if she were living in someone else’s world. What she was doing was ridiculous, and yet it wasn’t. If shewas to protect Francis in this vast city she needed more resources than she alone possessed. If the earl should question the sudden appearance of a small boy in the house occupied by his mistress, she could concoct some story about a lost child, a stolen child, that would wring the heart of the most hardened individual.
    In fact, it could be her own child. Now that would really tug the heartstrings. And the existence of an illegitimate baby would make her whoredom even more convincing. It would provide the perfect excuse for her arrival in London, and it would sail close enough to the truth to make her deception all the easier to carry off. But that wouldn’t work, of course, since she couldn’t possibly have a ten-year-old child; however, she could come up with something along those lines.
    “Come down now. You should wait for his lordship in the parlor.” Nan went to the door. “You’ll leave the contract negotiations to me. There’ll be no need for you to say anything, and his lordship won’t expect you to.”
    She had plenty to say, Clarissa reflected, following her landlady downstairs, but she would bide her time; no point antagonizing Mother Griffiths at this point.
    “Now, there’s sherry and Madeira; his lordship is partial to both.” As they entered the parlor, Nan indicated the decanters on the sideboard. “And some savory tarts. You will offer the hospitality of the house while I deal with the business side of the matter. And then once everything’s settled I’ll leave you to his lordship. He’ll tell you then what he wants of you.”
    Clarissa murmured something vaguely appropriate and went to the long windows that looked out onto the street. After the night’s boisterousness King Street was quiet, deserted except for a beggar limping alongside the kennel turning over garbage with his stick. A mangy dog rushed at him, barking, before snatching up a piece of rotting meat and disappearing into an alley.
    A slatternly woman emerged from a doorway pushing down her skirts and a man stepped out behind her, fastening his britches. The woman dropped a coin into her bodice and without exchanging a word, she turned up the street and he turned down it towards the Great Piazza.
    Clarissa suppressed a shudder. Then she stiffened. A familiar figure was strolling towards the house swinging a silver-knobbed cane. For a moment she reveled in the indulgence of the