Page 36 of The Heiress's Daughter
“Nevertheless, everybody is talking about his appearance at the ball. It’s not his first, either—you will recall he also attended the Arden ball last month, and several since then. Balls which you also have attended.”
“Why would that be of interest to anyone?”
“It’s not like him, that’s why. There’s speculation that he’s finally decided to take a wife. I believe that wagers have even been made in those horrid betting books in the clubs that gentlemen frequent.” Her voice deepened with significance. “Wagers that link your name with his—oh, don’t worry, they don’t specifically name you—nothing so scandalous. But I’m told they refer to him and a Miss C. S. And you must admit he’s been paying you an unusual degree of attention lately.”
“Nonsense. He’s just being polite while Leo’s away. It’s a favor, that’s all.”
“Perhaps.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I don’t believe the wagers can possibly refer to me and Lord Randall. And even if they did, why would anyone care?”
“To be frank, my dear, there is some degree of surprise that you’re the choice he seems to have settled on. It’s quite a coup for you.”
“Why? Because he’s only ever seen with ravishing beauties?” She expected Mrs. Price-Jones to deny it and utter some nonsense about beauty being in the eye of thebeholder. Clarissa was fed up with false compliments. She’d been practically drowned in them tonight at the ball.
But Mrs. Price-Jones surprised her. “Yes, that’s true, and he’s very rich, so it can’t be your fortune that’s attracting him. But men are peculiar: they might select their, let us call them ‘flirts’—”
“You mean mistresses.” Papa had made no secret of his various mistresses. Had rubbed Mama’s nose in them.
“Very well, mistresses, if we’re going to be blunt. They might choose them for their beauty, but when it comes to choosing wives other factors come into play.”
“I know. They prefer them rich and beautiful, but when they can’t have that, they want them obedient, modest, chaste, dutiful and to be able to provide heirs and run a house,” Clarissa said. The depressingly dull virtues. Her mother had drummed them into her. Much good they’d done poor Mama.
“Not necessarily,” her chaperone said. “My own dear Price-Jones chose me before many a beauty who’d been setting their caps at him—bless his heart—and you’d have to agree I’m not and never have been a beauty. Nor am I quiet or obedient or even fashionable.”
Clarissa nodded. She had to agree.
Mrs. Price-Jones continued, “And I had no fortune—not that he needed one, being full of juice himself, the dear man.”
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones. In the distance some revelers in the street shouted and laughed. In the gloom, Clarissa couldn’t see her chaperone’s face: she seemed to be lost in memories, but after a minute her voice brightened. “He wasn’t even the sort of man I thought I wanted, either, being the quiet, thoughtful type, a widower and a complete homebody—he loved his books, you see—and you know how I love a party.
“But we fell in love, and despite our differences we were very happy together. My only regret was that I never hadbabies, and though he had children by his first wife, they were of an age where they resented anyone taking their mother’s place.” She heaved a sigh. “But there, that’s enough about me—it’s Lord Randall we were talking about.”
“Must we?”
“Of course we must. He’s by far the best of your suitors, and in any case it’s clear to me you’re far from indifferent to him. You’re not, are you?”
Clarissa felt a blush rising and was thankful for the darkness inside the carriage. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m indifferent to him or not—he’s a rake and I will never marry a man like that. Besides, everyone knows he takes nothing seriously. If there are wagers being made, he’s no doubt aware of it and is delighting in fooling everyone. That’s the sort of man he is.”
They passed a market where even at this time, people worked busily setting up their stalls by the light of lanterns. As they left the busy scene and the carriage interior fell once more into darkness, Mrs. Price-Jones said, “I’m not so sure. Granted, he affects a careless manner most of the time, but I’ve seen the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking. He looks like a man bent on courting to me.”
Clarissa shook her head, wishing Mrs. Price-Jones would drop the subject. Her chaperone’s coy speculation was somehow…painful. Clarissa knew perfectly well that everyone, all those gossiping, speculating people who were imagining things about her and Lord Randall, were wrong.
“You’re mistaken. He’s not courting me at all. He made a promise to Leo to keep an eye on me while Leo and Izzy were away, so if he’s doing anything, it’s protecting me from fortune hunters and other undesirables. I heard him—Lord Randall, I mean—explaining it to his cousin Lady Frobisher when we went riding the other day.”
“Oh.” There was a long silence and then Mrs. Price-Jones said, “I’m still not convinced. I think he’s serious and you should encourage him.”
“Then if you think he’s such a catch and I should encourage him,” Clarissa said, exasperated, “why did you prevent him sitting next to me at supper?” She knew he’d planned some kind of intimate conversation, which is why she’d been nervous about it. But her chaperone couldn’t have known that.
Mrs. Price-Jones laughed. “Oh, my dear, haven’t you learned yet? The harder a man has to work at something, the more you deny him, the more determined he becomes.” She laughed again. “Besides, wasn’t it fun?”
Chapter Six
“No, no and no again, Miss Clarissa! I will not go walking in Hyde Park with you.” Zoë faced Clarissa with that stubborn look that reminded her so much of her sister Izzy.
Clarissa eyed the girl in frustration. Since coming to Lady Scattergood’s Zoë had not ventured out at all, not even to accompany Jeremiah walking the dogs. She seemed quite content to sit and chat with Lady Scattergood and Clarissa and Mrs. Price-Jones, but she’d refused point-blank to join them in receiving visitors.
And when they were occupied elsewhere, she happily joined Betty and the servants and helped out. She’d shown some interest in Clarissa’s use of plants and flowers in making creams and other cosmetic products, but she hadn’t even ventured into the garden. Clarissa had begun to wonder whether Zoë might be developing the same affliction as Lady Scattergood’s.
