Page 3 of A Duke Makes a Deal
“Ah, yes, the old bird is making her rounds,” the viscount said, glancing around. Upon seeing the shock and discomfort on Clara’s face at this show of disrespect toward their hostess, he quickly turned contrite. “My apologies, dearest. The dowager countess and I have never gotten on for some reason.”
“It is her loss to be sure,” Mary started.
The viscount gave her his most charming grin as thanks. He always flirted just a bit with her mother—indeed, with most women they encountered. It was a curious thing to witness, but she supposed that was how fashionable people behaved. She told herself it didn’t bother her, even if it seemed a bit insincere.
“Are you all right, my heart?” he asked sweetly.
Clara gazed at him and instantly allowed herself to be swayed by his smile. She shook her head.
“It’s only nerves, I suppose,” she lied smoothly. “I’ve never attended such a formal ball.”
He peered around the room, looking more bored than impressed.
“Yes, Elswick Terrace is an impressive home,” he said dismissively before turning back to her. “But it pales compared to my country estate, Emerson Abbey.”
Clara gazed tenderly at the viscount.
“Where is it?”
“In Devon,” he replied. “You will adore it, I’m sure.”
Clara smiled, though she felt a strange sense of unease. It seemed the viscount had forgotten to ask her to marry him and assumed she would say yes.
Of course, she would say yes. He was a viscount, for heaven’s sake. An eligible, handsome, charming viscount who was closeto her own age. He had all of his hair, his teeth were straight, he didn’t seem moody or ill-tempered, and while she suspected that he was in desperate need of funds, her dowry should be more than enough to smooth that trouble away, and then there would be nothing to stand in the way of their happiness. A marriage to him would elevate her beyond all her wildest dreams, and wasn’t that the greatest thing she could do? Elevate her status as well as her family’s.
An inkling of doubt seemed to settle in Clara’s stomach. While she appreciated that she should want to marry as far up the social ladder as she could, she couldn’t quite stifle the nagging sense that told her she didn’t quite belong with Dilworth. Even her friend Bettina Moppet, whom she had befriended when she first came to London, had not spoken very highly of Dilworth, but she was careful never to say anything reproachful about the viscount.
Perhaps these bursts of doubt were simply the result of nerves. Surely there was no reason for her to question what anyone would view as a brilliant match for a girl of her background.
“If you’ll excuse me, dearest,” the viscount said as he stared into the corner of the ballroom. “I see someone I have business with, and I can’t lose sight of him.”
“Oh,” Clara said, just as the orchestra started to pluck and play at their strings as they warmed up their instruments. “I thought we might dance.”
“Darling, it isn’t quite right to ask a gentleman to dance,” he said as if speaking to a child. “I’d refrain from doing so while I’m gone.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she miffed. “I only meant that—”
“To be sure, to be sure,” he said quickly. “I’ll only be a moment.”
The viscount disappeared into the crowd, leaving Clara and her mother alone.
“Really, dear, you shouldn’t have asked him that,” her mother admonished beneath her breath. “You know better.”
“I wasn’t asking him to dance,” Clara countered. “I just assumed he might wish to ask me since we are to announce our engagement this evening,” she said, glancing around the room. “I’ll admit, I thought that dancing might help me feel more at ease. I’ve never been to a ball like this. I suppose I was expecting something smaller, more like our country soirees.”
“Yes, it’s certainly very different—very grand,” her mother agreed. “But you will grow accustomed to it. We shall wait amongst the wall over there, by all the chairs, and when the viscount returns, I’m sure he will make you the center of his attention.”
Clara nodded in agreement but had the strangest feeling that the viscount wouldn’t make a speedy return. Hubert seemed distracted this evening, almost as if something was commanding his attention. She was curious about what might affect him so. She would ask her mother’s opinion, but Clara often sensed that her mother was too stuck in her below-the-stairs mentality to ever question the behaviors of titled men. Perhaps she should write her friend Holly Smyth when she returned home that evening.
Clara had written her friend every detail of her courtship with the viscount so far, and where her mother was wildly impressed with the upper crust, Holly was the granddaughter of a Marquis and far more critical of her social class. She had congratulated Clara on finding a beau but expressed her worry about such a quick courtship. Clara had waved off Holly’s warnings, quite sure that she was being overly cautious. But Holly had grown up in their world and was, therefore, Clara’s most reliable source of reference.
Clara sighed at the idea of her friend and the quiet little village where she and her parents had lived before their financial windfall. It was a darling town with country lanes, stone cottages, and a river that cut directly through town. As the daughter of the primary landowner, Holly had been stationed much higher than her in society, of course, but in the countryside, those divisions were not as rigorously maintained, and a strong friendship had developed between them from a young age. She had spent her entire childhood running around the village with Holly. Though Clara knew it was ridiculous to be nostalgic for a time when her family had less, she couldn’t help but remember the simplicity of their lives before money and the pressures of the ton had changed everything.
Clara followed her mother to the far side of the ballroom. The crush of the crowd had grown since their arrival, and it wasn’t easy to make their way through the throng of guests. Her mother moved ahead, slipping between people before several bodies moved behind her. Clara halted just as another group of visitors stepped in front of her. Sighing in a very unladylike manner that earned her several contemptuous stares, Clara sidestepped the group and continued to the outskirts of the room. Another halt in walking caused her to become somewhat annoyed. There were far more people in attendance than she’d expected, and before she was caught in the crowd, she moved quickly between a pair of gentlemen who had allowed a narrow space to come between them. Clara escaped the ballroom within minutes. She was rather proud of herself for evading so many people when a sudden force knocked into her shoulder, pushing her forward.
Throwing her hands up to brace herself for a fall, Clara was surprised when she felt large, warm hands quickly grab her by her shoulders, pulling her back before she could tumble to the floor.
“Oh my,” she said as she caught her footing. She turned to see her savior. “Thank you. I didn’t see…”
