To Romance a Scoundrel

by Rosie Wynter

  “I wonder, Miss Curtis, if you would care to travel in our carriage this evening?” Mr Hawkins asked, as he led Claire towards the front door. “We have not really made plans for who should travel with whom, but I would like to take advantage of our remaining time together. It is, after all, only three days more till we must depart from Holdenwood Manor.”

  Once again, Claire could feel her sister watching her from behind. Grace wasn’t saying a word and was perhaps giving her younger sister the chance to show her quality by choosing the ‘correct’ path. However, Claire was not prepared to refuse the poet now, especially as he had brought to light the limited amount of time they had left to them before his departure. Perhaps Lord Dalton would take issue with her accepting the gentleman’s offer. Still, to Claire’s mind, she had the entire rest of the summer to spend with the earl. He could not seriously begrudge her wishing to spend a few hours more with the man who would be leaving before the end of the week.

  “I would like that very much, Mr Hawkins,” Claire said. She spoke with a firmness in her voice that let Grace know she was in charge of her own mind, and that she was choosing her own course. It seemed her bold stance must have given her sister pause, as Grace made no attempt to object or to steer Claire’s course a different way.

  The journey down to the assembly rooms in the town of Frampton was not too long, and the ride gave Claire precious little time to speak with Mr Hawkins. Grace and Aunt Lynch had chosen to ride in the carriage with them, as had Lady Helen. Sandwiched between her aunt and sister on the one side of the carriage, Claire found it difficult to hold any kind of conversation with the man. Instead, Lady Helen and Aunt Lynch seemed to dominate all discussion in the carriage. The over-powdered duchess talked animatedly on her plans for the remainder of the season, houses and friends she intended to visit before the winter. Her voice, loud enough to be heard two towns over, made it impossible for anyone else in the luxury box to hold conversations of their own.

  This, however, did not seem to dampen Mr Hawkins’ spirits.

  The poet sat quietly, his body leaning nonchalantly against the left-hand wall of the carriage, as it trundled its way down the country roads toward the town. His observant eyes, normally flitting restlessly about, seemed to be locked on Claire. The view afforded by the window seemed to hold no interest to him, and his gaze continued to move to her at almost every opportunity. The only time the man allowed his attention to be pulled elsewhere, was when his sponsor asked him a question, or when Grace cast him a suspicious look. Claire offered bashful and slightly fearful smiles whenever he looked on her. The man would smile in turn, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath, which he would invariably let out in a sigh.

  It was through these constant looks and smiles that Claire began to wonder: was Grace right about the poet’s interest in her going far beyond poetry and reading? Claire had not dared allow herself to think that the man could actually have formed any kind of feelings for her. She did not want to get her hopes up only to have them dashed. Would they be dashed?

  As she examined her own mind, Claire realised that she was considering Mr Hawkins as an actual prospect. She was playing into her sister’s predictions and fears. Still, Claire resolved not to check herself. Maybe she did have feelings for Mr Hawkins. That did not necessarily mean anything bad. It was unfortunate that she should discover him after already having shown interest in Lord Dalton, but maybe her family held more blame than her on that account.

  The more Claire tried to reason within herself, the more she was able to assure herself that this must indeed be the case. Lord Dalton was an affable and pleasing man. Through his own charming manner and the meddling of her sister and aunt, Claire had been pressed into believing herself to have a higher regard for the man than she really did. She certainly did not wish to believe herself capable of having feelings for two men at the same time. It did not feel right to her that her heart could want both the dashing and free-spirited poet and the more reserved but attentive and dedicated earl.

  Continuing to examine herself, Claire thought about all she had always desired to find for herself when she married. Growing up, the novels and stories she had read had allowed her to form a very strong picture of the kind of man she felt could make her happy. Although she had resolved to put such a fanciful dream gentleman behind her in recent weeks, she could not help but notice how unerringly Mr Hawkins fitted into the picture of her ideal lover. She would have thought such a realisation would make her feel joyful. Unfortunately, the opposite was true. For some reason, the butterflies and warm feelings inside of Claire at that moment made her feel uncomfortable in a way she did not entirely like. She felt uneasy. If Mr Hawkins was everything she had ever desired to find for herself, why was she left with feelings of doubt and fear? She could only assume it was more of her sister’s influence reaching out and infiltrating her mind. With that in view, Claire resolved to quash her feelings of doubt.

  The assembly rooms of Frampton were not as grand as any of the ballrooms Claire had frequented in London. The building was little more than an open hall, with chairs lining the sides of the room, an open space left for the dancers, and a raised platform where the musicians could play. There were four annexe rooms in the hall. One was reserved for those who wished to play cards, one was exclusively set aside for the gentlemen, one held a modest buffet for the guests, and the final room held several fainting couches and cushioned chairs where the revellers could take a longer rest, should they need it.

