Authors: Miranda Davis
Rrrrgh!
For the balance of the night, Clun made an effort to be more sociable despite his foul mood.
Lord Seelye helped in his own, ungentle way, telling Clun he was an imbecile to lean against a wall glowering. Next, his lordship led the baron toward Lady Jane Babcock and her circle of friends. The debutantes froze in place as Clun approached. With starting eyes, they looked every bit like fawns in the forest hoping to evade a dangerous predator’s notice. A few sidled away. Only one stood with her back to the men as they approached. Lady Jane spoke to this friend from behind her fan.
“But Jane,” Clun heard the oblivious girl whisper in a voice clear as a clanging bell, “he’s such a monstrous large man, I’d be
terrified
to dance with him.”
Clun chuckled. Lord Seelye cleared his throat and bowed to Lady Jane. Lady Iphigenia Thornton finally turned around.
“Oh dear!” was all the mortified young woman could squeak out as she craned her neck to look up at Clun. After the introductions, Clun bowed over Lady Iphigenia’s hand and asked for her next open dance. Her card was half empty, so in a quavering voice, she gave him the next but looked to her friend to save her. Instead, Lady Jane commended her to Lord Clun’s care so she and Seelye could snipe at each other uninterrupted.
As the music began, poor Lady Iphigenia’s mortification struck her dumb. Clun soon teased her into inconsequential conversation.
Lady Iphigenia’s natural tactlessness soon got the better of her and she exclaimed, “How fine a dancer you are, my lord. So nimble for a man your size.” A moment too late, she recalled her earlier gaffe and colored to the shade of a persimmon.
“I am rather sprightly for a monstrous large man, aren’t I?” Clun asked and smiled at her conspiratorially. “But I must swear you to secrecy or I will wear my legs to nubbins dancing with all the young ladies.”
“I’m sorry for my earlier, intemperate language, my lord.” Lady Iphigenia said meekly.
“I’m not! You’re an Original, my lady. And I am happy to be among the many who seek a place on your dance card.”
“Now you’re bamming me,” she reproached the baron.
“On my honor, I am honored, my lady,” he teased before the two dancers separated. When they returned, he added, “and I’ll challenge anyone who dares contradict me to a duel — even you.” They separated to circle others, and at the return, he leaned near to say, “Goose feathers at dawn.” Rejoining her, he concluded solemnly, “Hampstead Heath. Physician on hand. Seconds to examine the gander, all of it.”
She laughed at his whimsy and said, “Isn’t it customary for the challenged to have choice of weapon?”
“I stand corrected.” He smiled down at her, pleased to have put an awkward girl at ease.
Though she was too young, too timid and too little like Elizabeth to suit him, Clun imagined for a moment marriage to Lady Iphigenia. Nothing much came of it. The life he supposed lacked sparkle. Still, he hadn’t succeeded with Elizabeth so he would have to contemplate an alternative. The notion sank to the pit of his stomach.
“Tell me, my lady, do any of your suitors suit?” He inquired. She blushed and missed a step. He caught her up easily and set her to rights, with no one the wiser.
“I have an understanding with Lord Charles Holmsbury, my lord.”
“That explains your lovely smile,” Clun replied, not at all disappointed by her disclosure.
The dancers enjoyed the rest of their dance in warm camaraderie.
“I don’t know why everyone’s terrified of you,” Lady Iphigenia vouchsafed.
“Am I not an ogre?”
“Not as much as I’d supposed,” she replied and gasped, “Oh bother! Beg pardon, my lord.”
Clun laughed, which flustered her until he added, “No need to apologize. I’ve cultivated my fearsome reputation for years. I’d be disappointed if my efforts had borne no fruit.”
She smiled up at him and said, “I think I like you, Lord Clun.”
“You flatter me, but if you tell anyone I’m tolerable, I will never forgive you.”
“I shall do my best, though I won’t remain silent if you’re maligned.”
“Thank you. No doubt, you are a fierce champion of your friends.”
“I am,” she replied, her face aglow. “And we are friends.”
“I’m flattered.”
The music ended and Clun bowed over Lady Iphigenia’s hand and grinned at her. She smiled radiantly back at him. When he escorted her back to her friends and their chaperones, all stood goggle-eyed until he turned away. Then, he heard gasps and whispers.
