Irresistible (36 page)

"He is thirty-one." Doing her best
not
to dwell on what she had just seen, and enjoying scant success in the endeavor, Claire answered absently, then realized that she was, perhaps, revealing too much knowledge of her cousin by marriage.

"That is not so old. It's no older than Shrewsbury, whom you described just last night as a very eligible match." Beth gave Claire an indignant look. "Indeed, I think you must be quite smitten with Cousin Hugh yourself. You poker up amazingly whenever he comes into a room, and I don't think I have heard you say more than a pair of sentences to him since we first made his acquaintance. Plus he is always looking at you— which is not wonderful, of course, gentlemen always look at you— but the thing of it is, usually you never look back. With Richmond, sometimes, when he isn't looking, you do. Tell the truth, Claire: You have developed a
tendre
for our new cousin, haven't you?"

Though Beth was teasing, Claire felt her throat tighten with alarm. Her sister, who knew her very well indeed, might pick up on subtle clues others would miss, but what Beth could divine could eventually become clear to someone else as well. The thought of David, or Lady George, making such an observation made her palms turn clammy with panic. Had she really done such a poor job of hiding how she felt? She had been so careful, in Hugh's presence or out of it, to reveal no reaction to him at all.

"Are you forgetting that I'm married?" Claire said as lightly as she could. "I no longer develop
tendres
for gentlemen, I'll have you know."

"I would, if I were married to your David," Beth replied, her gaze frank. "I am sorry if this wounds you, Claire, but he does not treat you as he should, you know. He may be handsome on the outside, but on the inside he's a
worm
. I heard him tell you this morning that your new chip-straw bonnet makes you look like a hag, and quite aside from the fact that he has no business saying such a thing to you even if it were true, it isn't! It becomes you most wonderfully, and it is my opinion that he only said it to make you feel bad. Yes, and I notice that you went and took it off, and are now wearing another hat entirely. It is too bad of him, Claire, and so I mean to tell him at the next opportunity, too."

"Beth, no!" The possibility of her outspoken little sister tackling David on her behalf made Claire feel almost light-headed. The exchange, which had taken place in the hall as Claire had prepared to go out after breakfast and encountered David, obviously just on his way in from the previous night's revelries, had taken place exactly as Beth had described. And in its aftermath she had, indeed, changed her hat for the high-poke bonnet that now adorned her head. With its dark green ribbons, it was quite a good match for her pale green frock, after all, so making the switch had entailed no great sacrifice. She had not realized that Beth had overheard what David had said. Embarrassment joined with anxiety to bring color rushing to her cheeks. "Indeed, Beth, I pray you will not! David has been somewhat— somewhat out of sorts lately, it's true, but I don't regard it, I assure you. He— we— will come about."

"You may put a brave face on it if you choose, but I am not such a flat that I don't know when you're unhappy, Claire." Beth's expression was earnest. "If you don't wish me to speak to David, perhaps Gabby, or, better yet, Nick…."

"No!" Claire shook her head violently. "No, do you hear me? If David and I are on the outs— all right, David and I
are
on the outs— we must arrive at a solution ourselves. Oh, Beth, let's just get through this Season, shall we? Things are going so splendidly for you."

"But I wish things to go splendidly for you, too," Beth said, her tone gentling, and reached for Claire's hand. Her blue eyes were dark with concern. "And I don't think they are."

"Miss Beth, you quit badgering your sister right this very minute!" Twindle broke in, sounding far fiercer than was her wont. Her gaze moved to Claire, and her tone softened. "Miss Claire, you won't wish to cry on a public street."

"But, Twindle…" Beth began hotly. Claire squeezed Beth's hand, silencing her, then released it, laughing a little even as she blinked back the tears that threatened, called forth by this unexpected evidence of her little sister's care for her.

"Beth, dear, see what you've done? Your championship has very nearly moved me to tears! I won't wither away because David is rude about my new bonnet, you know, so please don't worry your head about me. I'm fine, I promise."

