Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss (Wallflowers to Wives)

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘We are glad, of course, that Claire could be of use,’ Lord Stanhope began. ‘However, the circumstances are somewhat unusual and there’s been talk.’ He picked up newssheets from the small table beside his chair. ‘Your absence has been noted and remarked upon. You might want to read these. I’ve circled pertinent information so you needn’t read the whole rag.’

  Jonathon scanned them.

  Miss W., who has been surprisingly prominent this Season, has now become quite obviously absent after attaching herself regularly to Mr L....

  Another read:

  It has been several days since Miss W. last graced the ballrooms of London, one can only speculate on the reason...

  And, perhaps the most damning.

  Based on their regular habit of dancing together, one must do the social mathematics and assume that if one could find Miss W. one would also find Mr L. quite close by...

  Jonathon grimaced. He could stand the scandal. He’d expected something of this nature might arise. But he grimaced on Claire’s behalf and the idea that she should have to endure it.

  ‘Well, I believe a marriage proposal will put a stop to such speculations.’ Jonathon smiled to dispel Lord Stanhope’s agitation. Lord Stanhope was a quiet man who did not thrive in the midst of gossip. The past few days must have been hell for him. ‘An announcement in The Times and the story from Danvers will have Claire painted as a national heroine once news gets out.’

  Lord Stanhope’s tight mouth began to ease into a smile, but Claire’s voice stopped it halfway. ‘No, there will be no marriage proposal. Jonathon, you don’t need to do this.’

  ‘I have every need to do this,’ Jonathon said as delicately as he could. He had to protect Claire, even from her parents. If he blurted out half of what they’d been up to, Claire would have no choice but to accept him. He wanted her, but he didn’t want her forced. He thought she’d wanted him, too, not just for a night, but for ever. This, he realised, was what had been eating at her on the way home. Dear Lord, when had she known she was going to refuse him? In the parlour when she’d held him? In the room when they’d made love? Before that even? Had it always been just one night for her? She’d tried to leave him once. Was she trying to do so again?

  ‘Claire, is this about the Vienna post?’ Again. He thought her coming to Dover had resolved that, that she’d understood and accepted that he was willing to give Vienna up for her if need be. He couldn’t very well say any of those things out loud and imply there was a rather intimate history between them. One didn’t go giving up plum positions on a whim. Sweat started to bead on his brow. Sweet heavens, the room was getting hot. Even with his diplomatic skill, it was deuced awkward discussing such a thing in front of one’s lover’s parents.

  ‘It’s about you,’ Claire answered. ‘You need that position in order to be happy. If I’ve helped you secure it that is enough for me.’

  ‘You make me happy, Claire,’ Jonathon argued.

  ‘For now. What happens when the post is denied you? You will come to resent me. I could not live every day with your hate. I would come to hate myself.’ Claire rose. ‘If you will all excuse me, it’s been a long set of days. I want to wash and go to bed.’

  It was an old trick; winning an argument by leaving the room. Jonathon grimaced. If they were alone, he’d grab her and press her against the wall and kiss some sense in to her but that would hardly do here. ‘Claire, this is not over,’ he called after her. She didn’t bother to answer. She just kept walking.

  Lady Stanhope tossed him a nervous glance. ‘Let her sleep on it. Perhaps she’ll come around.’ Jonathon didn’t put much stock in that. When Claire took something into her mind, she was immovable.

  ‘Perhaps you can talk sense into her?’ Jonathon appealed to Lord Stanhope.

  Lord Stanhope looked cynical. ‘We will not force her. We tried that with Sheriden a few years back and look where that got us.’ There would be no help from that quarter either, it seemed. It was time to take his leave and regroup. When he’d told Claire she was worth fighting for, he’d never thought he’d have to fight her in order to prove it.

  * * *

  The girls came as soon as she sent word the next day. If ever there was a reason for an emergency meeting of the Left-Behind Girls Club, this was it.

  ‘What has happened?’ Beatrice was the last to arrive. She bustled into Claire’s bedroom, stripping off her gloves. She hadn’t paused long enough to leave her things at the door.

