Clara was more sympathetic to this girl’s plight than the girl herself could ever have dreamed. With only a few changes, this letter might well have been written by her own hand, and she would have dearly liked to assist this girl, but what assistance could she give? If she knew any method for overcoming shyness and transforming from wallflower to shining social success, she’d have employed it on herself, found a husband of her own, and been off on her own honeymoon long before now. With reluctance, she set aside the letter from the Devastated Debutante and picked up another from the pile.
Dear Lady Truelove,
Having reached my twenty-fifth year, I have decided it is time for me to choose a wife, and since I have very specific requirements, my search for a bride will require your assistance. My circumstances are straitened, so she must possess a substantial dowry. In addition, she must be very pretty, for it would be unthinkable that I should have to wed a plain girl—
Clara stopped reading with a sound of disdain. Having been deemed a plain girl herself by most of the men who met her, and having had no dowry at all to offer until very recently, she was not the least bit sympathetic to this shallow young man’s predicament. She ripped his letter in half, set it to one side, and tried again.
Dear Lady Truelove,
I am in such desperate straits that I don’t know if you can even help me. I am in love with a young lady, but she takes no notice of me, for I am not, sadly, the most eloquent or handsome of men. I am writing to solicit your advice on how I might gain her attention, initiate conversation, and begin my courtship. I would be grateful for any suggestions you can offer. Yours, Speechless in South Kensington.
Clara stared down at the inked lines before her, lines that once again demonstrated why putting her in charge of Lady Truelove was laughable. What advice could she offer any of these people?
She looked up, staring across the empty tables of the tea shop, thinking of the countless times she’d stood to the side of a ballroom with the other wallflowers, of the parties where she’d lingered unnoticed in a corner of the room. What did she know of gaining the attentions of the opposite sex? Of initiating conversation? Of courtship?
She shoved aside the pile of letters and leaned forward, plunking her elbow on the table and resting her forehead on the heels of her hands, swamped by inadequacy. She couldn’t do this, at least not alone.
“Dear God,” she whispered, desperate for a bit of divine guidance. “I’m in over my head, and I could really use some help.”
“Indeed?” a male voice murmured, a voice that was deep, low, and quite obviously amused. “How might I be of assistance?”
Chapter 2
Clara bolted upright in her chair, but when the voice came again, she realized it was not the Almighty who had uttered such prescient words, but one of the two gentlemen seated at the table on the other side of the potted palms. Though he was facing her direction, he was not looking at her, and she realized that he had not been speaking to her at all, but to his companion. He was also, quite obviously, a mortal man.
Mortal, perhaps, she thought as she angled her head for a better view of him between the palm fronds, but certainly good-looking enough to be a god.
His hair, short but unruly, was of dark, burnished gold and seemed to catch and hold every glimmer of light through the windows of the tea shop. His eyes, the clear, azure blue of a Grecian sea, were focused completely on his companion, granting Clara the undeniable treat of studying him unobserved. His face, of perfect symmetry, lean planes and chiseled contours, seemed as unyielding as a marble statue, but then he smiled, and at the sheer, dazzling brilliance of it, Clara’s heart turned over in her chest.
“I’m happy to help,” he said, “but I hope it’s not money you need. I’m absolutely flat at present.”
His companion said something in reply, but Clara didn’t catch it, for her attention was fully occupied by the man opposite. And who could blame her? It wasn’t every day that a golden, windblown Adonis came down from Mount Olympus to grace an obscure little tea shop in Holborn.
His body—what she could see of it above the table—was sheathed in the fine white linen and dark gray morning coat of a proper English gentleman, and yet, his wide shoulders and tapering torso made his physique seem far more suited to some ancient Olympiad or Roman coliseum than the civilized London of 1893.
This god, this delectable feast for feminine eyes, stirred in his chair, his splendid shoulders lifting in a shrug, and the move caused Clara to tear her gaze away. She did not want him to catch her staring. But as he spoke again, she couldn’t resist leaning closer, curious to hear more.
“What does every man spend his money on, Lionel?” he said, his voice light and careless. “Wine, women, and song. And cards, of course.”
“But especially the women, eh?”
The two men laughed together at that bit of raillery, but Clara couldn’t help feeling let down. Adonis seemed rather a rake. Not, she feared, a noble god at all. And rakes, as she well knew from her father’s example, never truly reformed.
She had no chance to speculate further on Adonis’s character, however, for the voice of the man called Lionel returned her attention to the conversation at hand. “No, what I need from you isn’t money, old chap. I need advice about love.”
Those words reminded Clara that she was expected to dispense some of that particular commodity herself this afternoon, which meant she ought to stop eavesdropping on other people’s conversations and return to her own task. But before she could reach for another letter, Adonis spoke again, giving her pause.
“Good God, Lionel, why would anyone want advice about love from me?”
Clara, who had been asking that very question of herself, wondered what Lionel’s answer might be.
“It’s Dina, of course,” he said. “She’s dropping hints about matrimony, and I’ve got to find a way to slip the hook. That’s where I’m hoping you might be able to advise me. You’re so good at that sort of thing.”
