17. Chapter Seventeen

F or the next week, Clara sought out Mr. Lockhart on a regular basis. She would tell him how her most recent outing went and attempt to get him to help her discern what she could have done better.

He would always look at her for several moments with a blank expression and then ask her what she had actually wanted to do in that situation.

It was an incredibly frustrating experience as Clara was not looking for encouragement to be herself. She wanted instructions on how to fit in. If being herself could have garnered her a husband her family would approve of, she wouldn’t have had to get a new dress for each and every possibility London could provide. She wouldn’t have had to sit through hours of lessons from Aunt Elizabeth on proper behavior and social interactions. She wouldn’t have received several less than gentle suggestions from her mother on topics that should or should not be brought up while amongst the ton.

Somehow, no matter how deliberate Clara tried to be in the conversation, she and Mr. Lockhart ended up on one of those not-to-be-discussed subjects. Whether or not they agreed, the conversation was always interesting to the point of sending her scrambling when the clock’s chime indicated she was supposed to be meeting her mother and aunt soon.

“You truly don’t know what you would have done in that situation?” Clara scoffed as she leaned back in her chair by the door to his drawing room.

“No,” he said firmly as he slid a gear into place. “I cannot fathom what I would do should I be asked to dance by the most loathsomely boring man on the planet.” He sent Clara a glance filled with humor. “It’s not a situation I’ve ever remotely encountered.”

“You are of absolutely no help.”

“I did tell you that would be the case.”

“So you did.” She huffed out a breath and crossed her arms. “But I rather thought that was just because you’d never given it a great deal of thought.”

“I haven’t given it a great deal of thought, and no matter what question you ask, I can’t seem to contemplate an answer. I just . . . let people be themselves. It’s all they really want.”

Annoyed with an answer that seemed so simple yet was truly outrageously complicated, she stayed away from his workroom the next night.

Two days later, a note arrived for Clara shortly after breakfast. It was from Miss Eleanor Porter, requesting her to come by St. Anne’s Limehouse at her earliest convenience.

Had she thought of something Clara could actually assist with?

She arrived, anxious to learn if she would be helping with children or putting together baskets for the sick or elderly. Miss Porter, or Eleanor as she insisted Clara refer to her, didn’t take her to a workroom, though, or in fact any area within the church. No, the younger woman pulled Clara around the building toward a simple, clean house across the street.

“Where are we going?” Clara looked around, confused and a little nervous. Ambrose’s driver was on the other side of the church and couldn’t see her leaving.

“To have tea.” Eleanor smiled widely.

“Tea?”

“Yes.” They entered a cozy kitchen where a tea service was already set out on a square wooden table. Eleanor waved Clara into one of the chairs around the table before filling a kettle to place on the black stove in the corner. “How do you take it?”

Nothing much was said until both women were seated at the table, cups of tea in front of them.

“Not that this isn’t nice,” Clara said slowly, “but this is a long way to come for a cup of tea.”

“Oh!” Eleanor grinned. “You aren’t here for tea. You’re here for information.”

“On what?”

“Hugh.”

Clara was very glad she was at a table and not balancing her tea in her lap. “I’m not certain I know—”

Eleanor’s face clouded with confusion. “But he said you wanted to know how he got along with people.”

“Well, yes, I do, but . . .” But what? That was information Clara had asked for. It seemed rather strange that he would request Eleanor’s help to answer such a question. “Did he ask you to tell me?”

“Oh, no. He was actually complaining about it when he came for dinner last night. Not about you asking, but more wondering how anyone was meant to understand how and why they behaved in certain ways.”

“But you understand him?”

Eleanor shrugged. “Not always the why, but I have noticed the how before. The man manages to fit in wherever he goes.”

Envy had Clara tightening her grip on the teacup. “That must be nice.”

“I know.” She shook her head. “Sadly, though I’ve observed his methods, I can’t seem to replicate them. Maybe you can.”

Clara certainly hoped so.

Eleanor selected a biscuit from the plate in the center of the table, but she didn’t bite into it. Instead, she examined it as if the answers to life were in the delicate crumbs clinging to the biscuit’s surface.

“The short answer is that he allows other people to talk first. Once they’ve established the mood and the topic, he participates to the level he desires.”

Clara frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“As near as I can tell, when he lets the other person, or people as is usually the case, set the tone, they are happy with the conversation. If he can match the tone and add to the topic, he does. Otherwise, he stays quiet.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s remarkably effective.”

Clara applied this explanation to the conversations she’d seen Hugh participate in. The observation fit them all well. Somehow, he managed to allow everyone else to be in charge of the interaction while being true to who he was.

Eleanor wasn’t finished observing people, though. “I think for you, they would also need to be people you can help.” She gave Clara a wink. “You’re clearly a helper. Hugh has no problem being silent around an absolute stranger, but you need people with commonality so you can make their life better.”

Clara wasn’t certain she liked being so accurately summed up, but the explanation was helpful.

“Tell me more about how he does this while still being himself.”

Then Clara settled in, ready to learn.

