Chapter Two
Later that evening
Will entered the lavishly decorated ballroom after greeting his uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Wrotham, and his cousin, Lady Lavinia Clermont, in the receiving line.
Vinnie leaned forward, and from the shelter of her shepherdess poke bonnet, softly told him, “I sincerely hope you intend to propose tonight, cuz, or I may be forced into doing something drastic.”
“None of your business, cuz,” he replied, trying to infuse disdain for her poking about in his business into his words.
Vinnie glared at him before restoring her expression to one of apparent delight at welcoming family to their ball. “So glad to see you, William. I do hope you’ll keep a dance for your favorite cousin.”
“Naturally, Lavinia.” Duty dance aside, Will usually enjoyed Vinnie’s company, but tonight was the most important one of his life, and he could barely think beyond the question burning in his heart and mind.
How in Heaven’s name had Vinnie known his intentions?
His cravat choked him, and the noise of gaiety assaulted his ears in counterpoint to his hope, desperation, and a sense of impending loss.
One day.
That was all the time he had.
One day and a handful of hours tonight under the scrutiny of the haut ton before he left for France.
Where is she?
His gaze passed over decorations intended to delude guests that they moved through an idyllic pastoral scene.
Arches of twisted boughs brushed the tops of elaborate headdresses over every entrance.
In one corner, small trees had been placed in pots and grouped, creating the impression of a sylvan grove, while in the far corner, a pen contained several lambs whose bleating was lost amid the rising chatter of the ballroom.
Lucky lambs, he thought. There were shepherdesses too numerous to count, whose gorgeous gowns no real shepherdess could afford in a lifetime of wages.
And two gentlemen were dressed as Roman senators, although how a toga fit into the pastoral idyll was beyond Will.
But, despite his aristocratic family connections, much of what the Ton did bemused him.
He looked further afield, pausing a moment to bemoan the unintended pun and wishing he had thought to ask Clem what costume she intended to wear.
And then he saw her.
She doth teach the torches to burn bright. Shakespeare’s words flashed through his mind, succinctly expressing what he felt each time he saw her.
Lady Clementine Basingthwaite eclipsed every woman in the room.
She wore a gown of pale blue and white stripes with blue panniers à la bergère and held a slim shepherdess’s crook made of willow, topped with a blue satin bow.
Her dark hair was drawn up in ringlets that framed her face beneath a confection of straw suggestive of a rustic bonnet, but no such bonnet ever framed so lovely a face.
Tipping her head, she laughed at something Lavinia, newly released from familial duties, said.
The mere sight of Clem, of her beautiful smile and the joy within her, soothed the ache in Will’s heart.
Then he remembered what he was daring tonight.
He’d thought they would have more time together, time to lay the groundwork to convince her father of his undying love and devotion to Clem.
Time to convince the viscount that a plain mister, albeit one wealthy enough to match if not surpass his own inherited wealth, was good enough for his daughter.
But the War Office didn’t adhere to the timelines of lovelorn misters and ladies who looked below their social station for a husband.
He’d run out of time and chances.
There might be no tomorrow.
“Will—Mr. Ravenshoe, good evening.” Clem stood in front of him, arm in arm with Lavinia. “We were beginning to despair of your arrival.”
He bowed to Lavinia, whose eyebrows rose, clearly saying I-told-you-so, then to Clem. “Ladies, I regret if my tardiness caused you even a moment of distress. I was unavoidably detained by business.”
“Then you’d best make it up to Lady Clementine with the next dance.
And the supper dance. She kept both for you.
” Lavinia smiled at him and gave the smallest of nods.
In her eyes, he read approval of his choice of bride, for Lavinia was the only family member in whom he had confided his regard for Clem.
As Clem’s best friend, she had guessed his dearest hope early on and was his staunchest champion.
The orchestra began a quadrille as Lavinia excused herself on the pretext of helping her mother check preparations for supper.
“Your cousin stood by me and fended off the attentions of a gentleman who would have grabbed my dance card to write his name in for the last two dances I was saving for you.”
Will leaned forward, his voice low. “Who was it? Do I need to call him out, Clem?”
