14. Chapter Fourteen

C lara wasn’t able to make any marked progress at the musicale Aunt Elizabeth took her to nor at the card party her mother suggested. No matter what she did, it seemed like she couldn’t find a place amongst the other attendees.

She could only hope that she’d do better at the casual, impromptu gathering in Hyde Park. Several young men had decided to race rowboats up and down the Serpentine and most of the ton had showed up to watch.

Despite her best intentions, though, Clara found herself tucked into the middle of a group of matrons and spinsters, people she would normally be happy to converse with but not the people she was supposed to be associating with.

Aunt Elizabeth was trying not to frown in her direction and even Mother was avoiding eye contact. On a positive note, Mr. Pitt’s mother was among the ladies chatting about the boats sliding down the lake. Forming a relationship with her would have to help her cause.

“’Tis a particularly fine day to watch the boats.” Clara tried to keep her smile wide enough to appear genuine, but not so large as to seem maniacal. “After yesterday, I feared it would be too hot.”

“How true.” Lady Blitzmoor’s smile was barely polite, not an encouraging sign when Clara was hoping to become her daughter-in-law. “We are fortunate the rain came through to cool things down.”

“Such a rarity in England,” another woman said with barely contained laughter.

Even though Clara had said nothing about rain, she felt the heat in her ears and fluttered her fan faster, hoping to avoid a full blush.

“How refreshing it is to have a young perspective added to our conversation. It is far too easy to forget the innocence of youth.”

Lady Blitzmoor’s words seemed kind, but even Clara recognized the underlying insult. She could hardly offer a rebuttal, though. Not only because she wanted this woman to like her, but because her aunt had informed her that one could not address the unspoken. It simply wasn’t done.

Of course, if Clara said it, then it was no longer unspoken, but that seemed to break the rules as well.

Why did London have to be as much a dance of words as it was of bodies? Her mind had been forced to perform far more complicated maneuverings than her feet so far.

“Please pardon me,” she murmured, “I see someone with whom I must speak.”

She slipped away, attempting to look like she was moving with purpose when, in truth, she couldn’t see any other person or group in which to insert herself. The shores of the Serpentine had become a labyrinth of silk and snobbery.

Before she could find someone to connect herself to, Aunt Elizabeth appeared at her side, hooking their elbows together and slowing Clara to a meandering stroll.

“My dear niece, a word of counsel.”

“Of course, Aunt Elizabeth.”

“I am delighted that you have finally chosen to take this opportunity of a London Season seriously.”

Clara held her breath, certain that this seemingly complimentary statement was soon to be followed by one of censure. That seemed to be the way of London, after all.

Aunt Elizabeth did not disappoint. “However, you must find a way to portray a more amiable version of yourself.”

“Amiable?” Clara had never been accused of being anything less than gracious.

“Yes. I’m certain your mannerisms do you well in the country, but I’m afraid your mother hasn’t quite prepared you for the refinement of society.”

Clara bristled at the less than veiled insult to her parentage.

However, her aunt wasn’t finished. She gave a light laugh. “Not that I blame her. Considering how long she herself has been away from refined company, what she was able to manage with you and even your brother is admirable.”

Clara blinked. Was that a compliment to her mother, an insult to Clara, or a judgmental dismissal of them both?

“Now, what you need to do,” Aunt Elizabeth said with a pat of Clara’s arm, “is learn how to balance.”

“Balance?” Wasn’t that what she’d been doing? She’d been withholding her displeasure and desire for deeper conversation to put forth comments about the weather and England and the lace trim of Miss Warren’s new gown.

“Yes.” Her aunt smiled and nodded at someone as they passed. “You need to be the very image of sincerity without appearing to be nosing into anyone’s private affairs, make the other person feel esteemed without falling into false flattery, and display your wit and intellect without taking over any conversation.”

Oh. Was that all? With such simple instructions, how could Clara ever falter?

“Oh, and most importantly.” Aunt Elizabeth drew them to a stop near the edge of the gathered aristocracy. She turned to face Clara with a very serious expression. “You must choose your company more wisely.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you speak with the spinsters, people will assume you to be one despite your tender years.” She winced. “In truth, if this weren’t your first season, it would be easy to assume you’d chosen to join their ranks already.”

Clara’s mouth dropped open as she tried to respond, but the truth was the spinsters and matrons were the only group that didn’t disperse within moments of her arrival. Everyone else found a reason to leave her side, usually on the arm of a gentleman, as that was everyone’s goal.

