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Chapter 12

C larissa did her best to plaster a smile on her face as she entered the breakfast room. Her stomach might be churning with anxiety about the fact that the murderer had followed Oliver Baxter from London. But as far as the world needed to know, her only concern was finding a soft-boiled egg and a strong cup of tea.

She stepped up to the overflowing sideboard, where Rosalind Baxter’s cousin, Miss Phyllis Cuthbert, was filling a plate. Clarissa couldn’t help but notice her slate-grey dress. It was loose-fitting with an unfashionably high neckline, buttoning all the way up the hollow of her throat, and Miss Cuthbert had tucked a fichu around her neck for good measure.

Clarissa felt a pang of envy. It wasn’t brown, but grey was the next best thing. If only she could have somehow contrived to borrow gowns from Miss Cuthbert until her trunks arrived! Instead, she was stuck wearing a fashionable white muslin morning dress topped with a jade-green spencer, these being the least conspicuous items Lady Emily had left for her.

Miss Cuthbert gave Clarissa a little smile. “I hope you will forgive me for being overly bold, but could we sit together at breakfast? I have been looking forward to meeting the famous Clarissa Weatherby.”

Clarissa gave a startled laugh. “I don’t know that famous is the word that applies.”

“Oh, but it is! You are the most famous wallflower in all of Britain.”

The words were said enthusiastically, but Miss Cuthbert’s face immediately fell. “Oh, dear—that didn’t come out right. I did not mean for it to sound like an insult!”

“Please,” Clarissa said, helping herself to a slice of toast, “do not distress yourself. I wear that title as a badge of honor. All my sisters do, in fact. We call ourselves the Weatherby Wallflowers with pride.”

Miss Cuthbert smiled. “I knew you would understand! You see, I am a wallflower, too. And as soon as I heard you were also a guest of Lord and Lady Helmsley, I knew at once that we were going to be great friends.”

Clarissa thought that a bit forward, but she was careful not to let her discomfiture show on her face. These past few years, she had grown accustomed to going through life with her guard up. But everyone at Lord and Lady Helmsley’s house party had been tremendously kind to her thus far—save perhaps for the man she was there to protect.

She needed to learn to lower her defenses a trifle rather than assume that every person she met had ulterior motives.

An ironic statement, considering she was on the hunt for a would-be murderer!

But Clarissa forced herself to smile blandly at her self-proclaimed friend. “How lovely. Shall we sit?”

As they settled into a pair of chairs at the far end of the table, Miss Cuthbert said, “We are going to be two peas in a pod, Miss Weatherby. I just know we are! Because you know how it feels to be a wallflower, to have the world look right past you.”

Clarissa studied Miss Cuthbert’s beaming face. In spite of her dowdy gown and the severe bun she had pulled her dark hair into, she was remarkably pretty, with balanced features, a beautiful complexion, and fine blue eyes.

“What is it?” Miss Cuthbert asked, causing Clarissa to realize she had been staring.

“I’m sorry, I’m just having trouble imagining anyone looking past you. You are a remarkably beautiful woman.”

Miss Cuthbert shrugged. “The same could be said about you. But, as I’m sure you know, if a woman is not in possession of a good fortune, looks alone are not sufficient to secure her an admirer.” She laughed darkly. “At least, not one who wishes for a respectable alliance.”

Clarissa did understand that all too well. She hadn’t attracted many beaux back when she’d had no dowry and a threadbare wardrobe. Only Rupert Dupree, who had promptly jilted her.

At least… she thought he had. Clarissa glanced at the far end of the table, where Rupert was chatting away with their hosts’ son, Lawrence. By all appearances, it was a jovial conversation. And it had been gallant of him to accompany her onto the roof, even if he had only been in the way.

In truth, Clarissa wasn’t sure what to think about Rupert Dupree anymore.

Clarissa offered Miss Cuthbert a sympathetic smile. “I remember all too well what that was like.”

Teacup halfway to her mouth, Miss Cuthbert gave her a curious look. “Remember? What do you mean, remember?”

Clarissa began buttering her toast. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it was common knowledge. My elder sister, Eleanor, married the Duke of Norwood two months ago. This brought about a sea change in our financial fortunes.”

Miss Cuthbert gestured to Clarissa’s gown. “You clearly got a new wardrobe.”

“This gown is actually borrowed from Lady Emily.” Clarissa nodded at her host’s daughter, who beamed at her from a few seats down. “My trunk has gone astray, and she was kind enough to lend me these lovely things. But you are correct—the duke was generous enough to purchase new clothes for me and my sisters.” Having finished spreading the butter, Clarissa took up the pot of marmalade. “But he did more than that—he has insisted upon dowering the three of us.”

Clarissa’s dining companion from last night, Lady Ashington, looked up from her tea. “Did I hear that correctly? Norwood has dowered you, my dear?”