“Of course not. But I have this dance free as well as the supper dance I saved for you, if you want it?” She blushed, a pretty pink that told him more than words that he had no real competitor for her affections.
How she was still on the marriage market in this, her third season, surprised Will.
But then, she had a strong will and a persuasive manner.
Will was certain she’d twisted her father around her little finger and convinced him to refuse several very acceptable offers for her hand.
Lavinia had confided that Clem was waiting for a man as strong and kind as her father, and a love like her parents shared.
A love such as he felt for her.
If only he could convince her father to overlook his Trade connections.
If only he wasn’t leaving for the Continent so soon.
But if he could secure her promise . . .
“I’ve a better idea. Come with me for a breath of fresh air.”
She frowned, if the small pucker of her forehead could be called such. “Outside? Do you think it wise, Will? There will be talk.”
“Not if we’re discreet. Thank goodness for large families. We’ll circle the room toward my cousins in the far corner, but instead, we’ll slip through the doors one at a time and meet up outside. Please, Clem, there’s something I need to ask you.”
Her blue eyes widened, and a little smile played around her lips before she raised her voice to normal conversational level. “Shall we perambulate, Mr. Ravenshoe? I wish to speak with your cousins.”
“As you wish, Lady Clementine.” He offered his arm, and together they began a slow promenade around the perimeter of the ballroom.
To the casual observer, their progress would indeed lead them to Will’s cousins, a boisterous group of titled men and women all close to him in age.
Most had married well. Among the men, there were two lords, both eldest sons of aunts who had married aristocrats, and one baron.
Talking to them, or the appearance of an intention to do so, was unremarkable.
Expected. Safe.
A convenient, if duplicitous, pretense to gain precious time alone with Clem.
As they drew near the French doors, he patted her hand and allowed her arm to slide from his. “I’ll join you in a minute or two,” he told Clem.
Glancing around the nearby guests, he spotted Rufus, his old university friend.
As Will stepped towards his friend, Clem said softly, “Please don’t be long. I do not wish to encounter an aggrieved gentleman who may have missed out on a dance with me.” The hint of a dimple appeared when her lips tipped up into a quick, merry smile.
“I promise.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a blur of blue and white disappear through the doorway before he made eye contact with Rufus.
Lord Rufus Marsden exchanged the brief bow of a close friend and set a hand on Will’s shoulder. “I wondered when you would find me in this crush.”
“Rufus, good to see you back in London.”
“Still lucky, I see. Haven’t gone off to fight yet?” Rufus lifted an elaborate ebony walking stick topped with a carved ivory lion’s head. “This might appear to be an affectation, but believe me, I’d fall on my arse or my face without it.”
“I heard you took a bullet in your leg in France, but that you’d fully recovered?” Guilt slithered through Will at not following up on his friend sooner. Loving Clem was all-consuming.
“The rumor mill can be manipulated, old man. You just have to know the right person to drop comments to.”
“Manipulation? You give the appearance of being hale and hearty.” He studied his friend more closely. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes, and a hint of shadow lay beneath them.
“That’s half the battle. Appearance is everything, in life and in war.” Rufus wore his habitual smile, but he held Will’s gaze for a long moment. “Isn’t it time you followed that divine creature outside?”
“You noticed? Of course you did.”
Rufus had always been the sharpest observer of life among Will’s friends, with an equally sharp tongue for fools and cheats.
Sharp? This afternoon’s interview popped into Will’s mind. According to the unsigned letter containing his orders that Will had memorized and then burned, it hadn’t been Jasper who had recommended him. Jasper was but one link in the chain of command.
He narrowed his gaze on his friend’s smiling face. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, which returned Will’s gaze steadily.
Rufus has connections at the War Office.
Rufus’s father was intimately acquainted with Lord Carstairs and with Jasper’s father before his untimely death.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
One dark eyebrow arched up, but Rufus gave no further affirmation.
“I knew I was right about you. You’ve always been quick to pick up undercurrents, and you watch from the shadows.
Stay safe, old friend.” Rufus turned but then stopped and looked back.
His gaze flicked towards the open French doors.
“Oh, and felicitations on your upcoming nuptials.”