"So you say," Beth replied skeptically, but in response to a look from Twindle she clamped her lips together and said no more. The three rode the rest of the way in a deepening silence broken only by the sound of the horses' hooves clicking and the wheels rattling over the cobbled street as the carriage left the bustle of the busier boulevards behind to turn onto the lightly traveled environs of Park Lane. Located right next to Hyde Park, Park Lane was the most exclusive address in London. The houses were huge edifices of brick and stone, four stories tall, with stone steps leading up from the street and rows of leaded windows that sparkled in the sun. As it was relatively early in the day, only a housemaid with a basket over her arm clearly bent on an errand, two children hurrying with their hapless nursemaid in tow toward the park, and a street sweeper busy at that moment right in front of Richmond House were in evidence as they approached. The street sweeper stood aside, tugging at his forelock as the carriage rocked to a halt in front of the house.

"Beth," Claire said in a carefully neutral voice as the door was opened and the steps let down. "I should not mention to Richmond that we spotted him today if I were you. The female with him was
not
a lady, I assure you."

"Do you mean he has taken up with a prime bit of muslin?" Beth, already halfway out of the carriage, sounded fascinated rather than shocked as she glanced back over her shoulder at Claire. "How dashing he is, to be sure! Oh, quit primming up your mouth at me, Claire. You must know that for a gentleman to have a female such as that in keeping is all the crack."

Twindle moaned in horror and clapped her hands over her ears.

"Beth, where on earth do you hear such things?" Claire asked, aghast. "Ladies, especially young, unmarried ladies, are not supposed to know about matters of that nature, and even if they do, they're certainly not supposed to talk about them!"

"If you can succeed in convincing her of that, you should have been the governess and not I, Miss Claire," Twindle muttered, dropping her hands and fixing Beth with a look that warned anyone who knew her well that the recipient was in for a thundering scold once she got her alone.

"Oh, pooh," Beth said inelegantly, clearly unimpressed, and descended the stairs with a toss of her fiery head.

That evening found them at Almack's, that most exclusive of clubs. Known by the vulgar as the Marriage Mart, it was more difficult to get into than St. James's Palace. Ruled by a set of patronesses who included, fortunately, Aunt Augusta's good friend Lady Jersey as well as the more top-lofty Princess Esterhazy, Countess Lieven, and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, it consisted of several large but surprisingly shabby chambers on King Street. The surroundings were unimpressive, the refreshments, which were of no higher order than tea, lemonade, or orgeat, small stale cakes or bread and butter, were paltry, and the entertainment was limited to dancing or a few hands of whist or vingt-et-un, and yet admission into its hallowed halls was the goal of every socially ambitious female in the country. The patronesses' approval, issued in the form of vouchers, had to be obtained before one might purchase a ticket for admission, and the patronesses themselves were notoriously strict about just who was deemed suitable and who was not. Fortunately, that hurdle had been cleared for Claire at the time of her own come-out, which meant that Beth's admission,
sans
some sort of major faux pas on that volatile young lady's part, had been all but assured.

As a consequence, rather than feeling privileged to be a part of so select a group, Claire was feeling bored as she sat with the other chaperons in one of the gilt chairs lining the walls, and headachy, and most unaccountably out of sorts. The truth was that she was blue-deviled, though she meant to admit that to no one save herself. Try as she would, she could not get the image of Hugh and the blond female he'd been driving down Piccadilly out of her head. Was he with her now? she wondered. Were they, perhaps, together in that house in Curzon Street where Hugh had suggested meeting
her
? Were they even now kissing, or…

Stop it, she ordered herself fiercely. She wasn't going to think about that. She was going to put Hugh and everything concerning him out of her head.

To that end, she concentrated on locating her sister. The dancing was well under way, and Beth was taking her part in a reel with the laughing enjoyment that was so much a part of her nature. Beth was lovely in virginal white, practically the only color considered suitable for a debutante to wear to Almack's, with her bright hair dressed in a simple knot on the top of her head. Her high-waisted frock with its tiny puffed sleeves was caught up under her bosom with sapphire ribbons that almost exactly matched her eyes, and its slim cut set off her figure to perfection.

Oh, to be that young and carefree again, Claire thought wistfully. Observing the sparkling optimism on the faces of the dancing young girls, she suddenly felt hideously old in comparison, and her spirits sank even lower as a consequence.