“He has,” Clarissa confirmed.

“How much?” the marchioness asked, getting straight to the point.

Clarissa swallowed, conscious that the room had fallen silent as everyone strained to hear the latest on dit . “We each have twenty thousand pounds—”

“Twenty thousand!” Lady Ashington exclaimed. “That is a very respectable portion. Very respectable indeed.”

“I am extremely grateful for His Grace’s generosity,” Clarissa began.

Lady Ashington did not seem to be attending. “With your looks and your new connections, there is no reason you should not make a splendid match. No reason in the world.”

“Oh!” Clarissa shifted in her seat. “I honestly haven’t thought much about marrying.”

“Well, you’re going to think about it now,” Lady Ashington said. “I am going to take you under my wing. Let’s see, who is looking to marry next year?”

“What about the Earl of Feltham?” Lady Emily asked.

“Lord Feltham is an excellent suggestion,” Lady Ashington said. “He is young, rich, handsome…”

Clarissa could not believe this was happening. She had never considered herself as the potential bride to an earl, not once in her life!

She attempted to infuse her voice with good humor. “If Lord Feltham is such a good match, perhaps you should set your cap for him, Lady Emily.”

Lady Emily screwed up her pretty face. “Oh, no—Stuart is practically a brother to me. I could never see him that way.”

“There is also Viscount Burlton,” Lady Ashington noted. “Not quite as handsome as Feltham, but he has all his teeth. And he’s bookish. I fancy you would prefer a husband who is a bit bookish, would you not, Miss Weatherby?”

“I… I honestly haven’t given it a moment’s thought,” Clarissa admitted. “I had assumed I would never marry, after…” She cleared her throat, conscious that Rupert Dupree, like everyone else at the table, was listening. “You know.”

“Of course, dear. Of course,” Lady Ashington said. “That is why you need me to guide you. Let’s see, Lord Feltham, Lord Burlton… I should really get some paper and write these down.”

“That is an excellent suggestion!” Lady Emily exclaimed. “Have you finished your breakfast, my lady? Perhaps we could repair to the morning room to make a proper list.”

“As much as I appreciate the kind gesture,” Clarissa protested, “it is truly not necessary.”

Giving no sign that they were listening, Lady Ashington and Lady Emily rose from their seats. “Do you recall the name of that young diplomat?” Lady Ashington asked. “The extremely handsome one who recently returned from Denmark.”

Lady Emily brightened. “Do you mean Mr. Anthony Bainbridge? That is an excellent suggestion. I can picture Miss Weatherby as the wife of a diplomat.”

“As can I,” Lady Ashington murmured. “Do you speak any languages, child?”

“A few. I know French, Spanish, High German, Russian—”

“Russian!” Lady Emily cried, clasping her hands.

The marchioness’s expression was smug. “I knew she had the making of a diplomat’s wife.” She placed her hand on Lady Emily’s shoulder, guiding her toward the door. “We shall put Mr. Bainbridge’s name at the top of the list.”

“Please,” Clarissa called, “don’t get carried”—she watched as they strode through the door, heads bent together, not heeding a word she said—“away.”

Attempting a self-deprecating laugh, Clarissa turned to Miss Cuthbert. “Oh, dear. I suppose that ship has already sailed.”

She found Miss Cuthbert’s pretty face creased into a scowl.

“Is anything the matter?” Clarissa asked, puzzled.

Miss Cuthbert’s voice was snide. “How nice for you, Miss Weatherby, to have so materially improved your station in life.” She snatched the pot of marmalade and began smearing it on her toast, using enough force that she tore a hole in the bread. “Perhaps we do not understand each other as well as I had hoped.”

Clarissa bit back a sharp retort. Just what she needed—the sort of “friend” who resented you your good fortune.

Still, she was working on turning over a new leaf. Her new job for the Home Office required her to blend in, which meant being agreeable.

Clarissa, therefore, answered in a gentle tone. “I remember very well what it felt like to be the most ridiculed woman in all of Britain. Although my fortunes have changed for the better, I hope you do not think me unsympathetic.”

“Oh.” Miss Cuthbert glanced up, her eyes rueful. “My apologies, Miss Weatherby. I must own that I am jealous. I had a suitor once, but he could not afford to marry a woman without a dowry. I fancy that if I had been in possession of a respectable portion, my life might look very different from what it is today.”

“Perhaps your beau might be able to earn his fortune and marry you someday.”

Miss Cuthbert looked down at her plate. “Alas, that will never happen. He needed the capital a well-dowered wife would bring in order to make a start in his career. So, he married someone else.”

“Oh. I am so sorry.”

Miss Cuthbert glanced up, giving Clarissa a smile that did not reach her eyes. “As am I, Miss Weatherby. As am I.”

The conversation moved on. By the end of breakfast, Clarissa still did not know quite what to make of her new acquaintance.

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