by Rosie Wynter
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well,” Miss Lambert replied after a short silence. The girl seemed well aware that something was amiss and looked between the earl and Claire with some bemusement.
“Might I inquire how you two know one another?” Miss Lambert’s voice came out halting and uncertain. It was as if she knew the question might prove sensitive. Claire guessed the woman could feel that there was a past between her and Lord Dalton, and she wished to know if Claire was a rival for the earl’s attention and heart.
“Miss Curtis is the sister-in-law of my good friend, Cromford.”
“I see,” was Miss Lambert’s succinct reply. The smile she wore remained on her face, but it was a careful and hesitant smile. Claire felt certain she was being appraised at that moment, weighed and measured by the girl before her. That calculating stare left her in no doubt that Miss Amelia Lambert had designs of her own on the earl and was likely close to succeeding in claiming him as her own – if the way she held onto him was anything to go by.
“My Lord, I…” Claire tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. How was it that she was so tongue-tied and inept in these moments, when fiction should have trained her how to handle them with ease and confidence? The heroines of her novels always seemed to know exactly what to say at the critical moment, and Claire had always assumed the powerful words that came to them were divinely inspired.
“… I think what Miss Curtis means to say, my Lord, is that we are late returning home.” Mrs Mullins came to the rescue with a quick word, giving Claire the opportunity to withdraw. Claire was both sad and glad to take that offered olive branch. More than anything, she wished to speak with the earl and gain some forgiveness from him. Unfortunately, she knew she could not affect such a conversation publicly, and certainly not with Miss Lambert in attendance.
“Yes,” Claire affirmed. “It is a shame that we have run into you so late in the day. But, perhaps we may see each other again if you are staying in town a while?” Claire broached the question hopefully, not caring if it caused offence to the young Miss Lambert. While she could not find the right words to exchange with the earl now, she was not about to give up her opportunity of speaking with him openly and honestly about all that had happened between them at Holdenwood Manor.
Lord Dalton’s eyes flicked toward Miss Lambert, and he seemed hesitant to respond. This was further proof to Claire of his intimate relationship with the young woman. No doubt he felt uneasy about visiting Claire when his affections so obviously lay elsewhere. Lord Dalton was not the kind of man to toy with the hearts of women, and Claire knew he would be wrestling with himself on what was the honourable and correct path to take.
“I take it you are staying with your aunt?”
“Yes, Aunt Lynch continues to support me here in London,” Claire said with as much affability as she could force into her voice.
“Then, perhaps I might be able to spare an hour in the coming days. It would be good to speak with you again, and to pay my respects to the duchess as well.”
Claire nodded and tried to smile. Before she knew it, she was saying her goodbyes to the earl and the young beauty on his arm. The two continued their walk along the outer edges of the park, and Claire and Mrs Mullins made for home. As they walked, Claire seethed inwardly. She seethed at her inability to say anything profound and proper to the earl. She seethed at the existence of Miss Lambert. She seethed at Mr Hawkins and the knowledge that her association with that man had likely ruined all chance she would ever have of winning a man of the calibre of Lord Dalton. The only positive thing she had to cling to, was the knowledge that the earl would visit her, if he was able, in the coming days.
Chapter 15
Claire felt herself dissolving. In her mind’s eye, her soul had faded to an echo of its former self. There was a definite feeling that she had been subtracted from. She was a puzzle, and several pieces had been removed from her. She was incomplete, formless, as transparent and incorporeal as a ghost.
She could not decide how to spend her days. Hours that she would once have spent reading a novel, were spent staring listlessly into space. Aunt Lynch had not forbidden her from reading, Claire just had no interest in it. She felt she was quite done with stories of romance and love everlasting. Such novels and fancies had corrupted her mind and purpose, steered her into the arms of a man of inconsistent desires and away from a gentleman who had perhaps been her best chance for happiness after all. Now, that man seemed beyond her reach. Even if their friendship could be saved, there was seemingly no hope for a future with the man now that Miss Amelia Lambert had him safely in her grasp. How could Claire continue reading her beloved works of fiction when they had betrayed her so utterly with their messages and advice?
“You should consider taking a walk,” Aunt Lynch said, trying to force lightness into her voice. “The weather is only going to get worse as the nights draw in. I could have Mrs Mullins accompany you.”
“No, thank you,” Claire answered, her voice dejected. “I do not really feel like walking, and I have no idea where I would go, anyway.”
“You do not necessarily have to go anywhere in particular,” Aunt Lynch encouraged. “What happened to the carefree, spirited girl who traipsed barefoot through the gardens of Holdenwood Manor and would spend entire hours just lying beneath trees, watching birds flittering between the branches?”
“She grew up,” Claire said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact. “This is what you and Grace wanted, was it not? You wanted me to put my fancies and books behind me and live in the real world... I just wish I had heeded your words earlier and not clung stubbornly to my childish fantasies.”
Aunt Lynch heaved a sigh and shook her head. She looked at her niece. Her brow knotted just a little, as though she were trying to decide the correct thing to say at that moment.
“You know, neither Grace nor I take any relish in what has happened in these last months. I do not want you thinking we are glorying at being right about Mr Hawkins, or about the warnings we gave you when–”
“I know,” Claire interrupted, still no hint of emotion breaking through.