  May looked up from Claire’s side. ‘She’s refused Jonathon.’

  ‘For good this time,’ Evie added for emphasis. Claire winced. Hearing someone else say it out loud was so much more final than thinking it in one’s head. But she wasn’t going to cry. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t. She needed her friends, but she didn’t need them to worry for her or to feel they had to do something to fix her situation. This was her problem. Her decision. Never mind that it had been tearing her apart since she’d left Dover. The closer London came, the deeper the knife had dug. She’d barely made her room last night before she’d needed the chamber pot. That’s what happened when one threw away happiness, one retched and then one cried.

  Beatrice settled into the overstuffed chair near the bed. ‘Tell us. What happened in Dover?’

  She told them everything. Evie wiped away a tear when she told them about Jonathon’s brother. May sighed over the romance. Beatrice looked down at her hands. Claire supposed it was a romantic tale, perhaps fit for a Gothic, but not for real life. There was no happy ending here. Or rather, she’d had her happy ending. But afterwards life went on and even her ending had an ending because life was not contained between book covers.

  ‘I can’t have him, because having him will ruin him. It will make him less than what he is and it will be my fault,’ she declared quietly, determined they not see how this was tearing her apart. She loved him so entirely, so completely. Perhaps, if she loved him less?

  ‘You are so brave, Claire.’ Evie gave her a wan smile of support and encouragement. Her friend meant well, but Claire fought the urge to argue with Evie, to shout that she wasn’t brave. She was breaking. She might manage to glue the pieces of herself back together again at some point, but it wouldn’t be the same. She’d never be whole, not without him.

  Her stomach started to roil again. She fought back a wave of nausea. Just the thought of Jonathon lost to her was enough to make her physically ill. She was too cognisant of all she’d lost when she’d given him up.

  ‘There’s only one thing to do. You need to go away until this blows over. The Season will be done in a month. Perhaps you could come to the country with me. We could arrange to go early and say we’re visiting my aunt,’ May offered.

  ‘Or you could come with me. I have to leave soon anyway.’ Beatrice put a hand over her stomach. In a few weeks, even Evie’s careful designs wouldn’t be able to hide the early telltale signs of an advancing pregnancy.

  Claire shook her head at her friends’ generous offers. It would be so easy to take those offers. She could retreat and wallow in self-pity and perhaps self-righteousness in private. But she’d done that once already and it hadn’t been to her benefit in the end. Retreating had only hurt herself. ‘I am grateful. I can’t run away. Everyone will know something is up if I hide. If I am to face down the gossips, I have to go out. Tonight. To the Belvoirs’ musicale evening—’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Beatrice interrupted immediately, horrified at the suggestion. ‘None of us was invited. You’ll be alone and in Cecilia’s house. Even if she didn’t start the gossip about your absence, she’ll be mad if she believes half of what the gossip sheets have implied.’

  ‘Then perhaps it’s better to get it over with,’ Claire said staunchly, although the idea of facing Cecilia turned her stomach sour. But the Claire she’d become needed to face this
down. If she didn’t face Cecilia and the gossip, it would only prove she hadn’t changed.

  ‘Well, if you are set on going, you must have something to wear.’ Beatrice began organising the troops. ‘Evie, look through her wardrobe. May, give Evie some help. I need to talk to Claire.’

  It was clear Bea wanted privacy. Claire let Bea draw her to the long French doors leading out to her little balcony. Would she ever be able to look at those doors without thinking of Jonathon?

  ‘What is it, Bea?’ Claire asked in a low voice. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘I am fine, but I think you might have gone round the bend,’ Beatrice scolded. ‘Claire, you can’t refuse him, no matter what your principles dictate.’

  ‘I will not trap him. This is about doing the right thing,’ Claire argued hotly. ‘Don’t think for a moment this is easy for me.’

  Bea arched a dark brow, her tone dry. ‘No one looking at you would think that. We’ll need rouge to make you presentable no matter what Evie pulls out of your closet. We’ll have Jonathon back by your side in no time.’

