Free Clarissa and the Poor Relations by Alicia Cameron Page B

throttle unto death.
    What is it about her that has me spellbound, he asked himself. Her face and manner, so impish and impulsive, so different from his own placidity; her gentle goodness in all her dealings, especially with those beneath her, her swift intelligence that met his equally, all these things had made her haunt his dreams.
    ‘Oh, Clarissa.’ he cried to the wind as he rode through Ashcroft park. He felt himself to be in the grip of a passion that burned with all the fire of his heart and that must as swiftly be quenched. ‘I must not think of her.’
    Thus it was that he was unaware of the carriage coming through the gate of the park until he was hailed, ‘Mr Elfoy, well met.’ called The Honourable Charles Booth, ‘Hold up.’
    Tristram pulled in his horse and touched his hand to his hat respectfully. ‘Gentlemen, can I be of assistance?’ He hoped that his flushed countenance and his beating heart were not apparent to Mr Booth and his noble companion, Lord Grandiston.
    ‘You said there will be stabling enough for the carriage horses and the hacks—give directions to my man will you?’
    ‘Certainly, sir. I've had the house made ready for you. I believe your valet took charge, My Lord, he arrived last night.’
    Grandiston brushed his sleeve with a languid hand and said, ‘Yes, I know. I had to dress myself this morning. I wonder whether I dare meet his fastidious eye?’
    Mr Elfoy found himself grinning appreciatively as his eye ran over Grandiston’s immaculate person, ‘I think you’re safe, sir.’
    ‘I should say so,’ said his companion, ‘Elegant as Bond Street Beau.’
    ‘Do you think so, Charles?’ said Lord Grandiston hopefully, ‘The height of my ambition. I’m sure we must all bow to your judgement. And yet….’ And he raised his quizzing glass to look balefully at Booth’s waistcoat. At his friend’s inarticulate objections, Grandiston turned his singularly sweet smile on Mr Elfoy; ‘You must ignore my young friend, sir. He is given to sartorial delusions of grandeur. We’ll see you in the park no doubt.’
    Mr Elfoy directed the groom and then rode on, chuckling at the new Dower House residents. Mr Booth he thought of as a likeable young cub (although he was but a few years his junior.) but Grandiston was more difficult. He affected boredom and lethargy, but Elfoy saw the steel and energy behind the pose. Not a man to cross, his lordship, but he had warm, humorous eyes that showed no height of manner. A man born to command - but one who led with light reins.
    ‘An excellent fellow, Elfoy, don’t you think Hugo? I only wish my father’s agent were as efficient. He’s a doddery old fool; been around since doomsday, so we can’t fob him off.’
    ‘Isn’t it time you set about running Fenway yourself.’
    Charles flushed but recovered his insouciance, ‘M’father thinks it inappropriate to accept the help of Bond Street wasters such as m’self, old fellow, so I keep well clear, except when my mama and sisters are at home.’
    His lordship laid a delicate arm on the younger man’s shoulders, ‘Your father says a great deal more than he means, Charles. A libertine, yes - but not yet a waster.’
    Mr Booth gave a crack of laughter, ‘Well, if you’re going to give me the name of libertine then I’d best get started. I hope the cellar is decent in this place.’
    The coach had arrived at its destination. McIntosh, his lordship’s valet was awaiting the gentlemen on the steps. His eye travelled Grandiston’s person, but he did not shudder, a sign that bode well.
    ‘Mr Booth is inquiring about the claret, McIntosh. Is it tolerable?’ he drawled as he languidly mounted the stairs.
    ‘Unfortunately sir, the lady who was in residence here for many years was of an abstemious nature. She had everything but ratafia removed from the cellars, sir.’
    The Honourable Charles stopped dead, ‘Ratafia. Good God, Grandiston. Why did you bring me to this god-forsaken