Page 79 of The Rake's Daughter
Clarissa dimpled. “You know what I mean.”
Izzy laughed again. “I do, love, but please don’t use the phrase ‘quite tolerable’ in any of your thank-you letters, or that lovely pile of invitations will dry up overnight.”
***
There was no point in trying to lock the stable door now that the horses had bolted, Leo decided. The girls were already mixing in society. Now it was up to him to make the kind of arrangements the lawyer had advised him back—was it only a matter of a few weeks ago? It felt much longer. He’d said Leo should escort Clarissa to events like balls, routs, and the opera. And Almack’s. He shuddered. The kind of activities he least enjoyed.
The sisters’ time in society wouldn’t last long, he was sure, so they might as well enjoy themselves while they could. The knowledge that their father had denied them any kind of society as they were growing up had shocked him. No wonder they’d defied Leo’s orders.
In the spirit of biting the bullet, he sent a note over to his aunt’s inviting Clarissa and her sister to join him in promenading in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. They accepted, and at the appropriate hour he collected them and, since it was a lovely afternoon, they decided to walk to Hyde Park.
“Where do you think you’re taking those gels?” his aunt demanded as they were about to leave.
Leo blinked. “Walking in Hyde Park.”
“On their own?”
“No, with me.”
She made a rudely disparaging noise, rang the bell and told the butler to fetch Betty, the maid. “The gels must beproperlyescorted,” Aunt Olive told Leo. “You,” she added with a beady look, “area man.”
Behind him he heard a muffled choke of laughter. He turned and saw two young ladies standing with unnaturally blank expressions. One pair of vivid green eyes danced, inviting him to join in the joke.
He winked at her, and her eyes widened in surprise. And appreciation.
He was a man, was he? Indeed he was.
As a young maid hurried down to join them, pulling on a dark red wool pelisse and a gray hat, the lawyer’s words came back to Leo:A maidservant would give Miss Studley neither the respectability nor the consequence required.
His aunt was nominally the young ladies’ sponsor, but since she rarely left the house, she could hardly act as chaperone. He sighed. He’d have to find a proper, well-connected chaperone to give them the respectable appearance and consequence they required. He’d speak to Aunt Olive about it later.
Leo strolled along with a young lady on each arm, more or less in silence: Clarissa was no chatterbox, and Isobel seemed unusually thoughtful. And he was no easy charmer like his friend Race, able to spin witty conversation out of thin air.
He slid a sidelong glance at Isobel. Was she still angry with him? He couldn’t tell.
As they entered Hyde Park, he noted gloomily that the sunshine had brought out the crowds. The place was crammed with elegantly dressed people promenading, or inching, along a congested Rotten Row in carriages and on horseback.
Given his preference, he would about-face and head in the opposite direction. Instead he gritted his teeth, plastered what he hoped was a pleasant expression on his face and moved toward the crowd.
A smothered sound came from Isobel. He glanced at her, and she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You love the fashionable crush, don’t you, Lord Martyr?”
“Simply adore it,” he grumped, and she laughed aloud. The sound unraveled a tight band around his chest that he hadn’t realized was even there.
“Oh, good, for a moment there I was worried you were going to hate every minute of it. But since you love itsooooo much, we’ll stay right to the very end, won’t we, Clarissa?”
He gave her a mock glower and she laughed again.
Her sister smiled. “She’s teasing you, Lord Salcott. She knows I also find the press of crowds a little uncomfortable. We rarely stay a full hour.”
The girls were frequently hailed, and as Leo listened to the discussion of events they’d mutually attended or were planning to attend, it was borne in on him how many society people they’d met while he was away and just how busy and social his life was going to become.
Oh, the joy.
Sometimes he walked with Clarissa on his arm, sometimes Isobel, and sometimes they walked ahead of him with Betty their maid.
Clarissa, he found, was hard work to talk to: she was shy and rarely initiated conversation. Isobel had called her a tigress: he saw no sign of that. But at least she was sweet and compliant, and there were enough distractions in the sights before them to offer up topics of conversation, bland as they were.
Izzy was neither sweet nor compliant, but he had to admit to a silent sigh of relief when she swapped places with her sister and took his arm. There was no shortage of conversation with Isobel—and no boredom, either.