  Claire looked quizzically at her friend. ‘Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? I’ve let him go.’ Oh, dear, the sick sensation came again and she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath to quell her stomach. ‘Can’t you see how hard this is for me? Please, don’t try to convince me otherwise, Bea, because it would be an easy argument to win. I’m holding on to the right choice by a thread. It would take very little for that thread to break.’

  ‘It’s not about trapping and it’s definitely not about principles, Claire, not at this point,’ Beatrice answered, undaunted. ‘You have to march over to him and tell him you’ve reconsidered. Tell him you were tired and not thinking straight last night. I don’t care what you tell him, just tell him you’ll marry him.’ Beatrice was full of urgency. ‘Don’t you understand, Claire? You had sex with him, multiple times.’

  ‘Only three times,’ Claire corrected.

  ‘Once, twice, forty times, it doesn’t matter. I bet he never once used any kind of protection. You could be carrying his child.’

  Her initial reaction was one of betrayal. She was dying inside. She wanted empathy at the least. ‘I didn’t expect this from you, Bea. Of all people, I thought you would respect my decision. You, who won’t marry the father of your child unless he truly loves you. You are hardly in a position to argue that principles be thrown out the window.’

  Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. ‘My man isn’t here offering for me. It’s far easier for me to cling to those principles when that’s all I have. But they are cold comfort, Claire. Trust me.’ She sighed, her eyes sparkling suspiciously as her tone softened. She squeezed Claire’s hand. ‘I am so sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. This is all my fault. I should not have started this. You didn’t want to do it and I pushed you towards it. I meddled where I ought not.’

  Her anger at Bea evaporated, replaced by a fierce, protective love of her friend. She couldn’t have Bea believing she’d failed. ‘Don’t say that. Whatever happens, it was worth it. I fell in love and I found myself. Bea, you were right all along. It took Jonathon to make me see it. I’d become lost. But now I know I’m worth fighting for, even if the warrior who does the fighting is me.’ She leaned over and kissed Bea on the cheek. ‘I will never forget what you’ve done for me. You gave me the push I needed.’

  Bea offered a tremulous smile. ‘I just hope it isn’t a push over a cliff.’

  ‘It’s not. Now, let’s go see what Evie has pulled out of my wardrobe.’

  She and Bea walked over to join the others. There was no time like the present to start facing her future. Claire smiled as Evie pulled out a few dresses. She would have to get used to this: smiling on the outside, convincing others she was coping, even recovering, while on the inside she was empty.

  According to Evie, the future wore chocolate silk. If the future couldn’t be decadent, it could at least look delicious, but deep in her heart, Claire knew it would always be dark. Dark and empty.

  No, maybe not empty, not yet. Maybe emptiness would come later. For now, she hurt. Pain wasn’t emptiness. Pain was something. Some day the pain would leave her, but she was in no hurry for it to go. When she stopped remembering, then Jonathon would truly be gone. Until that happened, the pain was a way to hold on to him for a little while longer. Ah, fabulous. She’d become a masochist.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jonathon climbed the steps to the Belvoir town house with heavy feet. It was time to start facing his future. Thomas was dead. Claire was lost to him. She’d not answered any of the notes he’d sent that morning and her parents had not received him when he’d called that afternoon, desperate for the sight of her. A warm summer night had fallen over London. The sounds of merrymaking drifted out from the town house. It was to be a grand evening with excellent food and champagne, and an excellent soprano imported from Milan.

  Normally, it was the sort of evening he enjoyed. He wished he could muster a modicum of enthusiasm for the entertainment. He suspected it might be a long while before he had enthusiasm for much of anything that didn’t involve Claire and right now that was everything. She had made it clear she wanted to separate herself from him. For his sake, of course. But the sacrifice didn’t make it any better. It made it worse. They loved one another, they belonged together. Why couldn’t she see that? Why could she only see the price of it?

