To Romance a Scoundrel

by Rosie Wynter

  Throughout the next hour, Claire watched as Mr Hawkins fell into a kind of despondency. The poet struggled to remain sitting at the table they had been working at. He began to walk the floor between the table and the fireplace, carrying the poem ‘Tears of the Wine-Press’ all the while. Lord Dalton had chosen not to look over any more of the poet’s works and went to sit next to Catherine, talking about some trivial matters. Claire guessed the earl could sense her disapproval and was looking to shield himself from it. She was not about to let him avoid her censure, however. As far as she was concerned, she had tried to do a good deed by inviting the earl to join their table. She had expected better of him.

  Before she went upstairs to change for dinner, Claire held back, remaining in the room as the others left. Mr Hawkins seemed in quite a rush to leave, and Lady Helen was fast behind him. Lord Dalton seemed to pick up on Claire’s reluctance to leave the drawing room and lingered in the doorway as Catherine wandered away.

  “I have clearly upset you, though I cannot fathom what crime I have committed.” Lord Dalton spoke with a business-like air, no hint of apology in his tone.

  “I am not upset, although I am a little disappointed and disillusioned by you. I should have thought it quite obvious as to why.”

  “Was it my words concerning Mr Hawkins’ poem?”

  “Yes, of course! You must have seen how he responded to them. I am quite worried he will rip the poem to shreds after your thorough browbeating of the work.”

  “Pardon me, Miss Curtis, but I did not ‘browbeat’ the man. The objective of reading Mr Hawkins’ poems was, as you said, to provide thoughts and critique on the work. I believe I did just that.”

  “By telling him the work was worthless and making him feel insignificant as a writer?” Claire asked.

  “Now you are putting words into my mouth. I never said the work was worthless. I merely pointed out one part of the poem that I did not agree with as a reader. My criticism was made in good faith and only with Mr Hawkins’ benefit in mind.”

  “How can you say such a thing when you know what it is to be criticised and teased for your work by Lady Helen almost every single day? I cannot help but think you chose to take a disliking to the man’s work merely because the lady has for so long railed against you.”

  Lord Dalton bristled, his back straightening and the muscles in his cheeks tightening. “You really believe…” he said in almost a whisper. “… I would stoop to such petulant and petty revenge because of Lady Helen’s opinion? Anyone who works in the realm of art and creation must be willing to accept the notion that their work is flawed and can be improved upon. I may not like hearing Lady Helen’s opinions on my designs, but I will always try to take the open-minded view that she might have some justification for her complaints.”

  Lord Dalton’s chest swelled up as he took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, clearly struggling to maintain his calm. “I am sorry if Mr Hawkins took my opinions on his work poorly. I know all artists prefer praise of their work to censure, but I will not be made to feel guilty for not pandering to his ego. Now, unless you have some further choice words for me, Miss Curtis, I suggest we go and get ready for dinner.”

  Claire had no words for the earl. She did not know quite what to say to him at that moment. She still felt angry and offended on Mr Hawkins’ behalf, but the earl’s defence of his opinion was solid. Though she wished it were otherwise, Claire could not rightly pursue a further complaint against him after so reasoned an argument. It galled her, and she let out her frustration by stalking at a military pace out of the room. Lord Dalton saw fit to let her go.

  After Claire had taken her place at the table, a servant entered the room and whispered something in the duke’s ear. Cromford’s expression became somewhat grim as he listened to what the servant had to say. Then, as soon as the servant had retreated from the room, he called for the diners to begin eating.

  There was some hesitancy and confusion as the assembled party took their cutlery in hand and began to taste the soup starter. Claire could feel her sister’s eyes flickering between her and the empty chair that had been set aside for Lord Dalton. Any lingering uncertainty about whether the man was coming to dinner was quashed as one of the servants stepped in and quietly removed the place setting.

  Whether it was because of Lord Dalton’s absence, or perhaps because the food had allowed him to recover his mirth, Mr Hawkins became the life and soul of the party once more. Over dinner, he spoke of several inspirations that had come to him while exploring the gardens of Holdenwood Manor – little details of the grounds that Claire and the others had never really noticed before.