It was a pleasant interlude but it was past time to find his Delilah and make her dance with him again. He searched the ballroom. She’d left already for another jollification.
That left Clun no alternative but, he shuddered, the opera.
The Duke of Ainsworth had invited him to attend a performance of Mozart’s
Così Fan Tutte
. (
Così fan tutte le belle
meant ‘Thus, all women do,’ Clun snorted. How true.) Poor Ainsworth’s
enceinte
duchess had developed a peculiar taste for intolerable screeching set to tolerable music. Clun had declined the invitation out of hand and mocked His Grace up and down for suffering through an aural assault of that magnitude for the love of a woman.
Ah, well.
Clun would send word in the morning that he’d changed his mind and would like to join them if he was still welcome. Doubtless, the duke would be grateful, misery loving company as it does. His Grace would also enjoy serving Clun a generous portion of crow.
* * *
Despite the earl’s dire prognostics, Elizabeth knew how to handle
ton
rascals. Only one man tempted her to behave inappropriately and he kept his distance. In fact, the man she loved would not look her in the eye. So far, at various routs and balls, he’d been content with one dance as often as he’d demanded a second.
That very evening, Elizabeth was forced to endure the spectacle of her affianced exercising his considerable masculine charm on another friend of Lady Jane Babcock. At first, Elizabeth had hoped, perhaps cruelly, that Lady Iphigenia would not only blanch at the prospect of dancing with her baron but faint away in a heap. Instead, all those assembled witnessed a miracle in which Clun coaxed the chit out of awkward shyness and into radiant vivacity. Lady Iphigenia blushed and laughed for as long as the two danced.
Though anyone with sense could see how sadly mismatched they were, others said they made a charming picture. Clun certainly captivated the girl. He smiled at her, leaned close and teased her till she was beaming. Elizabeth knew that feeling well, for she herself had smiled as rapturously into those dark, dancing eyes.
Rather than stay for more, she allowed the Travistons to herd her to the evening’s next event.
In the Traviston carriage, Mr. Traviston stared out the coach window while Constance and Lady Petra marveled at The Scene of Wonder, that being a charming Lord Clun and a shy young lady being charmed by him. Lady Petra declared he had opened more eyes among the
ton
than just her own and that regardless of their betrothal, Clun’s eligibility was now a matter of general discussion. Such talk irritated Elizabeth no end.
“Quite a handsome man. Perhaps intimidating physically, though hardly the beast I was led to believe,” Lady Petra said. “Had you wanted him, Elizabeth, I’d have told you he was a fine choice.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said tightly.
“It would be best to release him soon, dear. Just not too soon. Ending it with so many of the
ton
in Town for Christmas would court disaster of another sort. Still, he mustn’t be kept waiting long. It’s only fair to let the man pursue a courtship with the prospect of a satisfactory outcome, don’t you think?” Lady Petra asked gently.
To this subtle reproach, Elizabeth bowed her head and nodded.
“Lizzy, if you still want to marry him, it’s not hopeless,” Constance reassured her. “Is it, Mama?”
Lady Petra said nothing.
“He cannot love me,” Elizabeth said in resignation. “He told me so point blank.”
“Cannot or will not?” Her friend asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Clun has not had a happy example to follow, my dear. Perhaps his reticence is understandable,” Lady Petra mused.
“I met Lady Clun tonight,” Elizabeth said. “What did she mean by ‘like father, like son’?”
Lady Petra reviewed some of the
ton
gossip while the carriage rumbled over the cobblestone streets of Mayfair to Cavendish Square and another ball.
“Oh my!” was all that Elizabeth could manage after Lady Petra concluded the infamous tale of the baron, the alienated baroness and his social ostracism. It explained the baroness’ pronouncements about de Sayre men.
“Elizabeth, you are nothing like Lady Clun. Not in any attribute or inclination. You’re her opposite for you are determined to be happy,” said Mr. Traviston out of the blue.
“Quite right, my dear,” Lady Petra said to her husband, who smiled and turned back to the window.. To Elizabeth she added, “I believe you could be the making of the man as a husband and a father. That is, if you wish to be.”
“He’s too determined to have his way, Lady Petra,” Elizabeth replied.
