Chapter 2
“Clara!” The voice came from somewhere up ahead, and before she could make out who the voice belonged to, a pair of arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her in.
It was the vanilla and orange perfume that told her who was hugging her. Her dearest friend, Helena Hartwell. Or the Duchess of Blackwaith as she was now.
“My goodness,” Helena said. “I did not know you had already returned.”
“I returned just a little while ago. I had only enough time to go home and change before I came here. My mother insisted I must.”
“Did she? That seems rather cruel to make you come to a ball before you even have a chance to properly acclimate.”
Clara smiled. “I see you have already forgotten what my mother is like. She would have had me returned from Scotland six months ago to rejoin the marriage mart if she’d had her way.”
Helena shook her head. “That is utterly unreasonable, and I told her so when she brought it up at dinner a few months ago.”
Clara smiled. That was why Helena was one of her best friends.
She was always there for her. Always supporting her no matter what.
Clara had missed her, and Arabella Ashland, her other dearest friend.
It had been so long since she had seen either of her friends, and it felt so good to be near Helena again, even though Clara hated being at this ball.
She could feel the way people were staring at her. It was uncomfortable.
Clara had never minded being the center of attention before, but she had to admit, it was most uncomfortable now. She knew perfectly well what everybody was thinking. The ditched fiancée, practically abandoned at the altar.
“Clara,” Helena said, “what is on your mind? I can see your thoughts wandering as you stand before me.”
“You know me too well,” she said. “It is true. I am not entirely comfortable being here. In fact, not comfortable at all. I know exactly what all these people are thinking about me.”
Helena took her by the arm, and the two of them walked a few steps further into the ballroom before stopping in an alcove.
“Do not regard it. It does not matter what these people are thinking. You are Clara Hampshire. You are a force to be reckoned with. You always have been.”
“Benjamin did not think so. Not in the end.”
“Benjamin was a fool. Besides, I venture to say that this whole disaster was not entirely of his making. You know what his parents are like. When the opportunity arose to marry their son to a cousin of the Prince Regent, of course, they were going to cast you aside. He was merely a baronet after all.”
“Yes, I do understand that, but I thought he truly loved me. I thought that he would fight for me, but he didn’t. He came undone so quickly. Do you know that his mother told me that I was not sophisticated enough, and he sat there and said nothing?
“Later, when I asked him if that was what he thought also, he said that he had always found my unconventional ways charming, but that it was true they were not entirely ladylike behavior. He even spoke of my time with Gideon as though there was something shameful in it when all we did was comfort each other after—” She waved her hand.
“I know,” Helena said. “I do. And I know that you loved him. He took liberties with your reputation that no true gentleman would ever stoop to. And if it is any consolation, I hear that his marriage to Lady Amelia is utterly miserable.”
Clara smiled. “It should not make me feel better, but it does. But it is not desirable to have broken engagements.”
“One,” Helena said, raising one finger. “One courtship, one engagement. Perfectly reasonable.”
“The other one was not a broken engagement but merely a courtship that ended,” Clara noted. Her friend was right of course. During her very first Season, she had thought herself madly in love with a young gentleman, and they had courted for several months, only for the courtship to fall apart.
These things happened of course, and she had taken herself away for a few weeks to Edinburgh to visit her godmother.
During that time, she had met Gideon, who was to become Helena’s husband.
The two of them had consoled each other over a broken courtship—and in Gideon’s case, a broken engagement—in a strictly platonic fashion.
They had become good friends—a friendship that would eventually lead to Clara working to bring together Gideon and her best friend, Helena.
For a while, it had looked as though everybody was going to have a happy ending.
Clara fell in love with Benjamin, a courteous, lovely young fellow from a good family who had seemingly adored her as she had adored him.
They had become engaged, and she had been sure that they would be married soon—they had even referred to one another as husband and wife.
And then he had bowed to family pressure and called off the engagement to marry a cousin of the Prince Regent.
Clara had been so thoroughly humiliated. She had swiftly taken herself away to Scotland to spend time with her godmother again. This time, she had stayed for a full year, despite pressure from her family to return sooner and rejoin the marriage mart.
