Chapter 1
Her pale pink gown smoothed into place, and her hair swept up perfectly, Clara was prepared to do battle.
At twenty years of age, she was no stranger to the expectations of the ton, and she took great pride in how well she navigated it all.
That evening’s ball would be no exception, and she could not allow it to be any other way.
Her time to find a husband was running out, and she could not afford any mistakes.
Not like the one that she had allowed herself to make for three years past.
“You seem rather tense,” her father commented as they approached the door. “I know that this is not what you expected for your life out in society, but with the right attitude—”
“I know, Father. If I put my mind to it, I shall find a husband with ease.”
She smiled playfully at him and hoped he would understand that she did not wish to discuss the matter.
The truth was that she had spent every social season waiting to see Lord Ashford, hoping that he would appear one evening and explain his absence and apologize for disappearing.
Clara feared that, if she allowed herself to be courted by another gentleman and eventually marry him, she would lose her chance with the man she truly wanted, and so she never allowed herself to try.
But Lord Ashford never came, and so she had decided to forget about him before she became a spinster, destined to sit on the shelf with the other undesirables.
The introductions and greetings and offers to dance swirled around her, and everything soon blurred into one moment until she was standing on the edge of the dancefloor with her father.
Her dance card was full, and the string tying it to her wrist burned her skin.
She did not want to partake in the festivities and was only doing so out of obligation.
She would soon be dancing, and at least then she could accept the distraction.
The first dance was with a stranger, a gentleman that just so happened to ask her to dance. She did not feel as though she could refuse, not when she was determined to have that season be different to the others.
When that dance came to an end, she curtsied politely and left for the edge of the room once more, going directly to the one friend she had.
Cecilia Marchmont saw her coming, waving her over, and at last Clara smiled properly.
Cecilia was her only real friend, and at least when they were together her loneliness did not hurt her as much.
Though she was searching for a husband, she could not deny that she enjoyed gossiping and laughing with Cecilia far more than the company of any gentleman.
They were both daughters of viscounts, and both without their mothers. That was, she thought, something that meant they understood one another better than the other young ladies they knew. They also shared a sharp tongue, which Clara had not known that she possessed until they had met.
“Good evening, Cecilia.”
“You seem rather unhappy. It is not over another gentleman, I hope.”
“Of course not.”
That was another thing they had in common.
When Lord Ashford disappeared, Cecilia had withstood troubles of her own, with a gentleman Clara never met but Cecilia was seemingly besotted with.
She did not ask much about it, as her friend was quite clearly distraught and she did not wish to make it worse.
“That is what I like to hear,” Cecilia grinned. “There shall be no more tears from either of us, especially over something as trivial as a man. Come, we have much to discuss.”
“I cannot go too far. I am to dance with Lord Branscombe soon.”
Cecilia raised an eyebrow at her.
“Have you truly changed your mind?”
“Yes,” she said carefully, “and it is perhaps time that you do the same. We cannot do this forever, you know.”
“We most certainly can. We are without brothers, and therefore—”
“Therefore without protection,” she reminded her. “Come, we shall find you someone to dance with too.”
“I would rather be destitute. I cannot stand them, walking around with their chests out like, like peacocks!”
Clara laughed gently, leading her toward the refreshments when her friend’s head suddenly turned. Without thinking, she followed Cecilia’s gaze only to see the one thing she feared most.
She did not know whether she wanted the rumor to be true or false, whether she wanted Lord Ashford there or elsewhere, but she had her answer at last. He was older and broader, but there was no mistaking him. He was the same gentleman that she had seen in her father’s gallery so long ago.
But he did not even look her way.
Instead, he walked past her as if she were not there at all. She felt her heart stop, and then pound, and then tighten in her chest. She wondered, for a moment, if she needed assistance, but then she came to and realized that Cecilia had vanished.
“Here,” she said firmly when she returned, pressing a cool glass into her hand. “Do not ask where I got it and drink it quickly. It will burn, but it will do you a world of good.”
Clara trusted her friend more than anything, and so obliged. In an instant, she wished that she had not. Her throat did, indeed, burn, and she tried not to cough. Cecilia laughed softly, squeezing her arm.
“You will thank me later. It shall numb you.”
“How do you know that?”
“You do not want to know.”
“I do.”
Cecilia sighed, giving her a look that Clara recognized rather well.
“I had my difficulties. My father was in a stupor and told me that it helped. Might we leave it there?”
