Rushed to the Altar by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

Griffiths materialized in the hall the minute Clarissa had closed the door behind her. “Well, my dear.What was his lordship’s proposition?” Her shrewd eyes scrutinized the girl’s countenance looking for clues.
    “Perhaps he should explain that to you himself, ma’am.” Clarissa moved to the stairs.
    “And did you accept it?” Her voice sharpened.
    “Not as yet. I asked for time to consider. His lordship will come for his answer at noon tomorrow.”
    “I see.” Nan looked thoughtful. “Is there anything you need this evening, my dear, to help you make your decision?”
    Clarissa didn’t stop to think. It was almost evening already and she’d eaten two oysters since her dawn breakfast. “I own I am very hungry, ma’am, and thirsty. I have much to think of and would prefer not to go out to find my supper.”
    “I shall have supper brought up to you, my dear. And maybe you’d care for a bit of fire in the grate . . . the evenings are drawing in.”
    “That would be lovely, ma’am. I’m most grateful.”
    “Oh, don’t give it another thought. Go along upstairs and it’ll be taken care of immediately.”
    Clarissa ran up the stairs, astonished at herself. She seemed to be becoming someone she didn’t know at all. In the quiet of her own chamber she closed the door and went to the window. As dusk fell over the city the night sounds of Covent Garden grew ever livelier as the hummums in the Little Piazza opened their doors and music and laughter poured forth from the taverns and bawdy houses of the Great Piazza.
    She was filled with a strange energy, almost a vibration of the senses, as if she stood on the brink of some life-altering experience. A knock at the door startled her from her intense reverie.
    A manservant came in with a laden tray followed by a girl, little more than a child, struggling with a scuttle of coal. The child laid the fire and produced flint and tinder from her apron pocket, while the manservant set the tray on the dresser.
    “That be all, miss?” The man looked sourly at her, obviously unaccustomed to waiting upon young women in the servants’ garret.
    “Thank you.” Clarissa smiled warmly, turning to the girl. “And thank you, too, my dear. The fire is doing well.”
    They left her and she examined the contents of the tray. Roast chicken with a compote of mushrooms, crusty bread, cheese, and an almond tart would certainly compensate for her missed venison pie, and the flagon of burgundy would go some way to compensate for the loss of the fine burgundy in the Angel.
    She filled a goblet from the flagon, then took that and her platter to the small chair beside the now cheerful glow of the fire. She ate with relish and, finally replete, put her platter on the floor, took up the goblet, and stretched her feet to the fire. Now it was time to think as clearly as she had ever thought in her life.

Chapter Three
 
     
    It had been a glorious May day when Clarissa’s father died. He had been sick since the beginning of the year, but in his usual stalwart fashion had refused to acknowledge it. His old friend, the village doctor, had given him physics that he’d refused to take, had advised rest that he’d refused to take, had forbidden riding to hounds, to no avail. For as long as the ground was soft enough, the hounds eager, and his hunters champing at the bit, Squire Astley would not miss a day’s hunting across the glorious Kent countryside.
    The orchards had been in full bloom, the County truly earning its title of the garden of England on that afternoon when Clarissa stood by her father’s chair in the library and realized that at some point in the last hour, since she had left him peacefully reading, he had slipped away. His book had fallen to the floor and automatically she bent to pick it up. She had been expecting his death but it still stunned her and she felt winded, as if struck in the stomach. She had sensed the emptiness of the roomthe moment she had walked in; the