Clara was a bit shocked. Adonis, however, merely seemed amused.
“And which is my talent?” he asked with a laugh. “Staying free of marriage, or advising others how to do so?”
“Both.”
This was not the sort of problem Lady Truelove would choose to tackle in her column, but nonetheless, Clara was intrigued. She’d asked for help, after all, and help did often come from the most unlikely places. Keeping her head down so that the man opposite wouldn’t detect her eavesdropping, she leaned even closer.
“Are you sure you want to slip the hook? Your inamorata is rather a catch herself, you know. She’s not only a rich widow, she’s also young, exceedingly pretty, and most agreeable company—quite a prize for a lowly MP like you. There’s many who’d deem you a very lucky chap.”
“True,” his friend agreed, sounding as if he considered himself anything but fortunate. “You wouldn’t, though. Everyone knows your opinion of marriage.”
“Not everyone, sadly. Despite my aversion to that outmoded and wholly unnecessary institution, certain members of my family are determined to see me chained to it, and in pursuit of this goal, they insist upon hurling desperate debutantes at me every season. But not many men share my cynical view. I certainly never thought you did.”
“I don’t, really. It’s just that . . .” Lionel paused and gave a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure I want to marry right now.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of understanding in the word. “What you mean is that you’re not sure you want to marry her.”
“I suppose that’s it,” Lionel mumbled, and Clara felt an immediate compassion for the young lady in question. “She’s not really my sort, you know. I’m such an ordinary chap, and she’s part of the ton.”
“Poor girl.”
“That’s just it. Dina’s not a girl. She’s five years older than I am. And being a widow, she knows her way about all right. When she made her attraction to me so plain, I thought all she wanted was an affair. I thought
, ‘Why not?’ I was flattered. What bloke wouldn’t be?” He sighed again. “It all seemed so simple. So straightforward.”
“You’re talking about a woman, Lionel. Nothing is ever simple or straightforward.”
“Don’t I know it? The point is, I never thought she’d want marriage.”
“Ladies usually do, once we’ve slept with them,” Adonis murmured, and at those blunt words, heat flooded Clara’s cheeks. She knew just what “slept with” was a euphemism for, thanks to the explanations of her forthright sister, and she felt a growing indignation on this Dina’s behalf. Whoever she was, the woman was obviously being quite ill-used.
“Deuced inconvenient of them, I know,” Adonis went on, “but there it is. That’s why I steer clear of respectable young ladies as often as I can. Invariably, they expect marriage.”
And why shouldn’t they? Clara wondered, feeling prickly and a bit defensive. What’s wrong with wanting to be married?
“Dancers and actresses,” he continued, adding to her ire, “are much less bother.”
Bother? Clara bristled at the word. Women who wanted honorable marriage were a bother?
“That’s all well and good, but hardly helpful.”
“My dear Lionel, what is it you expect me to say?”
“I want you to help me stay out of the trap! Though how I ever got snared in the first place escapes me.”
“Haven’t we already established that? You fell into the trap when you fell into her bed.”
The blush in Clara’s cheeks deepened, spreading heat through her entire body. Heavens, who’d ever have thought such nefarious conversation could take place in the respectable confines of a tea shop?
“And everything was going splendidly, too,” Lionel murmured in a gloomy tone while Clara pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. “But barely a month later, she’s making wedding plans.”
“Women,” his friend replied, “can be so unreasonable.”
Clara had to clamp one of her hands over her mouth to stifle an exclamation of outrage before it could escape her lips and give her away.
“Rather,” Lionel agreed and gave a laugh, though he sounded anything but amused. “My family has never met her. Hell, they don’t even know about her. And her family certainly doesn’t know about me. We’ve managed to be very discreet until now. If her people found out, the fat would be in the fire, for it would be a come-down for her, and they’d never approve of it. And yet she doesn’t seem to care. She’s prepared to tell them all to go to blazes—for my sake, she says. My sake? Damn it, man, what am I supposed to do?”
Adonis was silent a moment, considering the problem. “Could you go abroad?” he asked at last. “Take a jaunt to Paris or Rome for a few months? The season’s just beginning, and Dina will surely be caught up in the social whirl. I daresay by the time you come back, she’ll have forgotten all about you.”
“Or she’ll follow me. Dina isn’t a meek and mild little flower, you know. Being so rich, and a widow, she doesn’t have to worry about either costs or chaperones.”
“Perhaps, but why should she bother? Other chaps will be lining up soon enough, I daresay, and paying her so much attention that she probably won’t miss you a jot.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Clara couldn’t help noting that Lionel didn’t sound relieved by the prospect. Isn’t that just like a man? she thought, feeling a stirring of her sister’s suffragist sympathies. Wanting to have the cake and eat it, too.
“And besides,” Lionel went on, “going abroad isn’t possible for me. I’m a hardworking MP. I am,” he insisted as his friend made a sound of derision, “and Parliament is in session. I can’t go trotting off to the Continent.”
“Then your course is clear. You have to break with her.”
“Must I?” Lionel paused and sighed again. “Why can’t we just go on as we are for a bit, see where it leads us?”
