“And he’s never one to wish to appear less than appropriate.”
“Now, now. That is not worthy of you, Benjamin, dear, even if it might be true.”
Ben and Tessa exchanged small grins.
“No,” Aunt Addy continued complacently, “I’m sure whatever brings your brother here will be nothing to cause alarm. Of that, you can rest assured.”
THE NEXT DAY, they learned that Aunt Addy’s complacency was ill founded.
No sooner had George stepped in the door and shooed out the servants than his reason for visiting became plain. “I bring you most excellent news.” Ben and Tessa exchanged glances as their brother harrumphed self-importantly. “I have met someone.”
“What?” Tessa’s eyes widened before quickly glancing at Ben like a startled doe.
Ben offered her a quick nod of reassurance and said, “Well, we all meet people nearly every day—”
George made an impatient noise. “She is to be my wife.”
“What?” Ben and Tessa said in unison.
“My dear boy,” said Aunt Addy, fanning herself, “I suppose this is wonderful news.”
“Of course it is,” George said. “She is the most wonderful girl.”
“I’m sure she is,” continued their aunt, as Ben and Tessa continued staring, stupefied. “Who is she?”
“She is all that is lovely, and sweet, and kind …”
“That’s something to be thankful for,” Ben muttered in an aside to Tessa.
George shot him a nasty look. “And while she might not have an enormous fortune, she is respectably situated. Her uncle was in the army. I thought you might find that interesting, Benjamin.”
“Because I am naturally interested in anything with the slightest whiff of the military, I suppose?”
“Yes,” George said, ever unable to detect the slightest whiff of irony. “She has brown hair, plays the harp excessively well, and always dresses to a nicety—”
“Imagine that.”
Aunt Addy shot Ben a quelling look over Tessa’s smothered giggles. “This list of virtues is all well and good, but are we to ever find out the paragon’s name?”
A dreamy look filled George’s face. “Her name is Miss Windsor. Miss Amelia Windsor.”
Ben exchanged another look with his sister. Never had sober, sensible George appeared less staid. Still, he should make an effort. “Congratulations.”
“Amelia is a pretty name,” Tessa offered.
“A pretty name for a beautiful girl,” George stated.
Ben worked to iron out his smile. “And Windsor is a pretty last name.”
“Yes—what?” George peered suspiciously at him. “Well, it won’t be Windsor for long. That is why I am here.”
“What do you mean? How soon do you plan to marry?”
“As soon as she gets her trousseau organized.” He sat higher in his chair. “I plan to take her back to Chatham with me as my wife.”
Ben blinked. “What? No, you can’t mean to marry so quickly. Why, you must have only just met her. We’ve certainly never heard anything of her before.”
“I’ll have you know that I first met her six months ago, when you were lost in Africa,” he said looking at Ben, before turning to Tessa, “and you were in Brighton with our sister.”
“Why didn’t you introduce us to her a month ago?”
“She was away visiting relatives in Hampshire. But don’t worry, you’ll get the chance to meet her soon. She’s coming here to dine with us tomorrow night.”
Aunt Addy gasped. “You did not say anything of that in your letter.”
“Didn’t I? Well, I’m sure it will not be any imposition. Not when we’re all to be family. Oh, her parents will be coming also.”
“Of course they would be,” Ben muttered, glancing at Aunt Addy as she strove to overcome her shock at her nephew’s high-handedness. Typical George, thinking of no one but himself. In a louder voice, he said, “Have you a plan for the menu as well, George, or is this to be left to our dear aunt’s discretion?”
“Oh, Aunt Addy can manage, can’t you? Near anything will be fine. But the colonel has a liking for turtle soup, and something of a sweet tooth, while his wife cannot eat anything made with flour—”
“Nothing made with flour?” Aunt Addy looked like she might faint.
“And your bride-to-be?” Ben said. “What special preferences might she be wishing to impose on our poor aunt here?”
