An Unsuitable Match

by Sasha Cottman

  Thaxter flinched and swore violently.

  As soon as he was freed from his padded gloves, David came over to the chair where Thaxter was sitting awkwardly. He offered his hand, as was customary, but it was refused.

  ‘I might box with bastards, but I don’t shake hands with them,’ came the bitter reply. He waved his hands at the saloon staff and demanded they remove his gloves.

  David shrugged his shoulders. ‘Please yourself, Fox. Oh, and Mr Smith, make sure you put a pint of good ale on my monthly chit for each of the lads who assisted with the bout today. They did a fine job.’

  He turned on his heel and quickly headed back to the change rooms to grab his jacket and coat. He had just on an hour to change clothes and make it to Hyde Park. A promise to Alex and Millie that he would join them for a walk this afternoon was a commitment he intended to keep. Considering how little he had seen of them outside of parties and balls since their wedding, he found himself looking forward to joining the crush of London’s elite for their daily promenade.

  ‘Next time I shall finish you off in the first round,’ he muttered as he stepped out into Bond Street and saw Thaxter Fox being assisted into a nearby hack.

  He flexed his fingers. ‘I didn’t think I hit him that hard,’ he muttered.

  His own carriage arrived as arranged and he climbed inside.

  Disappointed in himself for not having stayed the power of his punch, David threw himself back on to the leather padded seat. ‘Bloody hell!’ he bellowed, and sat forward, holding his left side. Searing pain took his breath away as it speared through his body.

  When finally he was able to calm his breathing and see straight, he pulled open the side of his jacket. There, he saw a slit about two inches long had been cut in the fabric of his shirt. Under the shirt was a small wound in the top of his hip.

  He had been stabbed.

  It took a moment for the reality to sink in. He dug his hand into the pocket of his coat and found his purse still intact. No street urchin had tried to knife him for his money as he left the saloon.

  ‘No, he couldn’t have,’ he whispered.

  He looked down once more at the wound in his side. Whatever had stabbed him was short and thin. Just enough to have been kept hidden within a boxing glove. He had not felt the knife penetrate his skin and very little blood had seeped from the puncture wound. Thaxter Fox was a man who knew how to wield a sly blade.

  Sitting forward on the bench seat as the carriage made its way the short distance to George Street, David pondered the reason for Thaxter Fox’s vicious assault on him.

  By the time he reached his rooms, he was on the verge of committing murder.

  The way Thaxter Fox had spoken so freely toward Clarice, and the obvious attention he had lavished on Lady Alice, all pointed to his having designs on Lord Langham’s daughter. And her dowry.

  David swore for a second time. Much as he had tried to deny it, Mr Fox, as the future earl, presented a far more suitable candidate for Clarice’s hand than he did. And by marrying his daughter off to his heir, Henry Langham ensured his own bloodline would be bound to the family title.

  David’s situation was worse than ever. Thaxter obviously viewed him as a threat. Someone who stood in the way of his plans to secure Clarice’s hand. Someone who had to be eliminated.

  Arriving back at George Street, David made the uncomfortable climb up the stairs to his suite. Once inside, he stripped off his jacket and shirt and examined the wound closely. Fortunately it had only cut through skin and muscle; the stroke had been superficial.

  He slowly ground his teeth together as he pondered the growing fear that permeated his mind. If Thaxter Fox was prepared to draw a knife on a member of the Duke of Strathmore’s family, what else was he capable of?

  Clarice was a vulnerable young woman. In the hands of someone like Thaxter, she might not survive.

  His valet Bailey, a man of many talents, was able to lightly stitch and then bind the wound. He offered to repair the shirt, but David refused. He hung it over a chair in his bedroom. It would be the first thing he saw when he woke in the morning and the last thing at night when he snuffed out the bedside candle.

  After Bailey left the room, David stood with his eyes closed, slowly opening and then tightly clenching his fists. He was in no mood to be exchanging pleasantries with Millie and Alex in Hyde Park. When he opened his eyes once more and looked at the shirt, his mind was set.

  War had been declared for the hand of Lady Clarice Langham, and there could only be one victor.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Clarice did as she had promised.

  As soon as she and Lady Alice returned home from their visit to Madame de Feuillide’s salon, she went upstairs to her bedroom and emptied the drawer of binding strips on to the floor.

  She stood for a moment, staring at the tightly bundled rolls. It had taken a level of bravery she did not realise she possessed to agree to give up the bindings. As she uttered the word yes to Madame de Feuillide, the little voice inside her head had been screaming no!

  Taking a deep breath, she bent down and scooped up the muslin bindings, quickly stuffing them into a calico bag before going in search of a footman. After handing the bag over and giving him instructions for their delivery, she went back upstairs to her room.

  She closed the door behind her and locked it.

