Clarice couldn’t linger, for Charlotte gave her a tiny nudge. As she moved down the receiving line, meeting the remainder of the duke’s family, she caught his whispered comment to the person beside him, “Can’t help but remember that fine bit of French muslin. Daughter of a Frenchie aristocrat who’d fallen on hard times, she’d said.” His laugh sounded like a rusty garden gate. “Rousing good time between the sheets but a horrible singer. Fooled no one. Let ‘er go when she got too long in the tooth to make men jealous I had ‘er.”
The bastard! Clarice bristled. Her steps faltered. When she would have taken him to task, Felix brushed a hand against her elbow. He gave her a barely discernible shake of his head. She blew out a breath. Nothing good would come of losing her temper or confronting the duke, especially in this gathering. She followed Lady Drummond as she led Felix into the bowels of the house. Clarice swallowed the lump of disappointment in her throat. That man may have fathered her but she wasn’t like him; she didn’t resemble him in most ways either. He cared nothing for anyone except himself. She wanted no part of him.
The crowds only dissipated a bit as she entered the ballroom, where people were lining up for the first country dance of the night. A young man intercepted her before she could head for the grouping of chairs to one side. He asked her to dance in a squeaky voice. She accepted out of sympathy and because she enjoyed dancing. Her partner wasn’t skilled in conversation while performing the meeting and parting required in the Lord Delhousie long dance, and the lack of repartee allowed her to find her bearings in the crush of people. Lord Swandon partnered Lady Drummond, and that lady kept up a stream of unabashed prattle. The only comfort was his expression reflected painful boredom.
Polite clapping followed the conclusion of the dance. Clarice allowed her partner to lead her to the side. She barely had time to catch her breath before Felix was there, bowing and asking permission to take her out for the next set. She nodded and laid her fingers upon his forearm, hoping he couldn’t feel her trembling. If he did, perhaps he’d assume it was from exertions or excitement instead of being near him.
The set was another longways dance called the Don Cossack Waltz. She and Felix were the first couple. Once the music started, she went through the steps with more enthusiasm than she had with her last partner. Charlotte made up part of the second couple. She grinned in passing, then Clarice touched hands again with Felix and her awareness of him consumed her. He was so handsome yet so formal. No hint of a smile or enjoyment broke through his blank face. Was it dancing it found tiresome or her company? Her stomach tightened and she stumbled slightly in the steps, but he was there, steadying her with a hand at her elbow before they parted once more.
The set ended all too soon. The gentlemen escorted the ladies to the sides of the room.
“Thank you for the dance, Lord Swandon,” Clarice murmured. “It was quite refreshing.” Would he quit the room and head for the card tables or would he squire another lady about? Her heart squeezed. She didn’t like that idea by half.
“It was.” His eyes darkened a trifle and almost matched the sapphire in his cravat. “I enjoyed it so much I’d like to take you out again, if you’ll agree?”
She sucked in a breath. Two dances in a row, and he’d enjoyed himself? “Surely you jest.” He ran the risk of catching the gossip mongers’ attention.
“I never make light of anything I’m dead serious about.” Felix offered his arm. “Come. It would appear they’re setting up for one of my favorites. I haven’t danced the Union Waltz for some time, but I find I desperately wish to do so now with you.”
How could she refuse such a request? Excitement fluttered in her belly as she returned to the dance floor with him. They lined up as the second couple in a set. Once the lively music started and her gloved hands touched his, she lost herself to the wonder of the evening. Each time their hands met, heat licked up her arms. When they stood across from each other, Felix flirted as if his life depended on it. His smile brimmed with wicked intent and the glint in his eyes spoke of untold promise.