“How did you—”
“I’ll be delighted to stand by your side.” Rufus gave a slight wave and ambled away, the tapping of his cane quickly lost amongst the music and the numerous conversations.
Even knowing Rufus’s secret, it was difficult to notice his injury. His pace was appropriate in the crowded ballroom, the cane wielded with idle intention and panache.
And then Will saw it.
The slight tightening of Rufus’s fingers on the cane as his right leg took his weight. And surely his right calf muscle had never bulged with so much muscle when they were at university? Rufus would never resort to padding, so his wounded leg must still be bandaged beneath his stocking.
Have I been walking through the world blind until now?
What else had he missed? Shaking his head, Will stepped through the doorway, gently closing the door behind him.
At first glance, the patio seemed empty. High above, a gibbous moon floated between bands of cloud, its soft light silvering the patio and the garden beyond. He focused his senses, seeking out movement, probing the shadows.
A voice softly called his name from somewhere behind and to his left.
He turned, spotting the white stripes in Clem’s gown against the darker stonework. “You were well-hidden.”
“I was concerned you wouldn’t be the first gentleman to step through the door.” She beckoned him to join her in the shadows where the profile of the building jutted forward, creating a narrow recess between the wall and balustrade.
“Clem.” He took her raised hand between both of his and kissed it.
“You sound awfully serious, Will.”
“We don’t have much time. Can you meet me tomorrow? There’s something I want to ask you.”
Her breathing hitched, and her voice, when she spoke, held a breathless quality that tugged at his heart. “Why don’t you ask me now?”
“I want to do it properly.”
She stepped towards him into the spill of light from the ballroom. It shone in her eyes, which glistened brightly. “Why, Mr. Ravenshoe, are you intending to call upon my father at last?”
“After I know your heart, Clem.”
“You know my heart, Will. It’s in your keeping. It’s been yours from the moment you rescued my book by the lake, so why don’t you—”
“Don’t push it, Clem. I may not be a titled lord, but I intend to ask you properly, and that is not when I’ve stolen you away from my cousin’s ball. I’d prefer to ask you where we first met.”
“Please don’t make me wait until we are by the lake at home.”
“You know me; I like symmetry, but no. I can’t wait to be invited back to your father’s country seat. Meet me at our bench in the park? The lake there will be a substitute for the one where we first met.”
She nodded, and her smile was the most wondrous sight he had ever seen. He held her hands and bent his head, needing to capture her smile in his memory, and with his lips.
A day was all he had.
If Lord Carstairs sent him off to France the day after tomorrow, he would carry Clem’s smile and the memory of one stolen kiss with him.
And her promise.
She tipped her face up and moved close—closer than any partner in a waltz, closer than any young, unmarried woman should be to a man not yet her husband.
Soon.
He breathed in her scent—like summer sunshine on a garden of roses—felt the press of her breast against his chest, and the tightening of her hand clinging to his.
And then her lips brushed his, breathed him in, and pressed closer.
Inexperienced in the art of kissing she might be, but her soft lips were eager and passionate. She pressed them to his as though she would never be done with kissing him.
Time, space, the war—nothing mattered while she was in his arms.
In the ballroom, the orchestra finished playing the quadrille. Gay laughter floated on the air, and two couples drifted through the doorway at the far end of the balcony.
Reluctantly, Will ended the kiss and stepped away from Clem.
His breathing was less than steady, as was hers, and his body ached to pull her back into his arms. But until his ring was on her finger, and she carried his name, they had to observe society’s rules.
“I await your answer with bated breath. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. ”
Pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, she gazed at him, adoringly, lovingly, oh so sweetly. “Unofficially, you have my answer, Will.”
Offering his arm, he wondered how he could contain the joy coursing through him. For the sake of her reputation, he had to find a way.
Rufus was right. Keeping up appearances was an act, and masks slipped when people became careless. “I am honored and humbled by your gift, my lady.”
“We have missed the quadrille, but the supper dance is our next one, Will. I should like to dance with you at least once tonight. It will be our secret, unofficial engagement dance.”
“Then shall we return inside, my love?”
No matter what orders came the following day, tonight was theirs. Soon, Clem would be his wife.