Free Clarissa and the Poor Relations by Alicia Cameron Page A

hope seems to be to marry - and we have become such good friends ... It is not that I wish to marry, though I have never met a gentleman I would rather…But I did not give thought to your feelings, except it would make you master of Ashcroft and I know how you love it and maybe you wouldn’t so much mind being married for that, but I should have known…’
    With one hand Mr Elfoy took both of Clarissa’s (which were engaged in pulling apart a rose leaf as she had made her embarrassed speech) and with the other he turned her face towards his.  Her eyes lowered but suddenly joined his clear good green eyes when he tilted her chin.
    ‘If I could help you by…’ Clarissa put up her hand to hush him, overcome with embarrassment, ‘…but I could not. I wish ... that is…it is not possible…’
    The tears spilled over Clarissa’s eyes as she looked into his grave eyes, too spellbound to look away.
    ‘But it won’t do Clarissa,’ he said, unconsciously using her name, ‘Marriage to such as me is exactly the thing your brother would despise and just such a marriage as he could dissolve. You have done me the great honour to say you have not met another gentleman whom you would rather marry…’ he said gently while she blushed and uttered an inarticulate sound ‘…but your acquaintance is not large. Soon you will meet many gentlemen and you will find one to love who can offer you that equality of position that I cannot. We will speak no more of this.  It would not serve for either of us.’
    ‘Yes, it was appalling of me. Please let us forget it,’ murmured Clarissa, with a semblance of calm returning. She raised her hand to his in a gesture of farewell and as he held it and stooped over it, she looked shyly at his face, trying for her old good humour. But her hand trembled at his touch; he flushed and moved away swiftly.
    Clarissa sat, radiant and alive where she had sat so dejectedly before. He too had trembled and in a different way to that of a shy young man. She hardly dared to think why or the reason for her own beating heart. No doubt proximity to a young gentleman like Mr Elfoy was enough to overcome any young lady so untutored in the ways of the world as she. But the power of knowing that she had affected him.
    ‘For someone whose offer of marriage has just been refused, Clarissa, your spirits are bearing up well.’ she said to herself. Then she laughed a pure clear laugh that brought Miss Appleby running towards her.
    ‘I have just been trying to find you child. Why, whatever is so funny.’
    ‘Nothing Appleby, only, I’ve just had an offer of marriage refused.’ and she was led away by her concerned friend, unable to stop herself from smiling and quite unable to explain why.
    Meanwhile, Tristram Elfoy was riding away in a turmoil of emotions, a state of affairs unusual for him. He was the only son of a devoted mother who had been brought up to esteem his noble heritage (his uncle was a baronet) and understand the realities of his position in the world. He had accompanied his cousin on a trip to Europe (sadly truncated due the troubles on the continent) and felt himself to be fortunate in his relatives, without the least bit of resentment at his lack of funds. He had taken the job of estate manager with the intention of supporting his mother more comfortably. Indeed, his annual wage provided a variety of comforts to his respectable cottage home. He was a good son, a hard worker and of temperate habits. He enjoyed his life and had henceforth dealt with the challenges of his life with cheerfulness, resolution and acuity; but though he liked himself well enough he knew that he had no right to dream of the mistress of Ashcroft. His heart was repelled by so uneven a match, for he would seek to take care of his wife not to be her pensioner. Yet here he was with the vision of Clarissa’s mouth burned into his soul and the fire of his love coursing around his veins in a way that his head was seeking to