The room closed in. All sound faded and the only person who existed in her world was him. She imagined that he belonged to her alone, and that the brush of his fingers on her hands or the small of her back and the intensity of his gaze meant they’d find a future together despite the reality. Oh, Felix…
Clarice frowned as the set ended and everyone resumed their starting positions. She gave him a slight curtsey as he executed a modified bow. While the couples broke and headed for the sides of the room, she lingered, hoping, wondering, and dreaming Felix would ask her for an unprecedented third dance. He extended his hand, either in invitation or for escort. His lips parted as if he’d ask her a question, and just when she would have slipped her hand in his, Charlotte bustled over to her.
“It’s not wise to invite wagging tongues or the breath of scandal.” The redhead tugged Clarice away from the dance floor. “Also, it’s best to let the man chase the woman. If you don’t make it easy, he’ll pursue you with grand passion, regardless that the heat coming from both your gazes will set the ballroom on fire. Now, let’s grab a cup of punch then chat before dinner.”
“You’re probably right. Thank you.” She used every ounce of willpower not to glance back and locate Felix as she exited the room with Charlotte. If his sister hadn’t come to the rescue, would Felix have committed social suicide and given her the third dance? The idea gave wings to her feet and she floated from the room.
An hour later when the company sat down to dinner in yet another ballroom filled with large round tables, Clarice’s mind still spun with an overload of rich food, buzzing conversation and stimulation from the glittering, brightly-dressed people around her. She had no idea what her dinner companions said to her, but she responded in generalities, cowed into near silence by the simple fact they talked to her as if she were an equal. Olivia and Felix’s mother, Roberta, dominated much of Clarice’s table’s conversation. Occasionally, she caught the gist of a political ramble, but she kept her lips tightly sealed, not wishing to disturb her precarious spot on the shaky branch of societal indulgence. She had only been invited as a suspected favor to Felix. She should take in all she could in order to regale the kitchen staff with stories for weeks to come.
Eventually, the dull roar of talk ebbed as everyone finished eating.
“Perhaps the ladies would be so kind as to leave us to our port and a few rousing games of cards,” the duke suggested. “I’ve a mind to relieve some of you of much coin tonight.”
Polite laughter followed the announcement then the duchess stood, signaling a definite end to dinner of which the ladies were required to follow.
“Oh, by the by, Clarice?” Olivia waved her hand from across the table to gain Clarice’s attention.
“Yes, Lady Drummond?” Dread chewed at her stomach. What insensitive subject or outrageous order would she dare put forth this time?
A sly grin slid over Olivia’s face. The diamond-studded combs in her hair glittered. “Be a dear and locate my wrap. I’d like everything readied for our departure as I do not wish to tarry long tonight. I find I’m rather fatigued, and,” she slid a triumphant look around the table, “that is your job as a companion, is it not?”
“This is true, Lady Drummond.” She hated the heat that seeped into her cheeks and chest. Why did Olivia need to bring her position to the attention of their table?
Charlotte cocked an eyebrow. “Have a care, Lady Drummond. Surely you can at least wait until we’ve all had a chance to visit with each other in the drawing room.”
“Oh, I’m afraid not, Lady Charlotte, for letting Clarice mingle with the notables more than she already has would be a very bad idea.” Olivia stood. She patted her hair then slowly looked around the table as if were the duchess herself. “You see, I have it on very good authority she’s following in her mother’s footsteps. She’s hardly a good social fit for any of us.”
Felix shot to his feet. “Enough, Olivia.” A
ll remaining conversation within the room died. Every eye was trained in Clarice’s direction.
“Why so perturbed, Lord Swandon? Am I in danger of hitting too close to the truth?” Olivia prowled around the table and came to a stop near Clarice. “My poor, deluded companion has gotten into the habit of making herself available for dear Felix’s every whim and need. It seems every chance she gets, she corners him in kitchens and parlors to have her way with him.”
Dual gasps from Charlotte and her mother echoed in the sudden silence.
“You go too far.” A decided growl had entered Felix’s voice. “I demand you desist or excuse yourself from the gathering if you cannot hold your tongue.”
