So perhaps Mother need not be quite so concerned.
After the soup was served, Matilda drew near, and Clara was finally able to mention her upcoming return to London.
Matilda’s eyes brightened. “Oh, you must let me know, and I will write to Tessa, if you have no objection. Benjie has promised to take her for a visit, and I’m sure she’d like to see you again. She sounds quite lonely sometimes.” She peered at Clara closely. “You would not be opposed to seeing Tessa? I need not mention your plans if you prefer.”
“Of course I do not mind. Perhaps she might like to come to the musical evening Lady Asquith is hosting.”
Matilda’s eyes rounded. “Really? Oh, she would love that! Just fancy, a real lady.”
She swallowed a smile. Apparently Matilda did not realize just how well connected Clara’s family was. “If you let me know her direction, I shall write and let her know our place of residence in London.”
“Thank you,” said Matilda. “I’m sure it would do her a world of good to have opportunity to associate with those in the upper echelon of society. I gather from her letters that she will be very glad to escape my brother’s company. George can be a little dull at the best of times.”
“Will he not go into London with her?”
Matilda lifted a shoulder. “I cannot say. But from what Tessa writes, it seems she’s extracted a promise from Benjie to accompany her.” She smiled. “You may finally get the chance to meet him.”
“Indeed.” Clara ignored the twinkling smile and busied herself with rearranging the sheets of music. Really, Matilda’s level of enthusiasm for Clara’s encounter with this mysterious adored brother was quite absurd.
Yet why did she feel a flicker of interest at the upcoming encounter? He was too young to warrant any serious interest, wasn’t he?
London
Ben subtly shifted his weight, trying to remember Dr. Townsend’s instructions of three days ago: exercise in moderation, but when possible, rest and elevate, bandaging as necessary. Not that there had been much chance of rest these past days.
He glanced at his sister, eyeing the shelves of Hookham’s circulating library with the practiced eye of a London matron three times her age. Anyone might think she was a seasoned debutante, and not a young woman on the cusp of entering polite society. Though perhaps that was the effect of their Aunt Adeline. Since their arrival, Ben had been dragged to most of London’s bookstores, as well as a mantua-maker their aunt had promised would neither charge the earth nor take longer than absolutely necessary. The funds George had relinquished were adequate for their expenses—and for the gowns and fripperies their mother’s sister deemed necessary. It had not taken long before both he and Tessa realized they’d been very blessed with their aunt offering both her chaperonage and her Curzon Street town house for accommodation.
Aunt Adeline’s deceased husband had left her well provided for, and she was proving to be the ideal companion for Tessa, sharing both the elegant taste and geniality Ben recalled his mother possessing. Now out of widow’s weeds, Aunt Addy was keen to revisit places she’d enjoyed in her own season so many years ago, though she had absented herself from today’s excursion, due to a slight cold.
Tessa peered past a stack of books, meeting his gaze. “Do you mind if I get two?”
“Of course not.” He wouldn’t mind if she requested two dozen. It was worth it to see his timid sister coming out of her shell.
“I might also see if they have a copy of Mansfield Park.”
“Surely you couldn’t prefer that to Waverley?” he teased.
She grinned.
A short time later, they were at the circulation desk. Tessa made her request, to which the elderly attendant instantly adopted a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry, miss, but that particular edition is out of stock. We are expecting a new delivery in the next week or so. Shall I ensure one is put aside for you?”
She glanced at Ben. He looked away, determined she would answer the gentleman herself. “Th-that would be good, th-thank you.”
“Very well.”
After leaving her name and direction, they exited the library onto Bond Street, the clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the fashionables strolling past near breathtaking in their contrast to the library’s sedate surrounds. Tessa’s hand tightened on Ben’s arm, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. “I love London.”
“It is exciting.” He glanced down at her shining face, her enthusiasm so different from her usual reticence, and so different from the other young ladies whose expressions of hauteur suggested they either found London boring or had been well schooled to never show true emotion. Neither reason appealed to him. The young lady to appeal to his heart would need to be honest and sincere, neither hiding her emotions under the proverbial bushel, nor so quiet and diffident as to make him wonder if she could even feel. He wanted someone sweet, yet of spirit; perhaps not so forthright as Mattie, but not so quiet as Tessa. An image of the wild and desperate creature of the cliff filled his head. He batted it away. He did not want dull, but neither did he wish for desperate!
He steered a course past a flotilla of young gentlemen. As they passed, he heard not a few opinions on the attractiveness of his sister. Ben turned to see them still ogling her and sent them a scowl that had won him respect on many a ship.
Glancing up, he encountered another young exquisite, dressed to meet even the highest stickler’s approval. The young man—he couldn’t be more than four-and-twenty—met his gaze. Eyes widening, he raised his quizzing glass, then dropped it. “Kemsley?”
Ben stopped, raising a brow.
“Forgive me, but are you Captain Benjamin Kemsley of the Ansdruther, by any chance?”
“Yes.”
The young gentleman stretched out a hand. “I thought I recognized your name back at Hookham’s. What an honor to meet such a hero.”
