Chapter Twelve
Clara and Althea stood side by side in Clara’s library on Friday morning. On a long table, fresh copies of their journal waited in stacks. The printer would mail the ones to subscribers, but these had to be delivered to book shops, and the women who did that, friends of Mrs. Clark, would arrive at noon.
Clara admired the thick booklets. The ones being mailed had no covers, but these sported ones of heavy blue stock with a nicely engraved title. They would look beautiful in the shops.
Althea called out a number, and Clara took that number of copies and moved them to the end of the table. Althea followed and placed a paper with a shop’s name on that group.
So far, half of the journals had been assigned to their shops.
The chore had taken longer than expected because Clara had been describing the garden party. Not the part about being kissed again, of course.
“Then Lady Hollsworth said, as clearly as you hear me now, Let your grandmother answer his questions about those jewels. I asked her what she meant, but by then Stratton was upon us, so she never answered.”
“How intriguing. It is a wonder you did not tell the duke to go away so you could receive your response.”
“I try not to be rude, Althea.”
Althea checked her paper. “Ackermann’s. Fifteen.”
Clara counted out fifteen copies and moved them to the other end of the table. “Have you learned anything of interest?”
“I keep hearing the same things. Talk of those duels. Concern he will challenge people here. There is an assumption among some people that he will have to, in order to cleanse the family name of whatever besmirched it. Some of the older women believe honor means he cannot allow things to stand as they have been.”
“Times have changed. Families no longer wear the sins of their ancestors like marks on their foreheads. To suggest as much is very old-fashioned.”
“It is not a typical sin, however, is it? The rumors had to do with treason.”
“There was no public accusation, Althea. No trial.”
“Do not become vexed with me. I am merely saying—”
“I know what you are saying. Nor am I vexed with you. I am annoyed by all of these vague whispers from people who do not seem to know anything for certain.”
“Someone knows more. However, the story is over, so whoever it is will not now raise the question again. Especially with the duke back in England.”
Yes, someone knew. Probably several someones. Like Hollsworth.
Had her father known too?
Jocelyn entered the library with the morning mail. Clara paused counting books while she flipped through the few letters. One made her freeze. She tore it open and read it.
“Oh, no. Of all the days to choose—” She looked frantically at the table, laden with copies of the journal.
“What is it?” Althea asked.
Clara waved the letter. “My grandmother has something important to tell me and intends to come here right after noon, before she makes her calls.”
“Here? Oh, dear. The women—”
“Will be arriving just when she does. Entering, and carrying out stacks of these journals.” She strode to the library door and called for Jocelyn. “Can you finish this on your own, Althea? I will make every effort to return before noon, but I must go to my brother’s house before my grandmother leaves to come to mine.”
Jocelyn arrived and Clara sent her for her pelisse and bonnet. She looked down on her dress. It was part of the wardrobe left here after last summer, and not black or even subdued blue or purple. Upon waking from discomforting sensual dreams, she had impulsively put on a red dress.
No one would see her except family. The family in question would not approve, however.
“I will take care of everything here,” Althea said. “You are not to worry. I have my list and will be done in a quarter hour.”
Jocelyn brought in a bonnet and pelisse. Black ones. Red and black. She would look like a harlequin. “Jocelyn, please help Althea finish counting out the booklets. I must leave at once.”
She hurried to the door, to go hire a hackney for the long ride to Mayfair.
Almost an hour later she entered Gifford House, only to learn her grandmother had not come down yet. Praying that she would not be drawn and quartered for the presumption, she went up to her grandmother’s apartment.
She paused outside the door. She never intruded here. She had not since she was ten years old and had snuck in to explore her grandmother’s dressing table. Fascinated by the jewelry and paints, she had tried them on, admiring herself in the looking glass. Even now she could see her reflection, then the shock of seeing her grandmother right behind her.
She had paid dearly for putting on that necklace and rouge. Her grandmother had whipped her with a switch while forcing her to gaze at her sins in the looking glass the whole time. Then she had ordered her imprisoned with only bread and water to eat for a week. Her father had been away and did not return and grant a reprieve for two more days.
She could not look at this door and not see herself in that looking glass while a cane stung her bare bottom.
Taking a deep breath and putting the image of herself all painted and bedecked out of her mind, she ventured inside.
