Page 29 of The Heiress's Daughter
“You are thinking of my limp,” Mr. Clayborn said. “It is cheeky of me, I know, but although I was asking for the dance”—he gave her a droll look—“I was actually hoping to sit it out with you in comfort.” He grimaced modestly. “This wretched wound precludes my dancing, you see.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to sit out the dance with you, Mr. Clayborn.”
He beamed. “How very kind you are. I almost didn’t dare to ask, but I told myself, ‘Lovely Miss Studley is sopopular that she will naturally be surrounded by gentlemen, but such a kind and gracious young lady might perhaps grant an old soldier—’ ”
If Mr. Clayborn had one fault, it was perhaps his habit of giving her fulsome compliments. And perhaps also that his cologne water—or perhaps it was his pomade—was rather strong.
She cut him off. “Where would you like to sit? Here?” She indicated the seat beside her. Mrs. Price-Jones, no doubt seeing Mr. Clayborn approaching and anticipating his request, had vacated it a few minutes before. She was standing a couple of feet away, talking to a silver-haired gentleman, while keeping an eye on Clarissa.
Mr. Clayborn shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to sit outside, perhaps on the terrace. It’s so close in here, and the breeze outside is delightfully refreshing. I noticed earlier that several chairs have been placed there for our convenience.”
Clarissa glanced at Mrs. Price-Jones, who was standing close enough to hear his request. She nodded and Clarissa rose, arranging her shawl around her shoulders. “Outside would be very nice, thank you. Shall we?”
He stepped forward, winced and offered his arm.
“Are you sure…” she began.
“Oh, you mean this?” He indicated his bad leg. “Take no notice. It’s a dashed inconvenience, nothing else.” But as he escorted her across the room to the French doors leading out to the terrace, she noticed that he limped quite heavily, and winced frequently, though he tried to hide it.
But he’d made it clear that he disliked sympathy, so she could hardly show it. He was, she decided, very brave.
And since his great-aunt had told them on several occasions that her darling great-nephew was the apple of her eye and the sole heir to her fortune, he was that rarity among her suitors: not a fortune hunter.
They found a spot on the far edge of the terrace where a small wrought iron table and two matching chairs had been placed.
Mr. Clayborn seated Clarissa then said, “Before we get settled, would you like me to fetch you a drink? Some refreshments?” He seemed ready to go off to fetch them, but Clarissa was reluctant to cause him any further pain so she assured him that she needed nothing, thank you.
He sat beside her, so that they both were able to look out over the small, well-manicured garden. A short silence fell. Clarissa racked her mind for something to talk about. “You were right,” she said eventually. “The breeze is very pleasant.” Hardly an example of sparkling conversation, but her mind was stupidly blank.
He turned to her anxiously. “Are you cold?”
“No, not at all.”
There was another short silence, then he said, “It was Waterloo, you know. The injury.”
“Yes, I think I heard that.” He’d mentioned it several times before.
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“No, I understand.” She fiddled with her fan. “Have you been to the theat—”
“The worst thing is not the injury, or the constant pain, but the feeling that I let my men down. Leadership is very important in the army, you know, and my men looked up to me.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I worry that they might have been lost once I was taken off the battlefield. I would have refused to leave them, but I had no choice: I was wounded and insensible.”
“That must have been very difficult.”
“It was. It haunts me still, not knowing what became of them all.”
She frowned a little over that. Did he not make inquiries?But perhaps he was in no condition to ask until long afterward. The leg might be only one of his wounds.
He heaved a sigh. “Such is life, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
He turned to her with a smile. “Listen to me, going on about myself. I generally dislike talking about the war, but with you I feel so comfortable. Please forgive me.”
