An Unsuitable Match

by Sasha Cottman

  ‘Oh, poor thing. It was fortunate you were on hand to come to her aid. Twice this evening you have been a hero.’

  Their gazes met and they silently stared at one another. There was nothing he could think of to say that would improve the situation.

  ‘Would you please take me back to my father?’ Clarice said, as she finally broke her gaze.

  She took hold of David’s arm and they began the long walk back around the room to where Lord Langham waited.

  David’s evening was beginning a slow slide downward into failure. Clarice’s face had shown only the merest flicker of emotion as he’d brazenly lied to her, but it was enough to know she didn’t believe his tale. He sensed she could have stood and stared him down for a great deal longer.

  ‘Will you take supper with me?’ he asked. Lucy had always told him food was a good, safe way to salvage a poorly handled conversation with a young lady. He glanced over at Clarice as she walked beside him and saw her shake her head.

  ‘Thank you, no; I see my friend Lady Susan Kirk has arrived and I must spend some time with her. I thank you for returning me from the dance floor, but I’m afraid I cannot keep you from mingling with the other guests any longer.’

  Lord and Lady Kirk and their daughter were engaged in a pleasant exchange with Lord Langham when David finally brought Clarice around to the other side of the ballroom. He gave the required bow of respect to the Earl and Viscount, to which Lord Langham and Lord Kirk gave him a curt nod of the head. In normal circumstances, both men barely acknowledged his existence.

  Devil take the pair of you.

  David knew full well they had only acknowledged him because they were standing in the ballroom of Strathmore House.

  As Clarice let go of his arm and took hold of Susan’s hands in greeting, he saw Lady Susan give him her customary glare of disapproval.

  ‘You didn’t dance with him?’ Susan whispered to Clarice, but loudly enough for David to hear.

  He smiled back at Susan, silently congratulating himself for not having taken the bait.

  You think you are the first to snub me in public? I shall remember this moment when the best you can manage on the marriage mart is the sixth son of a penniless baron. Lord knows no man with any means would want to bind himself to such a shrew.

  ‘My sister hurt her back on the dance floor; I was simply ensuring Lady Clarice was returned safely to her father,’ he replied, dampening down the anger that welled up inside him.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said. He gave a deep bow to the women and left.

  Sucking hard breaths into his lungs, he sought out the nearest footman he could find with a tray of drinks. He reached for a glass of whisky, but stopped when he saw his fist was still tightly clenched.

  He waved the footman away. While his own evening had reached an unsatisfactory point, he was determined not to fall into the trap of throwing liquor down his throat. This was Alex and Millie’s celebration; he would not spoil it for them by getting blind drunk.

  His personal creed dictated that while drink was for merriment, a sober mind was required to control a burning rage. Taking one long look around the ballroom, full of the cream of London society, he quietly scolded himself. As a member of the host family, he was being remiss in his duties. There were stories to tell and laughs to be had. If Lord Langham and his friends were not interested in sharing his company, there were plenty of others present who were more than willing.

  He spied his cousin Bartholomew, close by among a group of guests. With a bawdy jest ready on his lips, he headed for his prey.

  ‘I cannot believe you actually let him hold your hand,’ Lady Susan sneered. The look of disgust on her face made Clarice’s stomach turn. ‘If it were me, I would have left him standing on the dance floor. His kind deserves no better.’

  Why Susan held David in such low regard, Clarice had never truly understood. At first she thought it was because he showed not the slightest bit of interest in Susan, but eventually she had concluded that being able to look down upon anyone made Susan feel superior.

  She had hoped Lady Susan Kirk, the friend her father had foisted upon her, would not be in attendance this evening, but her luck had not held. With Lord Kirk rumoured to have lost a fortune in a recent bad investment, it was clear his daughter was set on securing the hand of the first suitable man who offered it to her. Large society gatherings were the perfect hunting ground for prospective spouses.

  ‘Mr Radley was simply being a gentleman; he stepped in when Lady Lucy came over all faint,’ Clarice replied.

  Susan raised an eyebrow.

  From where Clarice stood in the heated crush of the enormous summer ballroom, she could just make out the familiar form of David as he worked his way around the room. At every group of guests, he would stop and make small talk, always leaving the other guests smiling.

  The current cluster of guests, she observed, was standing with their eyes wide open as David held court. They all fell silent for an instant, before a loud whoop of laughter rose from the group, followed by an appreciative round of applause. David gave them a bow worthy of a stage performer.

  ‘Charmer,’ she whispered.

  ‘Pardon?’ Susan replied.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Susan let out a loud tsk. ‘You really are a bit of a wet blanket this evening, Clarice, dear. Anyone would think you had other matters on your mind. I do worry sometimes as to what goes on in your head. Personally, I think it’s because you read too many books.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Clarice murmured, her gaze still firmly fixed on a certain dark-haired gentleman.

  The beads of Susan’s oversized reticule brushed against Clarice’s arm. Clarice turned in surprise, but found Susan had suddenly and rather conveniently turned her head away.

  Did she just hit me?

  Clarice looked down at the ugly, heavily beaded bag, but decided against making any comment. Susan was never one for subtlety, whether in her dress or her manners.