  “In a way, it is a shame that you are so fixated on having a new wing put into the property,” Mr Hawkins said after some time in thought. “The more I look on the hall, the more its dour grey walls and domineering presence grow on me. I think it would be quite a tragedy for the grandeur of the place to be softened by the addition of new walls and outer gildings.”

  “Perhaps you should voice your concern to Lord Dalton then, Sir,” Grace said before pushing away from her finished bowl.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. I am no architect and would not deem it right to tell him his business. It is no more my place to tell him how to lay bricks than it is his to tell me what words to pen on a page.” Claire gave the man a weak smile when his eyes looked to her. His gaze was often on her, but now it felt a little different. It seemed almost as though he was seeking some kind of validation from her, perhaps expecting her to back up his words. Though she disliked the thought of Mr Hawkins still feeling some hurt from Lord Dalton’s critique, she was unable to offer him comfort.

  “Where has our resident slab of muscle gone to, anyway?” Lady Helen slurped the last of her soup from her spoon.

  “My friend is not feeling quite himself tonight and has decided to retire early,” the duke responded.

  “That’s his excuse for being so petulant when reading my poem’s words, is it?” Mr Hawkins asked. Lady Helen reached out a gnarled hand and laid it on top of Mr Hawkins’ own. She squeezed his fingers as if to reassure him. “There now, you need not worry about the man’s out of turn remarks. I sincerely hope you have not done away with that poem. You know it is one of my favourites, as well as Miss Curtis’s.”

  Mr Hawkins smiled, though the look was directed all at Claire. “I could not bring myself to destroy something Miss Curtis has come to love.”

  Claire blushed and turned her attention at once to her aunt. “Aunt Lynch, did you not say yesterday that you were looking forward to the assembly in town tomorrow? Were you still thinking of attending?”

  “I really do not have much choice in the matter,” her aunt replied, smirking towards Lady Helen. “My friend here knows how to pull all my strings, and I find myself almost her puppet whenever she is in town.”

  “And yet I have never been able to string you along on one of my tours of the continent.”

  “I do not wish to ruin my delicate skin in the hot Mediterranean sun. I would be far happier–”

  As the two friends’ conversation continued on, Claire felt Mr Hawkins’ eyes still on her. He leaned over a little. “Will you be attending the assembly tomorrow? Before fate looks to part us, I would very much wish to have the honour of dancing with you, Miss Curtis.”

  Claire’s lips spread into a smile. She tried to control it, but her muscles refused to obey. “I would think it quite a cruel hand of fate if we were not able to share one dance together before you go, Mr Hawkins. However, I hope that your leaving Holdenwood Manor would not mean the end of our association.”

  “Perhaps not, but I know how hearts can cool when separated by long distances. I fear, if I do not seize the opportunity now, you might forget about me by the time our paths next cross.”

  “I assure you that would not be possible,” Claire said. “Your words and mind have captured me, and I know I will not soon forget them. My only regret is that you have not yet published your
works into a volume I can keep for myself. I will miss waking up every day to a bundle of papers to read over with my morning coffee.”

  “Well, if you’ll favour me with a dance tomorrow, perhaps I’ll be forgetful when packing and leave a few pages here behind in Holdenwood Manor for you to keep hold of.”

  Chapter 8

  Claire winced as her sister pulled the stays of her corset tight. Grace was assaulting her, tugging the strings of the stay so tight that Claire was sure her sister meant to suffocate her. She held on to the wooden support of the bed and took several deep breaths close together.

  “My word, Grace, are you trying to snap my body in two?” Claire gasped as the final tie was drawn tight to her back. She looked down at her bosom, bound up tightly to create the illusion of a generous cleavage. She could not deny the sight would be quite arresting to a man, but she was not sure the price was worth it.

  “I’m sorry, Dear,” Grace said, huffing a little from exertion. “I assumed you would want to look your best for a certain someone. That this discomfort you’re experiencing counts as punishment for the other day, is just a coincidence.”