She found her grandmother just as her maid was about to fit on her wig. Hair mashed under a net cap and body ensconced in an undressing gown with layers of lace, her grandmother did not notice her until the maid touched her shoulder and pointed to the door.
Those large, pale eyes gave a scathing glare, then turned back to the looking glass. “Take care of me, Margaret, so that I can talk to my intruding granddaughter.”
Margaret fitted the wig, tweaked a few gray curls, and stood back.
“Now go and get Theo. Tell him I need him here.”
Margaret scurried out of the dressing room.
“Clara, did you wear that dress to provoke me? It is hideous at any time, but especially now.”
Clara sat on a divan near the fireplace. “I received your note. I thought it better to hear this sooner rather than later.”
Her grandmother turned on her chair. “Later was not much later. You could have waited until I dressed, at least. Or until you had reconsidered your own garments.”
“My apologies. It sounded very important, so I came at once.”
Her grandmother turned to the looking glass once more and pinched her cheeks until two pink splotches formed. Don’t pretend you do not paint. We both know you do. You whipped me once for discovering that.
“You did not want me seeing that house of yours, is what you really mean.”
Theo rushed in then. He noticed Clara, averted his eyes from Grandmamma’s dishabille, and sat in a chair. “I hope this will not take long. I was on my way out to ride in the park.”
“Not long at all. I wanted you here, however, when I explained matters to your sister.”
“What matters?” Clara asked. A funny little worry branched through her. She doubted these matters would please her, considering her grandmother’s tone.
“I have heard about Brentworth’s party. Several of my friends wrote to me. I am pleased to say that their opinions of Emilia’s behavior were unexceptionable.”
“I tried to be a good chaperone.” At least this was not about Harry.
“They also wrote that Stratton was there.”
“Yes, I believe he was.”
“Believe he was, do you? The way I read it, he spent over an hour in your company.”
It seemed as though the dressing room had grown smaller. “Not an hour, I am sure.”
“At least an hour, two of my friends reported. Of equal interest is that he spent no time at all with Emilia.”
“That is not true. I was present when he and she chatted.”
“So he chatted with her for a minute at most. It is clear, Theo, that we made some inaccurate assumptions about the duke and will have to correct our strategy.”
“It does appear so,” Theo agreed.
“Do not blame Emilia if he was not agreeable to your last one,” Clara said. “Expecting him to marry someone from our family was a flawed strategy from the start. I told you that.”
Her grandmother stood. In a swish of lace she moved until she sat beside Clara on the divan. “A flawed strategy?” She chortled into the lace at her neck. “Not in principle, it appears. He may have found Emilia lacking, true. However, it appears he finds you interesting. I am not a rigid woman. If success means substituting sisters, so be it.”
Theo appeared confused. “Stratton wants her?”
“It seems he went out of his way to have her company at that party.”
Theo came close to laughing. “Hell, that is rich.”
“Your language, Theo. As for the duke’s preference, there is no accounting for taste.”
“I am sorry, Grandmother. It is just that Emilia is so perfect, and Clara is . . .” He shrugged, then cast out an arm in Clara’s direction, as if to say well, that is what she is.
“She is not the wife I would advise for a duke, but since he did not listen to me on the subject, we will accommodate his peculiar decision.”
Theo shook his head. “I don’t see the match making him friendly to us. Within six months of the wedding he will be sure he was hoodwinked and be out for blood for sure.”
“Should I leave so that the two of you can discuss me forthrightly? I would not want my presence to interfere,” Clara said sharply.
Her grandmother patted her hand. “We have vexed her, Theo. Calm yourself, dear.”
“I am quite calm, thank you. However, I regret to tell you that you have completely misjudged the duke’s interest. He finds it amusing to goad me, nothing more.”
“That is just a boy pulling the hair of a girl he likes,” her grandmother said.
“I do not like having my hair pulled. You seem to have forgotten that no matter what the duke prefers, I will not be marrying him or anyone else.”
Theo groaned. “Not this again.”
“Yes, this again. And again. And again. I fail to understand why you persist in thinking my decision is some passing fancy, when I have held firm to it all these years.”
“Decisions can be changed, as this one must be.” Her grandmother patted her hand again. “For the family’s sake, for your brother’s sake, for my sake, you will marry him.”
So agitated that she feared she would scream, Clara stood. How dare they interfere at this late stage of her life? Because Papa is gone and not here to stop them.