This was now going to be her fourth Season. And this time, she was starting it as a jilted bride. Not exactly ideal.
“I wish I could go home,” she said, “but Mama sent Mrs. Wainscott, our neighbor, as my chaperone.” She nodded her chin toward the older woman who was standing in the corner, looking utterly sour.
“Well,” Helena said, “I have an idea. You will dance one or two dances. We will take a turn about the room, and then you will declare yourself too tired and go home. Nobody will be able to say that you shirked your responsibilities. And Mrs. Wainscott will report that you danced and were sociable before returning home.”
Clara sighed. “I suppose so. Well, I have to get it over with. I am here. Who can I dance with?”
She looked around, and Helena tilted her chin toward a gentleman who was standing in the corner. “That one has been watching you,” she said.
“Has he?” He was a tall, blond-haired gentleman with broad shoulders and a slight smirk on his lips. When their eyes met, he set into motion almost immediately and crossed toward them. He bowed.
“Lady Clara,” he said, “I thought that was you. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
“Perhaps if you introduced yourself,” Helena said.
“Of course. Captain Charles Lansdale.”
“Military?” Clara asked.
“Militia. Shall we?” He proffered his arm, and she took it. She left Helena to tend to her own devices as she followed Captain Lansdale onto the dance floor.
He placed his hands upon her in a way that was slightly firmer than she thought was proper, but she hadn’t danced in public for some time and thus couldn’t be entirely certain whether this was now the style or not.
They broke into a dance, and he twirled her. She saw people looking at them once more, but the stares bothered her rather less now that she was engaged in activity.
“So, Clara,” he said, once the dance moved into a section where they were able to communicate properly, “I hear you just returned from Scotland.”
“I did. It was lovely. Very cold in the winter, but the spring, summer, and autumn were wonderful.”
“I see,” he said. “Well, perhaps one day you shall have to show me. I hear that it is rather spectacular.”
“Well,” she said, “you are always free to travel there if you like. I highly recommend it. Edinburgh is lovely, and the Highlands—”
“I take it your broken heart has been fully healed?” he asked.
Instantly, her shoulders stiffened. So he knew about her broken engagement. Of course, he did. Everybody did. He was making a dead set at her and using her misfortune as his ammunition. How utterly shabby.
“The Highlands are beneficial for a great many maladies. A broken heart included.”
“Good,” he said. “I am glad to hear it. I am so glad to know that you have rejoined London after such a lengthy absence. And I am pleased that you gave your very first dance to me.”
The two of them continued dancing, but she noted how his grip on her tightened. His hand wandered up and down her back in a manner that was utterly uncalled for. He was taking liberties, plain and simple, and she did not like it one bit.
“Your Grace—”
“Captain,” he corrected her.
“Captain. I do not think this dance requires quite so tight a grip.”
“Doesn’t it?” he said. “I am only seeking to make you feel secure.”
“I assure you,” she said, “I felt quite secure before.”
He loosened his grip somewhat, but his eyes remained fixed on her face in a way that was most uncomfortable. He was encroaching upon her in every possible sense, and she was growing thoroughly tired of it.
“I think we should dance the next set as well,” he announced as the music drew to a close.
“I think not,” she replied. As they came to a stop, she attempted to walk away, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.
“I think we should. I think it would be good for you.”
“How do you presume to know what is good for me?” she replied.
“Well,” he said with a shrug as some dancers departed while others lingered awaiting the second set, “I may not know you personally, but I am well aware of your history. I know that for a young lady such as yourself, it is very difficult to find a match after such an unfortunate situation as what has befallen you. You ought to be grateful for the attention I am paying you.”
“Grateful?” she said. “I should be grateful that you are treating me as though I am your possession? Having a broken engagement by no means suggests that I must settle on the first person who shows me any kind of interest, especially when that person has proven himself no gentleman.” She met his gaze squarely, and if he thought her all abroad on the matter, he was very much mistaken.
“You should be glad to have someone as charming as me paying you any attention. Shabby behavior, some might say, to rebuff a man so.”
“Excuse me,” a deep male voice came from her left. “I think I shall cut in,” the voice said with confidence.