Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Clementine arrived with Rosalind and Ravensmere at the Cecil ball well past ten.
Her evening the previous night had been later than she’d hoped, and with the days long, the weariness in her bones was starting to make its presence known.
Today, in fact, she had fallen asleep while her maid had curled her hair.
She remembered back to her short foray into the lower classes, with Miss Masters and her betrothed, Mr. Thornleigh.
Their society had welcomed her with open arms, even though she felt out of place and certainly overdressed.
Her gown and jewels feeling extravagant and boastful, and yet, everyone had been lovely, had not said a word about her attire or jewels.
The image of the mocking Mr. Beaufort floated through her mind, and she narrowed her eyes. He was, however, far from pleasant. He loathed her, she was certain of it. Hateful man needed a good set down. Maybe she ought to be the one to deliver it…
“Dearest, you’re scowling. Whatever is the matter?” Rosalind asked her as they handed off their shawls to the waiting staff before entering the ballroom.
Clementine schooled her features, having not realized she was glaring. “Nothing is wrong, I promise. I was merely lost in thought.”
“Well, it did not look like a pleasant thought.” Rosalind paused, studying her. “Perhaps your time at The Haven is taking too much of a toll on you. Do you need to cut back on how often you’re going there? It’s taking up a lot of your time.”
“No, no, I’m perfectly content as per our agreement.
I do not need to alter how my days and nights are proceeding.
” The lie tasted bitter. If she were truly free, she would escape the endless balls and dinners the ton demanded, seeking solace instead in deep, dreamless sleep and the quiet purpose of The Haven, helping those whose struggles weighed heavier than her own.
She looked about the room, trying to locate any of her other sisters in town this year, and noted Evangeline and Isabella talking together across the room. She would be sure to catch up with them both before the night was out.
Rosalind threw her a disbelieving look. “Well, if you’re sure, dearest. I do not want you to become ill with all that you’re doing.
I do worry so.” She sighed. “While it’s honorable for you to help the women in need, what if they come in with some infection that’s passed on to you?
I could not bear it if you became deathly ill and left us. ”
Clementine reached out and clasped Rosalind’s hand.
“Hush now. Do not say or think such macabre things." She squeezed gently. "I’m healthy, robust, and capable. Should someone come in who’s infectious, the resident doctor who comes to assist will surely tell us to take heed and precautions. All will be well. I promise I shall not be dying anytime soon.”
Rosalind smiled, though her eyes were shadowed with worry. “Well, if you’re sure, but it will not stop me from worrying.”
"You would not be the protective, dearest eldest sister if you did not." Clementine spotted Clare Ingram—her only true friend in this society—standing alone, looking as miserable as Clementine at these events. "I see Clare. I’m going to talk with her. I feel I haven’t seen her in an age.”
“Of course. I shall see you at supper.”
Clementine nodded and started through the throng of guests. Her friend’s visage brightened when she noted her imminent arrival and reached out to clasp her hands then buss her cheeks.
“Clementine, I’m so happy to see you here. I was despairing of having to talk with Lady Marks and Miss Clements for the night. You know how unsavory and cutting those two can be. I suppose that is why they’re friends.”
Clementine rolled her eyes, understanding perfectly. “You do not need to fret, dearest, for I am here. Now, tell me everything that is new since I saw you last. It would be a week at least.”
“Nothing has occurred. The Marquess of Hartwell has arrived in town and is turning heads with his handsome visage. But there is something about him.” Her friend paused, frowning.
“I don’t know what it is, but when I was introduced to him just last evening, he was pleasant and kind, even complimentary, but he seemed fixated on trying to find out how much my dowry was. ”
“He didn’t.” Clementine gaped. “Did he ask you directly such information?”
“No, not exactly.” Clare shook her head.
“But in a roundabout way, asking if my family bought many carriages, or traveled, or if my brother was at Eton. You know he is younger than I. He asked if I received a new wardrobe of gowns this Season. The questions were all monetary in tone. Very odd, I must say.” She shook her head.
“Needless to say, I shall not want him pursuing me.”
“Interesting indeed. I wonder if he’ll be here this evening so I may judge for myself.”
“Lady Clementine, may I introduce…”
Clementine jumped at the sound of Ravensmere’s voice behind her, and she turned to find her brother-in-law standing next to a gentleman she’d never met.
“Phillip Beaufort, Marquess of Hartwell, this is my sister-in-law and ward, Lady Clementine Ravensmere.”
She frowned, the name Beaufort setting off an alarm in her mind she couldn’t quite place right at this moment. She quickly dipped into a curtsy and ignored Clare, who cleared her throat as if reminding her of who was before them. The very man she believed to be a lobcock.