“I’m afraid, Aunt, that the other debutantes do not stay still long enough for a conversation.”

“Exactly.” She beamed at Clara like a teacher whose pupil had finally learned proper addition. “That is why you must be friendlier. You have only a moment to establish yourself as the one to be chosen.”

Was that what she was meant to be doing?

“Now.” Aunt Elizabeth brushed at a curl which slid right back into the same location against Clara’s cheek. “Go dazzle them, will you? It is my reputation on the line as much as yours.”

Clara rather thought her situation was a little more tenuous than her aunt’s, but she didn’t argue the point.

Instead, she walked with her aunt back into the heart of the crowd. Eventually she saw one of the marriage-minded ladies that had been somewhat more friendly than the others, and she slipped away from her aunt to greet the young woman who was standing with another lady Clara had met but not talked with much.

“Miss Cavendish, that rose in your hair is simply divine. Is it from your garden?”

“No.” Miss Cavendish leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, eyes darting from Clara to the third woman in their group. “I snipped it from a bouquet Lord Bancroft sent.”

The other woman, whose name Clara had finally remembered was Lady Mary, gasped and lifted a gloved hand to cover her answering smile. “How scandalous.”

Clara tried not to frown. This was scandalous? Was there a secret language to flowers that she didn’t understand?

Lady Mary continued, “What will your other suitors think?”

Miss Cavendish shrugged. “Should they ask, I will imply it is from our garden, but Lord Bancroft will know differently.”

“Are you hoping he’ll make an offer?” Clara asked.

“Of course.” Miss Cavendish looked at Clara as if she had lost her head. “The man is in line for an earldom.”

“But . . .” Clara was fairly certain she’d seen Lord Bancroft with Ambrose on multiple occasions. If he was taking part in some of the same activities as her cousin, he was hardly a desirable husband. “Are you certain of his character?”

“His character is that he will one day be an earl,” Lady Mary said.

“You’ll have to forgive her,” Miss Cavendish said in a kind voice. “This is Miss Woodbury’s first season, and she is from a tiny village in Leicestershire.” She turned to Clara. “Who is the highest-ranking personage in your parish?”

Clara swallowed. “The Earl of Gimbleton has an estate in the district but he is rarely, if ever in residence. Baron Winslow maintains his estate there, though.”

“You see?” Miss Canvendish waved her hand as if Clara were an exhibit in a museum. “We must make allowances.”

Lady Mary came around until she flanked Clara’s other side. “I see.” She hooked arms with Clara much as Aunt Elizabeth had done moments earlier. “Stick with us, Miss Woodbury. We shall teach you all you need to know.”

For the rest of the afternoon, she followed the two other young women, restraining her contributions to various conversations to smiles, nods, and murmurs of “Do tell” and “Please, continue.”

While she didn’t get abandoned and her aunt seemed more than pleased with her afternoon’s progress, Clara was nothing but frustrated. How was she to be friendly and amiable if she was nothing but a walking doll? How could she gain Mr. Pitt’s attention if he never heard anything from her but murmurs and sighs?

Once, she tried to copy Miss Canvendish’s method of conversation, but it quickly fell flat, and she returned to her smiles and nods. Perhaps it simply wasn’t possible for one raised as she was, outside of high society, to truly mingle with the upper crust.

After arriving home, she was slow and thoughtful as she handed over her gloves and parasol. Her aunt and mother retreated to the drawing room for tea, but Clara wasn’t quite ready to join them for a dissection of the afternoon and Clara’s performance.

A knock at the door behind her startled her out of her thoughts.

The butler admitted Mr. Lockhart and Clara’s eyes widened. When had he started coming in the front door?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lockhart.” The butler took the man’s hat and coat as if he were a daily visitor.

“Hugh!” Ambrose came down the stairs, greeting the tradesman with a smile. “You shall not best me today. I’m feeling quite nimble in my fingers today.”

“The challenge shall be a pleasure.” Mr. Lockhart smiled in return. “How did you find the new chocolate shop this morning?”

Ambrose placed a hand to his chest. “Ever so much better than my old one. My club doesn’t even make a hot beverage as well.”

Hugh chuckled. “Nice to know the best is available to us normal folk as well.”

“Perhaps, but I’m going to sneak you into White’s one day so you can feel an appropriate level of jealousy.”

