Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Clementine’s dance card was filled before supper, and two of the dances were with Lord Hartwell. Even though Rosalind had cautioned her not to show favoritism, she did find it exceedingly hard to deny a gentleman a dance when they were all but fawning at her feet to do so.
She had not expected the marquess to be so forward and determined in his courting, especially since they had only just met. Yet he seemed to have set his cap on her, a shame for she certainly had not set her cap on him. The Season was young, and she wasn’t looking to rush into any attachment.
He may be pleasant, listen to whatever she had to say, her opinions, likes, and dislikes, but was that enough?
He was handsome, of her social sphere, everything her family would want for her, tall and athletic, and he liked living in the country.
He was everything one ought to wish for in a husband, so why, each time she looked at him, conversed and enjoyed her time with his lordship, did her mind wander?
No. Not just wander, but think of another altogether.
Someone who was not suitable. Was infuriating, obstinate, judgmental, and enjoyed skirting on the wrong side of society.
How could the marquess' brother own a gentleman’s club?
Truly, that was just the polite name for a gambling hell, or house of ill repute.
Maybe he did have women who came and entertained the gentlemen there.
She narrowed her eyes, sipping her lemonade as she listened to Lord Hartwell droll on about how many candles he had counted in the standing candelabrums to light this magical night in the park.
Her attention shifted to the makeshift dancefloor and the decorations, cocooning society around them.
There were indeed many candles, but did the man only wish to speak of such trivial things?
He’d asked her what she liked and disliked, but didn’t continue the conversation, merely moved on to his next inquiry.
How was one truly meant to get to know another with such surface information?
“Do you think you can spare the time to come down to The Haven, my lord? I’m there most days, and I’m sure Miss Linton, who runs the shelter, would be more than willing to show you what we do there. We’re always looking for new benefactors to the cause.”
He frowned and kept his gaze on those about them as if he’d never seen anything so out of the ordinary in his life than an outdoor ball. “This charity helps predominantly women, I understand. Those who have come to harm in some way, is that correct?”
“Indeed, it is. We help women who have fallen on hard times, who may have been treated poorly by those they trusted most. We give them a safe place, a haven, as the name suggests, to help them get back on their feet. We do lessons, try to upskill them so they may move into other forms of employment where they are less likely to be assaulted.”
“Hmm.” His lips thinned into a displeased line before he frowned and met her eyes.
“Some women choose that life, though, do they not? Surely those women do not need to take funds and assistance from others who are far more worthy of your kindness.” He paused.
“Not to mention you’re very bias with your charity.
What of men and their needs? There are just as many men who have fallen on hard times and need our help. What of those?”
Clementine stared at him, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.
She swallowed a sharp retort and took a calming breath.
“No, my lord, you are wrong. No woman wishes for a life of mistreatment. Most times, the choice is taken from them. They are left with no other option to remain alive or enter a workhouse.” She paused.
“As for men, they are not as vulnerable as women and while I would love to help everyone, that is not always possible.”
His lordship chuckled, a condescending laugh that scratched along her nerves.
“Come now, Lady Clementine. You are too pure. Some women, no matter the risk, do choose a life that you may not find palatable, but it is not to say that they do not. While I feel for anyone who finds themselves in a dangerous situation, there are those who put themselves there and then cry about it later. You must see that I’m correct. ”
Clementine fought to school her features. She was at the Rolfe ball. She could not get out of sorts, give this man a well-deserved set down and leave merely because Lord Hartwell was uncouth and irritating her with his incorrect opinions.
Maybe his earlier, encouraging views on her volunteer work were merely a ruse to win her favor. Was Evangeline correct in her warning to keep up her guard? No matter how connected or handsome, she could never marry a man who didn’t see the value in the charities she supported.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lord. I see Rosalind is gesturing for me to return to her side. Good evening to you,” she said, dipping into a curtsy.
“Rosalind isn’t gesturing to you. She’s dancing with Ravensmere.”
Clementine turned to see her sister indeed dancing with her husband, but she would not stay another moment to listen to him disparage the charity she’d come to love and care for.
“No, you are incorrect. She is indeed after me to join her. Good evening.” Clementine strode away, ignoring the fact he had caught her in a lie. Thankfully, she spied her sister, Angelica, and joined her group of friends before Rosalind finished her dance.
“How beautiful,” Rosalind said, joining them all. “Her Grace has exceeded herself this evening with this wonderful ball that I should imagine many will be talking of for the rest of the Season. Either that or they shall be trying to recreate it.”
“It is unlike anything I’ve ever had the privilege to attend before,” Angelica agreed, her attention on the grandeur that surrounded them.
Giddiness washed through Clementine being present at such an unusual event with her sisters. The sound of a waltz floated through the air, and several couples took to the stage to dance beneath a starry London sky.
Clementine glanced up at the heavens, reveling in nature’s beautiful light.
She spotted Lord Pompous Hartwell and was glad to be rid of him and his conversation that had threatened her good mood.
At least with her sisters for company, the conversation was much more interesting and pleasant.
Perhaps the evening could be redeemed after all.
But how could a man who had so much be so cruel to those who did not? Not to mention his lowly opinion of women. Whatever position in life a woman held, it did not mean she deserved mistreatment.
“You are fortunate that you did not remain locked in that office with me this afternoon, Lady Clementine, for I do believe this ball is one not to miss. What a marvel, and I don’t even enjoy the ton or their wasteful events.”
She jumped at the sound of Lord William, his deep voice a whisper that washed over her like a balm.