  ‘Will you partake of supper with me?’ she ventured. The last thing she needed was to put Susan in a bad mood. In keeping with the spirit of the evening, she would endeavour to keep the peace.

  Susan looked back to Clarice and acknowledged her assent.

  ‘I still don’t understand why you didn’t press Lord Brooke into marrying you; he would have had little choice if you did. This evening could have been your wedding celebration, Clarice, and one day you would have been mistress of this house. You could have had all this,’ Susan said with an expansive wave of her hand. ‘Instead you let him marry that foreign-born girl. For heaven’s sake, Clarice, she has a ring in her nose!’

  Clarice chanced one last look across the room to where David stood, before falling in step with Susan as they headed to the supper room.

  ‘You know full well why I didn’t force him. Alex sent a love letter to the wrong girl; he shouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life being punished for making such a mistake. He loves Millie and they are happy. I for one am more than content with the outcome,’ Clarice replied.

  At no point was she going to mention the fact that she now knew it had been David who wrote the letter for his prose-challenged brother. Nor that David had used Clarice as his muse.

  Susan huffed in obvious disgust.

  While Clarice was relieved that the situation with Alex was now resolved, matters with David had become far more complicated. He had lied to her this evening, and she didn’t understand why.

  Or why it had caused her such pain.

  The supper room was a cornucopia of edible delicacies. The tables were laden with all manner of pies, cakes and sweet ices. Clarice’s eyes grew wide at the sight. With all the courses she had sat through at dinner, she doubted there was room in her stomach for more than the merest of bites.

  She picked up a small chicken pie, and stood nibbling on it while Susan piled her own plate high with food.

  ‘Mama has put me on a strict diet at home. I get soup for supper and very little for the rest
of the day,’ Susan complained. She took a seat next to Clarice in the far corner of the room.

  Clarice vacantly nodded her head. She hadn’t actually heard a word Susan had said since they left the main ballroom, but the occasional nod was always safe while she pretended to pay attention to her friend.

  He can’t actually think anything can come of this, can he? Only a very brave man or a fool would take on my father.

  ‘He wouldn’t, would he?’ she muttered.

  Susan stood, turned and shoved her plate of half-eaten supper into Clarice’s hands.

  ‘I don’t know what has got into you this evening, Clarice, but you are being exceptionally rude. I suppose you think yourself better than me because you received an invitation to the private dinner, but . . .’ she leaned in close to Clarice, her face red with anger. ‘Don’t think for a moment that your presence at the dinner was anything more than an act of forgiveness. Lord and Lady Strathmore know Alex made a fool of you and your father. They are simply trying to smooth things over and hope that everyone forgets that ugly scene at the Bishop’s ball. Though I doubt anyone will ever forget the exhibition you made of yourself. Your poor father was so embarrassed.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Clarice stammered. She knew her friend’s short temper well, having witnessed it on a regular basis. But this was the first time she had been on the receiving end of Susan’s sharp tongue, and it was far more unpleasant than she had anticipated.

  Susan angrily wagged a finger at her.

  ‘No, you are the one who does not understand how ridiculous you are at times. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the Radley family were all laughing at your expense. Who knows what they say about you behind your back. I hope that next time we meet, you will have the good sense to remember who your real friends are, as opposed to those who are only using you to achieve their own ends. Good night, Clarice.’

  She stormed off, leaving Clarice sitting alone, still holding the plate. She studied an untouched smoked-salmon sandwich for a moment, before picking it up and stuffing it into her mouth.

  She yawned and lay her head back against the wall, praying that her father would not want to stay too long at the ball.

  What a mess.

  Early the following morning, David climbed into his carriage and made the short journey to his new rooms in George Street.

  It had been a long night of speeches and toasts. Watching the smiles on Millie and Alex’s faces as they waltzed for the first time as a married couple had filled him with a mixture of both joy and jealousy.

  ‘Good to see you safely returned, sir; I hope the celebrations went well,’ his valet, Bailey, remarked as David stepped inside the front entrance of his new home. It was odd to have servants all to himself.

  He and Alex had only shared their house in Bird Street for less than a year, but in the days since his move, David had found himself mourning the loss of his old home.

  The Duke of Strathmore had thrown his two eldest sons out of Strathmore House the previous summer. ‘You two have taken the term drunk as a lord to its fullest extent and it is time you both grew up and found something else to do with your time. You may even consider taking on a wife,’ their father said. As he gave this lecture, he was standing over David and Alex as they both lay in an inebriated state on the cold tiles inside the front entrance to Strathmore House.

  Within hours the duke had both David and Alex and their possessions packed and their abode adjusted to a tall, elegant townhouse in Bird Street. After the initial complaints over such mistreatment, the Radley brothers soon discovered the delights of having their own house. They could come and go as they pleased and do whatever they wanted without being under their father’s watchful eye.

  For the first few weeks it was all a great lark. Wild parties, drunken orgies and uninterrupted sleep on the tiles of their own front hallway. But boredom and their father’s threats to cut them off soon put paid to the frivolity the brothers enjoyed.

