Chapter Three
It had been a fortnight since the best day and worst day of her life. Clarice swore her heart had stopped beating and her emotions had escaped, never to return. She was a walking, living, breathing shell of herself.
She didn’t understand why Samuel had never replied to her note or come for her.
Was their entire life and the day they spent by the lake together all a lie?
Had she allowed her heart and mind to distort what she wanted to see and believe, rather than seeing what truly was?
No. She would never believe that Samuel didn’t love her.
He did. But then why hadn’t he come and taken her away from this nightmare her father had created?
They had arrived in London yesterday and were attending a ball at the Viscount and Viscountess Appleton’s tonight.
According to her father, she was supposed to flirt with any eligible bachelor he deemed worthy.
She was not to cause a scandal, but she was to make it clear she was available to the highest bidder.
Highest bidder? He had told her at breakfast that morning that he was in debt and needed money, so he was selling her off, parading her around the wealthy members of Society like one did with horseflesh.
The only way to redeem the family name and fill the coffers was for her to do her duty to her family and marry a wealthy man.
A man willing to pay her parents for the privilege of marrying her.
He laid on the guilt thick, saying her mother would be ruined and it would be her fault.
And because she loved her mother and didn’t want to see her suffer for her father’s deeds, she would go along with her father’s plans even though it would break her heart and crush her in the process.
But how was she supposed to hold her head high when everyone would know her father was a bloody blackguard selling his only daughter?
She ran to the chamber pot in the corner behind a screen and cast up what little food she’d eaten that day.
She didn’t even have her mother to comfort her, as her mother had retreated to her rooms and refused to join her father’s shocking and abhorrent scheme.
That meant her father would be the only parent accompanying her to every event during the fall Season. That is, until someone offered for her.
But why would any gentleman offer? She was nothing special, with her mousy brown hair and brown eyes.
Oh, she supposed she had a pleasant face with small features and an acceptable enough figure.
Still, what kind of gentleman would buy his bride?
One so old and feeble that he needed a wife to nurse him in his final days.
One so foolish that no other lady of the beau monde would have him, no matter how rich he was.
What about the men whispered about in drawing rooms who abused their mistresses?
Most fathers kept their daughters away from such men.
Her father would push her into their arms regardless of the type of monsters they were, as long as he received the payment he demanded.
“Oh dear,” she gasped as she dry heaved into the pot.
She needed to shut her mind down. Thinking up all these scenarios wasn’t helping her.
She crawled beneath her pretty green-and-pink coverlet, curled up on her side, and hoped to sleep.
Perhaps when she woke, it would all be a terrible nightmare, and she would have her loving father back. And more importantly, Samuel.
“Time to wake up and prepare for tonight’s ball,” Mrs. Shelley said as she entered her room some time later.
Clarice sat up and rubbed her eyes. Even though she knew she’d napped, she still felt groggy, tired, and achy all over.
Mrs. Shelley set a tray next to her on the bed. “Eat something, my lady. Midnight is a long way off to wait for supper to be served.”
She first picked up the cup of tea and sipped it slowly until she determined whether her stomach could handle any solid food.
After finishing the tea, she nibbled on the cold chicken, fruit, cheese, and bread.
If she didn’t force some of it down, she knew she would feel lightheaded at the ball if she even took one glass of ratafia.
The sound of Mrs. Shelley opening the wardrobe caused Clarice’s eyes to follow her hand as she rummaged through her gowns, none of which Clarice had had the chance to wear since she hadn’t made her entrance into Society at the start of the Season.
As far as Clarice was concerned, this abbreviated Season would be just fine, since nothing mattered to her anymore.
“I think one is perfect.” She pulled out a beautiful white gown trimmed with seed pearls and lace. The bodice dipped relatively low, if her memory served. Her father would be pleased. She had the feeling that if he could parade her around naked, he would.
“Let me press it. I’ll be back soon.”
Finally alone, Clarice stepped off the bed, took care of her needs behind the screen, and slumped into the chair at her dressing table, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
There were dark circles under her eyes, her cheeks were sunken, and her complexion was paler than usual. She felt tingling and discomfort in her breasts. They seemed heavy and sensitive as if her courses were to begin. Just another source of worry caused by the white gown.
“Good, my lady, you are up,” Mrs. Shelley said as she swept back into the room, hidden behind layers of white tulle, lace, and silk. “Let’s make your first ball special.”
Mrs. Shelley worked her magic with her hair, but by the time Clarice entered the hall to find her father waiting for her, all she wanted to do was run back upstairs and hide under her bed like she used to as a child when she was frightened.
But now, she was eighteen, and her father was dictating her life.
Sighing heavily, she exited the townhouse as the doorman held the door open and then got into the carriage with the help of one of the footmen.
Her father sat opposite her, and his dark eyes swept up and down her person. “You should do nicely tonight,” he said in his deep baritone. “All dressed in innocent white.”
His words make her tense. Was he trying to make her uncomfortable and nervous for her first ball?
Because if he was, he was too late. Her nerves had been torturing her all day.
Nothing was spoken for the rest of the drive.
When they arrived, her father exited the coach first, then leaned back in with his hand held out.
“My daughter.” She had no choice but to take his hand, and as they entered the queue for the ball, her father placed her hand on his forearm.
As they moved quietly up the wide, sweeping marble staircase to a large landing where their host and hostess stood greeting their guests, Clarice felt like she was wrapped in a dense fog.
Nothing seemed real or normal. She recognized few people because her parents had mostly kept to themselves or were with the Stantons.
She had been sheltered. When she reached the Viscount and Viscountess of Appleton, she curtsied and said all the right things, even though she felt disconnected from herself, and the voices echoed as if traveling through a tunnel.
The master of ceremonies announced them, and she found herself being pulled along by her father, her feet barely keeping up, nearly causing her to trip.
“Please slow down, Father. I’m not used to walking in heeled slippers.” He did slow his stride but said nothing. “Could you please tie the dance card to my wrist?” Once again, he did as she requested without acknowledging her.
“Let us take a turn around the room,” he stated without looking at her, and started walking regardless of whether she was ready or not.
“Smile and look pretty. This is when eligible gentlemen scan the young debutantes and decide if they are interested. If you look like you’ve sucked on a sour lemon or walk like you have a stick up your arse, they may cross you off their list. Smile, make eye contact with the groups of young men gathered around the room.
” He paused and looked at a group of gentlemen off to the side.
“I have it on good authority that the Marquess of Dowding is actively looking for a bride and that his purse is overflowing,” he said.
“Which one is he?” The moment she asked, she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want her father to think she enjoyed this plan of his.
“He is the red-headed gentleman looking right at you.” He chuckled. “You see, my dear daughter, I had my barrister send letters to ten very rich, eligible gentlemen who are seeking brides with information about you and how they may obtain your hand in marriage.”
Her feet stopped, the room spun around in circles, and she had to swallow repeatedly.
If she didn’t, she was going to cast up her accounts.
It would serve her father right if she did.
All his careful plans would turn to dust. Who would want to marry a girl who lost her stomach at a ball?
Now she understood why everyone seemed to be whispering about them.
The ladies hid their mouths behind their fans, but their eyes connected with hers.
Some looked disgusted, some pitied her, and others glared with hatred.
All of this was due to her father’s insane plans.