Page 30 of The Heiress's Daughter
“There is nothing to forgive.”
“You are too generous. War is not a subject for ladies.”
“Have you been to the theater lately?” she tried again.
“No, not recently. I find it difficult, sitting for long periods without moving.” He stretched his bad leg and grimaced. “But there are many worse off than I. Are you fond of the theater, Miss Studley?”
“Yes, very. My sister and I never had the opportunity to see any plays when we were growing up, so it is always a great treat for us.”
“Your sister, yes. She married your guardian and is on her honeymoon, is she not?”
“Yes. It is a little strange being without her. We have never been separated for long.”
“I wouldn’t know. I have no siblings—no family at all, except my great-aunt. Who is quite elderly.” He heaved a sigh.
Clarissa had no family as well, only her sister Izzy. And now Zoë. Oh, she so hoped that they could prove their relationship to Zoë’s satisfaction. The girl was proving quite resistant to the idea, much to Betty’s frustration. Betty did love her long-lost-princess story.
Clarissa wasn’t so worried. She felt quite certain they would be able to prove it eventually and, in the meantime, she understood that Zoë probably didn’t want to get her hopes up. Hope could be painful, and Zoë’s experience of life hadn’t given her much trust in other people’s goodwill.
“Miss Studley?”
Clarissa jumped, recalled to the present. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Clayborn, I was woolgathering. What was it you asked me?” How embarrassing to have let her mind wander off like that. The trouble was, she felt quite comfortable with Mr. Clayborn.
He paid her close attention but it didn’t make her feel hot or flustered, like a certain other gentleman, only a little bored at times, which was most ungrateful of her. Men didn’t usually pay her such flattering attention, especially handsome wounded heroes. Not unless they were fortune hunters, which he wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, I’m boring you,” he said, clearly a little miffed. Which was understandable.
“No, no you’re not. I was just distracted by a thought. Please repeat your question.”
“Are you sure? If you don’t want to be seen abroad with a man with my disability, please say so. I won’t be offended.”
“Your disability?” she repeated, puzzled.
He tapped his leg. Clarissa was horrified. “Of course I wouldn’t think any such thing,” she said hotly. “I’m not so shallow. Besides, to have been injured in the service of king and country is nothing less than heroic. Now, please repeat your question.”
“It was nothing much, just an invitation to go for a drive in Hyde Park with me tomorrow afternoon.”
She had planned to go with Betty then, to find another orphan to employ, but after her rudeness in not paying attention, she could hardly refuse. “Of course, I’d be delighted.”
He rose stiffly, grimacing as he straightened his bad leg. “Thank you, Miss Studley. At three o’clock, then? Now, I hear the music drawing to a close. Our dance is over. I’d better return you to your chaperone so you can be ready for the next gentleman eager to dance with you. Thank you for so graciously consenting to sit out a dance with a cripple.”
Clarissa found that a little offensive—she would have sat out a dance with anyone who asked; his injury had nothing to do with it. Besides, he was hardly a cripple. But he was clearly very sensitive about his condition, poor man, so she wasn’t about to argue. She took the arm he offered and they returned to the ballroom.
Chapter Five
Race stalked around the perimeter of the ballroom, greeting this person and that, but not lingering for long. He was well aware of the speculation his appearance at the ball had provoked. This—this was the reason he so rarely attended fashionable society events.
Now it wasn’t just bored married ladies seeking him out in the hope of dalliance; he was starting to draw the attention of the matchmaking mamas. His cousin wasn’t the only one who’d jumped to the conclusion that he’d finally decided to take a bride.
Curse it. He would leave the instant supper was over and he’d had his talk with Miss Studley.
In the meantime he had to watch the fashionable young drones buzzing around her. In retrospect, he should have sat out that country dance with her, like she had with that yellow-haired coxcomb, Clayborn. War hero be damned; he’d disliked the fellow on sight. A favored and regular visitor to Lady Scattergood’s, was he? Pah!
At least Race had secured the waltz with her, and hercompany at supper afterward. Not only was he looking forward to holding her in his arms—well, at least as much as propriety allowed—over supper he’d be able to assure her that the attention he was paying her had nothing to do with any promise he’d made to Leo.
Again he wondered how much she’d overheard of the conversation between himself and Maggie.
He hadn’t yet decided whether he was going to tell her he was courting her; he had a feeling that announcing it might be too blunt. It might make his shy little flower withdraw, as she had already once or twice.