  Jonathon handed his hat to the doorman and stepped inside. He shouldn’t have come, but it was the one place he was assured he would not see Claire. As a rule, the lofty Earl of Belvoir did not invite the retiring Viscount Stanhope. He stepped into the drawing room where the elite of the ton and the political world were gathered. Cecilia was beside him immediately, beautifully turned out in pale-pink silk that was at once designed to be enticing and demure. With any other man, the goal would have been met. Jonathon had never felt so suffocated in his life.

  She slipped an arm through his in a proprietary manner. ‘Jonathon, you’ve come back and just in time. The gossip was growing positively lurid.’ She smiled. ‘But never mind it, you and I can put the rumours to rest tonight.’ Already, they were drawing stares. Elite or not, it seemed everyone had a penchant for gossip.

  She dragged him over to meet her father and greet her mother. Lord Belvoir gave him a smug grin of approval. The young pup had been brought to heel and was back where he belonged. Lady Belvoir fussed over him with a keen glance at her daughter. He didn’t want this, any of it. It was something of mystery to him how he had once thought he could tolerate it. But he was a different man now than he’d been last year, or even last month. He’d been willing to pay the price for his dream even if it meant selling himself in a marriage of convenience. That was before Claire.

  Claire had changed him, shown him that one can stand up for himself. He didn’t have to put up with this. He just had to be brave enough. There was a piece of Claire’s irony for him: it was the wallflower who was brave, who had eschewed society in an attempt to preserve herself, not he who had seen battle and handled sensitive negotiations.

  There was a rustling by the door. Heads nearest the entrance started to turn, conversations stalled. A brief wave of silence covered the room as everyone took in the newcomer. Cecilia’s grip on his arm tightened, a cold smile taking her mouth. ‘Oh, good, the little tramp has come after all.’

  Jonathon turned towards the door. Good God, Claire was here, alone and stunning in a gown of chocolate summer silk. The colour was divine on her, bringing out the coffee of her hair, the cognac ambers of her eyes. Cognac and chocolate were quite the aphrodisiacs on their own. Knowing what those lips tasted like completed the metaphor and uncomfortably so. She was a visual feast and she knew it. Jonathon stifled a smile. She’d come a long way from the girl who had tugged self-consciously at her bodice at the Worth dinner. She’d chosen this dress on purpose. She m
eant to make a statement, meant to draw the eye. She wasn’t going to shy away from the gossip. She was going to meet it head on.

  Her eyes met his and she froze for a moment. Perhaps she had not expected to see him. Or perhaps she had not expected to see him with Cecilia. Cecilia’s chin raised a fraction higher and he recognised how this would look to Claire; he’d written her notes, proposed marriage to her, sworn undying devotion and here he was with Cecilia on his arm as if nothing had changed from that very first night at the Worths. Her gaze moved on as a woman near the door engaged her in conversation. He fought the urge to go to her. If he crossed the room, it would only stir more scandal. He could not spoil this for her. But he would wait and watch, and stand at the ready to go to her side should she indicate she wanted his support. Cecilia’s eyes narrowed dangerously, having followed his gaze.

  ‘She wants you, Jonathon. Can’t you see it? All those dances you gave her must have convinced her you had feelings for her. This is why you can’t feed stray dogs. They end up following you home.’

  She looked up at him under lowered lashes. ‘But we both know her efforts are in vain. She can’t have you. How could she when you’re mine?’ She trailed a finger down the length of his arm. Jonathon closed a steely grip around her wrist.

  ‘Ouch!’ She tugged, but he held on.

  ‘I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am not yours and we are done here.’ Cecilia had gone too far. He had not gone nearly far enough.

  ‘I can’t believe you are choosing her over me!’ Cecilia hissed.

  Jonathon smiled. He had his answer. He knew how to win Claire and he could do it right now, perhaps only right now. ‘I’m not choosing her over you. She would never want that.’

  Claire didn’t want to be a trade. She didn’t want him to choose her or Vienna. Cecilia couldn’t understand. Her whole life was a competition, winning and losing the measuring stick by which she judged her own success. ‘I’m choosing me.’