Chapter 5 Curiosity Killed the Blackguard #2
Flushing from secondhand embarrassment, Catherine warily asked, “Besotted? Surely, you are not speaking of Mr. Ashby…”
“Well, of course I am,” Clara said. “He was an immediate favorite with his rendition of ‘Burrowing Yankees’ last night—a true inspiration!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Catherine said, uneasy. “I’m still unsure what to think of him, truth be told, but he was quite impressive last night. Yet why should that matter? Mother was trying to set up something between you and Baron Wainwright, so I would much rather discuss that.”
Clara gagged. “The hog merchant? Please! He’s one of the few men who actually looks like his trade.”
“Oh, don’t be mean, Clara!”
“How is it mean? I know what I want in life, and what I want is not Baron Wainwright.”
Catherine hummed. “Alas, that’ll hardly matter to Mother and Father…they want you married off before—”
“Before I what? Bring more shame to this family?” Nettled, Clara straightened her neckline and released a breath. “I embarrass them just by existing, so I hardly have to worry about meeting with their approval. I will never have it.”
Catherine winced, smoothing a hand down her sister’s arm. “But surely, a sound marriage is a good start? What’s so terrible about Baron Wainwright?”
“You mean aside from his appearance, profession, and utter lack of charm?” Clara asked, rolling her eyes. “They could at least saddle me with someone under forty.”
“He’s rich and would offer you stability,” Catherine reminded her. “What more does a girl need?”
“What more, indeed?” Clara softly asked. Stiffening her chin, she admonished, “Enough of all this chatter. I summoned you to talk about Philip, not some fubsy hog baron.” She flashed a hopeful smile. “Have your fears been assuaged?”
Catherine shrugged. “I must confess, I no longer feel uncomfortable in his presence.”
“Nor do I,” the redhead agreed, pleased. “I wasn’t so sure about his Augustus Winthrop claim, but if he had any designs on our fortune, would he not have absconded with something by now? He only seems interested in our library and Father’s business. The number of questions he asks is exhausting.”
Catherine beamed. “Oh, well how wonderful of him to show such an interest! I imagine Father will wish him to take over someday.”
“Undoubtedly,” Clara agreed. “If Philip is to shoulder both the law firm and his shipbuilding business, I imagine Lottie will barely see him.” Slowly, her lips lifted into a smirk. “How lucky for her!”
Catherine swatted her arm. “Oh, must you always jest like that? Surely, marriage isn’t so ghastly!”
“Not ghastly, no,” Clara agreed. “I rather enjoy having a man around. They’re far better equipped for tending to certain needs than I am, though I’m not sure I would enjoy being tied to the same man for all eternity.”
Catherine raised a brow. “Did you not feel such love for Mr. Shaw?”
Clara stiffened, her heart lodging in her throat, and her breath spasming in her lungs. “You know the rules, Kitty. We are never to discuss Mr. Shaw.”
“But—”
“For once in your wretched, miserable life, do as you’re told without asking a million bloody questions!
” Chin wobbling, Clara pressed a hand to her chest and closed her eyes, startled by her outburst. “Oh… Oh, forgive me,” she choked.
“Oh, darling, I did not mean that…” Guilt-stricken, she cupped her sister’s face and kissed her brow.
“I didn’t mean it,” she said again. “I’d very much prefer not to speak of my past—not when Timothy is no longer capable of being my future. ”
“I understand,” Catherine whispered, her bottom lip quivering. “Forgive me, Sister.”
“Always, darling.” Lifting her topmost petticoat, Clara dabbed the girl’s face and encouraged, “Now dry those tears. I want you to head downstairs for breakfast, and wait for me there.”
“But where will you be in the meantime?” Catherine asked.
“The library.” Brightening, Clara explained, “I intend to give a book to Mr. Ashby as an apology.”
“Oh? Do you have one in mind?”
Expression shifting into a more sly, impish demeanor, she allowed, “Why, yes. I daresay I do.”
Although Clara was coming to Philip with a peace offering, her motive wasn’t quite so pure.
She rather enjoyed making people squirm—it lent her a form of control she otherwise lacked.
This was why, Clara supposed, she’d selected a book that would not only be an educational source, but perhaps rekindle that darling blush she’d seen in Philip once or twice.
For being such a worldly man, he seemed quite easily scandalized.
“Mr. Ashby?” Lifting a hand, Clara rapped on his door. “Are you decent? I wish to speak with you, if I may.”