George’s eyes narrowed. “My Amelia has no special preferences.”
“Amazing.”
George cleared his throat. “You seem to forget, Benjamin, that I am the head of the family and as such am expected to be accorded some level of respect.”
Ben gritted out a smile. “And you seem to forget, George, that this is Aunt Addy’s house, and you cannot expect to blast in here and start ordering people around.”
“I don’t like that tone you use.”
“The feeling is reciprocated.”
“Gentlemen!” Aunt Addy said, spine ramrod straight. “I refuse to allow my house to become akin to a brawling tavern. Benjamin, I appreciate your concern, but I am well able to conduct my own battles. George, much as it is a pleasure to see you again, I’m afraid I will be unable to host your betrothed tomorrow night, as we have a prior engagement.”
They did? Tessa’s raised brows suggested she felt as much surprise as he did.
“Oh, but what could be more important than meeting my Amelia?” George complained. “Surely you can cancel whatever it is and—”
“I’m afraid that is quite out of the question. George, I feel it my duty to say that I cannot fathom how my brother managed to raise a son quite so self-centered as to not be aware of how his actions impose upon others. I received your letter but yesterday, and nowhere in it was there anything to suggest I might be forced to provide a dinner for people I have yet to meet. Are you always this inconsiderate of others?”
Yes, Ben said silently, a twist of gladness stealing through him as his brother reddened.
“But Aunt Addy—”
“Please do not interrupt me, George,” their aunt continued, as if she hadn’t just done the same. “Now, I might be persuaded to host your betrothed and her family one evening, but I will not be providing anything like a turtle dinner.” She eyed him. “That is, unless you plan on paying for the turtles?”
“Oh, but—”
“I thought as much. Well, if you cannot have the decency to even ask properly, perhaps it shall prove impossible for me to help you, after all.”
“But Aunt Addy, surely as the head of the family—”
“You are not the head of my family, and until you start behaving with a little more decorum, I shall be quite unwilling to give respect where it is obviously undeserved.” She rose from her seat, smiled at Tessa. “Now, Theresa, shall we finish our shopping? Or would you prefer to stay and catch up with your brother here?”
Tessa instantly shot up. “I’d prefer to go with you, ma’am.”
“Very well.” With a gracious nod, Aunt Addy exited the room, an obviously awed Tessa following.
George turned to Ben, a heavy scowl lining his face. “This was not the reception I had hoped to receive.”
“I imagine it wasn’t.”
George shook his head. “I don’t remember Aunt Adeline being quite so spirited. It is obvious living alone since our uncle’s death has not been good for her.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course you would,” George muttered.
“I think she’s an absolute treasure.” Ben smiled, murmured an excuse, and hurried to catch up to his fellow escapees.
CHAPTER FİFTEEN
AFTER SUCH A spectacular failure at the ball, it was no surprise Clara’s parents insisted on an immediate return to Brighton. Although expensive, Brighton did not quite warrant London prices, and with the Prince Regent soon in attendance, Brighton would once again resume its seasonal merrymaking as the ton followed the heir to
the throne on holiday.
For two days after their return she’d followed Mother’s lead and huddled in bed, regrets and self-recrimination warring with headaches and chills. After two days of darkened rooms and darker thoughts, she finally shook off her lethargy and descended to join her father for breakfast. His disappointment in her London season was less palpable than her mother’s, but she felt it all the same in the averted glances, the sentences left unfinished, the pursed lips as he began to speak, then ceased.
No doubt he was as much disappointed for her as in her. Unless a miracle occurred, she would be an old maid now. Five-and-twenty, without prospects, without fortune. No wonder he felt sorry. If she had an ounce of emotion remaining, she’d feel extremely sorry, too.
The door opened, and a footman appeared bearing a silver salver containing the morning post. Father sifted through them before offering Clara a letter.
