Page 20 of The Secret Word
“I should think not,” agreed Mr. Bagshaw.
“Thank you,” Clem said, “but I do not mind. She only complains and criticizes. This way, I can watch the dancing and imagine what it must be like.”
“Yes, but you should not be left on your own,” Mr. Bagshaw insisted. “Especially not looking like that.”
So much for their flattery! “It has been the same all Season,” she protested. “Nothing has happened to me.”
“It will now,” said Mr. Bagshaw, casting a dark look around the ball room.
Chris bent forward to bring his face closer, so she could hear his quiet voice over the buzz of conversation. “What Bagshaw is carefully not saying, Clem, is that you were safe as long as you looked like a plump, frilly frump. But now that your clothing fits you and suits you better, things will change.”
He smiled then, a genuine smile. “You always look lovely to me, Clem. But the gown is charming, and I really like what Martha has done with your hair. Bagshaw says I may have no more than two dances unless we are betrothed. Shall I propose right now and ask for three?”
Clem shook her head. “You may have two, Chris, the first dance and the supper dance.” She was very tempted to simply say ‘yes’, though. She was beginning to believe that marriage to Chris was a very good idea. She was stopped only by the thought of her father’s probable reaction if they made such a public display before he had given his formal approval to the marriage.
“I should also like to request two dances,” said Mr. Bagshaw.
In the end, Clem danced eleven dances—two each with Chris and Bagshaw, three with men introduced to her by Mrs.Hartford, and four with men who asked for an introduction from one of the other men.
Perhaps her friends were correct and she looked almost pretty, or perhaps all it took to attract partners was for her to dance with other nice-looking and perfectly presentable men. Either way, it was astounding.
Mrs. Bellowes returned not long before the final set. “We can go now,” she said, without preamble. “The ball is nearly over. If someone was going to ask you to dance, they would have done so by now.”
“I have a partner for the last set,” Clem told her. “In fact, Mrs. Bellowes, I have had nine partners this evening.”
The look on her sponsor’s face could only be described as flabbergasted.
She turned away from the pleasing sight to address Chris. “I suppose, Mr. Satterthwaite, that Mrs. Bellowes and I will need to be ‘at home’ tomorrow afternoon. Could our drive be a little earlier or a little later?”
“Later,” Chris proposed. “If you are willing, we can do the fashionable hour at Hyde Park.”
Clem felt a delicious shudder—not of fear or excitement at the idea of Chris’s driving, but entirely because she was thrilled by his constant and public attention. She was grateful now that none of her previous suitors had pleased Father, for she would not have missed getting to know this man for the world.
*
On the followingday, Mr. Wright emerged from his study when Chris arrived to take Clem driving.
“Ye’ve done it, young Satterthwaite,” he crowed. “Six men—six lords’ sons, or close. And all in my drawing room, flatteringmy Clementine. The house looks like a flower shop, too. Demmit if it don’t.”
“I’m glad you are pleased, sir,” Chris said. He wasn’t. Well, he was for Clem’s sake, because she deserved to know what she was worth. But he had sat for the requisite thirty minutes in her drawing room earlier in the day with the group of men, and had determined that at least three of the six were looking for a rich wife. And they were, as Wright said, lords’ sons, or close. One of them might suit the selfish old man better than a lord’s estranged great grandchild, like Chris.
Wright echoed his thoughts, saying, “Maybe I could do better than you, Satterthwaite. I reckon I could, now my Clementine has come into her own.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Chris admitted. “She charmed them, Wright, the way she has charmed me.”
Wright grinned. “You’ve put in some effort to charm her, too, haven’t you, lad? Not just lessons, was it? Dancing with her and the like?”
“It was what you asked of me, sir,” Chris replied. He wasn’t about to confess to Wright that he was head over heels in love with the man’s daughter. He didn’t know what Wright would do with such leverage, but it would be something.
“It was. It was. And you’ve succeeded, lad. I’ll keep my word, don’t you worry. It’s good business. Besides, they all have nosy, pushy families.”
Whereas Chris had Billy. Loath though he was to become further indebted to Ramping Billy O’Hara, Chris would call on him if he had to, and he’d back Billy over Wright on any day.
“Next, I need to see what you know about the coal mining business,” Wright said. “Not tomorrow, but the next day, present yourself at my office at nine in the morning. Here. Follow me and I’ll give you my address.”
He ducked back into his study, and bent over his desk for a minute, scribbling on a square of paper, which he blotted and handed to Chris. “Now run along, Satterthwaite. Take my daughter to be seen by the smart folks in Hyde Park. I’ll see you at nine the morning after tomorrow.”
Chris left him in his study, rubbing his hands and muttering, “My Clementine with six lords’ sons!”
