Page 24 of The Heiress's Daughter
Clarissa’s nerves were well under control by the time they’d arrived at their destination and had greeted their hosts at the top of the stairs. Pausing at the entrance to the ballroom, they surveyed the room.
“Excellent,” Mrs. Price-Jones declared. “Quite a crush, already. Plenty of handsome young men to dance with you, and maybe even a few left over for me.” She winked at Clarissa. “Now, I just need to pop into the ladies’ withdrawing room for a moment—no, no need to come with me. It’s just a quick adjustment I need.”
Clarissa looked around, hoping to see her friend and neighbor, Lady Tarrant, and then recalled that she’dtemporarily withdrawn from society, awaiting the birth of her baby.
Another neighbor, Milly Harrington, and her mother were standing in an alcove by the window, chatting to an elderly gentleman, but the moment Milly spotted Clarissa she turned her back and pretended not to see her. Milly didn’t like competition, and though she had a more aristocratic background than Clarissa, being distantly related to a duke, and was prettier, she didn’t have a fortune like Clarissa did.
Mrs. Price-Jones nudged Clarissa. “That nice Lady Peplowe and her daughter Penny are over there, see? You go and sit with them and I’ll join you in a trice.”
She sailed off and Clarissa began to make her way through the crowd. A group of young men stood talking near a clump of potted palms. Clarissa paused. She often felt quite self-conscious walking past groups of young men, aware they were looking at her and possibly finding her wanting. And sometimes they made lewd comments that utterly discomposed her, even when she didn’t always know precisely what they meant.
Usually, unless Izzy or someone else was with her, she did her best to avoid such groups of men, but now she hesitated. She’d resolved to learn to stand on her own two feet. To be braver, and not depend on others.
Pretend you are beautiful and confident, she reminded herself.
Taking a deep breath and stiffening her spine she walked toward the group of young men. But her feet veered away at the last minute, taking her around behind the potted palms, keeping them between herself and the men.
Edging carefully past the palms, Clarissa heard one of them say, “So you’re going for it after all?”
Another responded, “Yes, of course. One doesn’t whistle a fortune down the wind. The beautiful Studley heiress might be off the market but the little fat plain one is still available. And should be suitably grateful.”
She faltered, freezing where she stood.Little fat plain one? Suitably grateful?
One of the others said something she didn’t quite catch and they all sniggered, then the first one said, “Worth it for the money, I suppose.”
And the second one replied, “All cats are the same in the dark.” And they sniggered again.
It was a slap in the face out of the blue. She felt sick.
“Take no notice, my love,” Mrs. Price-Jones murmured, coming up behind her. “Young men, especially in the company of other young men, are often foolish, mannerless cubs. I didn’t hear all that they said, but I heard their nasty laughter and it’s clearly upset you.”
Clarissa swallowed and forced a smile. “Not at all. I was just thinking about something else. Now, shall we join Lady Peplowe and Penny?”
Turning her head slightly, she glanced back and from the corner of her eye picked out the young man who’d spoken so dismissively about her. As she’d thought, it was Edgar Walmsley, who’d called on her several times at Lady Scattergood’s. She’d recognized his voice. At the time she’d thought him good-looking and rather pleasant.
Now she knew better: He was an insensitive beast. And a horrid fortune hunter.
They joined Lady Peplowe for a short while, and then Mrs. Price-Jones found some other friends. They were rather elderly and when their conversation turned to their latest symptoms and comparing ailments, Mrs. Price-Jones screwed up her nose and drew Clarissa away. “Old people,” she murmured, “making themselves older before their time. I have no patience with them. Come along, it’s time to dance.” And indeed, the orchestra had finished tuning up and people began taking their partners for the first dance of the evening.
Behind Clarissa, a man cleared his throat. “Miss Studley?”
She turned and her smile froze, half-formed. It wasEdgar Walmsley, the pig who’d spoken so rudely about her to his friends. Her eyes ran over him. He was dressed in the first stare of fashion, and his high shirt points were so stiffly starched he could hardly turn his head. His shirt was frilled and his coat tightly molded to his shape. Elegant fobs and seals dangled from a thick gold chain.
He stood before her, smirking, supremely confident of his welcome.Little fat plain one, was she?Suitably grateful, was she? Resentment spiraled through her. He clearly expected her to be flattered by his attention.
Mr. Walmsley was not as attractive as he’d seemed the other day—certainly not as attractive as he clearly thought himself to be. His good looks were spoiled, she decided, by a weak chin and an affected world-weary expression. And the smugness that oozed from him. Even while he was talking to her, his eyes were roaming past her as if looking for something—or someone—better and more interesting. More worth his attention. Men often did that. Clarissa hated it.
Normally she would swallow her pride and her hurt feelings and pretend to be happy to dance with someone she didn’t like. It was the polite thing to do. Or Izzy would step in on her behalf.
She remembered again how he and his friends had sniggered about her.
No, she decided.I don’t like him and I don’t want to be polite and dance with him, knowing what he really thinks of me.
She didn’t respond, just let her gaze wander to a point over his shoulder, not looking at anyone in particular, but giving him a taste of his own medicine.
He glanced behind him, frowned and repeated himself. “Miss Studley?”
“Yes?” She gave him a vague look, as if she had no idea who he was.