  ‘Yes, thank you; it was a wonderful evening. Though there is something nice about coming home to your own place, however late it might be,’ he replied, as Bailey took his coat and gloves.

  A short time later he was standing, leaning on the back of a chair, staring at the gilded mirror that hung on the wall between the windows of his bedroom. He gave a dejected sigh.

  Last night he had held Clarice’s hand within his own. It was the closest he had been in the years since she had become an adult. Though cotton gloves still kept skin from heated skin, to him it had been nothing less than divine.

  The reflection that stared back at him reminded him that he shared a father as his siblings, but not a mother. He rubbed his fingers across the dark stubble on his chin. All his brothers and sisters had the fair looks of Lady Caroline Radley, while David had the dark colouring of his long-dead mother.

  He closed his eyes, recalling the sheer terror he had felt when he saw Clarice choking on her food. The seconds it took for him to race around the end of the table and come to her aid had passed in a blur. All he could think of at that moment was how much he truly cared for her. That she was about to die and he had never had the chance to tell her to her face that he loved her.

  He might have saved her life, but she was still unwilling to defy her father. By the time he’d escorted Clarice back to her father’s side, he was back to his usual status with Lord Langham’s only daughter.

  Nowhere.

  He slowly began to unbutton his shirt. He thought using a valet to assist him in undressing to be unmanly and odd. The only people he was comfortable with touching his naked form were himself and his lovers.

  In the months since he’d penned his letter of devotion, there had been no-one else in his bed. Clarice now knew how he felt about her, and he was determined to make her his wife. The prospect of a new lover no longer held any appeal. Until he could secure Clarice’s hand he would simply have to endure long, lonely nights of sexual frustration.

  ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered.

  What would it take for Clarice to be the one touching him with her light, feminine fingers?

  ‘A bloody miracle is what it would take,’ he muttered to himself as he settled beneath the sheets. As he slid slowly into sleep, one thought continued to echo in his mind.

  There had to be a way.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was well past midnight before Clarice also made it home. Her father had spent the evening smoothing over so many cracks with the rest of London society that they ended up staying far later than intended.

  Clarice managed to hide for some of that time in the ladies’ retiring room and then the Strathmore family library before her father sent a maid to find his elusive daughter.

  Only when the Duchess of Strathmore yawned a third time did Clarice manage to persuade her father to take his leave.

  ‘I do hope you are not too tired from such a late night out, my dear; I know your nerves can become frayed if you over exert yourself,’ her father said as he escorted her up the stairs and into the front entrance of Langham House.

  ‘No, I am fine, thank you; the evening was a delight. I had a most enjoyable time. Dinner was wonderful,’ she replied.

  Her father didn’t need to be told anything else of her evening, or of the falling-out with Lady Susan; his spies no doubt would have apprised him of every detail of Clarice’s movements.

  ‘Clarice?’

  ‘Yes, Papa?’

  ‘I saw how closely David Radley watched you during the evening. But I am pleased to see you did as I instructed. For a moment I thought he was going to take his father’s place with you during the waltz.’

  Clarice shook her head.

  ‘Good. It would have made the rest of the evening rather difficult if I had been forced to intervene.’

  ‘May I please retire to bed now? I feel a headache coming on,’ she replied.

  ‘Of course, my dear, good night,’ her father replied, and brushed a kiss on her cheek.

  As soon
as she reached her bedroom, Clarice woke her maid, who was dozing in a fireside chair.

  ‘Go to bed, Bella, I shall deal with my hair myself. You shouldn’t have waited up for me, especially with such a terrible cold as you have. Go and get some rest. Good night.’

  She quickly ushered the bleary-eyed maid out of her bedroom and locked the door behind her. Leaning back against the door, she closed her eyes.

  The sound of the orchestra flooded back into her mind, but this time she was held safely within David’s strong arms as he spun her around the dance floor. Other guests observed how smart a couple they made, how well they were suited.

  The words of his letter crept back into her mind:

  Your hand held in mine, willingly given in trust and love.

  ‘Oh, David, all these years and I never saw it,’ she whispered.

  Throughout the evening he had shadowed her every step. More than once she had sought him out across the crowded room, only to find him staring at her, a hopeful smile on his face.

  ‘Oh, what am I to do?’ she said, toeing off her slippers.

  While this evening had removed all doubt that David had written the letter, in its place now stood confusion and concern. If he truly loved her, then why had he allowed Mrs Chaplin to flirt so openly with him? There had been more than a hint of possessiveness in the way she’d touched his body. Clarice was certain he had lied when she asked him about the undersecretary’s wife.

  She rubbed her tired eyes and tried to forget about the evening’s events. Nothing could come of it, and David was a fool if he thought otherwise.

  Taking a seat at her dressing table, she began to methodically pull the pins out from her chignon. Each was placed neatly in a small box on her dressing table. As her pale golden hair fell to her shoulders, she sat and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hairstyle was not in the latest of fashions, and neither for that matter were her clothes.

  In the three years since her mother’s death, Clarice had slowly progressed from wearing high-necked black mourning gowns to dark lavender ones. The last time she had worn white was the morning her mother died. When she was finished removing the pins and brushing out her hair, she stood.