Page 19 of The Secret Word
Clem faced her father’s glower with a firm exterior, doing her best to follow Chris’s example.Firm but polite, and ruthlessly honest. That was the ticket. “The flounces and frills do not suit me, Father. I look like a cream puff. Furthermore, the over-fussy decoration Mrs. Bellowes ordered for me is not in fashion, so next to the other ladies, I look ridiculous in those gowns.”
Martha had also performed other miracles. For example, she had removed some of the width from this gown, as well asadding a matching ribbon that had the effect of lowering the high waist. Clem continued, “The changes Martha has made on my gowns are an improvement, though I have been unable to do anything about the insipid colors.”
Father was examining her, his face impassive. When Mrs. Bellowes started to speak, he held up a hand to silence her. After a long minute, he said, “Ye don’t look so plump in that. Shapely, but that’s to the good. Men like shapely, whatever the fashion. As for the hair—it stays. You’ll do, Clementine.”
As near a compliment as she’d ever had from her father. “Thank you, sir.” She curtseyed.
“That is not acceptable, Mr. Wright,” Mrs. Bellowes snapped. “You pay me to teach Miss Wright how to compete with her betters, and—”
Clem interrupted. “I am Clementine Wright, daughter of Bertram Wright, who pulled himself up by his bootstraps from pit boy to one of the richest men in England. He need acknowledge no man as his better just because they can trace their ancestors back to some thug who bullied the poor and pandered to the king. I am grateful, Mrs. Bellowes, for your sponsorship. But I draw the line at any insult to my father.”
It was a master stroke. Father puffed out his chest and Mrs. Bellowes deflated. How Chris would smile when she told him.
“Your transport is ready, Miss Wright.” Charles the footman entered the room.
Clem swept her father another curtsey, and led the way out to the carriage. Perhaps, at that, she could talk Father into paying for a few more gowns.
It wasn’t over, of course. Mrs. Bellowes grumbled for the fifteen minutes it took to reach the Hartfords’ townhouse. True to Mr. Bagshaw’s prediction, it was on the extreme edge of the fashionable area, which gave Clem the confidence to put an end to Mrs. Bellowes’ scolding and complaints.
“If you are unhappy as my chaperone and sponsor, Mrs. Bellowes, we can put an end to the arrangement. I can tell my father that you are neither as knowledgeable nor as well connected as you claimed, and we shall part ways.” She smiled.
She had noted that Chris used his smile like a lethal weapon, charming people into going along with him before they noticed they had been cozened. “Thank you for your efforts on my behalf,” she added.
Chris had also demonstrated that politeness disarmed, and it worked on this occasion, for Mrs. Bellowes subsided with a muttered, “There’ll be no need for that,” and was silent for the rest of the journey.
Chris was already at the Hartfords’, waiting by the ballroom door so she could see him over other guests as the receiving line made its way to the waiting host and hostess. Just the sight of him made Clem happier and more confident, and his smile drew forth an answering one from her just as she and Mrs. Bellowes were greeted by Mrs. Hartford, who took the smile as being for her, and smiled back. “Miss Wright, is it not? How lovely of you to join us, Miss Wright. Girls, this is Miss Wright. Miss Wright, my daughters, Prudence and Charity. Mr. Hartford, Miss Wright.”
The gentleman of the house peered at her over the top of his glasses. “Nice to see you, MissEr…”
“Good evening, Mr. Hartford,” said Clem, with a curtsey.
His eyes were distant, but his smile was kind. “I hope you have a lovely evening, my dear. Mrs. Hartford, we shall have to make certain that Miss…Er… has plenty of partners.”
“Thank you, sir,” Clem said, before she and Mrs. Bellowes had to move on to make way for the next guests to take their place with the Hartfords.
“You look lovely this evening, Miss Wright,” said Mr. Bagshaw, who was with Chris.
Which was as may be, but Clem did not have the breath to answer him. A nod and a smile was all she could manage now she had an uninterrupted view of Chris Satterthwaite in all his new evening splendor. He was breathtaking. It was the only word. From his dancing pumps to the top of his head, there wasn’t a detail that didn’t shout ‘quality’. And fit, lean, handsome, gorgeous quality at that.
“Which of these is your young man?” Mrs. Bellowes demanded.
Clem ignored the rude question, but realized she had been remiss. “Mrs. Bellowes, may I make known to you Mr. Satterthwaite and Mr. Bagshaw.” She indicated each gentleman in turn. “Gentlemen, Mrs. Bellowes has been kind enough to sponsor me this season.”
Father had clearly given Mrs. Bellowes Chris’s name, for she examined him closely. “Youlooklike a gentleman,” she commented, “but it is not only fine feathers that make fine birds.”
“How kind you are,” said Chris, as if she had paid him an extravagant compliment.
Mrs. Bellowes was not armored against Chris’s brand of ruthless courtesy, so she huffed out a breath and then spoke to Clem. “You shall be fine with your friends, Miss Wright. I see someone I wish to speak with. I shall find you later.” She marched away.
Chris and Mr. Bagshaw watched her go. “Not the thing, to go off like that,” Mr. Bagshaw announced. “She has only just met us.”
“Does she usually abandon you like this?” Chris asked.
“Usually not this early, but she seldom stays near me for more than half an hour. She doesn’t have a friend, by the way. Or, at least, she doesn’t usually. Unless the bottle of gin in herreticule counts as a friend. By the time I am ready to leave, she is usually very much on the go.”
Chris and Mr. Bagshaw exchanged glances.
“We’ll not desert you,” Chris said.