  Upon entering the hall, Claire was needed to help Grace in finding a place where she could sit and rest. Her sister found the heat of the packed room difficult to bear, and seemed to have some trouble in standing for very long. Claire held a small suspicion that her sister may have been looking for some means to separate her from Mr Hawkins’ side, but she could not voice such an assumption with the others nearby. She resolved to help her sister to her chair and to sit with her as long as sisterly duty demanded. She was certain their good friend, Catherine Blackmore, would not leave Grace alone too long. The red-haired woman was nigh inseparable from Grace and always looked to assist in any way she could.

  Another person whom Claire thought might show more consideration by looking after Grace, was the duke. Grace’s husband usually stayed by his wife’s side and did not stray far out of the way. Today, however, Cromford defied expectation and seemed to cling close to Lord Dalton as the party settled in. Indeed, the duke seemed to have been spending quite a bit of time at his friend’s side over the last day or so. A suspicion was aroused in Claire that Cromford was cleaving to his friend because of the unpleasantness that had passed between Dalton and Claire the other day. All had felt the change in the earl’s mood. It seemed more than probable that Cromford would stand by his friend’s side at such a time, maybe to lessen some of the insult he had suffered. Or, maybe the two were just involved in new talks on how Cromford wanted the work on the west wing to be continued after Lady Helen’s departure. Claire hoped it was this.

  The local people of Frampton were all kind and welcoming, and more than a few came over to make introductions to Claire as the guests trickled in. The musicians on the stage played rather bland and unobtrusive pieces for the first forty minutes or so, allowing the soirée goers time to soak in the spirit of the evening and converse with friends and neighbours. Only when a kind of expectant hush fell over the hall, did the musicians on the stage turn their music books and began the dances of the night.

  Every woman in the hall seemed to draw in a breath as they awaited a gentleman to request their hand for a dance. While sitting with her sister, Claire had noticed a few of the local girls remarking about both Lord Dalton and Mr Hawkins. Claire had expected that the earl would attract as much female notice as he had. After all, he was the most handsome gentleman there that evening. A few had even approached the poet, and Claire watched with mixed feelings as the man talked affably and animatedly with them all. The rational part of her mind knew it was wrong of her t
o feel any kind of jealousy. Mr Hawkins was not hers, nor was he forbidden from holding a conversation with others. She knew him to be a gregarious kind of man, and so it stood to reason that he would make friends easily.

  Just as the couples began to take their place in the middle of the floor, Claire saw Catherine move over to Mr Hawkins’ side. She moved with some purpose and haste, and Claire wondered just what the matter might be. Her conversation with the poet lasted only a few moments. Mr Hawkins offered her a polite bow before moving away. Catherine then wandered into a corner, her lips pulled down and her gaze lowered to the floor.

  Claire did not have much opportunity to think too long about what had happened to her sister’s friend. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw Mr Hawkins winding his way through the crowd, moving almost at a jog to reach her.

  “Miss Curtis.” He said her name, a bright smile on his lips. His eyes cast in Grace’s direction for a moment. “I hope you will not think me too selfish, Duchess, but I wonder if I might steal your younger sister. It is the first dance of the night, and I should not be happy dancing with any other soul before I have had the honour of dancing with Miss Curtis.”

  Claire flushed, and she turned to look at Grace. Predictably, her sister’s expression was decidedly stony, seemingly unmoved by the kind words and thoughtfulness Mr Hawkins was showing. Claire remained frozen in her seat. She was worried her sister would make some excuse to keep her bound there.

  “My sister is quite free to choose her own partners,” Grace said in an even, almost dismissive tone. If claiming the first dance with her is of such importance to you, I shall not interfere.”

  Claire was somewhat surprised by her sister’s reply. After all the complaining and words of caution Grace had heaped on her, she now seemed resolved to let Claire do as she pleased. Claire felt Mr Hawkins’ eyes now move to hers, looking at her with hopeful expectation.

  An urge came over Claire at that moment that was too powerful to resist. She knew she could not leave Mr Hawkins waiting for a response, but she found her gaze shifting across the floor. She was looking for Lord Dalton. In fact, her thoughts of the earl left her uncertain in her purpose. Her moss-green eyes widened when she saw that the man no longer stood with the Duke of Cromford. Instead, the earl had moved over to Catherine’s side, and was escorting her over to the floor for the dance.

  That sight gave Claire all the confidence she needed, and her eyes snapped back to the poet. “Thank you, Mr Hawkins. I would be delighted to share the first set with you.”

  Chapter 9

  Mr Hawkins knew how to work his way through a crowd. With Claire’s hand resting on his arm, he led her through the maze of spectators to the dance floor with a fluid and skilful grace. They were almost floating across the floor and Claire could not help letting out a squeal of laughter as she almost tripped over her own skirts. This caused more than a few heads to turn in her direction, and she pursed her lips as she and her partner joined the line of dancers just in time for the first set. Despite being the last to arrive on the floor, Mr Hawkins took a moment of deliberation when choosing where to stand. It might have been Claire’s imagination, but she thought he took pains to place himself and Claire far from where the earl stood with Catherine.