She tipped up her chin and refused to remember what it was like this afternoon when his finger had touched her chin, when his hand had slipped across her jaw, when she thought she might entertain her first kiss…
Her breath hitched a second time, and her skin prickled. Even now, the overwhelming urge to stare at his lips consumed her. To part hers and lean into him and see where it may end.
To sin and ruin like the women she helped…
She shook the unhelpful thought aside and took a calming breath. “Most fortunate indeed. I’m certain this ball will be talked of for many weeks to come.”
“Indeed. The Duchess Rolfe has outdone herself.”
She moved a little away from her family and turned to face him.
“What are you doing here anyway, my lord? I did not think these events warranted your presence. More than once, you’ve made your feelings known how much you hold our society in contempt.
” Her words were harsh, but she did not need him here, or anywhere near her in particular.
There was something about him that put her on edge.
That aggravated her senses and discombobulated her.
To make her think and want things that were not warranted. Not when he’d been a surly cad from the moment they met.
“My brother has asked me to attend more of these events, and I do not wish him to visit me at my club and complain, so it’s easier to make an appearance here. I don’t need to stay long to satisfy his request.”
“At your gambling hell, you mean?” Her tone was decidedly chill, even to her own ears. Still, the thought of such establishments, where men gambled, drank, and debauched those who did not have any other option but to relent to the powerful, set her nerves on edge.
“You should be ashamed of yourself for allowing men to have access to women in your establishment and do what they please with them. It's becoming clearer and clearer why you have such a passion for The Haven and giving as much as you can to help those who walk through those doors. You’re clearly feeling guilty for first creating such a mess in our society and then trying to make amends for it.”
Lord William choked on his sip of wine and coughed several times, trying to clear his throat.
Several people glanced their way, and yet, Clementine stared each of them down.
Let them look, let them see the rake who enjoys such a shameful pastime to make his money.
She had no sympathy for his lordship or his choking.
“There is no whoring at my establishment,” he whispered, his voice rough. “There is gambling, alcohol, and good conversation, but if any of my customers wish for a more enjoyable pastime, that will have to be done elsewhere. I have no part of that world, no matter what you may think.”
She met his gaze and tried to stare him down, make him admit he was lying, yet he did not relent. She ground her teeth, her patience for men and their ways wearing thin this evening. “Prove your claim to me, for I do not believe you.”
“Prove it?” He stood tall and attempted to look down his nose at her. It did not work. For one, his nose was perfectly straight and wasn’t imposing at all. Nor did he scare her.
“What do you expect me to do? Take you to my club and show you? You would be ruined the moment you step one foot inside. You will find that being locked in Miss Linton’s office will be nothing but a fond memory.
I may be a marquess’s son, and now a brother to one, but do not be fooled, Lady Clementine.
I’m an outcast in society, whether voluntary or purposely, they are both the same in the end. ”
His lordship looked out onto the throng of guests, and a part of her couldn’t help but dislike the thought of him being an outcast, not just by his family but by those around them. No one ought to be so.
No matter if he had brought it on himself by going into a profession that was not the employment for a gentleman. Working for a living instead of living as a gentleman ought not be shameful.
The ton and its opinions could go hang as far as she was concerned. Society may dislike his position, but she, however, did not. Not if what he said was true and his club wasn’t a seedy locale for men with unethical desires.
If anything, she admired his work ethic, one that was similar to hers.
She was volunteering at a shelter that many women of rank would never set one slippered foot in.
They were similar in that sense. Not wanting to conform, do what was expected of them.
To do what everyone else did to make society happy.
“I could feign a megrim and ask to leave. I could have our coachman return me home, where you are waiting, and then we shall travel on from there to your club. I have a cloak, I will not be recognized.”
“People will see your face, with or without a cloak,” he drawled, his tone sarcastic. “And most of the men present will recognize you. You’re a Ravensmere. There are few who would not.”
“I shall wear a mask then. They will believe I’m your mistress and will not say a word. Not to their patron.”
Lord William’s visage paled in the moonlit night and she fought not to laugh at his displeasure. “Absolutely not. I’m not pretending to have a curmudgeon as my lover.”
Clementine gasped. “No one will ever know we’re not friends, my lord, so to be termed so is harsh.
” She crossed her arms and glared. “I want proof that you do not run some seedy whorehouse in London. Dropping by in a spontaneous manner is the only way to prove your innocence.” Not to mention a small part of her wanted to see what it was like inside a gentleman’s club.
Would she see anyone she knew? Was it opulent, loud, or quiet and contemplative? “If there are no ladies present then…”
“Besides you, you’ll be there…”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Besides me, then I shall know the truth of your character. That while you may own a gentleman’s club, I will be satisfied to know your heart is true. That you give to The Haven out of respect and not guilt.”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you. I do not care what society thinks or you. You may all believe whatever you wish.”
Clementine supposed he was right; still, she desperately wished to see the locale. To glimpse into his life just a little. “Shall we leave now? I can go and speak to Rosalind directly,” she said, ignoring his denial completely.
“Absolutely not,” he said, looking at her as if she’d grown two heads.
She smiled and patted his chest, a mistake the moment she did so. Why she touched him at all, she could not fathom, but the feel of his heartbeat, his warm, hard body beneath his waistcoat, was not what she needed imprinted on her palm.
She snatched her hand away before she decided to linger there, caress him to ensure what she thought she felt—hard, strong muscles beneath—was nothing but a figment of her imagination. “I’ll be back directly, and then we shall go. Don’t go anywhere, Lord William. You owe me a tour.”
He growled, but did not refuse her a second time.