Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

" W hy, Lady Cluett, what an unexpected pleasure," Lady Stanton said, dipping her head slightly as the other woman approached. She had a plain, round face, but her hair was an extraordinary auburn shade, and she wore a green pelisse over a purple calico gown that highlighted her unique colouring. At her arm was a young man, who clearly was in his majority, but still had a boyish quality about himself.

"Lady Stanton, always a delight to see you," Lady Cluett replied. Her eyes immediately travelled to Eva, who could feel herself being weighed and assessed.

"We were just taking in the delights of the arcade," Lady Stanton continued, "and now we've run into you—what a happy coincidence!"

"Happy indeed," Lady Cluett agreed.

Eva did her level best not to stare between them, her mouth hanging agape. It was all such a farce, playacting for the purpose of preserving everyone's pride and respectability. They were speaking as if no one could see exactly what was happening right in front of them.

All of this would be so much simpler if we could simply say what it is that we really meant , Eva thought bitterly, her mind drifting a little as the ladies exchanged pleasantries and small talk. Why not save everyone time and trouble better spent elsewhere? "Hello, this is my son. His prospects are good, but he's a bit of an awkward fellow, and been unlikely thus far. He requires someone who can help him navigate society without letting him make any terrible blunders," Eva narrated in her head, watching the ladies' mouths move but not hearing their words. "Ah yes, this is my daughter, who is a great beauty, but penniless. She is an old hand at finding her way about the best drawing rooms in London. Don't you worry, however, for she is not too social."

"Is everything alright dear?"

Eva came back to herself suddenly, aware that Lady Cluett had asked her a question. Lady Stanton was busy glaring daggers at her, clearly mortified that Eva could have appeared so feather-headed at this crucial juncture.

"Forgive me, Lady Cluett," Eva said, punctuating her words with her most contrite smile. "I was simply distracted by that beautiful necklace you are wearing."

Appeased, Lady Cluett reached up with one hand and touched the string of coral beads. "How kind you are to notice," she said. "My dear husband, Viscount Cluett, brought them to me from an excursion to Spain."

Eva smiled again. Lady Cluett had made her position in society clear, and intimated that they were a family of means. Now it shall be up to me to convince her that I am worth the money and title, Eva thought with an inward sigh.

"How thoughtful," Lady Stanton replied, as was expected. "Is your husband a great traveller, then?"

"Oh yes, particularly in his younger days," Lady Cluett responded. "I was never one for being tossed about on a ship; nor was my son, Seth, for that matter. He's much more of a homebody like his dear mama."

All eyes shifted to the son in question, who quickly swept his hat off and bowed to the ladies. This revealed the reddest hair that Eva had ever seen, not coppery in the least, but true, true red. Rather than replacing his hat on his head, he held it in his hands, anxiously turning it around and around by the brim. He smiled genially at everyone, but generally did not seem to be following the conversation at hand.

Eva inhaled deeply, but managed to stop herself from sighing at the last minute. The poor son was clearly as surprised as she was by this ambush. Eva felt like a spectator at a show, asked to participate when required, but otherwise to remain dumb.

In a definite and real coincidence, it happened that both parties happened to be heading in the same direction (nevermind that Eva was quite sure that they would have been going to the moon if that was where Lady Cluett claimed to be going). The ladies urged the younger people on, under the guise that they would surely outpace them and could look for a table at a tea room.

Obediently, Eva walked a few paces ahead, and Seth followed suit. In spite of her bonnet, Eva found herself casting a sidelong glance at her forced walking companion. He wore all browns and tans, and walked with a sort of rambling, uncontrolled gait. If he were bothered by the idea of being manipulated like a puppet, he did not show it. His face was pleasant and undisturbed.

Eva quickly realised that she would have to speak first, or else they would spend the entire walk to the nearest tea room in complete silence.

"So, Mr. Cluett, have you been in town long for the Season?"

Mr. Cluett looked a little startled, as if he had forgotten that he was not alone. "I—oh. Yes, we typically live in town. Mother does not care for the country."

"Well, I can agree with her on that point, at least during the winter—it's so frightfully dreary out there," Eva said.

