Page 10 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
Clarissa traced the edge of the wall, her eyes lowered towards the floor as she searched for the familiar leather cover and the telltale silver surface of the pen. She probably would not find the pen. In all likelihood, it had rolled beneath a piece of furniture, stepped on or kicked aside by some unknowing lord or lady.
The book was larger and more noticeable, though. Her pulse quickened, and Clarissa searched the crowd for anyone with her book. She did not see it among the guests. No one even appeared to be reading.
But suppose that some gentleman has found it and stowed it in his jacket? What if someone has already taken it and then, left? I might never have found it.
Her heart was in her throat, as she continued her search. She covered more of the ballroom, and as the book failed to appear, her heart seemed to beat all the more quickly. The room was suddenly stifling. It was too loud and hot, and there did not seem to be enough air in it. She had to find the book. Someone must have seen it.
“Lady Clarissa!”
She turned her head towards the voice. Lady Margaret approached her, and Clarissa’s eyes darted instinctively to the lady’s hands. They were empty. “I saw that you danced with the Duke of Hartingdale,” Lady Margaret said, her eyes alight with mischief.
Clarissa had no desire to converse with anyone about her dance with His Grace, especially at that moment. “I did,” she said. “Have you seen my book, perchance?”
Lady Margaret frowned. “Not that I am aware of. Few people read at formal balls, you know.”
“I was not reading. I was writing my poems, and I appear to have lost it.”
“Oh.” Lady Margaret’s face softened. “I am so sorry, but I have not seen it. Well, perhaps…perhaps, I sawyouwith it earlier. I cannot quite recall. I am certain that I would remember if someone else had it, though. I would have noted the strangeness of one reading or writing at a ball.”
Clarissa tried not to be vexed by that comment about her impliedstrangeness. In her mind, the world would be a far better place if peopleweremore inclined to read and write at balls. It would make it easier for ladies to make their lack of interest apparent, at least. A gentleman would not be so uncouth as to interrupt a lady while she was writing and clearly undesirous of male companionship.
“Thank you, anyway,” Clarissa said. “Let me know if you happen upon it.”
“Certainly,” Lady Margaret said, her expression a little disappointed.
Doubtlessly, she had hoped that Clarissa would want to share her experiences in dancing with His Grace. It was an understandable thing to be curious about, but Clarissa had neither the time nor the inclination to continue the conversation any longer.
She continued her circle around the ballroom, searching the floors and people’s hands. Clarissa paused by the refreshment table. Perhaps, someone had found her book and placed it there. There was the champagne, the food, and no sign of her book.
This is a dreadful night.
She would not say that it was theworstnight she had ever had, but it was most certainly one of them. Not only had she lost her book and pen, but her own mother had suggested that she do something so unfathomably disgraceful that it struck Clarissa to the core. It was a bad night when the best part of it was her dance with a rake.
Clarissa happened upon the door where the Duke had disappeared. She wondered if he had left so quickly because he had also had a terrible evening. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to vanish herself, to return to her bedroom with her book and pen. Both seemed to be gone forever. She would not abandon her search, of course, but as the song came to an end, it seemed less likely that she would find her poems.
And they were my newest and best ones.
Although Clarissa had several books filled with her poems,theseparticular poems were the first ones which she had seriously thought might merit publication. They were the creations informed by years of work and study. How many nights had she spent awake writing by candlelight while the rest of the household was in bed?
How many of her father’s volumes of poetry had she made notations in, circling metaphors and similes that she adored and making corrections to lines which she thought could be written better?
People did not often understand how poetry was created. They thought that poems were simply short works, created in a brief window of time. Some believed that poetry was simply afeeling orthe product of emotions spilling over and onto the page. Those people did not know, however, that poetry was much more.
It was the product of hours of learning, reading, writing, and thinking. All her poems were built on the foundations of the ones which came before them. Now, all that would be lost if she could not find her book. Clarissa’s eyes burned, but she forced back the threatening torrent of tears. Ladies did not cry.
“Might I say a few words?” Lady Matilda asked, her voice carrying across the room.
It took several moments for the ballroom to quiet, and Clarissa tried to covertly search for her book, whilst feigning interest in what the lady was saying. Her book seemed to be nowhere. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Someone must have taken the volume. It could not have simply vanished into nothing.
“I am very grateful to see each and every one of you at my ball. It is the last event of the Season before we all return to our country estates.”
Clarissa’s breath hitched. Those words had a note of finality in them. The ball was nearly over. She edged along the wall, searching wildly for the book. Silently, she prayed for it to appear before her, but of course, it did not.
“You have all made this ball a wonderful and festive occasion, for which I am most grateful. I hope you have safe travels from here and enjoy the coming months.”
Lady Matilda inclined her head, showing that the speech was over. The crowd clapped politely. “There you are,” Lady Bentley said, coming to Clarissa’s side. “Well, you have won. You have left the final event of your fifth Season without even an offer of courtship, much less of marriage.”
“You asked me to do something I could not,” Clarissa said.