“More than anything, I do not wish to see you wallowing in misery and self-blame. I do not want you thinking we were trying to forbid you from reading your books, or from being true to your own self. It is distressing to see you spending your days sitting at the window like some child’s forgotten rag doll.”
“I do not have any stomach to read right now,” Claire declared emphatically.
“Well then... find something you do want to do. If you are indeed serious about reinventing yourself and learning from the mistakes of the last few months, then you should be active. So Mr Hawkins’ colours were revealed to you when you saw him hanging on the compliments of some girl at a party, so Lord Dalton has given his affections to a mystery woman and now wishes to be nothing more than a friend. Both men have, for better or worse, moved on from the unpleasant events of the summer. You should do the same. There are still plenty of eligible young men in London who present good prospects for a marriage.”
“Well, tell me which one you think would be best suited to me, and I shall marry him,” Claire said. “At this point, I think it would be better if my spouse be chosen for me by those with a better eye for character. Tell me whom you want me to marry, and I’ll put on my best smile for them and look to lure them in.”
Aunt Lynch shook her head once more, as her hands grasped the arms of her chair. “That’s it! I am ordering you to take a walk now!”
“Ordering me?” Claire’s eyes widened and then she blinked several times in quick succession as she looked at her aunt. It was as if she was only now processing the sights and sounds before her.
“Yes, I am ordering you. Your morose attitude and stubborn melancholy are beyond insufferable. I do not mind you having learned a little common sense over the last few months, but I will not see you become some disaffected old maid, moaning about her troubles, and gathering dust as she w
allows in misery.”
“I doubt a walk will dramatically change my mood and outlook on things,” Claire said.
“Maybe not, but it will do me wonders not having to endure your apathy. I am instructing Mrs Mullins to take you out, and you are not to return until at least five o’clock. Buy yourself a new bonnet on my behalf or have tea in one of the function rooms. Do whatever takes your fancy... just get rid of that frown you’ve worn for so many days now.”
Claire scowled, afraid to show her indignation. Her gaze, however, did nothing to impress or cause her aunt’s face to waver. It was immediately clear that Aunt Lynch was quite serious in her demand, and Claire knew she had no choice but to go along with it. Without saying a word, she rose from her seat and stepped out into the hall obediently. Behind her, she heard her aunt ring a bell.
While waiting for Mrs Mullins to prepare herself, Claire tried to think of anything she might do in the city that could fix her otherwise dreary mood. She did not wish to wander the streets. Though London was a vast place, and the chances of meeting one particular person were slim to none, she still felt anxious about bumping into Lord Dalton and Miss Lambert. Though she had barely spoken three words to the blonde debutant, Claire found herself reeling from the meeting. She did not like the way in which Miss Lambert had spoken with her. She did not like the way the woman clung to Lord Dalton, seeming to mark her territory in the way she held on to him.
By the time Mrs Mullins was ready, Claire was disappointed to find that she still had no idea what it was she was going to do in town. She wondered if perhaps she should go to a teahouse and treat Mrs Mullins to something. Claire reasoned that if she could not gain any enjoyment or pleasure from being out, then at least her company could be granted a pleasant time.
Just as the two women were about to leave the house, there was a knock at the door. Claire’s head snapped in the direction of the knocking, her heart freezing for a moment as she looked at the closed door. Her aunt had not been receiving guests over the last few days, and Claire knew no one was scheduled to arrive that morning. For some reason, she felt certain she knew who would be on the other side of the door.
Mrs Mullins, being the nearest servant, was quick to move to the door to answer the caller. Claire felt her back straighten and she took a deep breath as the door was opened before her. The Earl of Dalton stood on the other side, just as she had suspected. She did not quite know how she knew it would be him – she had just felt he would choose to call on her.
The earl was as handsome as ever, although his countenance seemed a little grave. His lips were thin, and the muscles in his jaw seemed tightened. He held his hands behind his back in a most formal manner, and no light or happy smile crossed his face as he caught sight of Claire. Indeed, he seemed more troubled by the sight of her. His brow knitted close together as he looked at her.
“Lord Dalton… You have caught me just as I was about to step out on a walk.”
“Forgive me, Miss Curtis, for calling on you unannounced. It is not my habit to make random visits, and I apologise if this is a bad time. However, I felt I must come at once when I heard the news.”
“What news?” Claire could feel her nervousness increasing. Her palms felt clammy, and she felt a tingle running through her entire being as she waited on the man. Had he come to tell her he was engaged to Miss Lambert? Had he thought to visit and crow about his new happiness to the girl who had ignored his advances in times past? These thoughts ran through Claire’s head unchecked. Though she knew the earl to be incapable of gloating, she could not help these mad fantasies from taking over in that instant.
“It seems I have reached you ahead of the gossip train then,” the earl said. He gave a weak smile, although he didn’t look any happier – more relieved.
“Please, what is this about?” Claire pressed him for an answer.
The earl turned to his left and then his right. There did not seem to be anyone on the street side watching him, but he still chose to step into the house and close the door behind him. This act alone left Claire feeling quite frightened.