Clara nodded. She adored her friend, but Cecilia Marchmont could be quite the formidable lady when she wanted to be. She usually reserved her temper for the gentlemen that approached her, and when she did not it shocked Clara a good deal.
“Now,” Cecilia continued, composing herself, “are you going to look for that man all evening, or are you going to enjoy your dance with Lord Branscombe?”
“I thought that you did not want me to find a husband.”
“I do not, but you will not allow that man to watch you stand here like this. He will assume that he has won.”
Clara had to agree. She did not want Lord Ashford to reappear, ignore her, then look on as he realized she had never moved on. She had not, of course, but she did not want him to know that. She looked over at him, the young lady on his arm laughing, and her mind was settled.
“I shall enjoy my dance.”
“Ensure that you do,” Cecilia said firmly. “If you insist on marrying, then I expect you to marry well.”
“Is Lord Branscombe a good match, do you think?”
“He is undoubtedly handsome, and he would offer you security. He is from generational wealth, and his family has always been well-respected. There is nothing wrong with him, as long as he is who you want.”
He was not, but Clara had little choice in that matter.
The only gentleman that she had ever wanted was acting as though she did not exist, and it was killing her.
Mercifully, whatever Cecilia had given her was beginning to take effect, and she quickly found herself more inclined to enjoy her evening.
“The dance shall begin soon,” Cecilia said gently, guiding her to the dance floor. “Do what you must and do it well.”
Lord Branscombe found her quickly, escorting her the rest of the way.
They did not say much to one another at first, and Clara wondered if it was all to be a waste of her time.
Her gaze kept falling onto Lord Ashford, who did not once look in her direction.
The music began, and at last Clara could think about something else.
“It astounds me that you are not yet married,” Lord Branscombe said after a moment.
“Thank you, my lord. I suppose that I have never found a gentleman that I felt I could love.”
“Ah, you are seeking a love match?”
“Certainly. It is what my mother and father had, and I want the same for myself. If I am to spend my life with a gentleman, I want it to be one that I admire.”
“And what do you find admirable?”
Once more, she saw Lord Ashford.
“Kindness,” she began, “and loyalty. A family man, someone who is always present. I cannot bear the thought of having children with a man that did not wish to spend any time with them.”
“Yes, I have heard that your father is wonderful.”
“The very best, I believe. I want the same for my own children.”
“And you believe the time is right to find such a man?”
“Indeed.”
“Then let us hope that I may fill that role.”
She had not spoken to Lord Ashford in years, and yet it felt like a betrayal.
She watched as he flirted with other ladies, making introductions and talking the same way that she was, but it made her ache.
What made it worse was the pretty young lady that was by his side, whom she did not recognize.
She could not help but question who she was, and why she was always on his heel.
“And what might you be looking for in a wife?” she asked, bringing her attention back to the man that she was dancing with.
“In truth, I do not expect much of my wife. My estate runs smoothly as it is, and so she would live a life of leisure. I am not looking for a love match like you are, but I am fairly certain that love is something that builds over time, rather than something that appears from nowhere.”
“And have you ever been in love?”
“Certainly not. I do not make a habit of meeting with ladies very often. I shall assume that you are much the same?”
Clara dutifully replied that of course she had never been in love, but again it felt like a betrayal, not only to Lord Ashford but to herself.
She did not want to pretend that she had not spent months falling for a man that disappeared, even if it was something she knew was shameful.
She missed him, she longed for him, while he was standing nearby not caring at all whether she was there or not.
When the dance came to an end, she returned to a hopeful Cecilia.
“You looked wonderful together!” Cecilia beamed. “How was he?”
“He was perfectly respectable. He would be a reasonable match for me.”
“Then why do you look so unhappy?”
“Because he is not the man I love.”
Cecilia rolled her eyes, but she placed a reassuring hand on her arm.
“Clara, there are only so many reminders that I can give you about that man. He is undeserving of you, and you will not allow his apparent return to change that. You must give this gentleman a chance, even if you continue to think of someone else, or else you shall never find happiness.”
Clara knew that her friend was right, but it was difficult to listen when the man she wanted was so close. It was made worse by the fact that she could not stop looking at the young lady on his arm.
“Who do you suppose that lady accompanying him is?” she asked Cecilia, looking at the ground.
“You may be able to ask him momentarily,” Cecillia said shakily, “for he is coming this way with her now.”