  “Punishment?” Claire frowned as she looked at her sister. “Just what am I being punished for this time?”

  “I speak of your treatment of Lord Dalton these past few days. The way you so shamelessly whisper in the corner with that poet during the evenings!”

  “We were not whisp–”

  “Maybe I am just getting revenge for having to come out to an assembly tonight when I would far rather stay in bed and relax my aching back.”

  Grace moved over to a chair and slumped in it. She ran a hand down her front and her maternal look was offset by a slight scowl.

  “I am going to look quite formless in my gown tonight. I know it is petty of me to wish it otherwise, but I do not wish to go to a dance looking like some farm animal.”

  “You know you look quite radiant, Grace,” Claire insisted. “But, if you would rather stay home this evening, then, why don’t you? Aunt Lynch will be with me and–”

  “You know as well as I do that Aunt Lynch couldn’t chaperone a nun, let alone a young girl. She is far too forgetful of her duties to do the role justice.”

  “And you feel I need to be closely monitored now?” Claire folded her arms. “I assume, given your earlier comments, it is because you disapprove of the time I have been spending with Mr Hawkins? Does it bother you that I have taken a liking to a man beneath my station? Do you wish to make sure I keep all of my attention on Lord Dalton?”

  “I will point out that you had grown quite fond of the earl over the last days, ever since you were able to get past your silly notions that he had to be Sir Lancelot of the Round Table, and William Shakespeare all rolled into one.”

  “You are suggesting that because I have shown kindness and some attention to Mr Hawkins, that my feelings for the earl are gone?”

  “Are they not?” Grace asked the question with a serious expression on her face. Claire was surprised to see it, and her argumentative words died in her mouth. She stared at her sister in complete confusion, unable to believe Grace would think her so disingenuous in love.

  “I do not mean to censure you needlessly, Claire. I would like to believe you mean no disrespect or insult to the earl, but you must understand how your actions appear to others. For the past few days you have done nothing but read the stacks of poetry Mr Hawkins has thrust upon you. You never have a bad word to say about any of his work, and all I hear across the room when you talk with him, are declarations such as ‘Oh, Mr Hawkins, you so perfectly painted the scene,’ ‘Mr Hawkins, you know how to capture the very heart of a woman’.”

  Claire’s face burned as her older sibling imitated her. She gave no answer though. While she knew she had said nothing quite so outrageous in her praise of Mr Hawkins, her sister’s overall point was still a valid one.

  “So perhaps I have been a little too eager in my praise of the man – what of it? Mr Hawkins has considerable talent, and I am not going to be shy about holding back my admiration of his work.”

  “But is it just his work you admire, Dear?” Grace probed. “By the way you have been acting around the man, I wonder if your feelings for Mr Hawkins might stretch beyond those of mere admiration for his talent as a wordsmith.”

  “Does that frighten you, sister?” Claire blurted. “Are you worried that I might throw my lot in with an artist of lowly station and means, when I could catch an earl for a husband instead? Unlike other people, I have never set my sights on marrying for wealth.”

  “Oh, Claire, please be reasonable.” Grace leaned back in her chair and massaged her temple with her thumb and forefinger. “Any time I try to make any attempt to guide you, you always twist my words to make me out as some villain from your books. You know very well I do not care at all about you marrying Lord Dalton for his title. Indeed, if you hated the earl, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  “Well then, what is your quarrel with me, sister? Speak it plainly.”

  “I only worry about two things. First, I think it a shame that you have made such a good impression on the earl, to suddenly all but ignore him now that someone – in your opinion – more interesting has arrived in the house. The earl may be more distant in his character and as a result, appear dull to you now, but please, you do not want to make the mistake to catch the wrong husband.”

  “I invited the earl to–”

  “Second,” Grace continued, not allowing herself to be interrupted, “I do not like how you spend your entire day reading that man’s works and spending time with him. If we knew him better, I might feel more at ease, but he is a very new acquaintance. I just do not like to see you become so suddenly attached to a man we hardly know.”

  “You are very quick to judge him.”