The tips of Ben’s ears heated. “Good afternoon, Mr.—”
“The name is Featherington. But I am a Lord, not a mister, Captain Kemsley.”
“And I’m a plain mister, not a captain anymore.”
“Of course,” murmured the young man, before stealing a glance at Tessa. His smile grew. “And you are Mrs. Kemsley? What a lucky fellow is our captain, indeed.”
Tessa’s cheeks pooled with color. “I am Miss Kemsley,” she said, almost inaudibly.
Lord Featherington’s face brightened. “Then I’m a lucky fellow.” He peered at her novels, tied up with string. “I see you have The Wanderer. My sister enjoys Miss Burney’s novels.”
Ben studied him as the young man began discussing books with his sister, whose eyes had rounded, as if seeing a marvelous exhibit from the Egyptian Hall. The young man was exceptionally well attired, he supposed, though a trifle too florid for his taste. He seemed quite the dandy. And a lord? What kind of lord? Clearly this was one expedition where they would have benefited from Aunt Adeline’s superior insights into the peerage.
His gaze slid to his sister, her animation such as he had rarely seen. Clearly she found something about the young man appealing, though he doubted it was his possession of some sort of title. And clearly the young man found Tessa worth attention, though Ben hoped it was not simply an attempt to please him. These past months he’d encountered many quick to stoke the fires of egotism at the expense of reality. And Tessa’s confidence was such a fragile thing, her soft heart and eagerness to please something to be handled delicately. Admittedly, she was in her best looks today; even Aunt Adeline agreed. Was this young man’s reaction one Ben should come to expect when gentlemen met his sweet sister?
“… the war.” The gentleman smiled. “What do you think?”
Ben mentally scrambled for an answer. Settled for an all-inclusive, “We all hope the war to be finally over soon.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Lord Featherington’s brow creased. “But do you miss being part of the action?”
Ben glanced at his sister. She was biting her lip, as if worried the discussion
surrounding the trials and tribulations of his time fighting for his country was not to his taste.
Featherington seemed to notice this, as he bowed. “Forgive me. I do not wish to speak such things that would distress you, Miss Kemsley.” The cherubic features seemed to soften. “I would never wish to distress you, Miss Kemsley.”
Tessa’s cheeks glowed.
Lord Featherington smiled, turned to Ben. “I know how untoward all this must seem, but I was wondering if you might be free to join me sometime at my club? I would like to speak with you about your time in Africa. I confess it has interested me enormously, ever since my cousin first mentioned your exploits.”
Judging from the way he kept snatching glances at Tessa, Ben gathered conversation concerning his misadventures wasn’t the only thing in which Featherington was enormously interested.
They arranged to meet at White’s in two nights, at a time when George had promised to visit to escort Tessa and Aunt Adeline to an opera. That was an evening he could gladly forfeit. Screeching men and caterwauling ladies had never been his thing.
Upon their return, Tessa’s gentle inquisition of their aunt led that lady to look at her in astonishment. “Oh, my dear! This is such an honor. You simply must foster the acquaintanceship. Do you not know who he is?”
Tessa’s blank look no doubt echoed Ben’s own bewilderment.
“Young Featherington is a viscount; his sister married last year to the Duke of Hartwell.”
He blinked. Exchanged a sagged-jaw glance with his sister as his aunt continued.
“Lord Featherington is the heir to the Marquess of Exeter!”
CHAPTER EİGHT
Brighton
Two weeks later
“THERE IS A visitor for you, Miss Clara. Mrs. McPherson.”
Clara laid aside the embroidery, her spirits rising. “Thank you, Meg. Please show her in.”
The maid disappeared, returning in less than a minute with Matilda. Clara welcomed her warmly. She had not realized just how lonely she had been until her attempts to assist at the hostel had been forbidden, thus curtailing her friendship with Mattie, save for Sunday services.
“Please tell Cook we’d like tea.”
Meg curtsied. “Very good, miss.”
Matilda settled herself on the blue-striped sofa with a smile. “Oh, I do like how you do that, acting the grand lady when it’s only me.”
How to explain she used to be considered a lady, if not exactly grand? Easier not to. “You should not speak so about yourself, Matilda. You have no idea just how much I have longed for your company.”
“Your mother will not relinquish?”
Clara said carefully, “I’m afraid she thinks I consort with those beneath my dignity.”
Matilda’s eyes flashed, her lips flattening in an obvious attempt to not insult her hostess with her true thoughts about Clara’s banishment from helping at the shelter.
Good thing she had not repeated exactly what Mother had said. Matilda would probably storm out if she’d heard her good works denounced as pandering to the idle and lazy. Such comments coming from a woman who had rarely lifted a finger to help another creature, let alone those who had fought for their country, struck Clara as the height of ironic incivilities.
“How is the shelter going? I have missed it, you know.”
“Oh, and you have been missed! Lieutenant Saunders asks after you every day.”
Clara fought a smile. This was why Mother had been aghast and then refused Clara’s involvement. She could hear Mother’s horrified voice now, after that unfortunate episode following services ten days ago: “When the likes of a Lieutenant Saunders takes it upon himself to aspire to a daughter of my lineage, well! Enough is enough! It simply will not do!”