Clarice glanced at him, grateful for his authority. His eyes flashed. His expression reflected grim determination. Was he annoyed Olivia had called him to task or that his association with her had been brought to light? “Lady Drummond, please. Not now.” She clasped her hands in her lap to stop their shaking. Even though anger rose in her throat, threatening to choke her, she strove to keep tight rein on her temper. It would do no good to antagonize the woman here, and certainly not in front of the Duke of Amherst.
“I think now is the best time, since you’ve acted beyond your station tonight in an effort to fool everyone around you into thinking you are something you are obviously not.” Olivia rested her gaze on Clarice. It roiled with hatred and anger. “You can wear pretty gown or borrow expensive jewels, but beneath it all, you’ll never be one of us. Look around you.” She gestured to the room at large. “Do you see anyone here who holds a position such as yours?”
Clarice refused to follow the order. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her plate. “No, of course not.”
“Exactly, and why do you think that is?” Olivia paused, most likely for dramatic effect. When Clarice kept silent, Lady Drummond continued. “Class doesn’t cross class no matter who you claim sired you, so do yourself a favor and remember your station. You are a servant, nothing more. That is all you’ll ever be.” She leaned closed, put her head near Clarice’s and whispered, “I warned you to stay away from Felix. You have only yourself to blame for whatever befalls you next.”
“Idle threats, my lady.” Olivia had done nothing except make such threats throughout her employ. Still, Clarice forced a swallow into her dry throat. The backs of her eyelids itched with tears. Her stomach ached from embarrassment.
“Perhaps you are correct on all counts, Lady Drummond, save one.” With all the dignity she could summon, Clarice pushed to her feet, swaying only slightly as a bout of lightheadedness assailed her. “I enjoy the protection of no man, and I am most certainly not what my mother was. I’ve worked hard to maintain my independence so I wouldn’t have to be.” She looked Olivia full in the face. This time I will not let her bully me. I don’t need this position any longer. “And even if I was, it would never give you permission to deride or belittle me as a person. Integrity and respect draws the line between classes, Lady Drummond. Not titles.”
“Oh.” Charlotte gasped. She gave a brief bout of applause until a stern glare from her mother stifled it. “Bravo, Miss Delacroix,” she whispered.
She looked at Felix, caught the surprise in his gaze then she transferred her attention to Charlotte. The woman was positively beaming with encouragement. Clarice pulled away from Lady Drummond. “Also, it would seem you are also incorrect on one last count, Olivia.”
Her employer gasped at the daring of using her Christian name in public. “If you think you can further shock this company, let’s hear it.”
It was now or never. All of Felix’s words came rushing back, and the need to reveal the truth of her ancestry shot to the forefront. She clasped her shaking hands in front of her. “While it’s true my mother was a prostitute, I am the granddaughter of the Comte de Auvergne. So, Lady Drummond, I do have a titled rank that is the same as yours. I would appreciate it if you refrained from talking down to me in the future.”
A few titters and gasps of surprise erupted around the room. Lady Drummond’s gaze narrowed further. “I am not done with you, miss.” She stormed from the room in a flurry of skirting.
Clarice heaved a tiny sigh. I’m in the drink now. She glanced across the table and caught pride, but also pity, lurking in Felix’s eyes. “I apologize, my lord. We should never have begun a friendship, for that is all it can be after this.” The last thing she wanted from him was sympathy. Yes, she considered herself better than her mother and quite possibly her father despite his place in the Peerage, but perhaps she shouldn’t have let herself become attached to Felix. He didn’t deserve the backlash that would undoubtedly follow Lady Drummond’s outburst.
I knew no good could come from falling for a lord. Unable to stand the scrutiny of the remaining dinner party, she fled from the room, choosing a different door than Olivia had taken.
Chapter Nine
“Damnation. The lot of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” Felix shoved back his chair. “Miss Delacroix is good and sweet and brave. We should all aspire to have an ounce of her courage or honor. If you would give her a chance, you’d see in her what I do.”