All of Eleanor’s rules were still swimming through Clara’s head as she took a deep breath and stepped into the front hall of one of London’s grand townhouses that evening. She could do this. She could look for the people she might connect with. She could be friendly without compromising her principles. She could nod and smile while her aunt and mother gave directions and then carry them out in her own way.

That last conviction sent her heart climbing up her throat where it pounded until she could feel it beating in her teeth.

Could she truly redefine things on her own terms in a way that didn’t disrespect the woman who had raised her? Then again, wasn’t that exactly what her mother had done? She’d found love and made a life that didn’t fit with her family’s goals, and she’d done so without losing contact or relationship with her parents and sibling.

“There’s a fine group near that window,” Aunt Elizabeth whispered. “If you position yourself correctly, you can claim yourself a seat when they sit down to cards.”

The group by the window was, indeed, fine. They were also people Clara had tried to converse with before and failed. None of those ladies wanted to talk to her for the length of time it took to procure a dance partner, much less for the duration of a game of cards. None of the gentlemen were ones that had caught her eye either.

“I’m going to . . .” She looked around, desperate for something—anything—she could claim as a reason to step away from her aunt’s side and her well-intended suggestions. “See who’s in this room first.”

Her statement was weak, but as she was already walking away when she said it, her aunt couldn’t stop her.

Slowly, she moved through the rooms. Card tables were set up in two drawing rooms and several trays of food were set out for the wandering guests. For a while it looked as if she wouldn’t find what she was looking for, but there, in the second drawing room, three young ladies stood in the corner.

Unlike most of the other people in the house, they weren’t watching the other guests. They were happily having their own conversation. It was such a refreshing change that she was drawn across the room to them before she could make the conscious decision to.

“Good evening,” she said gently.

They all turned her way with wide smiles.

“Oh, I know who you are. You’re Lady Eversly’s niece.” A young lady in a pale blue gown pressed a palm to her chest. “I’m Lady Emily. This is Miss Lenmore and Miss Dravern.”

The other two girls gave Clara a nod.

Everything in Clara wanted to start asking how they were enjoying their season and if they lived in London year-round, but she reminded herself that she couldn’t know if something worked unless she tried it.

So she said nothing.

The ladies immediately fell back into their earlier topic of conversation which had apparently been how best to paint a sky with watercolors.

Clara wasn’t much of an artist, but she did love nature. Could that connect?

She soon found herself agreeing with the idea that accurately portraying the beauty of nature was a very difficult skill. None of the women proclaimed to possess such a skill, but the desire to do so was admirable as well.

When Miss Dravern suggested they sit down to a game of cards, Clara readily agreed. An entire hour passed before she realized she’d spent the entire time talking with this small cluster of ladies.

And she’d had fun.

As they rose from the table, an elegant older lady was standing near their table, smiling at the group.

Lady Emily greeted the woman and introduced her to the other three as Lady Grableton.

“I believe I know your aunt,” Lady Grableton said to Clara. “Lady Eversly, isn’t it?”

“Yes, milady.”

“How are you finding London?”

Clara started giving the same answer she gave everyone, which included gratitude over the opportunity, a confession that the city was a tad overwhelming, and an observation that people in London were far different from those in Eldham. All of those elements were true, but she knew she was phrasing them in a way that didn’t completely communicate her views and opinions of those observations.

Lady Grableton, however, somehow knew how to press behind the words. Soon Clara was telling her about trying to hold on to her purpose and supporting a local charity while she was here. Lady Grableton asked more questions that had Clara coming perilously close to telling the woman the whole truth.

When she realized that, she snapped her mouth shut and fought back a horrified blush.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” The lady placed a gloved hand on Clara’s shoulder. “Your secrets are safe with me. I simply adore seeing young people truly enjoy themselves at these parties and had to meet you.” She paused and gave Clara a searching look. “I am intrigued by this project you’ve taken on. A good cause is worth supporting, but a vital cause, well, that could be worth risking your reputation over.”

“I . . . I agree.”

Lady Grableton gave a short, brief nod. “Good. I hope God blesses the rest of your evening.”

Though they parted ways after that, Clara seemed to see the woman everywhere for the rest of the evening. She was always in the corner or near the door, talking and smiling.

And watching.

Clara met her gaze on more than one occasion because she turned to find the woman looking at Clara. Every time the lady would give Clara an encouraging smile and a nod.

The confidence created by the exchanges meant that by the time Clara was in a conversation with Mr. Pitt, it was difficult to hold back saying something that would encourage him to progress the relationship.

She played an entire game of whist with him, managing to remain demure and on topic. After the game, he offered to take her on a turn about the room. Walking with the man with their arms hooked together, she lost the battle against the urge to make this interaction count.

“Do you know what I’ve yet to do in London?” she asked, still debating within herself about whether or not this was a good idea.

“What is that?”

“Ride in an open-air conveyance.” She gave him what she hoped was a smile that simply looked like personal chagrin and not pointed encouragement. “I’ve ridden in wagons in the country, of course, but everything finer has been an enclosed carriage.”

“I have a new phaeton,” the man said. “I would love to take you for a ride later this week.”