There came a long pause, then the tread of footsteps.
The door swung open, and Clara’s smirk vanished once she took in the sight of Philip patting his face with a small, cotton cloth.
Mid-morning sunlight streamed through the curtained windows, lambent and dreamlike, and backlit Philip like some sort of medieval painting.
He had a demeanor that didn’t quite match: a noble posture, a perceptive and all-encompassing gaze, and a softness that was perhaps intended to guard his heart.
There was a sharpness to him, too—not just with his intellect, but his very soul, cutting Clara each time she gazed into his shrewd eyes of warm blue.
They reminded her of the flowers she used to pick from the gardens when she was small—when her mother had a scrap of affection to spare, and the world still seemed so beautiful and full of promise.
Ridiculous, she thought. There was no beauty, nor hope, and certainly no true promise to be found within a man.
Souring at the thought, Clara opened her mouth to explain herself, only to take note of the soapy dollop on Philip’s face. “Oh, um…” She tapped her cheek. “You missed a spot.”
“Oh…” Philip wiped his cheek, then gestured with impatience. “What can I do for you, Miss Boyd?”
Ignoring the sharp edge to his tone, a hint of eagerness overcame Clara again, and she grinned before extending the book in her hands. “For you,” she explained. “After our rocky start, I wished to apologize by offering something of assistance.”
Bemused, Philip flashed her a distrustful glance, then took the tome before flipping through the illustrated pages. “The Expert Midwife?” he read aloud, more baffled than ever.
“By Jacob Rueff,” Clara affirmed. “It has diagrams of women that showcase very specific organs. I thought this might help with your embarrassment over the female body.”
Abruptly, Philip snapped the book shut. “I am not embarrassed.”
“Oh, no?” Slowly, a wry smile filled Clara’s face.
“As I recall, you turned a very specific shade of red during our discussion in the library.” When his cheeks grew aflame, she grinned and exclaimed, “Why, yes! Precisely the one!” Giggling, she continued, “You know, in certain circles, these diagrams are considered erotic, so I hope that regardless of your stance, you’ll at least take some form of enjoyment from them. ”
Philip swallowed, his throat bobbing sharply. “Was this all you needed?”
“I’ve many needs in life, but yes…this was all I needed from you,” Clara teased. “I hope you like it.”
“I… Thank you for thinking of me,” Philip stammered, clearly disingenuous.
Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and she grinned. Unable to resist teasing him—he was so delightfully easy to torment!—she said, “I’m rather partial to the illustrations on page 21. Perhaps you’ll agree, should you find yourself curious what a uterus looks like.”
Philip blanched. “Uter…uh…?”
“Uterus,” Clara repeated, amused. “Surely, you’ve heard of them? I’d like to think you’re not that na?ve.”
“Y-yes, but—”
“It’s rather funny, isn’t it? How the word us is in uterus? As if the man has any part in it other than sticking his pillock up a woman’s—”
“Miss Boyd, please.” Philip’s face was so red that it nearly matched the color of his fine, ornamented frock coat. Taking her by the shoulder, he steered her toward the stairs. “I have a busy day ahead of me, and very much wish to retire.”
Clara scoffed. “Isn’t retiring the opposite of a busy day? You haven’t yet had breakfast!”
Philip exhaled, ready to lose his temper. “I wish to be alone,” he clarified, “but we can speak at suppertime, if it pleases you.”
“Oh, but of course! I imagine reading that in mixed company would be rather unsuitable,” Clara agreed, waving a hand. “I simply cannot wait for you to tell me all about what you’ve learned!”
Philip halted with her at the head of the stairs, astounded. “You think I intend to discuss this over supper?”
She shrugged. “Why not? Men have free rein over the dinner table, so they get to dictate whatever is discussed. And as much as Father may dislike it, the female body is far more interesting than politics.” Her eyes gleamed. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Ashby?”
Philip drew a breath. “As I’ve said, I have a busy day ahead of me. Take care, Miss Boyd. And the next time you wish to speak, please bring a chaperone.”
He briskly turned on his heel, and as Clara watched him practically flee toward his bedroom, she lifted a hand to her mouth and hid a smile behind her fingers.
Benjamin avoided Clara the rest of the day. He took all meals in his bedroom, feigning illness, and spent his time planning, reviewing, and rehearsing the exchange that would take place later that evening.
By nightfall, he sneaked through his bedroom window undisturbed, dropped to the ground below, and absconded with his horse before riding her spiritedly off to Lower Manhattan.