She grasped it, surprised at the unfamiliar handwriting. She slit it open and unfolded the paper to see that it came from Tessa, who was still in London. Relief crept through her. So apparently her flight from London and their company had been forgiven. She scanned through the news—new ball gowns, a visit to Hyde Park with the viscount, the attentions from other suitors—before reading of Tessa’s good wishes for Clara and the hope that they would meet again soon. A hastily added postscript gave her pause.
“We received the greatest of surprises today. My brother has announced his engagement to a Miss Windsor! We were never so astonished in all our lives. Aunt Addy says it is very poor form for him to have hidden such an understanding from the family, and I agree.”
Her throat constricted. Mr. Kemsley, engaged? She shook her head, trying to shake away the tears. Had she lost all senses? Was she so lost in self-delusion she could no longer recognize truth? She thought she had detected tenderness towards her, only to discover he must have long preferred another. She exhaled sharply.
“Clara?”
She glanced up to where her father watched her. Forced her hand to stop trembling. Managed a smile. “It is a letter from Tessa.”
“I thought we told you to have nothing to do with that family!”
“Her brother is engaged.”
“Mr. Kemsley?”
She nodded.
“Really? I thought—“ He coughed. Yes, she had thought that also. “To whom is he engaged?”
“A Miss Windsor.”
“Windsor? I do not recall any Windsors, do you?”
She offered a bland look, unwilling to answer. She recalled a Miss Windsor, a rather beige nonentity of dull appearance and duller conversation if memory served her right. A spark of the old indignation crossed her chest. How could he prefer that type of person to her?
“Well!” He sat back in his seat, watching her carefully. “I trust this is good news.”
“Of course it is. How can it not be?” She held his gaze for long seconds, willing him to believe her, willing her smile to look natural.
“Well, I’m not altogether sure I understand, but I know your mother will be relieved.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t do this anymore. Her ability to pretend, to be the actress her father seemed to wish, was dying by the minute. Her gaze dropped to the glass vase of buttercups centering the table. “Father, would it be very lowering of me to marry beneath our rank?”
“Marry beneath you? Of course you won’t need to do that.”
“Father, there is no ‘of course’ about it. No man has expressed interest in me in years, there was scarcely a man who would stand up with me at the Seftons’ ball who did not have to be dragged to do so.”
“Nonsense,” he said, in an uncertain voice that was hardly encouraging.
“It is not nonsense, Father. I am five-and-twenty, with little likelihood of any offers of marriage. I’m sorry to be such a disappointment, but there it is.”
“You will never be a disappointment to me, my dear.”
Her vision blurred. She blinked, drew in a shaky breath. “I know you do not feel the same as Mother, that you consider all people born of God as equal.”
“Well, yes, but—”
She hurried on. “If a gentleman ranked lower than I should make an offer, I wish you and Mother would not consider it completely impossible, please.”
“Of course.” Silence stretched between them for another long moment. “Had this Kemsley fellow touched your heart?”
“No.” She thought of his good humor, the way his eyes crinkled when he saw her, that sense of unanimity she’d thought they shared, that funny fluttering heated sensation when she’d accidentally touched his hand. She swallowed. “Perhaps a little. A very little.”
At her Father’s sigh she peeked up. “I was afraid of this.”
“There is nothing to be concerned about. I am quite well.” Her smile was about to crack. She needed, desperately needed, to change the subject. She motioned to the correspondence stacked before her father. “Anything interesting?”
“Nothing to interest you. Oh, there’s something from Richard, finally. He writes that he’s in Ireland.”
He gave a look that said they both knew very well that Richard’s tales could scarcely be considered true. He had not stayed after his surprise visit earlier, so he might possibly be in Ireland. But he probably just wished them to inform his creditors of such things to ease their pressuring him to repay.
“I trust he’s enjoying himself.”
“You know your brother.”
They exchanged another look, heavy with understanding. Richard be denied pleasure? The sun would sooner stop shining.
