His mother—heavens. Clarissa had never guessed at any such tragedy in Lady Blakeborough’s past. She had to know more. Assuming he would tell her.
It was rather a shock that he’d even mentioned it to Clarissa. It drove a stake of guilt through her heart to think that he’d been so devastated by her reaction to him that he had let slip something so highly personal about his family. It wasn’t like him at all.
They emerged from the trees to see Jeremy striding toward them. “So there you are! I suppose Yvette has told you our news?”
“Of course,” Clarissa said brightly. “You know your wife—she’s deplorable at keeping secrets.”
“Unlike her brother, who never says a thing. I should have known he was cooking up a plan to win you.” Jeremy walked up to clap Edwin on the shoulder. “Not that I’m surprised, Blakeborough. The way you spoke of her a few months ago—”
“What?” Clarissa broke in. “How did he speak of me?”
Jeremy laughed. “As if you bedeviled him. And men are only ever bedeviled by women they fancy.”
“I beg your pardon,” Yvette retorted. “I bedevil him, and he certainly doesn’t fancy me.”
“You do not bedevil me,” Edwin said lightly, obviously trying to get into the spirit of their banter. “You worry me. It’s not the same.”
“Hmph,” Yvette said. “Does your wife not worry you, too?”
He slid a somber glance at Clarissa. “My wife worries me exceedingly. In truth, I don’t know how I shall survive marriage to her.”
“Nor do I.” Clarissa tried to sound teasing, though inside she bled. “But you’re stuck with me now, so you’ll have to make the best of it.”
“Well,” Yvette said, taking Clarissa by the arm. “I want to hear all about it. When did he offer marriage? How did he do it?”
“God help us,” Jeremy muttered. “Come, brother, I need something stiff to drink while those two reconstruct every moment of your courtship.”
As the four of them headed for the house, with the two men going ahead of them toward the study, a sinking feeling of despair overtook Clarissa. It was going to be very hard to make things right with her husband while his family was at Stoke Towers.
She could only hope the Keanes wouldn’t stay more than a day or two. Because the longer this rift stretched between her and Edwin, the harder it would be to mend it.
Eighteen
Edwin was glad of Keane’s suggestion of having a drink; that way he could fill his brother-in-law in on all the details of the Durand situation, including the parts he didn’t want his wife to hear.
But as they headed off to Edwin’s study, where they could enjoy brandy and cigars in peace, it wasn’t Durand that occupied Edwin’s thoughts. It was Clarissa.
The wall between them seemed to grow more impassable by the day. She pushed him away as often as she let him close.
Had he made a huge mistake in marrying her? God, he hoped not. Because with every day that passed, he liked having her about him more and more as a companion.
But he couldn’t bear the idea of a lifetime with a woman who couldn’t endure his touch. Who had to buck herself up just to share his bed.
Never had he felt so alone.
He and Keane entered the study. As they settled down to their cigars and brandy, he laid out the facts of the situation with Durand. The hardest part was telling Keane about the spying, but it wouldn’t be fair to let his sister and brother-in-law be taken by surprise if Durand went through with his threats and told the world about Father’s treasonous activities.
When he finished his explanations, Keane looked fit to be tied. “Blackmailed by a scoundrel like that? How dare he?”
“Durand has no shame. Or principles. Especially where gaining Clarissa is concerned.”
“Damn.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Edwin drew in a long breath. “You’ll have to decide if we should tell Yvette. I confess I have no idea what to do in that regard.”
“It would devastate her. I mean, she’s always felt unwanted by your father, but this . . .”
“It does explain why he was never around.” It didn’t entirely explain it, but Edwin wasn’t about to go into the details of his mother’s assault and the aftermath of it. He already regretted telling Clarissa so much. And not nearly enough.
“Perhaps knowing why your father was absent would make her feel better about it,” Keane said. “Though I doubt it. She wasn’t just hurt by that, but by the things he said, the way he treated your mother.”
“Which is why I’m trusting you to tell Yvette as much or as little as you deem wise. You know her better than I.”
“Only because you keep things from her.” Keane searched his face. “You would keep this from her, too, wouldn’t you, if you had the choice? Just to protect her from being hurt.”
“Yes. It’s my only way to make up for Father’s and Samuel’s lapses.”