No matter what her friend suggested, she could certainly see the attraction the man held for the opposite sex.
He was handsome—with dark hair, a strong jaw, and a straight nose.
But his eyes were dark, assessing instead of admiring.
He seemed to be calculating, perhaps already wondering about her dowry, as if weighing her suitability more than her company.
She tried not to laugh. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Hartwell. Are you newly arrived in town?” she asked, although knowing, of course, he was. “I do not believe I’ve seen you at any previous events before tonight.”
“A pleasure also, Lady Clementine, and yes, just this week. A fortunate turn of events, I realize now, that I’m back in society and admiring those to whom I’m newly introduced.”
Clementine offered him a small, polite smile, her skepticism barely masked. Despite his words, she read hollowness in his gaze, an unspoken sorrow or emptiness that seemed bottomless. The lack of warmth chilled her, as if she were peering into an abyss that might swallow her whole.
Whatever was wrong with the man?
“Lord Hartwell wished to be introduced to you, my dear. So you may dance. If you’re willing, Clementine.”
She smiled at Ravensmere, willing to dance with the marquess, but other than that, she doubted she would welcome much more.
She hoped he did not mean to court her, too, as well as Clare, who was not the least interested.
She had little time to be pursued, especially by a man who, although handsome, did not spark anything striking within her.
“Of course, it would be my pleasure.” She tried not to choke on her words and instead allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor.
Dancing this evening had not been part of her plan, no matter what she promised to her sister.
Sometimes one needed a little rest, and right now she truly wished she were home more than anywhere else.
The orchestra started up a reel, which she was happy for, as it would limit the time she would have to converse. His movements were stiff and awkward, and several times through the dance, she wondered if he’d ever had lessons.
“Are you enjoying the Season, my lady?” he asked, a question she felt was repeated to her on a nightly basis.
Did these men truly believe she wished to be paraded around like a novelty for them to watch and decide if she was worthy of their hand?
“Of course,” she lied, ready to state her well-prepared answer that was the same for all of them.
“And you, my lord. Did you travel far to return to London? Ravensmere did not mention where your estate is located.”
“It’s in Yorkshire, so it’s a good few days' carriage drive to London, but the estate is lovely, and I’m loath to leave it.”
“So you spend much time there?” Yorkshire was a delightful county, and several of her friends resided there.
“As much as I can. I prefer to limit my time in London, enjoying the outdoors as I do, but as you can see,” he said, gesturing to those around them, “the Season calls, and one must do their duty.”
“Of course, we are all duty-bound.” She had not expected him to answer in this way, and it did him credit to enjoy his estate in Yorkshire over the bustling city and viperish ton. A welcome change to the many gentlemen she’d met so far who liked nothing more than the distractions of London.
“I should imagine you’re keen to have an enjoyable and happy ending to your time here this year. This is your first Season, is it not?” he asked.
"Yes, my first Season." And her last, if she could help it.
Married or not—preferably not—she would like to continue her charitable work.
Why should she be distracted, forced to return home each day just to prepare for balls and frivolous parties?
So much money wasted. Gowns, often worn once, cost a fortune.
The food at these balls could feed a shelter for a week.
Even the cost of the candles above them, right at this very minute, would be more than a year's wage for most ordinary people.
The divide between rich and poor had never been greater.
“And has your Season so far been all that you hoped it would be?”
Clementine studied Lord Hartwell and decided he ought to know the truth of her time here in London, and then he could decide if he still wished to pursue her. If she were any judge of character, he seemed eager to do so, but would he after he learned the truth? She could only hope he would not.
“The Season has been exactly as I’d feared—endless entertainments, every one a tedious performance demanded of me simply because I’m the duke’s daughter.
Only my time spent at the St. Giles women’s shelter offers relief and real meaning.
That alone makes the ordeal of being in town bearable. ” And stomaching it, she wanted to add.
“A woman’s shelter, you say?” He raised his brows, and the displeased turn of his lips told Clementine her disclosure was not to his lordship's liking. “A duke’s daughter attending to those who are less fortunate, well… I daresay you are much more intriguing than I first thought. Most debutantes don’t care at all for others who are not husband-hunting. How refreshing that you are different.”
Clementine fought to think of something to say. She had not expected the marquess to approve of her charity work, and certainly not to compliment her. She smiled, genuinely impressed by the turn of events. Mayhap his lordship was not so tedious after all.
Perhaps Clare had been wrong about him?
“Thank you, my lord. That is very kind of you to say.” Maybe they had jumped to conclusions too quickly and needed to revise their opinion of him.