Mr. Cluett said nothing to that, but he may have nodded his head a little in agreement. It was difficult for Eva to tell, for he had a floppy, disorganised way of walking, like a puppy that hadn't yet figured out how large its paws were.

"So, you, ah, you prefer town, then?" Seth asked hesitantly after another few beats of silence.

"Generally speaking, though I do long for the country when the summer is on London," Eva replied, trying her best to sound light and unbothered.

"Thought so," Seth said, definitely nodding his head now. "I'd heard you were quite fond of the theatre and all other such diversions; not much of that on offer in the country."

"Indeed," Eva agreed, unnecessarily. Eva cast a glance over her shoulder, and saw that the ladies had fallen quite a way back, walking as slowly as humanly possible. They clearly wished to give the young people as much time as possible to converse. "And—do you care for the theatre?"

"After a fashion, I suppose," Mr. Cluett said. "You'll probably think me dreadfully common, but I like the variety shows better than the opera or ballet. It's less…complicated."

Eva almost laughed out loud. This was hardly surprising. She did not fault the poor boy, but it was clear that he hadn't an artistic bone in his body. "Yes, well," Eva said, and then looked away, because she did not know what else to say.

"I've heard that you are a skilled dancer," Mr. Cluett said with an attempt at continuing the conversation.

Eva contemplated looking down bashfully, as was expected when a young lady was paid a compliment. Instead of demurring, however, she stared directly at him, allowing him a real look at her face past the edges of her bonnet. "I am," she agreed softly, her tone belying the intensity with which she spoke. "I am a very good dancer. It brings me great joy, as if…as if it were bringing me truly to life."

Mr. Cluett stopped walking, and Eva pulled up short too. He was studying her face, as if he had just heard something new for the very first time. "Wow," he breathed. "I've never heard anyone speak like that about dancing." He broke into a smile.

Eva couldn't help but smile in return. It really was impossible to dislike this young man, but Eva also was not prepared to like him…at least, not in the manner in which was expected. She suspected that he was the sort that would be forever in awe of any woman that paid him mind, whether she deserved it or not. It was not an unappealing prospect, to have a husband that would heap praise upon her if she so much as crooked a finger. It was not what Eva wanted, however; she wanted to be seen, admired, cherished, desired, for who she actually was.

They resumed walking, conversation momentarily spent. "Here we are," Mr. Cluett said as they reached a door to a small but elegantly furnished tea room. He looked at Eva blankly, who was staring at him expectantly. Her eyes flicked to the door, and Seth followed her gaze. "Oh! Yes, the door, I just—please, forgive—allow me," he stammered, grasping the latch firmly and pulling it open.

Eva was about to step within when she turned to look behind her. The other ladies were some distance behind them still. "Perhaps we ought to wait for our respective mothers," Eva suggested. She did not wish to enter a tea room in the company of a young man; the London gossip mill would have that grist ground down and distributed before the day was out.

"Ah, yes, good thinking," Mr. Cluett agreed with another unabashed smile. This presented another problem, however: Mr. Cluett was clearly a bastion of good manners, which meant that he was caught holding the door open at varying widths, anticipating Eva and the other ladies entering.

In fact, if Eva so much as shifted slightly toward the door, it would come flying back open. Eva found this great sport, until there was an exaggerated sigh from the hostess, who was being subjected to cold February air at intervals. This, of course, led to Mr. Cluett stammering an apology, through the open doorway, which only allowed more cold air within. Eva had to smother a laugh behind gloved fingers held delicately to her mouth.

She looked up at Mr. Cluett, feeling a kind of sad wistfulness. Eva didn't doubt that it would be easy to be fond of him—she was in great danger of taking a liking to him as it was—but to love him? To be lost to passion with him, to call him husband? Impossible. He was a broad-shouldered specimen with a winning smile; Eva did not doubt that he would have more offers than he knew what to do with in short order. She simply did not want a husband that would make her feel as if she were Too Much for him.

"For goodness' sake sir, we're all to catch our death of a chill in here!" the hostess barked out again. Mr. Cluett jumped and apologised again, closing the door a bit more. Instinctually Eva turned and looked expectantly at the door, which Mr. Cluett obligingly opened again, his face looking a little panicked. Eva laughed, but not at him; the situation was simply too absurd for words.