“If you insist.” Mr. Lockhart didn’t seem to feel strongly one way or the other about getting into the exclusive club. He noticed Clara standing to the side of the hall and gave her a brief bow. “Miss Woodbury.”

Ambrose greeted her briefly then waved Mr. Lockhart toward the stairs. “Come, come. Lord Northwick is already upstairs and is trying to convince Duke to take me as a partner today. He thinks having you on his side will even the odds.”

“But you are feeling nimble.”

“Indeed I am. Which is why, now that I think about it, I should have you on my team to ensure my ego survives the afternoon.”

The two men chuckled as they disappeared in the direction of the billiard room.

Clara watched with solemn determination. Apparently, it wasn’t simply her status. There was a way for a lower-born personage to befriend those of higher rank.

She just needed to learn how.

She was still muddling over the problem when she came downstairs for dinner. After spending the day outside, she was more than happy to agree to her aunt’s suggestion that they take an evening to rest at home.

If the suggestion was prompted by Clara’s continued inability to attain enough attention to inspire a home visit, well, she still welcomed the respite.

Seeing Ambrose outside the dining room was even more welcome. Was he, too, spending a quiet evening at home? Was he possibly seeing the merits of a more settled life?

“Good evening, cousin.” Clara gave him a warm smile. “What an honor to have you dining with us this evening.”

“It is you who are dining with me,” he said with a pointed look. “I frequently eat at home before going out in the evenings.”

Clara blinked. So much for a more settled life. “Oh.”

“My frequent haunts aren’t much known for their exceptional food, I’m afraid.” He offered his arm to escort her into the dining room.

Clara accepted the offer, her mind whirling over possible responses. All the half-formed sentences departed as she took in the other people already in the room.

Marmaduke was to be expected, of course, since he was in London. How much longer could he stay? Surely, he would soon need to return to the team that paid him for his cricket skills.

Aunt Elizabeth and Mother were also unsurprising inhabitants.

Mr. Lockhart, however, was something of a shock.

The settings had been placed so the six diners would be clustered around the end of the twenty-person table. Mother and Aunt Elizabeth sat to either side of Ambrose’s place at the head of the table. Duke was seated beside Aunt Elizabeth and next to Mother was Mr. Lockhart.

He stood as Clara stepped fully into the room.

“Nice of you to join us, Clara.” Aunt Elizabeth frowned.

Clara looked to the clock in the corner. “I thought you said dinner was at seven.”

“Honestly, Miriam, have you not taught her to gather in the drawing room at least a quarter hour before the expected dinner time?”

Mother looked at her sister with a wide-eyed innocence that was obviously tinged with irritation. “Honestly, Elizabeth, no. I did not teach my children to observe formal manners when dining casually with family at home.”

Aunt Elizabeth sniffed. “’Tis best to always behave in a way that creates proper habits.”

“Alternatively, one could teach intentional discernment.”

Clara started to say that, had she known they had a guest this evening, she would have come down early. But when she glanced Mr. Lockhart’s direction, she received a small grin and a wink. The exchange reminded her that Aunt Elizabeth did not view Mr. Lockhart as a man of consequence. Why then did she seem to find his presence perfectly acceptable?

Clara took her seat beside Marmaduke and Ambrose slid into his chair, breaking the direct connection between the older sisters.

“What is happening?” Clara leaned close to Marmaduke in order to speak discretely.

Her brother grinned until the corners of his eyes crinkled. “We’re having dinner. Fish, I believe.”

Clara wrinkled her nose. She’d never particularly cared for fish. “Why is Mr. Lockhart here?”

“Because people of all classes tend to eat, dear sister.”

Why was the man being deliberately obtuse?

The servants came in, placing the dishes on the table and all conversation stopped until the room was once again family only. Well, family and Mr. Lockhart.

“Really, Ambrose,” Aunt Elizabeth said as she filled her plate with small selections of food. “You must attend at least a few gatherings with us this year. It is high time to include more proper company in your life.”

Clara’s gaze went straight to Mr. Lockhart. The comment was obviously aimed at him. Otherwise, such an admonishment would never have been given in front of a non-family member, no matter how inconsequential his station.

Duke considered his aunt. “And here I thought you were happy I’d come to London so that I could be a positive influence on him.” He looked around the rest of the table. “Turns out I’m not proper.”

Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “You are always welcome here, Duke.”

