“I know,” Helena said. “I do. And I know that you loved him. He took liberties with your reputation that no true gentleman would ever stoop to. And if it is any consolation, I hear that his marriage to Lady Amelia is utterly miserable.”
Clara smiled. “It should not make me feel better, but it does. But it is not desirable to have broken engagements.”
“One,” Helena said, raising one finger. “One courtship, one engagement. Perfectly reasonable.”
“The other one was not a broken engagement but merely a courtship that ended,” Clara noted. Her friend was right of course. During her very first Season, she had thought herself madly in love with a young gentleman, and they had courted for several months, only for the courtship to fall apart.
These things happened of course, and she had taken herself away for a few weeks to Edinburgh to visit her godmother. During that time, she had met Gideon, who was to become Helena’s husband. The two of them had consoled each other over a broken courtship—and in Gideon’s case, a broken engagement—in a strictly platonic fashion. They had become good friends—a friendship that would eventually lead to Clara working to bring together Gideon and her best friend, Helena.
For a while, it had looked as though everybody was going to have a happy ending. Clara fell in love with Benjamin, a courteous, lovely young fellow from a good family who had seemingly adored her as she had adored him. They had become engaged, and she had been sure that they would be married soon—they had even referred to one another as husband and wife.
And then he had bowed to family pressure and called off the engagement to marry a cousin of the Prince Regent.
Clara had been so thoroughly humiliated. She had swiftly taken herself away to Scotland to spend time with her godmother again. This time, she had stayed for a full year, despite pressure from her family to return sooner and rejoin the marriage mart.
This was now going to be her fourth Season. And this time, she was starting it as a jilted bride. Not exactly ideal.
“I wish I could go home,” she said, “but Mama sent Mrs. Wainscott, our neighbor, as my chaperone.” She nodded her chin toward the older woman who was standing in the corner, looking utterly sour.
“Well,” Helena said, “I have an idea. You will dance one or two dances. We will take a turn about the room, and then you will declare yourself too tired and go home. Nobody will be able to say that you shirked your responsibilities. And Mrs. Wainscott will report that you danced and were sociable before returning home.”
Clara sighed. “I suppose so. Well, I have to get it over with. I am here. Who can I dance with?”
She looked around, and Helena tilted her chin toward a gentleman who was standing in the corner. “That one has been watching you,” she said.
“Has he?” He was a tall, blond-haired gentleman with broad shoulders and a slight smirk on his lips. When their eyes met, he set into motion almost immediately and crossed toward them. He bowed.
“Lady Clara,” he said, “I thought that was you. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
“Perhaps if you introduced yourself,” Helena said.
“Of course. Captain Charles Lansdale.”
“Military?” Clara asked.
“Militia. Shall we?” He proffered his arm, and she took it. She left Helena to tend to her own devices as she followed Captain Lansdale onto the dance floor.
He placed his hands upon her in a way that was slightly firmer than she thought was proper, but she hadn’t danced in public for some time and thus couldn’t be entirely certain whether this was now the style or not.
They broke into a dance, and he twirled her. She saw people looking at them once more, but the stares bothered her rather less now that she was engaged in activity.
“So, Clara,” he said, once the dance moved into a section where they were able to communicate properly, “I hear you just returned from Scotland.”
“I did. It was lovely. Very cold in the winter, but the spring, summer, and autumn were wonderful.”
“I see,” he said. “Well, perhaps one day you shall have to show me. I hear that it is rather spectacular.”
“Well,” she said, “you are always free to travel there if you like. I highly recommend it. Edinburgh is lovely, and the Highlands?—”
“I take it your broken heart has been fully healed?” he asked.
Instantly, her shoulders stiffened. So he knew about her broken engagement. Of course, he did. Everybody did. He was making a dead set at her and using her misfortune as his ammunition. How utterly shabby.
“The Highlands are beneficial for a great many maladies. A broken heart included.”
“Good,” he said. “I am glad to hear it. I am so glad to know that you have rejoined London after such a lengthy absence. And I am pleased that you gave your very first dance to me.”
The two of them continued dancing, but she noted how his grip on her tightened. His hand wandered up and down her back in a manner that was utterly uncalled for. He was taking liberties, plain and simple, and she did not like it one bit.
