Chapter Seven
The smell of strawberry jam filled Clem’s nose as she bit into her breakfast toast. While the maid poured a second cup of tea for her mother, Clem focused on the sweetness of the conserve and mentally listed it as the first of her gratitude list for the day.
More than five months had passed with no word from Will and the longer the war dragged on, the harder it had become to present a happy face to her family and to society in general. Her gratitude list had become her way of coping, a reminder to herself that her life was good despite his absence.
Memories of times spent with Will made her list each day.
In the middle of a dance with a garrulous partner, she would think about conversations they’d had, or remember their meetings in Hyde Park during morning calls at home.
It was easy to lose herself in memories, but too often lately, Mama had chided her for her absent-mindedness.
Walking in Hyde Park gave her a sense of comfort. There by the lake where they had so often met on their park bench, it was easy to conjure his presence. Hours had slipped by in those daydreams of Will.
Now the senior footman entered and proffered a silver tray to Clem’s father. He picked up the neatly folded news sheet and snapped it open. Moments after reading the headlines, he jumped to his feet and shook the paper in Mama’s direction. “It’s over, Marion. The war is over!”
Mama stared at him for several seconds and something passed between them in the unspoken communication her parents shared. As one, they turned to Clem.
Mama reached over and touched her arm. “The war is over, Clem. Do you understand?”
Beneath the table, Clem gripped her hands together, trying to find an appropriate response to convey her relief. Other people—ordinary people with sons and husbands and fathers who had fought in France—would be dancing in the streets. She wanted to shout her joy from the rooftops.
Mama continued. “The timing is perfect. We respected your wish not to marry until the war ended, and now—”
Will is coming home!
“I do, Mama. It is the best possible news.”
Soon, God willing, she would marry her love.
“The Season has been underway long enough to assess the gentlemen currently seeking wives, and to choose whom you wish to encourage. Oh my dear daughter, by this time next year, we could be awaiting the birth of our first grandchild!”
“The news is wonderful, Mama. And thanks to you and Papa allowing me time to meet many gentlemen, I have a good idea of the sort of man who will suit me best.”
It is Will.
But she would not say so until he had returned to England’s shores and taken her in his arms again.
“See, Horace, I told you our daughter was sensible. She has made good use of the time you granted her. Which gentlemen have caught your eye, Clementine?”
Will’s name echoed in her mind and with every excited beat of her heart.
“I shall draw up a list for consideration over the coming days, Mama. I do believe the best approach is not to rush this decision but to weigh their good points against any negatives I discover.”
Her father harrumphed and twitched the news sheet. “Daughter, that task belongs to me. I can discover the truth of a man’s ability to maintain you in a way suitable to your position in Society. A noble title is a given, but after that—”
Papa’s words confirmed her suspicions and Clem’s throat tightened.
Will had raised the specter of his untitled situation when he began unofficially courting her.
It had concerned him then and she had dismissed his fears, but he had understood the reality far better than she had.
A romantic he may well be, but her Will was also a realist.
“A title does not automatically mean a man has the means to support me and any family we may have, Papa. Isn’t proven financial security more important than title? And the ability to love each other, like you and Mama?”
In truth, Clem wasn’t na?ve. She had always known Will’s lack of a title could be a stumbling block but prayed it would not be an insurmountable obstacle. Of course her parents wished her to marry a title; preferably one as noble as her father’s, even if not as old.
“Certainly, wealth is an important consideration,” Papa answered, “but I have shown you the letters patent of my viscountcy, given under the Great Seal three hundred years ago. King Henry the Seventh himself granted our noble title to my many times great-grandfather after the Wars of the Roses. No, Clementine, continuity of one’s line is the most important requirement, and if you were to choose an earl or a marquess, his exalted status would be no more than is due to the daughter of such an old viscountcy. ”
Clem’s heart sank but she nodded. “I understand, Papa.”
Her work would be cut out for her to convince her parents of Will’s worth.
His fortune and well-established business prospects notwithstanding, his excellent character must surely sway them.
Praying Rufus might have some idea how to change their minds, she sipped her tea while composing a note to him in her head and began forming a plan of action to remain unattached until Will returned.
Lavinia would be her staunch ally, of course—
“Clementine, what do you say? Are you free this afternoon?”
Carefully, she set her cup on the saucer and sought any fleeting memory of what her mother was asking her to do. No glimmer of any conversation had made it past her planning. With a smile of regret, she met Mama’s enquiring look.
“I am sorry, Mama, I was considering who should head up my list of potential suitors. What is it you wish me to do?”
Her mother’s smile showed Clem that today, her distracted state would draw no censure. Working towards a goal of marriage apparently excused one from certain social lapses, though only, she suspected, within the confines of home, and only when it related to her marriage plans.
“La, Clem. We must visit Madame Cerise as soon as possible and order new gowns. Now the war is over, we must get in quickly before she becomes impossibly busy. Everyone will be wanting to celebrate Britain’s victory with new outfits.”
“Indeed, my dear, you are correct.” Papa picked up his newspaper and read from an article.
‘His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, will grace several special events with his august presence. He will participate in a triumphal procession for the newly returned King Louis the Seventeenth later this month, and planning has begun to host the heads of state of Great Britain’s allies.
’ I am quite certain an early visit to the modiste is in order today. Spend away, my dear.”
Mama clasped her hands together. “What do you say, Clementine? Are you free this afternoon?”
“Of course, Mama. It will be interesting to see what Madame creates in honor of our brave soldiers’ magnificent victory. Perhaps she will be inspired by the flowing lines of Nike of Samothrace.”
“Who, pray tell, is Nike?” Mama’s expression was quizzical, and Clem reminded herself how fortunate she was to have a father who valued a classical education for his daughter as well as his son and heir.
“She was a Greek goddess who represented Victory. The statue was found amongst ruins on the island of Samothrace. The goddess’ gown seems to flow in the wind, and she is shown with a pair of wings.”
Papa chuckled, lowering the paper and gazing fondly at her over the top.
“I knew allowing you some classical education would not be a waste. The idea of wings is entertaining, but don’t you think they would make it a trifle difficult to move through a crowded ballroom, let alone dance?
” His eyes creased as he smiled at the idea before picking up his news sheet again.
“Enjoy your time at the modiste but clip the wings idea. Ha ha—clip them. Impractical, even for a costume ball.” He caught Mama’s eye, and his features softened into an expression that stopped Clem from speaking. Their shared look was the stuff of which her dreams were made.
Her parents’ love for one another was strong, even after so many years of marriage. Strong and unusual for a Ton marriage. The sort of union Clem knew in her bones that she and Will could share.
Somehow she would convince her parents that she deserved the same sort of love they knew, no matter that Will was a plain mister.
True love did not require a title.