“You can’t, I take it?”
“I made the suggestion, but she said she didn’t see the point. Since we love each other, she said, marriage is the only possible way forward.”
“Love?” Adonis’ voice was suddenly so hard and so sharp, that Clara was startled. Forgetting caution, she lifted her head and watched as he leaned forward, his perfect countenance suddenly grim. “You told her you love her?”
The palms beside Clara’s shoulder rustled, agitated by Lionel’s restless elbow as he wriggled like a guilty schoolboy. “May have done,” he muttered. “In the . . . umm . . . heat of the moment, as it were.”
His friend groaned and fell back again in his seat, impelling Clara to once again duck her head. “Of all the idiotic things to do,” he muttered. “During the twenty years we’ve known each other, has nothing I’ve told you about women penetrated your thick skull? Really, Lionel,” he added, sounding thoroughly exasperated, “you’re a hopeless business.”
“She said she loved me, and I just . . . I got caught up . . . oh, what does it matter? It’s too late for recriminations now. It’s not as if I can take the words back. So, what am I to do?”
“If you don’t want to break with her, and you don’t want to marry her, then your only course is to persuade her that what you have now is preferable to the other two alternatives,” he said, a reply that seemed to prove beyond doubt Clara’s earlier conclusion about men and their cake. “You’ll have to do it in a way that doesn’t make her feel you’re being dishonorable.”
But he is being dishonorable, Clara wanted to shout. And so are you for advising him to continue being so!
If Clara was tempted to give voice to her outrage, however, Lionel spoke before she had the chance.
“Just how am I supposed to accomplish that? It’s impossible.”
“Not impossible. It can be done. But to be honest, Lionel, I’m not sure you’re the sort who can carry it off.” He paused, and though she was not looking at him, Clara could just imagine those blue eyes giving his friend a dubious glance across the table. “It’s a tricky business.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“You’ll have to suggest breaking with her.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t want to do that.”
“I said you have to suggest it. You don’t have to actually do it. Knowing Dina, if you’re the one to suggest breaking it off, it won’t seem nearly as appealing to her.”
“Or she’ll think it sounds like a fine idea and drop me flat.”
“That’s why it’s important to go about it the right way. You need to take her hand, look deeply into her eyes, paste an expression of utter devastation on your face, and explain that marriage between the two of you is just not possible.”
“And what reason could I give?”
“The facts are reason enough. You haven’t means to support her.”
“That’s true. I’ve very little money of my own, and she knows it.”
“Remind her of that and suggest—gently—that perhaps the two of you should go your separate ways? You don’t want to do it, of course, because you’re wild about her, and you can’t sleep or eat for wanting her, and your nights with her are the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to you, but for her sake, you feel you must tear yourself away.”
At this self-serving diatribe camouflaged by noble self-sacrifice, Clara nearly bounded out of her chair, but she managed to refrain by curling her hands into tight fists on the table. Staring down at them, she wished suddenly that she were a man so she could call these scoundrels out and put her clenched fists to good use. Of all the outrageous speeches.
“I can’t say that,” Lionel protested as Clara worked to keep her temper in check. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Is it ridiculous? You want her, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You don’t want to let her go, do you?”
“No, of course I don’t. I’ve already told you so.”
“Then, unless you want to find yourself standing in the nearest parish church a few weeks from now, pl
edging your entire future and what little you have in the way of worldly goods to a woman you barely know, you’d better find the words to persuade her to an alternative that doesn’t mean farewell.”
“But even if I could manage to say all the things you suggest, how can I make it seem convincing?”
“I advise you to spend a night or two beforehand going without food and sleep. That will give you the appropriately ravaged appearance.”
“God,” Lionel choked, laughing a little. “You’re such a clever fellow.”
Unlike Lionel, Clara felt no inclination to laugh. By heaven, her blood was up. To think of that poor young woman being deceived so thoroughly and persuaded by such nefarious means to continue an illicit liaison—why, it was unbearable. To stand by as another woman clung to the hope of marriage when the man she loved had no intention or desire to offer it, was unconscionable. If people found out about her illicit affair, she would be disgraced and shamed. And if she became with child, she’d be beyond the pale, ruined forever, and the child would suffer the stigma of illegitimacy and shame.
Until now, Clara hadn’t had any idea of the devious depths to which some men could sink, but this conversation was providing her with a quick and brutal education. In her opinion, the young lady in question would be gaining a lucky escape if she walked away from this Lionel fellow now, before it was too late. As for his friend . . .
Clara took another peek at the man she’d likened to Adonis, and when she did, she found that the spell was broken. Though he was still every bit as good-looking now as he’d been a short while ago, she could no longer see him as some sort of golden, windblown god. All she saw was a deceitful cad who toyed with women and encouraged others to do the same.
Lionel spoke again, and Clara found that her indignation on this Dina’s behalf was not stronger than her curiosity. She leaned closer to the palm trees as he said, “Even if I can convince her I’m shattered by the idea of ending things, I don’t see what good it will do. What’s to stop her from simply agreeing with me and saying good-bye?”
The Trouble with True Love (Dear Lady Truelove #2) Page 2