“The news I have to relate concerns the poet, Hawkins.” The earl struggled to say his name without letting a hint of venom seep into his voice. Claire noted the way the man’s hands clenched into fists as he spoke.
“I see…” Claire felt a lump growing in her throat, and she tried to swallow it back. She began to undo her shawl, quite certain she would not be stepping outside now. She took several deep breaths close together as she prepared for the uncomfortable conversation that seemed to be presenting itself. Perhaps Lord Dalton had come to address those emotions left between them which had been so sullied by the poet.
“Let us sit down in the library, my Lord,” Claire said, untying her bonnet. She nodded to Mrs Mullins who accompanied them into the library.
After the earl had taken a seat, Claire asked. “I do not suppose your news happens to reference a certain Miss Rosingden? I have heard the unsavoury account of how Mr Hawkins tried to woo that young lady and how he was banished from London society.” The earl’s concerned expression did not change, and Claire knew at once without even speaking that there was more to hear than she already knew.
“I am glad you have already heard that much about Mr Hawkins’ dealings in the last days. To be entirely honest with you, I did not know how you would take the news if I had to present it in full. What I bring to you does indeed concern Mr Hawkins’ relationship with that young debutant.”
“Well, whatever the news is, I am ready for it.” Claire declared. She lifted her chin as she awaited whatever news Lord Dalton had seen fit to deliver to her.
“The plain facts of the matter are simple and leave me feeling a great deal of pity for her father, Mr Rosingden, and indeed for his wayward daughter,” the earl said. “It seems that after he was evicted from his residence in London, Mr Hawkins took a room at one of the inns in the city. With what little money he had left, he made enquiries with certain people who were able to smuggle a letter into Miss Rosingden’s hands. That letter was found by Mr Rosingden in the early hours of this morning, after his daughter had secretly quit her home.”
“Oh no,” Claire gasped. She put her hands over her mouth as she waited for the obvious and lamentable conclusion to the earl’s tale.
“I see you can already comprehend the gist of things. In his letter, Mr Hawkins plied Miss Rosingden with all manner of compliments and vows of eternal love. He begged her to take her destiny into her own hands and run away with him. This Miss Rosingden did, taking with her a large sum of money to help them on the way to a new life.”
Claire shook her head. A pause passed between them, and she moved over to the mantle over the fireplace. She held onto it as she tried to digest the news.
“I apologise if it was wrong of me to bring this to you, Miss Curtis. While you are no doubt aware of my general antipathy towards Mr Hawkins, I promise I have not come here with the matter to prove his true quality to you. I only felt that you would want to hear of this matter from an acquaintance, rather than out of the blue from some unconcerned party. I am quite certain the scandal will be the talk of the town by mid-afternoon, and I hoped that in coming here now, I would be able to prevent you from hearing of it at a time or place when it would be inconvenient.”
Claire continued to say nothing but gave a short nod.
“I know your heart was fixed on Mr Hawkins. If you need time to yourself, then I will understand and will take my leave. I only hope I did the right thing in coming here.”
“Yes. As grim as the news that you bring is, I am glad you brought it to me. I would not have wanted to hear of it in the middle of some tea room,” Claire affirmed. “In truth, I have been thinking on my feelings for some time now. I learned of his wooing Miss Rosingden some time ago, and in the past days I have been able to let go of the feelings I felt for the man. I am happy to say that I am free from his influence now, and no longer think on him with any care or even any friendliness.�
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“I see. I hope this won’t prove untoward of me to say, but I am glad you have been able to put the man from your mind. It is not right or fair that your heart be toyed with by that ne’er-do-well.”
“You said that it was early this morning that Miss Rosingden fled from her family’s home, did you not?”
“Indeed,” the earl said. “The Rosingden’s home is very close to my own, and I heard the news when his servants came knocking, asking if anyone had seen her leaving the house or knew which direction she had taken.”
I believe I know where they have gone, Claire thought silently.
“If they look to be married, Mr Hawkins’ most likely course of action would be to take Miss Rosingden to the Fleet prison. They allow marriages there without any kind of parental consent.”
“He will not have gone to the Fleet prison,” Claire assured him.
“You sound very sure,” the earl said.
“It is because I understand the man’s vanity and his need to live as some kind of grand romanticist,” Claire said, her voice thick with disdain towards the man she had thought herself in love with. “I am certain that Mr Hawkins will look to take Miss Rosingden up to Gretna Green to be married.”
“Are you quite confident of this?” Lord Dalton asked. “I concede that Gretna Green is as good a place as any for a runaway couple to marry, but would he really take the risk of travelling so far from the city?”
“Yes, I believe he would. I know this is untoward… but, would you be willing to accompany me there, my Lord?”
Both Mrs Mullins and Lord Dalton looked at Claire in confusion.
“Accompany you up to Gretna Green?” Lord Dalton frowned, not seeming to understand why Claire should ask such a thing of him. Claire thought she would have to explain. Before she could speak, however, the earl’s visage turned steely, and he gave a solemn nod of consent. “If you are certain the couple have travelled up to Gretna Green, and you wish to intercept them, then, of course, I will do so.”