Page 8 of The Trouble with True Love

The two men stood up. Clara’s pot of jam hit her table with a thud, and then Elsie was off like a shot, bustling toward the front to assist the gentlemen with their departure.

As the two men came around the palms and followed the waitress toward the front of the tea shop, Clara snatched up one of the letters she’d previously opened and ducked her head, pretending to take no notice of them whatsoever. Adonis turned toward the door, Lionel came around her table to follow him, and Clara lifted her gaze to watch their backs as they settled their bill, and all she could think about was the nefarious trick about to be employed on an unknowing woman.

Someone ought to warn her what was afoot, Clara thought, her gaze narrowing on the architect of this scheme as he followed his friend out of the tea shop. Someone ought to tell her just how despicably her affections were about to be abused. But how, Clara wondered, could such a feat be accomplished?

She frowned, pondering the question.

This Dina was, she knew, part of theton, a fact which did present certain opportunities. Clara was, after all, the granddaughter of a viscount and was now also the sister-in-law of a duke, so she possessed the proper entrée into this woman’s circle, but did that matter? She hadn’t really begun moving in society, hadn’t yet met many ladies outside the duke’s family, and among the few she had met she’d encountered no young widow named Dina.

Clara sighed and sat back. The girl’s surname would have been much more useful to know than her Christian name. Still, she could at least inquire of the duke’s sisters. They might know who the woman was.

But even if Clara could identify her, what then? She could hardly walk up to a young lady she didn’t know and blurt out that the woman’s secret lover was a deceiving scoundrel. Her good deed would probably earn her a slap across the face.

And besides, she thought, casting a gloomy glance over the pile of correspondence before her, she had her own troubles.

Suddenly, an idea flashed into Clara’s mind, a crazy, incredible idea that could not only solve her most pressing problem, but also save a fellow woman from future heartbreak and ruin.

Clara straightened in her chair, pulled a sheet of notepaper closer, and took up her fountain pen. She considered a moment, then she began to write. Only a few minutes later, she set down her fountain pen and placed her composition on top of the letters before her, feeling a sense of grim satisfaction.

Her first Lady Truelove column was now complete. She could only hope Dina Whoever-She-Was read theWeekly Gazette.

Chapter 3

Rex wasn’t the sort for high society parties. Given his rather wicked sense of humor, he found low society far more entertaining. Nonetheless, he was Viscount Galbraith, the only son of the Earl of Leyland, and with that position came certain social obligations, most of which involved his great-aunt Petunia. Auntie held not only Rex’s sole source of income at present, but also his deepest affections, and when she decided to open the season by holding a ball, he knew his presence wasde rigeur.

Which was why Rex allowed his valet to put him into a white tie and tails, capped his head with one of those ridiculous top hats, and trundled off from his own modest town house in Half Moon Street to his great-aunt Petunia’s lavish and fashionable home in Park Lane, and braced himself for at least two hours of having his toes smashed and his ear talked off by nervous debutantes.

His aunt’s ballroom was only somewhat crowded, for his familial obligation demanded a punctual, rather than fashionably late arrival. But he wasn’t, he soon discovered, punctual enough to suit Auntie.

“Well past eleven before you finally decide to make your appearance, I see,” she said as he paused where she stood just outside the ballroom doors. “I feared I’d die of old age waiting for you to arrive.”

Anyone else might have thought such a greeting denoted a coldness of feeling, but Rex wasn’t fooled, and he leaned close to buss her wrinkled cheek with an affectionate kiss. “Past eleven, is it? A most uncivilized hour for you to still be awake, Auntie Pet.” Pulling back, he pasted on a look of concern. “Perhaps you ought to have a dose of cod liver oil and go to bed? At your age, you can’t be too careful, you know.”

“Impudent cub.” With a toss of her head, she gestured to the opened doors of the ballroom behind them, where people were milling about in anticipation of the dancing soon to begin. “Your reward for your saucy tongue shall be to open the ball.”

He groaned. “Must I? Can’t Uncle Bertie do it? Where is the old boy, by the way?” he added, glancing around for his uncle.

“My nephew caught a bit of a chill this afternoon and he’s gone to bed. He’ll be all right in a day or two. My dear Lady Seaforth,” she added, looking past Rex to the next arrival and giving him a pointed nudge with her foot.

Appreciating what would be required of him in Uncle Bertie’s absence, Rex moved to stand beside his great-aunt and offer his share of the required greetings to Lady Seaforth and her daughters, both of whom—thankfully—had husbands, and were, therefore, unavailable as fodder for Petunia’s favorite hobby.

Auntie, being unmarried with no children of her own, had a very romantic nature and had made it her main ambition in life to arrange matches for all six of her as-yet-unwed grand-nephews and -nieces before she departed this earth. Because he was heir to the earldom, Rex was of particular interest to her in that regard, and she proceeded to underscore that fact the moment the Seaforth contingent had passed into the ballroom.

“You needn’t worry about finding a partner for the opening dance,” she said. “I’ve chosen one for you.”

That bit of news was no great surprise, but he decided to pretend obtuseness. “Is it Hetty?” he asked, turning to glance over the crowd as if searching for his favorite cousin. “How marvelous. I shan’t mind opening the ball if it’s with Hetty.”

“It is not Henrietta,” Auntie informed him in a dampening tone. “You are free to seek a partner for life amidst a much wider circle than your own cousins.”

He’d already made it clear many times that he wouldn’t be seeking a partner for life anywhere, ever, but such assurances never seemed to put the slightest dent in Petunia’s resolve.

“Really, Auntie, I don’t see why you should be so against Hetty marrying me,” he said instead, keeping his expression earnest and sincere even though his tongue was firmly in his cheek. “You’d get two of our lot married off at once. And marrying one’s cousin was good enough for the Queen, wasn’t it?”

Her answering look was wry, showing she knew quite well he was teasing. “Victoria, being royalty, was forced to matrimonial considerations that do not bind the rest of us.”

“That’s one way of calling a goose a swan,” he said with a grin. “But you needn’t worry about Hetty ever making a match with me. She’d scream with laughter at the very idea.”

“And yet, I fear you are the one who refuses to take matrimony seriously.”

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