  “And you are very quick to defend him, and…” Grace cut herself short and took a deep breath. “Look, I do not wish to make an argument of this. You are entitled to like Mr Hawkins, but just please try and show some discretion at tonight’s assembly. It is one thing to watch the two of you here at Holdenwood Manor amongst friends. But I do not wish to see you risking damage to your name by doing so at a public gathering.”

  “I’m sure you need not worry about me, sister,” Claire said flatly. “Still, as I know you are coming along to watch me anyway, I think there is no need to assuage your fears.”

  Claire and Grace were the last to go down to the entry hall, where the rest of their companions were waiting for them. Claire had opted to wear a gown of light lilac, completed with long silken gloves of white. Her sleeves had ruffles and white lace trimmed the gown. Her honey-coloured hair was pinned up with ringlet curls framing her round face, and the hairpins she wore were studded with gemstones that shone like drops of morning dew. While Claire was not completely ignorant when it came to style, and certainly didn’t wish to look plain on an evening out, it was quite obvious that some greater effort had been put into her attire that night. Certainly, it caused a stir amongst both the gentlemen she was currently having such trouble with.

  Lord Dalton was dressed in an expensive-looking dress suit. His coat-tails were glossy black and his shirt a pristine white. Still, as charming as his clothes were on him, they seemed somewhat at odds with his powerful and muscular frame. Claire did not know if it was because she was so used to seeing him in labourer’s clothes, but there was something slightly odd about seeing the man dressed in such formal attire.

  Mr Hawkins, by contrast, wore a rather drab and unremarkable suit. His trousers were quite tight on him, and his shirt had been cleaned and scrubbed to within an inch of its life. Still, his grey-blue waistcoat and tails were nowhere near as impressive to look upon as Lord Dalton’s or even Cromford’s. It was another reminder of the difference in class between the poet and the other men in the company. Claire felt a slight pang for the man and hoped he did not feel in any way embarrassed or inferior when stood amongst the rest of the richly dressed company.
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br />   “My word, Claire, you have put in quite the effort this evening,” Aunt Lynch said. It seemed a compliment, except that the woman had a furrowed brow as she spoke. “Why were you never able to put such attention into your looks when we were attending soirées in London?”

  “Perhaps because our blushing romanticist wishes to put in a special effort for a certain someone…” Lady Helen’s thin lips lifted into a wrinkled smile as her eyes glanced in the direction of Mr Hawkins.

  Claire felt a lump in her throat. It seemed Grace was right about all within the house having made assumptions about what her regard for the poet meant. She looked for something to say that might help disarm the situation a little. Nothing came. A flush came to her cheek as she took in the stares of the others.

  “Oh, see how she blushes,” Lady Helen mentioned. “How adorable! I dare say we have struck upon a secret. I think you will have to be sure to ask the poor girl for a dance tonight, Ruben. I can’t bear the thought of her young heart pining so.”

  Claire felt her spine grow rigid and she wished to all the powers that Lady Helen would not continue talking. Her every word did nothing to help matters, and she could feel Grace fixing her with a look from behind that seemed to say, ‘I told you so.’

  “Of course! It has ever been my intention to dance a round with Miss Curtis during our stay,” Mr Hawkins assured. He stepped forward in a smooth motion and took Claire’s hand, helping her down the final step of the stairs. Claire bit her bottom lip as she accepted the poet’s help. Still, she could not help but turn her gaze toward Lord Dalton.

  The earl stood with Cromford, his hands held behind his back. There was a grave look about him, as if he were expecting to attend a funeral rather than a dance. Claire could tell that the man still carried wounds from their disagreement the other day. She had hoped they might have had time to talk and make amends for their quarrel. It seemed a pity that their budding friendship should be abruptly halted by such a trivial thing as an argument over Mr Hawkins’ poetry. Unfortunately, Lord Dalton had thrown himself back into his work over the last couple of days and had become as furtive and seldom seen as a mouse or a ghost. Claire had thought from time to time about seeking the earl out to make amends. However, each time she thought to go to him, something else had come up.