Page 2 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
“I should not have said that,” her mother said. “At least, not so abruptly. I know that you feel this situation your father has put us in is unjust. Early in our marriage, it became quite apparent that I had wed a wastrel, but still, I had no idea the extent of your father’s carelessness.”
Only her father’s solicitor had known the true extent of the late Lord Bentley’s carelessness. Clarissa still remembered all too well the sympathetic look on Mr. Summer’s face when he delivered the news that the family was nearly destitute.
Even after all the creditors were appeased and a significant portion of the family’s wealth sold, Lady Bentley and Clarissa still found themselves scarcely able to survive, much less capable of maintaining the life expected of the Ton.
Clarissa suspected that she did not even know the true extent of her father’s debts, as after the first meeting with Mr. Summer, her mother had insisted on meeting with the solicitor unaccompanied.
“You have a duty to marry well,” her mother said. “You must try, at least. I will not have you sitting here all night and doing nothing.”
My writing is not nothing,Clarissa thought.
She remained silent, though. There was no point in trying to persuade her mother that her poetry had value. She held her pen and book in one hand and slowly rose from her chair. “I will speak with some gentlemen,” she said.
Her mother nodded stiffly, her lips twitching into the faintest smile. “This is your last chance,” she said. “Fortunately, the night is not entirely gone. Why, the Duke of Hartingdale has not even made an appearance yet! He is sure to be here tonight.”
Of course, he would make an appearance. This ball was being thrown by his aunt Lady Matilda, herself a notorious spinster. Clarissa could not help but admire the older woman for making the best of a situation which doomed many to a life of vicious gossip and sad, pitying glances. Lady Matilda sometimes made Clarissa think that spinsterhood would not be so terrible. But Lady Matilda had an enviable inheritance, and Clarissa did not.
Still, even a life of impoverished spinsterhood would be preferable to wedding the Duke of Hartingdale. If she was being fair, Clarissa would admit that His Grace was uncommonly handsome. He was blessed with a chiselled jaw and coal-black hair that fell into his icy blue eyes. The Duke was not especially tall, but his lithe, wiry form was readily apparent even beneath his well-tailored suits.
Several ladies fancied him and spoke highly of his looks. His pleasing appearance hardly compensated for his many flaws, however. His Grace was also a notorious rake, subject to rumours wherever he went.
Fortunately, there is no chance of His Grace even glancing my way, much less being interested in making me one of his lovers.
Clarissa was far too sensible of a woman for that. Still, she knew when there was no point in fighting. It was best to humour her mother. “I shall try and speak to him,” she said. “Perhaps he will agree to a dance.”
If they were to dance, Clarissa would need to find someone to hold her pen and book for her. Clarissa’s eyes darted over the ballroom, searching for her friend Lady Margaret. There were very few people who Clarissa would trust with her poems, and regrettably, the fashionable pink gown Clarissa wore was not a garment which afforded a woman with pockets.
Clarissa trusted that Margaret would keep her poems safe and be kind enough not to read them, but her friend’s patience would likely only remain for two dances. Margaret was also trying to find a suitor, and although she was not yet at the threshold of spinsterhood, Clarissa knew that her friend’s two failed Seasons must weigh heavily upon her heart.
“I have heard that he intends to remain in London after the Season’s end,” Lady Bentley said. “That would provide you with the opportunity to spend more time with him.”
Clarissa nodded, although she could think of little worse than enduring the Duke of Hartingdale’s company. “I suppose it cannot hurt to try.”
She was quite sure that trying was harmless. His Grace did not want a bluestocking, a wallflower, or a woman who refused to be seduced. Clarissa was all three of those things, utterly undesirable to him. He wanted a lady who would fall into his bed. Clarissa did not blame women for wanting to indulge inan amorous congresswith His Grace.
She was, after all, a modern woman who had read every word ever penned by Mary Wollstonecraft and Maria Edgeworth. Clarissa understood that women desired love, companionship, and pleasures of the flesh just as men did. However, it seemed to Clarissa that if a rake like His Grace wished to indulge his desires, he would be treated far kindlier than a woman who wished to do the same.
The lady would be disgraced, and the Duke would be calledwickedand encouraged by his companions, all of whom delighted in their mistresses and vices.
“There is Lady Matilda,” Clarissa’s mother said, lowering her voice. “She looks anxious, see? I would guess that she is also becoming impatient with His Grace for having not made an appearance already.”
Lady Matilda had moved to the edge of the crowd. From the pink blossoming across the lady’s face, Clarissa guessed that she had until recently danced through several songs. When she stood beside His Grace, the familiar resemblance between aunt and nephew was obvious. They shared the same dark hair and the same blue eyes, but Lady Matilda was a slight creature, as delicate as a daffodil stem.
The illusion was only aided by her blue, pearl-trimmed gown. While most of the ton exuded a calm veneer regardless of circumstance, Lady Matilda was very much the exception. Her every emotion appeared as brightly as sunlight across her fine-boned face. It was as if being consigned to spinsterhood had made her care less about propriety with each passing year.
Her eyes darted about the room, and her brow furrowed. As Clarissa and her mother drew closer, she could see that Lady Matilda bit her lip and fidgeted with the fine skirts of her gown. With a sudden exasperated sigh, Lady Matilda disappeared into the crowd.
“I had hoped we would catch her,” Lady Bentley said. “His Grace is sure to greet his aunt first of all the guests.”
If his rakish friends did not capture his attention first, he might. Clarissa knew that the Duke of Hartingdale and Lady Matilda had a close relationship, but she did not know if it was so strong that he would neglect his libertine companions in favour of his aunt.
From the corner of her eye, Clarissa spied His Grace’s usual companions standing at the edge of the crowd, drinking an amber-coloured spirit from crystal glasses. They were doubtlessly conspiring with one another, trying to decide which ladies they intended to ruin. This event could not end quickly enough.
Chapter 2
“I have never so much longed for Wales as I do now,” said Colin, the Duke of Hartingdale. “This whole affair makes me wish that I could leave this instant and return to Snowdon.”
He leaned his head back and gazed at the ceiling, affecting a look of regal dismay. In his right hand, he held a glass of scotch, which was his favoured drink. He was in the billiards room, adjacent to the ballroom. The sound of laughter and music flitted into the air around him.