“If this is the important news, I have heard it. I will go now. I encourage you to find some other solution to whatever threat you think the duke presents. Theo, if you keep your wits and do not insult him or his family, he will never challenge you, so all of this plotting is unnecessary anyway.”
“If he proposes and you refuse, you will be the one insulting him,” Theo snapped.
“I am leaving. I refuse to listen to more of this madness.”
“You will not leave. You will stay right here while we plan how you reel him in now that he has been hooked,” Grandmamma said.
“Good heavens, Stratton isn’t some dumb fish. There will be no reeling. Good day to you.”
She got as far as the staircase before the shaking started. She did not know if it resulted from her anger and shock or from the inexplicable desire to laugh.
Halfway down the stairs the last impulse disappeared in a blink. What if Stratton told Theo and her grandmother that he had already proposed? They would be relentless in coercing her to agree. She would have to move to Brazil to save her sanity.
* * *
“I am always happy to watch the auctions, but are we here for a reason, Stratton?” Langford asked.
“I intend to buy a horse. What other reason would bring me here?”
They stood in the yard at Tattersalls, along with twenty other men, while horse after horse came out for inspection and bidding. Thus far none had been good enough. Certainly not the bay currently on the block, even if the auctioneer had touted the mare as suitable for a woman.
“You intend to buy today? The five horses in your stable here in town won’t do? The twenty you have in the country need a new friend?”
“It is not for me. It is a gift.”
“Ahhhhh. For your lady, you mean.”
“She needs a horse. A very good horse. She is as fine an equestrienne as you will find. She rides better than you do, even though she is stuck on a sidesaddle.”
“No woman rides better than I do.”
“Once I get her this horse, you can race her and we will see about that.”
“You are giving her a lot of gifts. Is it appropriate? First that ruby necklace, now a horse.” Langford peered at him. “You did give her the ruby necklace, I assume.”
“Not yet. That is for later.”
“How much later? It has been weeks.”
“I am waiting for the right moment.”
“Which has not come yet, apparently.” Langford grinned. “Methinks the grand seduction is not unfolding as you intended. No, no, there is no need to explain. I am not the kind of man who presses a friend for such intimate details. Perhaps you should have taken notes when I gave my lesson, however.”
Adam would not mind thrashing Langford. Had he not wanted another opinion on the horse he chose, he just might have.
“Does she know you are buying her a horse?”
“No.”
“A surprise, then. Does her brother’s stable have room for another horse?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shouldn’t you find out before you buy one?”
“Stop being so damned practical.” That was better than telling Langford that Lady Clara had moved from her family home and now would arrange her own stabling.
Movements near the auctioneer claimed Adam’s attention. The bay had been knocked down and grooms led her away. A man led out the next horse. The gelding had deep chestnut coloring, almost black. It stepped high and resisted the hold on its bridle.
“Now that is a damned fine animal,” Langford said.
Adam thought so too. He walked over to get a close look, with Langford in his wake.
They gave the horse a thorough examination. Langford checked teeth while Adam lifted legs and hooves. Others also crowded around, but the auctioneer’s practiced eye must have spotted the gentlemen likely to bid high because he hovered near Adam.
“Three years old,” the man repeated, having just announced that information. “A real beauty. Spirited enough to race. A riding horse, to be sure. Not fit for a carriage, although he can be trained for one.”
“How does he take a saddle?”
“He tolerates one well enough. A gentleman like you should have no problem. I would be lying if I did not admit that I would not put a weak rider on him. Has his own mind, he does, and needs a firm hand.”
“He sounds just like the rider I have in mind. They may suit each other.”
“Then here is hoping you win him. I expect the bidding to go high.”
Adam retreated. Langford joined him. “So that is the one? Are you sure? If he throws her, you will feel very guilty.”
“She won’t get thrown.”
“If you say so.” Langford did not sound convinced.
Fifteen minutes later Adam arranged payment for the horse and its delivery to his own stable.
“We are not bringing it to her now?” Langford asked while they walked away.
“We are never bringing it to her. I am alone. Another day.”
“Pity. I wanted to see it. If she loves horses so much, she will probably fall at your feet in capitulation when she receives this one.”
Adam pictured that and laughed, although in his mind’s eye the capitulating Lady Clara refused to totally surrender.
He was not sure he would want her to.