“How gracious of you. That would be lovely.” She couldn’t resist giving it a little push. “I must confess I’ve been hoping you would offer such.”

“Then we shall both be fortunate enough to achieve our goals tomorrow.”

The rest of the evening was equally smooth.

Clara smiled as she climbed in the carriage. One simple lesson and her entire London experience just might be saved.

Hugh jumped back so quickly he nearly fell onto his backside when he entered his workroom and was immediately greeted by a waiting Miss Woodbury. He clutched his shirt as if he could calm his pounding heart and supported himself with a hand on the door frame as he took in the wide-eyed young lady.

“Oh, my, are you all right?” Miss Woodbury took a step forward, arm outstretched as if she intended to offer assistance, but she stopped and lowered her arm while still two steps away.

“Yes, I’m . . .” Hugh took a deep breath and straightened his stance. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting on you.”

“So I see.” He stepped further into the room, keeping as much space between them as the small room allowed, and moved to stand behind his worktable. He set his bag on the surface and took another stabilizing breath. Now that the table was between them and she had a clear route of departure, he felt better about the situation.

He cleared his throat and busied himself with unpacking the bag of tools he was taking back and forth to work. “And why were you waiting on me?”

“Because I need to talk to you.”

He waited but nothing more was forthcoming. Finally, he said, “Are we to discuss the weather? Perhaps take another stab at dissecting my interpersonal skills?”

She frowned. “Why would we discuss the weather?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he said with a chuckle.

“We need to discuss the charity event.”

He frowned. He’d rather hoped she had either become too busy with other social engagements that she’d forgotten her mission or that her aunt’s friends had been providing enough help that he could bow out without guilt.

It would seem neither was happening.

“I don’t know anything about planning a society event. I can’t even explain to you how I keep getting invited to dinner.” Though the turn of events was having a very beneficial effect on his ability to save up funds.

She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “The event won’t matter if I can’t determine how to fund both of the charities. What if someone asks to follow up to ensure that the collected money is donated? If I say it’s for the Royal Asylum and only a portion of the money goes to those orphans, it will look bad.”

“So don’t say it’s going to the Royal Asylum.”

She began to pace the small room. “But I can’t just say give me money, either. People won’t do it.” She sighed. “Besides I already mentioned the orphans to my aunt.”

Hugh set his files aside and leaned on the table, giving the problem his full consideration. She was correct. People wanted to know where the money was going, and no one would appear very noble if it was discovered they were lying about where the money went.

“What if we said it was going to children but didn’t specify who?”

“If I want the help of my aunt’s friends it will need to include the survivors of the sailors.”

Hugh nodded. He hadn’t particularly liked his idea either.

Miss Woodbury propped her fists on her hips. “You were the one with this idea to begin with.”

“That doesn’t mean I have the answer.”

“Why not? How were you expecting it to work when you made the suggestion?”

He looked at her, a smile growing on his lips but at least he was able to keep from laughing. “You always know the details when you toss an idea out into the world? It was an idea. Not a solution.”

“An idea without realistic possibility just leaves everyone fluttering in the wind.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t come up with an option. Just that I didn’t have one yet. I’ll think about it.”

He gave his attention back to his tools and parts and began setting up for his evening’s work.

Miss Woodbury didn’t leave.

“Don’t you have plans this evening?”

“Yes.” She looked out the door and waved an arm toward the depths of the house. “I don’t remember where, though. Only that this is the appropriate level of dress.”

Hugh couldn’t stop himself from looking her ensemble up and down. It was pale blue and fairly simple as far evening dresses went. It fit her very well.

He cleared his throat. “Have a good time.”

“I shall try, I suppose.” She grinned. “Tomorrow will be fabulous, though.”

He shouldn’t ask. He told himself not to ask. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he asked. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I am being taken for a ride.” She bounced on her toes. “In an open-air conveyance.”

The bitter stab of . . . regret? Envy? Some other emotion he couldn’t quite name? bit through him. He didn’t have time to take a woman riding in the middle of the week. Nor did he own a conveyance, open-air or otherwise, with which to do said ride.

Not that he wanted to be the one taking Miss Woodbury for a ride. Nor did he crave to be the one who she was so excited to see that she bounced on her toes.

“I hope you have a good time.” The words tasted like a lie.

“Oh, I will. I selected the man from a book.”

Hugh blinked but managed to keep himself from asking a follow-up question.

She looked from Hugh to the door. “I suppose I should go. But you’ll think about the description for the fundraiser, won’t you?”

Hugh nodded. “I’ll ponder some ideas while I’m working.”

“Wonderful. Then we will discuss it tomorrow. I shall stop in before we go to the theater. Ambrose is actually going with us.”

“I’ll have plenty of time to work, then.” He should be happy he didn’t have to divide his evening between billiards and his work, but part of him was less than excited. He’d have to feed himself as well.

She took her leave and Hugh got to work. He did spend some of his time thinking about how to word the donation request.

He spent a great deal more wondering if the man taking her for a ride tomorrow was aware of how pretty she looked in light blue.