Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“You look lovely,” Gerald said as Clara climbed into the carriage.
She greeted him with a smile, and then was introduced to Eleanor, his sister.
Eleanor smiled furtively and seemed a little restless.
She peered out of the window at one moment, then moved her gaze to her lap.
She pinched her dress, as though she was extracting invisible thorns.
“I’m glad to meet you,” Clara said.
“As am I,” Eleanor replied, lifting her gaze and showing Clara a radiant smile.
“Forgive Eleanor, she often becomes restless before occasions such as this,” Gerald said. Eleanor shot him a black look, but did not deny it.
“And she has a right to be. It is a difficult thing for a young woman to attend a ball. All eyes are upon you. You wonder if you are wearing your hair in the correct style, or if your dress is in fashion. It is something that you would never be able to understand, Gerald,” Clara said.
Eleanor’s expression softened. She breathed a little easier, and her hands stopped twitching. She gave Clara a reassuring smile.
The journey was short, for the musicale was being held close by at Thomas and Helena Cunnigham’s house.
Many of the guests were already present and the sounds of festivity poured out of the doors and windows.
Golden light was warm and welcoming, while the tinkling sounds of a piano were accompanied by lively plucking of strings.
Dresses of all color stretching out into the house like a rainbow come to life, bubbling like a river.
Gerald and Clara looked at each other. This was their first public appearance, and if there was anything amiss, then surely the ton would sniff it out.
They were wily like that. Clara stifled the instinct to rebel against the situation.
It wouldn’t help, and as she grew up she had learned that sometimes it was better to keep her thoughts to herself---a lesson she was trying to teach Beatrice and Emily in particular, with mixed success.
Gerald held out his arm in the manner that Clara had shown him, and he took his. From the moment they entered the house, she could feel something stirring. Agatha really hadn’t been lying when she said that the ton paid particular attention to eligible Dukes.
Whispers and low, intrigued murmurs started to whirl through the room.
Word passed, and more heads turned towards them, gazing at Gerald with disappointment, and at Clara with venom.
This was something that she hadn’t been prepared for: the judgment of the women who were slighted that she had been picked over them.
They turned away, but Clara could see the disgust on their faces.
Clara held her head high and tried not to be affected by it. After all, she had far too many other things to worry about than the opinions of the ton.
They were absorbed by the party. Refreshments were thrust into their hands, and a few people conversed with them.
Some were genuine, but others seemed like they were fishing for information, asking how they met, how long they’ve been courting for, and other questions that were given under the veil of friendly curiosity, but really were fueled by bitter jealousy.
Clara and Gerald took it all in their stride. Clara supposed it helped that this was like a grand game, the kind she used to play as a child. They were fooling the ton, and the fact that some people were taking it so personally only made it funnier.
The music began in earnest. A musician was tinkling on a pianoforte, joined by a string trio. They played flowing, elegant music. Thomas and Helena seemed quite proud that they had managed to host these people. It would certainly do their reputation no harm at all.
“Will you do me the honor of accepting the first dance?” Gerald said.
“Of course,” Clara replied, dipping her head.
She had promised, after all.
They took to the dance floor, and if Clara had not been so preoccupied with Gerald’s eyes, then she might have seen the vicious glances cast in her direction.
Clara had no way of knowing, of course, but this was the first time Gerald had taken to the dance floor at an event for some years.
Many women in attendance harbored hopes that they would be the ones to break his drought, only to find that one, Clara Sterling had succeeded where they failed.
Gerald placed his hand against her waist, while the other cupped her hand. He kept a firm distance between them and his hand never wavered from its position. They moved gracefully, but it was awfully rehearsed.
“I think this is going rather well,” Gerald said.
“I certainly seem to have annoyed many people.”
“Often people seek to tear others down rather than examining their own shortcomings. It is the sin of comparison, and can either leave people feeling vain or bitter. It just proves why I was never interested in courting anyone from the ton in the first place.”
“You can be quite scathing when you want to be.”
“They deserve it. I never asked to have so much attention. But anyway, I don’t wish for our night to be defined by them. I have spent too much time thinking about them. Tell me a little more about yourself. Beatrice was quite a surprise. You didn’t mention her.”
