“She wants you to look feminine.”
Clarisse laughed. “I’m a woman. I can’t get much more feminine, father.”
“You actively misunderstand me,” her father scowled. “Helena has your best interests at heart, if you can believe that.” Clarisse narrowed her eyes, but she did not speak. Arthur went on. “She wishes for you to find a man, to marry well.”
“I have a man. My father. The best man I know.” She could see the pride shine in her father’s eyes, but he shook his head gently and waved his hand at her.
“You cannot marry your father my dear.”
“I’m only eighteen.”
“More than one girl has been married at seventeen or eighteen.”
“I am willing to consider marrying. Just don’t let her have a say in it.”
Her father shook his head sadly.
“I tire of having this conversation, over and over.”
Clarisse knew that the discussion was finished, that nothing useful would be gained by persisting. Sighing, she stood and left the table.
Chapter Two
The air had gone cool as the sun faded from the sky, but Gervaise was not yet ready to go inside. He stood at the edge of the stream, watching as the water flowed lazily past. The stream was small, although, after winding along the edge of the grounds of the estate, it eventually joined the Thames.
This estate, although the least of his family’s holdings, was yet his favourite place. He had chosen to live here, close on the edge of London, but with some open space and greenery around him, rather than staying in the same homes as his father and the new Countess of Amberhithe occupied.
Not that he disliked his father’s new wife – far from it – he adored her, but his father deserved the privacy.
Gervaise came to walk by the stream often, the water soothing him.
It had been a week since his big win, and he had made sure to get his affairs back in order, he was not willing to let things come perilously close to undoing him again.
He shuddered at the thought of his father’s response, should he go into that depth of debt again.
And yet, he was unhappy. It was the horses. The gambling. It pulled at him, ate at him. He could invest, use the money to grow his wealth, as he had done once before. He knew that was by far a more sensible thing to do. If he spent all of his effort on wise investment, he would not need to gamble, he would invest, and it would multiply.
But it was not exciting.
“Damn it all,” Gervaise said to himself.
“Pardon?” a voice asked, and he turned. He saw a beautiful girl making her way along the edge of the stream as it cut through the green grass.
“My apologies of course,” Gervaise said as he bowed to the woman. “I am Gervaise Belmont, Viscount Woodridge, and I’m afraid that you’ve caught me in the middle of a bout of self-anguish, which led me to exclaim inappropriately.”
The young woman smiled. She had long, mid brown hair, piled in curls upon her head and topped by a simple wide brimmed bonnet. She wore a gown of soft yellow, and she was careful where she set her heeled boots, lest she venture too close to the mud on the bank of the river.
“I am Miss Clarisse Weston.”
Gervaise went to her, taking her hand and pressing his lips to it. She seemed young, but not so young that her beauty was lost upon him. There was a poise to her that drew him, a calmness.
“A man cannot stay anguished when one as beautiful as yourself stands before him.” The young woman blushed, but met his eyes.
“My Lord, may I inquire about what brought on your anguished state? What is so dire that you must curse it aloud?”
Gervaise waved his hand through the air, as if batting her words away.
“Let us not dwell upon that. I’d much rather know what a woman such as yourself is doing walking along this stream, alone, so late in the day.”
“I would wager the same thing you are doing. I come here often, the beauty draws me. I enjoy watching the dragonflies dart from spot to spot upon the surface of the water when I am vexed.”
“Aha!” Gervaise said lifting his finger into the air. “Another person using the water to soothe their anguish.”
“Vexation, not anguish,” Clarisse said with a small laugh. She tilted her head then. “You say that you are Gervaise Belmont, Lord Woodridge?”
“I am.”
“I believe that I may have met you,” Clarisse said.
“I’m not so sure,” Gervaise replied. “I like to think that I would remember meeting a beautiful woman such as yourself.”
“You flatter me,” the girl said. “And perhaps meet is not the proper word. My father was invited to a function which your father – he is the Earl of Amberhithe, is he not? - put on, some years ago. You were there as well.”
Gervaise nodded.
“My father does know, and invest with, a lot of great men. I’m sure your father is one.”
“He is,” Clarisse said. “I remember your father, he was kind to me, a very out of place young girl in a room full of merchants and businessmen. I did not understand the way of things then, but I now realise how unusual your father is, to be kind to those of the merchant class, who he does business with.”
Gervaise let a small smile spread over his lips.
“All those who meet my father seem to love him. But tell me Miss Weston, what vexation brings you here?”
The girl shook her head slightly.
“It is nothing, for the company has suddenly caused me to forget it myself.”
Gervaise smiled.
“You humour me, I am sure. Will you do me the honour of walking with me a little?”
He offered his arm, and she took it. They turned to walk slowly along the bank.
“I do not humour you – I speak the truth.”
“Do you live nearby? For surely you have not walked a great distance to come here.”
“There,” Clarisse answered, pointing to where the roof of her father’s impressive manor could just be seen, jutting up past a high brick wall thickly over grown with ivy.
“Oh yes, a beautiful home, I admire it often when I walk here.”
