“Why not? He’s handsome. And the son of a duke. And I think he enjoys my company, which is more than I can say about any of the other men you and Father have pushed me into meeting.”
“He’s nothing but a rake. Son of a duke or not, he will have no inheritance. He will be lucky if he ends up a vicar.”
“And he came to my aid when none of the men you have thrust in my direction were anywhere in sight. Were any of them even there tonight?”
“They are busy men.”
“I’m sure. And when they do look at me, they look as if I have bag of money around my waist and a haunch of bacon on my neck. Can you not see I’d rather have a vicarage with someone who suits me, who likes me, than a lifetime with someone who just wants to spawn a bushel of babies on me?”
“Clara!”
“Mother! Stop it!”
“How dare—”
Clara put both hands over her face, growling in her throat. “Please, Mother! I’m sorry!” She dropped her hands back into her lap. “But you know I am miserable attending all these Society events, and these men Father brings home are all distracted and distant. I am just part of their business and estate plans. I do not matter to them at all, except for my name and Father’s title. They don’t want a wife—all they want is a dowry and a womb.”
“It is your duty—”
“I know my duty!” Clara’s voice echoed off the walls the carriage, making her mother wince. She softened her voice, trying to tamp down her frustration. “And I will do it. Because I have to, not because I want to. Because I have no choice. But do not for a moment think I will be happy about it. Or silent.”
“So you intend to make everyone around you miserable as well.”
“I will do my best to be congenial, Mother. As Nanny once told me, ‘You can get used to walking with a pebble in your shoe if you do it long enough.’” Her mother looked away from her, her jaw grinding. Clara closed her eyes for a moment. “Why do you and Father not simply send me away somewhere no one knows me?”
Her mother stared at her, the lines in her face deep and hard. “So you would prefer to abandon us. Abandon your family, your society for a life in some rural backwater?”
“As opposed to you abandoning me to a life of misery married to some monster?”
“You do not know they would be—”
“Of course not. But my brother has given Father an heir. My sister is about to do the same. Why must I follow the same path?”
“Because it is what is done. We are trying to introduce you to men like your brother. Kind but who need an heir. It is not only your path that’s involved. Your duty is not just to us but to a larger society.”
“Brood mare to the elite.”
The slap was unexpected, and Clara yelped, lurching away from her mother, whose rage overflowed.
“Enough! Enough of this vulgar talk! You are a lady of theton, and you will follow a lady’s path and do your duty, or you will find that the misery of an arranged marriage is the least of your concerns. If this is how you feel, then we will no longer foist prospects on you. You will marry the man we choose for you, and you will speak no more of this!”
The countess twisted away from Clara, turning her back.
Clara sank back against the velvet squabs, her cheek burning, and her eyes filling with tears.So this,she thought,is what a cut direct looks like. From my own mother.
Chapter Four
Wednesday, 3 August 1825
Aldermaston Ball, Percy House
Ten in the evening
Michael stepped offthe pavement to watch the Beckcott carriage disappear down the curving drive, his curiosity about Lady Clara Durham more intense than before, creating an unexpected longing in his chest. He hoped her mother’s angry expression did not foretell things to come, and he worried he had caused the lady despair in his attempts to shield her from the likes of Hadleyton. His abrupt need to protect her puzzled him even more. He had never felt such an intense desire to protect anyone outside his own family—not even Eleanor Carlson.
So many questions!
As the vehicle disappeared, he turned back to find both Beth and Aldermaston watching him, eyebrows arched. They looked like such a matched set with their fair hair and skin—and Aldermaston’s evening kit was almost precisely the same blue palette of Beth’s dress, although his hair a shade more ginger than hers—that Michael would have laughed... if not for the knowledge of what was to come later in the evening.