“He is afraid. He cannot relish that,” Lady Petra observed. “You need only decide if you want him. Think on it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Elizabeth said, unusually docile.
“Give it careful consideration, child,” Lady Petra urged, “Lord Clun has made an impression tonight and there will be any number of caps set at him if you cry off.” she patted Elizabeth’s clenched hands. “But take heart. His inclination is obvious, though he would rather you not see it.”
“Inclination? Toward whom?”
“You, child. Only you.”
* * *
Clun ended the night with Seelye and Percy in Grosvenor Square over tea and brandy with the Duke and Duchess of Ainsworth. Since the men respected Prudence a great deal, they paid her their highest compliment and included her as one of their own in conversation. This also meant mild profanities peppered their candid talk. The duke was the worst offender. He blasphemed on a regular basis, and Prudence didn’t blink or scold, which endeared her to all. (Ainsworth maintained that she could, if called upon, swear as fluently as the sailors she once treated at her apothecary shop in Bath.)
The baron listened as topics came and went, trying to keep a cork in his bottled up frustration. Finally, he leapt into a lull in the conversation to say, “Friends, I would ask you a question.”
All eyes turned to him, teacups and brandies poised in mid-air.
“My betrothal has hit a snag as you know,” Clun began. “She accuses me of being pessimistic about marriage, love, happiness, what have you.” He waited for vociferous denials from his friends. He heard silence and a small cough when the duchess cleared her throat.
“Well,” the duke said slowly, “you do tend to look on the dark side, Clun.”
“Look? Rather he lives on the dark side, in Dark Street’s deepest, unlit recess,” Seelye clarified.
Clun was less than pleased.
“It’s merely a tendency, Clun,” reassured Percy. “Not a fatal flaw.”
“You must admit, you can be bloody gloomy,” Ainsworth said and added reflexively, “Beg pardon, love.”
Prudence nodded, poured more tea for Percy and handed it to him.
“How many times did you search a battlefield for one or all of us, assuming we’d been flayed, or shot, or lanced,” Seelye asked, “only to find us back at the tents having a shave?”
“Not after Waterloo,” Clun stated.
“Heard you combed the fields for a week,” Ainsworth said quietly. “I’ll never forget that, Clun.”
“We three of us did, Jem,” Clun said. “For all the good it did.”
“What about earlier battles,” Seelye said, returning to the point.
“Salamanca,” Percy offered and sipped his tea.
“Oh Lord, yes!” Seelye crowed. “Remember Salamanca?”
“I found Percy’s bloody helmet and his clothes drenched in blood by the river,” Clun said peevishly. “What was I supposed to think?”
“That he was washing off, you mope,” Seelye cried.
“Had you found my severed head in the helmet, you might’ve worried. I had a devil of a time getting you to put me down,” Percy chuckled.
“You were bleeding, damn it,” Clun snarled and added, “pardon me, Your Grace.”
Prudence shrugged and sipped her tea as she listened with amusement to the men.
“A messy flesh wound, nothing more. Hence my dip in the stream,” Percy answered.
“You were floating lifeless,” Clun argued.
“Face up, Clun, I was relaxing. That is, until you howled like a banshee and charged in after me. You might’ve drowned me for all your flailing and splashing.”
Prudence interjected, “I think your Elizabeth is quite perceptive.”
The duke raised a brow, “You hardly know her, Pru.”
“But I, too, am perceptive. It’s one of many abilities intelligent women possess.”
Clun opened his mouth to argue with Her Grace.
“Steady on, Clun,” Ainsworth said. “Women are an infernal nuisance, being right so often about such things. Take it like a man.”
“She expects me to change,” Clun growled and silenced the other men for a moment.
“Oh. That’s not reasonable. Not likely, anyway. You are who you are, warts and all,” came the mutters of male outrage from Percy and Seelye.
Ainsworth sat, silent.
“Well, Jem, what have you to say to that?” Clun challenged.
The duke smiled at his wife. “Perhaps you would be happier if you allowed for some optimism, Clun. Change can be for the better. And frankly, it happens like it or not when you’ve met your match.”
The unmarried men stared at the most implacable Horseman of the Apocalypse with jaws hanging on broken hinges. Prudence, Duchess of Ainsworth, blushed as she fussed with the teapot.