She took a bite out of the small poppy-seed cake she held in one hand, then had to work to chew and swallow the dry, tasteless morsel without choking. She was only twenty-one, she reflected gloomily, and her life, to all intents and purposes, was already over. After all, she had successfully performed the gently bred female's ultimate function: She had wed. Except for the bearing of children, which happiness was not likely to happen to her, there was nothing else for a lady of quality to look forward to.

Except having a blazing affair with her husband's cousin, perhaps.

As that thought entered her mind, quite unbidden, Claire choked on the cake after all. But at least her subsequent fit of coughing served one purpose: It forced the tantalizing image out of her head.

"Really, dear, you should know better than to eat the cakes they serve by now," Aunt Augusta, who was seated beside her looking very much the grande dame in lavender satin, whispered reprovingly as Claire recovered. "The refreshments are quite dreadful, but then, one doesn't come here for the food, after all." A couple promenading past caught her attention and thankfully gave her thoughts another direction. "Lud, look at that gown: Who is that? Oh, Emily Poole! She was always the most forward creature! If her father hadn't been a duke, no one would receive her. See how her gown clings to her? Do you think her petticoats are
damped
?"

"I don't think she's wearing a petticoat," Claire replied, looking obediently at the lady in question, a woman closer to thirty than twenty who was nevertheless attired in the girlish fashion of white muslin, which in her case had been somehow rendered practically transparent. "I think she's damped her
gown
."

"Oh, my."

As Aunt Augusta turned to draw the attention of Mrs. Weston, who sat on her other side, to the scandal in the making, Claire disposed of the last of the despised cake by handing it off to a passing waiter. Brushing her hands over her lap to remove any tiny crumbs that might have lodged in the folds of her gown, she reflected that there was at least one advantage to her situation: Having attained the coveted status of a matron, she was no longer expected to defer to the prevailing preference for white or the palest of pastel gowns. Her gown tonight was of shimmering bronze silk tied up beneath her breasts with dark green ribbons, and she wore a delicate emerald necklet that had been her mother's, along with matching earbobs.

Exchanging desultory conversation with Lady Holsted, a plump and placid mother of four hopeful daughters who sat on her other side, Claire once again watched, this time with slightly envious eyes, as her sister skipped down the room.

"Oh, there's Barbara Langford beckoning to me. Well, I must just go see what she wants," Aunt Augusta said in her ear, then rose and made her way across the room. Claire nodded, and tried not to feel downcast as Lady Holsted proceeded to chat about her youngest daughter's recent bout with the measles. As she listened, she did her best not to let her toes tap in time to the music. She wanted to dance, and indeed she could have done so at any time since they had arrived as at least half a dozen gentlemen had already asked her, but there was no one present she felt like dancing with. Chatting with one of her group of particular friends might have lifted her spirits, but none of them seemed to be present, which wasn't surprising as most of them were too young to have daughters of marriageable age or too old and too secure in their married status to be on the market themselves.

"May I join you?"

Claire glanced up in surprise at the deep-voiced question, then nodded with some reluctance as she ascertained the identity of the questioner. Aunt Augusta's vacated seat was promptly filled by Lord Vincent Davenport. A fortyish widower, Lord Vincent was not overly tall, muscular to the point of being stocky in build, with thick auburn hair that waved back from his brow and bright blue eyes above a square jaw. He was a noted Corinthian, a member of the Four Horse Club, and a confirmed rake. Currently in search of a new wife, he had come to London to look over the current crop of debutantes, as he had informed Claire in his languid drawl on the occasion of their first meeting, but had found that her beauty quite drove the purpose of his visit right out of his head. Despite her hints and then outright assurances that she was unavailable, Lord Vincent had since become most persistent in his attentions. It required little intelligence on Claire's part to guess what role he desired her to play in his life, but so far he had not crossed beyond the line of what was permissible, and, beyond what she had already done, she was at a loss as to how to discourage him. Had her husband ever been present at the same time as Lord Vincent it would have helped, but David, preferring his own amusements, almost never accompanied her to evening events. Lord Vincent was considered quite a catch by the matchmaking mamas, but under the circumstances Claire found his attentions more annoying than gratifying, and tonight the situation was made worse by Lady George's presence: Her mother-in-law, who was talking with Lady Sefton and Princess Esterhazy nearby, kept casting disapproving looks her way. Claire had little doubt that on the morrow she would be subject to a lecture on the perils of seeming
fast
.