“I do believe his lordship is foisting you off on me,” Mr. Lockhart said. “If you’ve another friend to occupy your time, it frees Lord Eversly up to pursue more refined connections.” Mr. Lockhart looked directly at Duke, not allowing anyone else to catch his eye. “Why else would I be here?”

Why else indeed? Except it had been Ambrose that greeted him warmly in the front hall this afternoon.

“How true.” Marmaduke nodded toward his cousin. “With Mr. Lockhart here to amuse me in my spare time, you will not have to spend your evenings seeing to my company. You can accompany your mother to the ball tomorrow, after all.”

All of Aunt Elizabeth’s consternation fell away. “Oh, truly? You will attend with us?”

Ambrose glared at Duke, who lifted a serviette to hide his silent laughter. “Of course. Marmaduke was the only thing holding me back, obviously.”

“Well, then.” Aunt Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Lockhart and gave a little nod. “It’s good that is sorted.”

Clara placed her fork on her plate and all but gaped at the clockmaker.

“Clara, I would like to ask you a question. What do you think of the Season thus far?” Marmaduke turned to her with a wide, overly innocent smile.

At the end of the table, Ambrose covered his laugh with a cough followed by an enormous bite of asparagus.

The look Clara gave her brother should have sent him slithering under the table, but it didn’t. How dare he bring their game to the dinner table here in front of Aunt Elizabeth and Mr. Lockhart?

Still, rules were rules. She gritted her teeth and took a moment to put together her answer. “London is quite a change from Eldham. I’m meeting people the likes of which I’d have never encountered in Leicestershire.”

Both of those statements were true, and she sent Marmaduke an inquiring look to see if he would accept her answer.

He appeared deeply in thought. “While that is true”—he allowed the word to drag on until even Mother was frowning at the rudeness of it—“that doesn’t tell me your opinions or feelings on the matter.”

“What an insightful observation, Duke.” Aunt Elizabeth beamed at Clara. “I’ve been so focused on our objective, I’ve forgotten to allow you to tell me how much fun you’re having.”

Clara was going to sneak into her brother’s room and smother him with a pillow. Not enough to actually hurt him. Just long enough to make him wonder if she would.

She cleared her throat. “There have been so many new experiences since coming to London.” Truth. “I’m sure that my best hopes for the future are swirling through these ballrooms.” Partial truth. “I’m ever so glad we made the trip.” Utter lie.

And Marmaduke knew it.

“Ambrose, would you mind passing the asparagus? I believe Clara would like to eat five more pieces of it.”

Her stomach turned.

“Truly?” Mother’s eyes were wide as she watched the plate of disgusting spears move down the table. “I didn’t think you cared for the dish.”

“Oh, it’s taken quite the command of her palate.” Marmaduke grinned while he slid a pillar of grossness onto Clara’s plate. She’d already choked down two out of politeness.

Five was a rather harsh command for fibbing the answer on a single question, though. “I’m not certain my appetite can attain five more. Perhaps two would be sufficient.”

“Why have two when you could have three?” Marmaduke looked to Ambrose. “Don’t you think?”

Ambrose nodded. “Three is an excellent addition to her plate.”

At least three was better than five. Clara forced a tight grin. “I agree.”

Mother was still looking confused, obviously aware that something more than the obvious was occurring at the dinner table. Many years ago, the cousins had discovered that their parents, at least Clara and Duke’s, had a tendency to turn their game into an opportunity for moral lecture and pious activity. As much as Clara enjoyed visiting the poor and reading to children, having to clean the cobwebs out from under the pews felt more like a punishment than a command.

They’d made the rule that her parents weren’t to be made aware the game was still continuing.

Mr. Lockhart spoke up. “I think a little extra asparagus sounds ideal.”

The bowl circled back around the table.

“Have you found anywhere in London that serves such exemplary asparagus?” Ambrose leaned toward Mr. Lockhart.

“As a man on my own, I confess I’ve eaten at many establishments, but have never had as fine a serving of this vegetable elsewhere.” He gave a nod of his head. “Your choice of chef is to be commended, Lady Eversly.”

Aunt Elizabeth smiled at the compliment, even though it had come from someone she deemed as inconsequential as the clockmaker.

As Clara forced herself to chew the asparagus, she paid close attention to the way Mr. Lockhart seemed to ease in and out of the conversation, until by the end even Aunt Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind his presence.

By the time Clara polished off the last bite of pudding, she had come to a conclusion. Everything with this mysterious man was not quite what it seemed to be.