  A single violin played the opening refrain of the dance, and soon, the couples began to move. The rhythm and the steps of the dance were well known to all, and each worked in seamless concert. Women weaved around the men, couples changed places – all following the set pattern of the dance. Still, Mr Hawkins seemed to move with greater fluidity and confidence than many of the other men. His smooth movements and confident air impressed Claire and seemed to garner him notice from several other women in the dance.

  “I am glad your sister was kind enough to spare you for this,” Mr Hawkins said as he moved to Claire’s side and took her hand for the next phase of the dance.

  Claire had just come away from a gentleman whose flat-footed movements were difficult to endure. A smile came over her features as the dance steps allowed her to fall back into the capable hands of her partner.

  “I spoke the truth before, when I said I could not countenance the thought of dancing with anyone else but you for this set,” Mr Hawkins said. His body was leaned in close, and Claire could almost feel his breath tickling her neck as he spoke. “I even had to turn down Lady Blackmore.”

  “Catherine?” Claire’s smile receded just a fraction, and her head turned to look off to where that lady was dancing with Lord Dalton.

  “Yes. It was kind of her to look to my comfort as she did, but I could not countenance the thought of making do with a partner I did not truly wish to dance with.”

  Claire tried to force a smile back onto her lips. She was fully aware that Mr Hawkins was paying her a compliment with his words. Still, she could not help but feel for Catherine. Though Mr Hawkins did not realise it, Catherine’s life had been tinged with misfortune when it came to men. Claire felt pained to know that her friend had been turned down. It left her grateful to know that Lord Dalton had taken the trouble to offer himself as a partner to Catherine instead.

  “The day I met you, I felt an almost instant rapport with you. I could sense, even from the moment of alighting from the carriage on arrival, that you were a woman who possessed a singular beauty of mind that matches the radiance of your exterior beauty.”

  “You flatter me,” Claire replied.

  “Miss Curtis, your skills as a reader, your ability to hit upon the hidden meanings and messages of my work: few have the ability....”

  “I can hardly be alone in my appreciation of your work. Lady Helen...” Claire had to cut herself short. The dance had turned another corner, and she remembered almost too late to split from her partner and join with one of the other men in the line. As much as she had wanted to share a dance with Mr Hawkins, it was quite inconvenient that the dance they were stepping through involved so many partner changes.

  After a few minutes of being held by a young man slightly shorter than she was, Claire was back in Mr Hawkins’ arms again. The poet did not miss a beat, continuing on with their conversation from the exact spot it had been left.

  “While I would never presume to speak ill of my patron, I must own that Lady Helen’s appreciation of my work is only skin deep. I think she is more enamoured with the thought of sponsoring an artist. You might not believe it if I told you how infrequently she even studies my works.”

  “That is a true shame,” Claire said in a hurry. Once again, the dance changed course, and she moved away from her partner into the arms of another man.

  When at last Claire was reunited with her partner, she was sad to remark that the dance was coming to a close. The rhythm of the music began to slow, and the instruments fell silent one by one, until only that single violin remained to play the last refrain, an echo of the first. Claire could not stop herself from heaving a disappointed sigh.

  Her doting partner escorted her away from the dance floor.

  “Well then, we have succeeded in dancing the first round of the assembly, and now we resign ourselves to other partners, I suppose.”

  “It does not have to be so,” Mr Hawkins said in bold defiance of convention. “I know the custom is for partners to only dance one set together unless they are engaged or near to being engaged, but it does not follow that we have to obey such mediaeval and backwards a set of rules. We are, after all, living in a modern world. In this era of invention and social change, I think it is our duty to push the boundaries of societal normality. It seems absurd, and almost puritanical to put a cap on the number of dances people might share with one another.”

  “I must admit, I have often thought it a silly custom,” Claire said with a laugh. However, when she looked into Mr Hawkins’ eyes and saw the expectation therein, she felt her breath catch in her throat. From the way he looked at her, she was quite certain that he expected the second dance that was, until that moment, purely hypothetical.

  �
�So, much as it would be a shake-up to the establishment, I would not wish to alarm my aunt and sister by striking out with such daring. Grace has been very… forthright in her concerns about my actions these last days. To step out with you in a second dance, will just mean concern for both of us.”

  “Your sister?” Mr Hawkins straightened up, and his gaze passed over the room to where Grace was sitting with her husband. He sucked in a breath. “I see. Has your sister taken objection to me? I suppose it is only understandable, my coming from so lowly a background as a blacksmith’s son.”

  “No! Please, do not think I meant anything so severe. My sister is not the kind to quibble over matters of wealth. She is just worried about… your intentions towards me.” Claire could feel the humidity in the room rising as she tried to find the right words. It was embarrassing to have to speak so plainly of the issues she had hitherto discussed only in private with her sister. In this instance, she did not feel she had a choice in the matter. Mr Hawkins seemed to have taken the gravest insult from her words, and Claire was eager for him not to leave, despondent.

  “I suppose when your sister hears my sonnets and poems of love every day, it stands to reason that I should gain an ill reputation with her. Does she think me some kind of scoundrel or charlatan who sports with the hearts of women? I assure you, my poetry is all fictionalised. None of the tales and balances I read into my work have come from my own first-hand experience.”