CHAPTER 13 #3
"I'm planning to get through this evening without causing a scandal, then go home and drink until I forget my own name."
"That's a terrible plan."
"Do you have a better one?"
"Actually, yes. Court Miss Ashworth."
“Pay your formal addresses to the lady publicly, thus appeasing your aunt; secure her promise to withdraw the threat of proving your incompetence, and then, after a suitable period, quietly conclude your acquaintance with Miss Ashworth.”
“You propose to exploit a blameless young woman as a mere shield?”
“I propose to bestow upon a blameless young woman the illustrious opportunity of being publicly courted by a Duke, in this manner her consequence in society will be elevated, before leaving her free to contract a more suitable alliance. She profits, you profit, and everyone is satisfied.” Gabriel turned to stare at his friend. "Have you taken leave of your senses?”
"Except Clara."
"She is leaving is she not?”
The reminder hit like a physical blow. "Yes."
"Then what does it matter?"
"It matters because…" Gabriel stopped, unable to articulate why the thought of courting anyone else, even falsely, felt like betrayal.
"Your Grace!" Lady Weatherby descended upon them like a purple-feathered bird of prey. "How wonderful to see you in society again! We'd quite despaired of ever enjoying your company."
"Lady Weatherby." Gabriel bowed precisely. "Your despair was premature but understandable."
"Such wit! You always were too clever for your own good. And is it true you're courting the Ashworth girl?"
"I've had the pleasure of Miss Ashworth's company at tea," Gabriel said carefully.
"Tea! How promising! She's lovely, isn't she? Perfect for a man in your... situation."
"My situation?"
Lady Weatherby's eyes flickered to his scar. "Your need for a wife who won't be put off by... difficulties."
"How thoughtful of you to consider my difficulties."
"One must be practical about these things. After what you've been through, you can't expect to attract the same caliber of bride you might have before."
Gabriel felt his temper rising. "And what caliber would that be?"
"Oh, you know. The diamonds of the first water. The incomparables. But Miss Ashworth is perfectly respectable, and her dowry is quite substantial."
"How reassuring to know that my diminished circumstances can be offset by financial compensation."
Lady Weatherby tittered nervously. "You're twisting my words, Your Grace."
"I'm merely clarifying them. You believe I should be grateful that any respectable woman would consider me, given my disfigurement?"
"I didn't say…"
"You implied it rather heavily."
Edmund intervened. "Lady Weatherby, have you seen the refreshment table? I heard they have your famous lemon cakes."
"Oh! Do they? I must see for myself. One can't have one's recipes improperly executed." She fluttered away, leaving Gabriel seething.
“It is entirely untenable to think you may cut out the heart of every gossip who makes reference to that old injury.” Edmund said quietly.
"I can certainly try."
"It won't help your case with your aunt."
"My case with my aunt is already doomed." Gabriel's eyes found Clara across the room, standing with the other upper servants, wearing a simple but well-fitted dress that made his hands itch to touch her. She was watching him, though she looked away quickly when their eyes met.
"You're staring," Edmund observed.
"I'm observing the room."
"You're observing one particular corner of the room with remarkable intensity."
“Be silent, Edmund."
"Your Grace!" Aunt Agatha appeared with Miss Ashworth in tow. The girl looked pale but determined, like someone facing execution with dignity. "Penelope has been hoping for a dance."
"Has she indeed?" Gabriel looked at Miss Ashworth. "Or have you been hoping she desires a dance?"
"Gabriel," Aunt Agatha warned.
Miss Ashworth surprised him by speaking up. "Actually, Your Grace, I'd prefer honesty to pretense. If you'd rather not dance, we could simply stand here and discuss something bland while appearing engaged."
"What would you consider appropriately bland?"
"The weather is always safe. Or we could debate the merits of various tea varieties. I'm particularly partial to discussions about soil management, as they tend to make people leave us alone."
Despite himself, Gabriel almost smiled. "Soil management?"
"It's remarkably effective at discouraging unwanted conversation. Start explaining nitrogen content and crop rotation, and watch people suddenly remember urgent business elsewhere."
"You're more strategic than you appear."
"I have to be. I'm eighteen with a substantial dowry and a father who views me as an investment opportunity."
"That's rather cynical for someone your age."
"That's realistic for someone in my position. Shall we dance, Your Grace? The sooner we perform this charade, the sooner we can retreat to opposite corners and pretend we're considering a future together."
Gabriel offered his arm. "You're entirely too perceptive."
"And you're entirely too obsessed with your housekeeper to notice anyone else."
He stopped walking. “I do not apprehend your meaning.”
"Of course you don't. Just as you haven't looked at her seventeen times since we started this conversation."
"You're counting again?"
"I told you, I'm very bored. Your desperate pining is the most entertainment I've had all season."
"I don't pine."
"You're right. Pining suggests something gentle and poetic. What you're doing is more like... burning."
They reached the dance floor, and Gabriel positioned them for the cotillion. "You're dangerously observant."
"It's my only defense mechanism. That and discussing soil management."
The dance began, and Gabriel forced himself to focus on the steps rather than the fact that Clara was watching from across the room. He could feel her gaze like a physical touch, and it took every ounce of self-control not to abandon Miss Ashworth mid-dance and go to her.
"She's quite beautiful," Miss Ashworth said as they moved through the figures.
"Who?"
"Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending not to understand who I mean."
“Very well, yes, she's beautiful."
"And intelligent, from what I observed during tea."
"Remarkably so."
"And completely inappropriate for you."
Gabriel's hand tightened on hers. "I'm aware."
"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man about to throw away everything for love."
"That's terribly romantic for someone so cynical."
"I can be both. They're not…"
"Mutually exclusive, yes, I know."
Miss Ashworth smiled. "She says that too, doesn't she?"
"Constantly."
"You're well matched."
"We're impossibly matched."
"Those might be the same thing."
The dance required them to separate, and when they came back together, Miss Ashworth's expression was serious.
"I could help, you know."
"Help with what?"
"Your situation. I could court you very publicly, give your aunt what she wants to see, whilst you formulate a scheme for uniting yourself with the individual you genuinely covet.”
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I'm eighteen and not ready for matrimony, but a failed courtship with a duke would secure me at least another season before Father starts shopping me around again."
"You're suggesting a false courtship?"
"I'm suggesting a mutually beneficial arrangement that gives us both time to find what we actually want."
Gabriel studied her as they danced. "You're either very naive or very clever."
"Both. Again, not mutually exclusive."
"What would you want in return?"
"Protection from other suitors for the season. And..." She hesitated.
"And?"
"Introduction to your friend Lord Hartley's younger brother. I heard he's studying botany at Oxford."
“You wish me to become the messenger for you?”
"I want you to arrange an introduction to someone who might actually find soil management interesting to discuss."
Despite the entire horrible situation, Gabriel found himself genuinely laughing. “I declare, you have quite taken leave of your senses!”
"I prefer 'strategically unconventional.'"
"I'll consider your proposal."
"Consider quickly. Your housekeeper looks ready to commit violence."
Gabriel glanced toward Clara, who was indeed watching them with an expression that could have melted steel. Their eyes met across the room, and the longing he saw there nearly undid him.
"Twenty-three," Miss Ashworth said.
"What?"
"The number of times you've looked at her during our dance. I do think that might be some sort of record."