“Good Lord, Felix. Sit down,” his mother hissed. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“No.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m tired of being ordered about by the females in my life.” First his mother summoned him to London for nothing more than to make a match, then Lady Drummond thought she could imply being his countess, not to mention his sister and her interfering ways. He glared at Charlotte. “Don’t think I didn’t recognize that gown you loaned Clarice. I remember paying the note not six months ago. I also had advised you to wear that very one this evening.” And finally Clarice herself, but she’d done nothing except be the woman she truly was without avarice or guile.
“Delacroix?” The Duke of Amherst rose to stand next to his wife. “That name is familiar to me, but I cannot say why. Doesn’t matter. A round of spirits will help soothe your ruffled feathers, Swandon.”
“Bother. I think, perhaps I’ve fallen into Bedlam.” Was the man so daft he didn’t remember his affair with Clarice’s mother, or did he strive to save his arse from public scrutiny? “I believe I’m going to beg off the rest of the evening, Amherst. I find I cannot stomach the company any longer.”
Ignoring his mother’s outcry and the purple hue darkening the duke’s face, Felix strode from the room in the direction Clarice had taken. I’ve probably made a muck of my future within the Ton. He was beyond caring. Nothing mattered except finding Clarice and telling her what had been on his heart for the last couple of weeks. Sometimes a man had to tend to his domestic affairs before all else.
As he methodically searched rooms, his mind revisited the evening. Clarice had been beautiful, flawless even. The dress Charlotte had loaned her set off her dusky skin to perfection, and the velvet choker. Dear God, he had been hard pressed to keep his attention on the piece of jewelry instead of her bosom. After the heated dance they’d shared, all he’d wanted to do was whisk her away into a private corner and cover her skin with kisses, explore her breasts with his lips and tongue. Despite the promise he’d made her and despite the respect he had for her as a person, nothing could erase the need he felt.
I want her to be mine.
He tracked her to earth in a small parlor downstairs off the entryway. Clarice sat huddled on a chaise lounge with a cheek resting on the high bolstered end. The side of her face visible to him was shiny with tears. His chest constricted. A wave of fierce protectiveness hit him in the gut. She deserved so much better than what life had given her. She deserves… love… unwavering regard for the woman she is. His pulsed thundered in his ears. Did he truly intend to carry out what he’d denied himself to think for the last week?
“Clarice?”
She twisted around, shock widening her eyes. “Go away, Lord Swandon,” she told him as she put her skirts to rights.
“Felix,” he corrected. He came further into the ro
om until he stood directly in front of her. “I will always be Felix to you. Let me take you home.”
“No.” She scrubbed at the moisture on her face. “I don’t want your sympathy. I saw the pity in your eyes, and I don’t need it. I’m doing quite well, thank you very much.” Her voice wobbled at the last bit.
“Dearest, if you saw pity, it wasn’t for you.” The endearment slipped out before he could stop it. He didn’t correct it either. In fact, he wanted to say it again. “I felt sorry for Olivia. I cannot believe how small, petty and miserable she’s become. It’s unsettling.”
“Perhaps it’s the lifestyle she leads.”
He fished in a jacket pocket for his handkerchief then handed it to her. “How so? From all accounts, she lives well and makes no apologies for it.” Except the rumors that persisted of her peccadillos and penchants for dubious connections.
Clarice wiped her eyes. “Lord Wynesford has made his fortune through shipping—human cargo to be exact. And don’t let Olivia tell you she knew nothing about it. Often, she is the one who handles the accounts or sets the schedules when her father is out of pocket. I saw the correspondence myself. Everywhere the Crown has holdings is fair game, and because Lord Wynesford also owns property in the Caribbean, it’s very easy for them. It would seem there is always a need for slavery—of all skin colors of both sexes.”
“That would explain the reluctance to talk of their financial background and of why I can never secure an audience with her father.” When she merely nodded, he sighed. The very idea of profiting off the backs of helpless people sent bile into his throat. “Please let me escort you home, Clarice. You’d be more comfortable.”
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