“You live close as well then?” she asked him.
“I do,” he said, “though not so close as to see it from here. Brookhaven Hall is one of my father’s estates, and currently my home. But tell me, Miss Weston, how you manage to escape the conventions of propriety, and slip out to walk by yourself, without even a maid? I hope that our walk will not cause anyone to miss you, or bring trouble to you, for it is growing late.”
“I walk here often, and I have always come alone. It is quiet here – I rarely meet anyone, and Abby, my maid, has much work to do – I just don’t see the point of dragging her along. I know that us meeting like this is highly unconventional, and completely improper, but I find myself enjoying your company too much to care. And, if I am to be truthful, I expect that my stepmother would be delighted to know that I have met a gentleman, no matter in how unusual a manner.”
Gervaise looked at her, one eyebrow lifting in silent enquiry.
“Why do you expect that?”
“She thinks me too old to be under my father’s roof. It has just been me and him for so long, and now that she has inserted herself into our lives, I think that she finds the home overcrowded by one, as large as it is.”
“Ah, so a suitor is required, to come and sweep you off your feet?”
“I suppose so,” Miss Weston said, with a smile.
“You certainly seem light enough, but I’m afraid I may slip in the mud. You will have to imagine the sweeping part.”
Miss Weston giggled, and they walked on.
~~~~~
Frederick Caulfield was never going to grow used to being the Earl of Langerden. That had been his father. Nathan Caulfield had been the ninth Earl of Langerden, making Frederick the tenth. It was a title he did not want, for if he did not have it, his father would still be alive. Frederick was a man of the
sea, he had always loved it, his childhood home had been built upon its edge. As a second son, he had gone to the Navy, and had been happy to do so.
He would have done anything to be on a ship. The war with France had seemed never ending, and he’d found himself captain of a ship called Majesty’s Might. But as the war came to a close, finally, the news had reached him of his brother’s death, in a stupid hunting accident. Then, when he came home, it was to discover that his father was dying. It seemed that the loss of Charles had taken the last will to live from the man, and he had faded away.
“I am proud of you,” the old man had said to his son, a day before he’d died. They were good words to hear, but they did not compensate for the loss of a father.
Once his father was gone, and the heavy weight of the title had come to rest on Frederick’s shoulders, Frederick knew that he would not know the sea’s tumultuous grasp again, at least not in the same way he had known during the war.
He’d sold out, and resigned himself to a landlocked life – but adapting was hard. In a sense he felt bitter about it, and that had led to a determination to get what he could out of life, for himself, regardless of others. Now, his year of mourning done, he felt no more settled than he had at the start of it.
He was dining alone, breaking his fast late one morning when he received a caller. Mr Arthur Weston had been a good friend of his father, and was a friend of his own now. Weston had often checked in after his father’s death, to make certain that all was well with Frederick.
“Hello my boy,” Weston greeted him, then he remembered himself, swept his hat off, and bowed. “Lord Langerden,” he corrected, a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
“Enough!” Frederick said as he laughed. “I’m still not comfortable with the title, let’s just stay with Caulfield, like you always called me before.”
“I do it as a sign of respect, and perhaps also because I know how it needles you so,” the older man said, his eyes twinkling again.
Frederick sighed
“Do sit down, for I fear that your legs cannot possibly take the brunt of your growing waistline,” Frederick said, a twinkle of mischief in his own eye.
Weston barked out a laugh as he sat down and patted his stomach.
“You cut deep and directly to the core,” he said to the younger man.
“My father taught me as much,” Frederick said.
“That is why I came,” Weston smiled sadly. “I was thinking of your father this morning, after speaking with my daughter, and felt the need to come here, to where we had so many great talks.”
“And how is your ravishing daughter?” Frederick enquired.
“Careful, she is but my little girl to me, no more a ravishing young woman than the plate of food which sits before you.”
“Incidentally, may I offer you any refreshment?”
“No, I broke my own fast earlier, when most people with businesses to attend to do.”
Frederick laughed at Weston’s words.
“Most people with businesses could not drop everything to come sit in a dead man’s home, with his only remaining son.”
Weston smiled and nodded.
“You may have the right of it. In any case, my daughter is well, but I fear that my wife is a continual source of vexation for her.”
“She is drawn to her own mother, though she did not know her. All girls are,” Frederick said with some wisdom.
His own mother still lived, though she and his younger sister had chosen to move into their main London townhouse when her husband died. She simply could not live in the same house, with the peaceful surrounds of their estate, close to London, but still not in the centre of the city, reminding her of what she had lost.
It was as if her husband haunted the place, and she was too overcome with grief to stay there.
Frederick found the echoes of his father’s presence oddly reassuring.
“She is,” Weston conceded. “And my wife wishes for her to begin a courtship, to find a man to marry. Again, I cannot yet see it, but I suppose that she is of that age.”
“She is,” Frederick nodded. It was true enough, and it was true that the girl was beautiful. He spent a moment thinking of her, and a possibility began to rise in his mind. A possibility which might well solve the annoying issue he currently faced, of being rather strapped for funds. “My own mother wishes the same for me. A Captain and retired before the age of thirty, and now an Earl,” the man laughed. “And still I cannot seem to do as she wishes, cannot fit myself neatly into this life.”