“I didn’t realize I had to tell you everything,” Clara replied.
“Perhaps not everything, but your sister would have been worth a mention.”
“So would yours,” Clara said. Gerald took the point, but Clara relaxed a little, remembering the rule about contradicting him in public.
This extended to discussions that might well turn heated too, she thought.
“Beatrice and I have a strained relationship sometimes. She is not too far removed from Emily and the other children, but she doesn’t listen to me. ”
“Perhaps you try to be too much of a governess and not as much of a sister,” Gerald said.
Clara nodded. “Perhaps, although I feel as though I have always been more to her than that. Ever since she was young, I have watched over her, taken care of her, put her needs above my own. All I ever wanted was to help my family.”
“And now you feel she’s being ungrateful?”
“Perhaps a little.”
“She will come around in time, I’m sure,” Gerald said. As they shifted around, Clara frowned a little.
“You are holding me far too carefully for a gentleman who is courting me,” she said.
“Loosen your arm. Allow your body to move more freely, and let you hand drift a little,” she said.
As soon as she uttered these words, Gerald’s hands slid down her body a few inches.
She stifled a gasp at the sensation, for it felt as though he reached past her dress and touched the tingling flesh beyond.
It was a most strange occurrence, the latest in a long line of inexplicable feelings that swept through her, although for the moment she was in denial about the obvious cause.
Then, he put pressure on the small of her back and drew her closer to him.
The distance closed suddenly, the air being ripped from the space between them, just as her breath was being ripped from her lungs.
The world closed in to being incredibly narrow.
She had never been this close to a man, and it stirred something that had lain dormant inside her.
The background scenery melted away, even the music, which faded below the pressure of her rushing blood.
Gerald filled the world: his broad shoulders, challenging smile, tousled hair.
It was all there, in front of her, like a mountain waiting to be scaled.
Clara stumbled, missing a step.
“Was that a pretense as well?”
“That was a mistake by the musicians. They must be playing a version of the song I am unfamiliar with,” she said quickly, but looked down, trying to compose herself.
Why was he causing these things inside her?
This was all a lie, a trick, an illusion, but was she falling prey to the magic herself?
Was she so convinced by it that she was suffering?
Thankfully, their promise only extended to the first dance, so they took a well-needed rest after this. Gerald seemed pleased when Eleanor was asked to dance, but the smile faded from his face when a gentleman approached them.
“Excuse me, I wondered if you would like to dance,” he said, introducing himself as Sir Lionel Mercer, a man with a kind smile and wide eyes.
He was a little shorter than Gerald, but not by much, and he spoke softly.
Clara turned to Gerald, putting him in an awkward position.
They were only courting, so there was nothing precluding Clara from enjoying a dance with another man, for a dance was just a dance and did not guarantee a promise.
If Gerald refused he would be seen as possessive.
“May I?” Clara asked.
“It would be rude of me to prohibit you,” Gerald said, although she knew enough of him by now to hear the undercurrent of tension in his voice. Sir Lionel escorted her to the dance floor.
“I know you may resent me for pulling you away from your suitor, and what a fine man he is. However, I felt as though I needed to take the opportunity to dance with you while you are yet unmarried. I may not get another chance, and if you forgive me for saying so, you are the most beautiful woman here. A true diamond, if that is not a trite expression.”
Clara smiled, for his words seemed earnest.
“Not at all, and it is quite apt, for my great-grandmother was the diamond of her season,” she said, and this led to a longer conversation about their family histories.
Gerald was a man with conflicting emotions.
On the one hand his plan was working perfectly.
Eleanor had space to enjoy the evening and her dance card had a few names added to it, but on the other hand…
Clara was dancing with another man. The surface thought was that people might not believe their courtship was genuine if she could so easily dance with someone else.
Indeed, he noticed that a few women lingered nearby, as if they waited for him to ask them for a dance.
That invitation was never given.
Deeper inside him there was something stronger, a more vibrant feeling that churned within the very depths of his soul.
Sir Lionel was an elegant dancer. Clara spun, laughed, her hair flowed, her leg kicked out.
She looked effervescent, and he realized that he was going to have to join the ranks of the jealous that evening.
It turned out that pretending to court Clara was far easier than watching her dance with another man.