Page 23 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount
Clayton bit his lip. He couldn’t wear the waistcoat in public, of course. Thomas had made it whole again, but the damage was far too noticeable. He sighed, carefully hanging the waistcoat back on the hanger.
“Do you know why I keep that waistcoat, Lucas?”
His friend shifted. “I don’t know. Because you bought it for yourself? To prove a point?”
“No. To remind myself that I will never again allow anyone to exercise authority over me. I had to stand there and watch my father tear up something that belonged to me. Oh, I’m sure some parents do worse to their children than rip up waistcoats, but I promised to myself then and there that I would get out from under that man’s thumb and never allow anyone else to tell me what to do. I am my own man, Lucas.”
He hung the waistcoat back in the wardrobe and took out a sequinned pink-and-green one to wear that day. It would stand out nicely with his black velvet suit. The suit looked too funereal by itself.
“Nobody is trying to tell you what to do, Clay,” Lucas said firmly.
“Of course they are. Father tries. Eliza tries too, although I’m more likely to listen to her. Simon tries, and so do you.”
“I’m trying to give you advice. This wager is a bad idea. What would happen if the scandal sheets got wind of it?”
He shrugged on a clean linen shirt and began the business of tying his cravat. Thomas made it a point to have several starched and ready for Clayton every morning. Of course, Clayton always got the knot right the first time. His father’s no-valet rule had given him that skill, at least.
“I imagine they’ll write about it, Lucas. Not a great deal I cando.”
“You keep saying that, but if you simply chose not to continue the wager…”
Clayton rounded on Lucas. “Simon calls me a coward. Not a gentleman, he says. My father used to say exactly the same thing. The only difference was that with my father, I believed him for longer than I should.”
Lucas raked a hand through his hair. “That’s terrible, of course it is, but it doesn’t mean that you have to prove yourself to Simon over and over again. You know you aren’t a coward. You know you’re a gentleman. Who cares what they think?”
Clayton turned back to the mirror. “I am not doing any harm, Lucas.”
“You are trying to win Lady Isolde’s heart without any intention of doing anything with it,” he responded flatly. “I keep imagining it’s one of my sisters, the subject of a wager like that.”
Clayton’s hands stilled on the knot of his cravat. He gave himself a little shake and began tying again. Holding the linen for too long would make the starching fade, and the cravat would go limp. With an effort, he recalled Lucas’ sisters. He had a horde of them, it seemed, but the oldest was nearly seventeen, and would likely be coming out next year. She was a pretty, eager young girl, intelligent and confident.
Society would probably knock that out of her.
He glanced over his shoulder at Lucas.
“Emmeline won’t be the subject of any wagers.”
“How do you know?” Lucas responded bitterly. “It’s wrong, Clayton. It’s plain wrong.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. The cravat was done, and Clayton inspected it closely. Perfect, as usual. He picked up the ruby cravat pin from last night – might as well use it, as it was already out – and secured it in place.
“I do not intend to hurt Lady Isolde. I just want her to smileat me, I think.”
“Simon will require more than that.”
“Then that is my concern. I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s what worries me,” Lucas shot back. “I wish you’d leave the girl alone.”
“I will leave her alone, soon enough.”
“Didn’t you like her at all?”
Clayton was glad he had his back turned to Lucas for this part.
The answer, quite simply, was yes. He had liked Lady Isolde. She was beautiful, certainly, and it made a change to dance with a woman who didn’t flutter over his looks and languid confidence. She said she preferred books to gossip, and he certainly believed her.
What sort of books? Novels, perhaps? Poetry? Something improving?