“How is your mother?”
“She is doing as well as she can I suppose. We correspond regularly. I go to see her often, although I tend to avoid spending much time in Town. Here is close enough for me.”
“I should like you to give her my regards,” Weston said. Frederick nodded, then Weston went on, “You know, perhaps… and this may seem sudden, and perhaps overstepping the bounds of our friendship - but perhaps you would do me the honour of calling upon my daughter?”
“Calling?” Frederick asked, a sharp smile upon his lips, and his brow arching in the air.
“Well, you know,” Weston blustered. “Don't make me say it, but perhaps if someone was courting her… or similar, my wife would be momentarily satisfied, and the relationship there could grow.”
Frederick laughed, but his mind was racing. Weston was beyond wealthy. The girl would have a very substantial dowry. His smile became wider.
“I would be more than happy to do so,” he said.
“I thank you for it,” Weston said. “Perhaps I could do with a peck to eat after all,” he added, and the younger man laughed and rang the bell to summon a maid.
Chapter Three
Lord Woodridge walked Clarisse home as the sky turned from the soft pinks and mauves of dusk towards the brilliant deep blue purple that presages night.
She stood at her front door and turned, and he reached for her hand and took it, lifting it to his lips so that he could kiss her there. It was the essence of a gentlemanly act, elegantly performed.
“May I call upon you again?”
“Again?” the girl teased. “You did not call upon me this time.”
Lord Woodridge laughed and nodded.
“Then may I call upon you for the first time?”
“That would be welcomed, my Lord. Thank you for your pleasant conversation. I wish you good evening.” Clarisse said, before turning and hurrying inside, her heart pounding within her chest.
She went to the staircase in the hall, wanting to slip up into her bedroom and relive the evening, going over every moment in her mind, but her father called for her from his study nearby.
“Clarisse, is that you?”
When she looked in upon him she was dismayed to find her stepmother there as well, standing at her father’s elbow. He himself was sitting behind his desk, looking over a long slip of parchment.
“Yes father?”
“I just want to speak with you for a moment.”
Her stepmother was silent, and Clarisse eyed Helena nervously, as she stepped further into the study.
“I was about to retire for the night.”
“It will only take a moment.”
She took a seat across from him, taking a moment to smooth out the top of her skirts, if only to keep herself from having to look at her stepmother.
“Your father has done something wonderful for you Clarisse,” Helena said, and Clarisse forced herself to look up at her.
“Has he?”
“He has indeed. A woman your age… you shouldn’t be skulking about in the evening alone, you should be… attending social events, coming out, as it were. Have you no desire to do so?”
“I was not ‘skulking’. I went for a walk along the stream, to think. To think about that very concept, actually, as you have been so insistent that I should. And… I encountered a gentleman,” Clarisse said proudly, looking once more at her stepmother, “he was courteous enough to escort me home.”<
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“Did he do so indeed?” her father asked, leaning forward. “Who was he?”
“I believe that you know his father actually,” Clarisse said. “His name is Gervaise Belmont, Viscount Woodridge.”
Her father had been smiling, but now that smile fell as his lips did.
“Him?” Mr Weston’s tone was sharp, almost disapproving.
Clarisse couldn’t believe his reaction – he seemed disappointed, unhappy in some way. Yet… her father had begun to echo what his wife had been saying for months, that she needed to start looking for a man to court her, she needed to think about her own future, not one with her father involved as much as he was. But now that she had made a first step in that direction, albeit by accident, and had met a man, a Lord at that, he seemed to be upset.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Well, he’s a gambler.”
Her father’s voice was flat, the tone condemning.
“You play cards, do you not?” Clarisse asked defiantly.
“I do occasionally. He plays often, but visits the horse tracks more often than that.”
“Horses are beautiful animals.”
“They are. But they have ruined young Lord Woodridge. It is true I know his father, if only as the slightest of acquaintances, as our business has supplied his household, and received some investment from him, but Lord Woodridge squandered the considerable wealth his father had provided him. It is known to everyone.”
“It wasn’t known to me, and he was every bit the gentleman.”
Clarisse felt her cheeks grow hot. She was angry, and when she glanced to her stepmother the anger grew, for the woman had a smug look etched upon her face.
“Forget all of that,” Helena said then. “Your father has arranged an outing for you on the morrow.”
“An outing? With whom?”
“Frederick Caulfield, the Earl of Langerden, a fine young man,” her father took up that side of the conversation.
“An Earl!” Clarisse remarked, her eyes widening. “I’m not a match for such a man.”
“It is just a title, the man matters more, and I am proud to say that your surname indeed comes with no small amount of prestige, even if you are not titled. The Earl would be more than proud to have you for a wife, I believe. But let us not get ahead of ourselves, it is a courtship. An outing, a drive in his curricle. Just for the two of you to get to know each other.”
Betting on a Lady's Heart: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 14) Page 2