Still, Clara continued to dream of that night, imagining what might have occurred if she had gone with him to one of the private rooms as he had suggested. She envisioned a night of abandoned morality, bold and daring quests for pleasure, and the more she thought about it, the more intense and adventurous her fantasies became.
But that’s all they were, she reminded herself. Fantasies. She knew nothing about the man beneath the mask, except that he had not ravished her when he’d had the chance.
And for that—despite all her daydreams that indicated otherwise—she was thankful.
She also felt justified in her private affection for this stranger, for at least she could tell herself that he possessed some integrity, and that he was a true gentleman, under the circumstances. A hero who had pulled her from the fires of scandal, just as her father had done two years ago. If that mysterious gentleman had not marched her back to Mrs. Gunther and insisted that they leave, who knew where Clara might be today? Perhaps on a steamer somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, on her way back to America, her chances of marrying a decent man all but washed away.
On the other hand, her heroic fantasy man could have been married.
Married.She hoped he wasn’t. Pity the poor wife if he was, for how could any woman survive the knowledge that a husband like him was unfaithful and uninterested in her?
Sophia approached with cheeks flushed from a dance with her husband. “It’s almost time to leave, Clara. Have you danced enough?”
“Enough? Most definitely. I’m exhausted.” Yet, the thought of leaving brought disappointment, for another night had passed and her dream lover had not materialized.
“Shall we go then?” Sophia asked.
Clara closed her fan, gathered up her skirts, and followed her sister out.
As they drove home in the dark carriage, Clara continued to ponder the situation. She could not continue this way, dreaming about a mysterious stranger, while opportunities with perfectly respectable gentlemen passed her by.
Later that night, not long after she’d changed into her nightgown, Clara padded down the corridor in bare feet and knocked on Sophia’s door.
Sophia opened it and raised her index finger to her lips. “Shhh.” She held her second son, John, in her arms. Carefully, she handed the sleeping infant to his nurse, Louise, who headed for the door to take him upstairs to the nursery. Clara closed the door behind Louise.
“I’m surprised you’re still awake,” Sophia said.
Clara sat on the bed, not altogether certain how to explain her feelings to her sister, who already had enough on her plate with two babies barely ten months apart. All Clara knew was that she needed to do something to get over this foolish infatuation because it wasn’t going away on its own.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Clara said, “that I’ve not been remotely interested in any of the gentlemen I’ve met this week, and I’ve met quite a few very nice men.”
Sophia regarded her intently. “Is it because you’re still thinking about the man you met at Livingston House?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“To me, yes. You gaze off into space most of the time, and if you’re not doing that, you’re surveying ballrooms, searching with your eyes.”
Clara tried to explain herself. “I want to find a good husband, I truly do, but how can I, when I can’t get a certain fantasy man out of my mind? None can compare to my memory of him.” Clara cupped her forehead in her hand. “I know it’s ridiculous, because I’m sure that everything I believe about him is exactly that—a fantasy. Let’s be honest. He was present at one of these improper balls, and therefore is probably one of two things: a rake who carries on affairs with married women, or a husband who cheats on his wife. Neither of those possibilities are attractive to me. I want to marry a decent man who will be faithful to me and be a good father, and yet....”
“You can’t stop thinking about him.”
Clara sighed. “Something needs to be done. I need to get him out of my head.”
“How can I help?”
Standing and crossing the room, Clara glanced down at the stack of cards on Sophia’s desk. “I don’t suppose you’ve received any more invitations toa you know what.”
Sophia rose from the bed and joined Clara at her desk. “I know very wellwhat, and I thought you said those balls were appalling.”
“Well, they are, at least for married people who go there to be unfaithful.”
Sophia slowly shook her head. “Clara. You cannot take a risk like that. What would Mrs. Gunther say?”
“Would she even have to know?”
Sophia gaped at her.
“You could be my chaperone,” Clara continued. “We could go for just an hour or so.”