After breakfast, the day dragged interminably. She busied herself with writing letters to Tessa, asking for her congratulations to be passed on to her brother, writing to thank Lady Asquith, even writing to Harriet. The rest of the time was spent practicing her pianoforte, reading some more of Matilda’s book of devotions loaned all those weeks ago, anything—everything—to distract from the pain circling her heart.
After an early dinner she finally managed to escape, having pleaded a headache as an excuse to retire early. But instead of retiring to her room, she ventured outside, where a strange buttery light suffused everything with golden charm.
She studied the sky. The past few nights had provided sunsets of extraordinary color, so Father had said. For all its soft-hued beauty here in the garden, she imagined it would look all the more spectacular over the sea. Being careful to remain unobserved, she followed the well-worn track to the top of the cliff. It held little temptation now, although the ever-present wind still tugged at her skirts. She sank down, wrapped her arms around her knees in a most unladylike manner, and looked out across the gold-lit sea to the horizon.
What would it be like to go into the unknown? To travel the seven seas as Mr. Kemsley had done, following the sun by day and the stars at night? She supposed he would do that with his wife now. Her heart panged; she shook her head. She was being ridiculous! She only felt this way because … because it would be nice to travel! To be unknown, save to those she chose to make herself known to.
What would it be like to explore exotic lands as he had? To see strange creatures such as those kangaroos locked up at the Tower’s menagerie, but living as they ought, roaming free in their wild homeland? What would it be like to eat peculiar and spicy things? Unlike the scarcely palatable repast they’d had for dinner tonight, more bland than a nursery meal.
The breeze tugged at her pins, teasing her hair free to whip across her face. She winced, pushed heavy locks aside, focused back on the horizon.
She was a fool to think on him. A fool to think on any man. They were all as fallible as each other. Even Father had not been immune, digging deep into her dowry to keep their household afloat. Could anyone be trusted?
A whisper begged her to look up.
The sky held a myriad of color: deep violet melding into pink above a hazy orange, before the tint of soft green immediately above the horizon. The air seemed to hold a special,
almost eerie quality. She shivered. The colors mingled, blurring to create a sky so wondrous God Himself must be the master artist at work.
She drew in a deep breath, one of which her long-ago singing master would be proud, and exhaled.
God.
She had not thought on Him much in past days. But now she remembered more on what that little book of verses had said, more of what Matilda had spoken, and Lavinia.
Forget the past. Forgive. Live.
“God, I need Your help.”
The wind ruffled her hair, almost like her father’s hand had ruffled her hair when she was a child. Like she’d seen Mr. Kemsley do with Tessa, affection evident in his easy smile as much as his action.
Somehow the tangle of knots that had existed in her heart for weeks loosened a fraction. She took another deep breath and released.
The heavens stretched more magnificently. There, far in the distance, gleamed a tiny star, diamond-like amid an ever-moving kaleidoscope of color. Her breath caught. How perfectly lovely …
For several long minutes she gazed in simple awe, conscious of nothing but an easing in her soul. The universe was so big; she herself so small. But in this moment, the depth and breadth and weight of the beauty above gave a kind of reassurance, almost like God was giving the display for her benefit. Her worries slowly dimmed, dulling to a faint echo as she drank in the beauty, the soft pinks so similar to the gown Lavinia had worn to the Seftons’ ball last week …
Her heart panged as a wave of loneliness crashed against her newfound calm. Why had so few men wished to dance with her? Was she so very unappealing? What was wrong with—
No.
Clara sucked in another lung-expanding breath and slowly let it go. Did she really need a husband in order to be happy? Society certainly thought so. Mother definitely believed so. But what if she never found a man willing to love her?
Tears pricked. “Lord, what do I do?”
The rasping breeze hushed into stillness. A tendril of something that felt like peace curled softly within. Perhaps God didn’t need her to do anything—except trust Him.
Was Lavinia correct in attributing goodness to God’s plans? Matilda seemed to believe that also. Could Clara really trust Him?
The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey Page 14