“Give them my best,” Clara said.
Meg returned, carrying a tray topped by tea things. After handing her guest a cup, Clara continued. “And how is Tessa?”
Matilda’s face brightened. “I had a letter from her just this morning. Oh, she is having the most marvelous time! Aunt Adeline is proving to be a far better companion than I had hoped. It seems she has been busy not only instructing Tessa in the art of buying inexpensive materials but also has helped turn her out into the first style of fashion! I always knew Tessa to be a clever seamstress, but I did not realize our aunt would prove so adept also.”
“That is fortunate,” Clara murmured over the rim of her teacup.
“Isn’t it?” Matilda took a bite of her cake, gave a sigh of satisfaction, and continued. “Tessa also writes that Benjie is becoming quite the toast of the town.”
“Really?” How could a boy do such a thing?
“Yes! It seems they met quite a nice young man recently who introduced Ben to some others at a club. Apparently this young man is a viscount or some such thing. Oh! Perhaps you know him?”
Perhaps he’d know her. Or at least know of her. Fighting the tremor of uncertainty, she asked, “Did she mention a name?”
Matilda’s brow creased. “Give me a moment.” She rummaged through her reticule and drew out a slightly crumpled letter. “Here!” She passed it over. “I’m sure she would not mind you reading it.”
Clara scanned the childish loops and scrawl. Tessa’s excitement nearly leapt from the page. She had lovely new gowns … had visited Bullock’s new museum … Benjie had promised to take her to the theatre … there!
Her breath caught. No. It couldn’t be.
“Clara? My dear? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
She lifted her head to meet her friend’s gaze of concern. Of all the viscounts in the ton …
“Do you know him? Featherington, I think it is, now I recall.”
Clara nodded. Oh yes, she knew him. A sick swirl churned through her insides. That piece of cream cake had been a bad idea.
“So what is he like? Is he eligible? Is he nice? Tessa certainly seems to think so.”
Clara nodded again, handing back the letter without reading any further. “He is considered most eligible.”
“Really?”
“His father is a marquess.”
“No!” Matilda’s eyes rounded into blue saucers. “Truly?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. Braved a smile.
Matilda shook her head. “I’m sure nothing will come of it, Tessa is such a romantic after all, but just imagine! My little sister, a marchioness!” She chuckled. “I hope you’ll be able to report more exactly on what is truly going on. For all her timidity, Tessa has a tendency to see everything through the most optimistic of imaginings, whereas Benjie can hardly be trusted to notice the really important things, let alone remember to write me about them. But then, he is male.” She placed her cup back on the table. “I suppose I should be going. I know you must be busy with packing. You will write, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Now, here is Tessa’s direction. I know she would be greatly appreciative if you could spare the time to see her for an hour or so.”
Clara’s smile grew genuine. “I can spare far more than an hour.”
“Thank you. I am relieved to know that, as far as society goes, Aunt Adeline is up to snuff as Benjie might say, but I feel certain you would be better for helping Tessa navigate those social points dear Aunt Addy might not be quite so familiar with.”
Things like never throwing yourself at a man who does not want you? Never letting society know you were the owner of a broken heart? Clara might not be the best at demonstrating such things, but oh, how she now knew of their importance.
“I almost forgot.” Matilda tugged a small volume from her reticule and placed it on the tea table. “Something you might find valuable, when you have a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Her guest rose and moved close, surprising her with a hug. “Have a wonderful time in London.”
The affection drew moisture to her eyes. She returned the clasp lightly. “Thank you. I will write.”
“Good.” Matilda shifted bac
k, adjusted her hat. “Well, I’ll be off. See you in a few weeks.”
Clara waved farewell, and sank back on her seat. Emotions clashed within. Gladness at going to London had been tempered by the knowledge that Tessa’s infatuation with Lord Featherington—and vice versa—would doubtless mean she might have close contact with a family who despised her. She gnawed her lip. How on earth could she avoid that?
“Well, well.”
Her head snapped up. She spied the figure in the doorway. Breath escaped. “What are you doing here?”
“Come now, Clara. Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?”
Her only brother. Try as she might, she could not elicit the faintest stirring of enthusiasm for his return. “It is good to see you,” she said in a voice much like she’d use to observe the sky was gray.
His eyes sparked. “I can only hope dearest Mater and Pater will be a little warmer in their welcome.” Richard sank onto a seat, stretching out his long legs as if he owned the house. “Where are they, anyway?”
“Out.”
“Obviously. But where?”
“They are visiting Lord and Lady Osterley, if you must know.”
He yawned like a pampered cat. “Y’know, this animosity towards me grows a trifle dull. It is not as if it were I who caused you to hanker for that fool of an earl.”
She pressed her lips firmly together, fighting the truth that begged release.
He laughed, eyeing her curiously. “So the parents are out, and you are in.” He glanced at the tea things, yet to be cleared away. “Who was that frumpy creature I passed on my way in?”
Surely he did not refer to dear Mattie? She stared at him coldly. “I do not know who you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” His eyes flickered. “I think you know exactly who I mean.”
The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey Page 7