  ‘I will remain forever in this half-life if I don’t free myself from them,’ she told herself.

  Placing a hand to her chest, she could feel her heart beating. Under her gown she wore the very last piece of muslin binding she would ever own. Tonight she would burn it and tomorrow she would be stripped of her armour.

  She clasped her hands together and, putting them to her lips, tried to stem the rising tide of panic that welled within.

  ‘I can do this, I can,’ she promised herself.

  A knock at the bedroom door distracted her from her anxiety. She unlocked the door and Lady Alice stepped inside. Immediately taking Clarice’s hand, she gave her granddaughter a warm smile.

  ‘I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am that you have finally decided to put your grief aside and rejoin society,’ Lady Alice said.

  Clarice blushed.

  ‘Did you enjoy our outing with the duchess and the girls? They certainly seemed to have a wonderful time. I like them all immensely, especially Lady Brooke. I hope that there are no remaining difficulties between the two of you.’

  ‘Millie and I are friends,’ Clarice reassured her.

  The afternoon at the modiste’s salon had been the most fun Clarice had had in a very long time. She certainly couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much.

  The truth was, she was more than happy that Alex had chosen the feisty, India-born Millie as his bride. While they had been lifelong friends, Clarice had never considered the Marquess of Brooke a serious prospect for marriage and was secretly relieved to have escaped marriage to him. Alex Radley was a bright and shining star; whomever he married was guaranteed to be the centre of attention, along with him. From the time she had spent with Millie, it was obvious to Clarice that Alex’s new bride was gifted with enough backbone to keep her husband in line.

  ‘Oh, and I have a surprise,’ Lady Alice said.

  ‘Yes?’

  Her grandmother smiled. ‘Madame promised to have at least one of your new gowns ready and delivered in time for Lady Brearley’s garden party. She had her seamstress cutting the fabric before we left. You will only have to wear your old gowns for a few days more; isn’t that wonderful?’

  Clarice nodded her agreement, because whether she wished it or not, once her new gowns arrived there would be no going back.

  ‘Oh, Lady Clarice, I cannot begin to tell you how beautiful you look in your new gown,’ Bella exclaimed. She stood back and with hands clasped, stared lovingly at the dress.

  The day gown had a simple rose-coloured bodice, edged with French lace at the top of the fitted bustline. While the cut of the
bustline was modest by current standards, it still displayed a great deal more flesh than Clarice had ever shown before.

  The striped skirt was a rose, white and green pattern finished off at the bottom with the same French lace as the bodice. The matching half boots were a deep rose with white laces, which Clarice took a moment to examine appreciatively before looking up to the mirror.

  She stared hard at the young woman who was reflected back at her.

  Who are you?

  Gone were the dull grey and lilac mourning dresses; in their place was a joy in colour.

  ‘I’m so pleased you have put your greys away; not that you won’t always miss Her Ladyship,’ Bella said.

  ‘Thank you, Bella,’ Clarice replied.

  The cut of the gown would permit the lightest binding of her breasts. She toyed with the tempting proposition momentarily before remembering the promise she had made to the modiste. Madame de Feuillide had thrown all the efforts of her salon into completing Clarice’s full order within a matter of days. Her side of the bargain had to be kept.

  She swallowed deeply. No longer with the protection of the muslin bindings, the world would finally begin to see the real Clarice Langham.

  At least it’s only my outer shell; the rest is still safe.

  She held a hand up to her décolletage and pressed her fingertips into the tops of her breasts. The only time she normally saw this much of her own flesh was in the bath.

  ‘You don’t think it shows too much?’

  Bella giggled. ‘I think it shows just enough, if you wish to be noticed.’

  ‘No!’ she cried.

  Bella stepped forward and took hold of Clarice’s hand. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  The relationship between the earl’s daughter and her maid was a close one. In the months following her mother’s death, it had been Bella who held Clarice through the long nights of tears.

  ‘Rest assured, Lady Clarice, Madame de Feuillide has a reputation for the best-cut cloth in London. She always dresses her clients on the respectable side of propriety; she would never send you out in a day gown that would bring your honour into question.’

  Clarice looked down. ‘It is only a garden party; perhaps I should save it for a more special occasion,’ she replied.

  A shiver of fear and excitement coursed down her spine. ‘What if he doesn’t like my new clothes? What if . . . oh,’ she muttered in frustration. She wriggled her fingers in an effort to calm herself down.

  Millie and Lucy had been very persuasive in their efforts to help her choose her new wardrobe. A second glass of champagne had weakened her already-faltering resolve and before she knew what she had done, she’d placed an extra order for five new day gowns. Her eager request to Lady Alice was met with immediate acquiescence.

  ‘Everyone will love your new gown; don’t worry,’ Bella replied.

  A knock at the door interrupted their discussion and Lady Alice entered.

  ‘Oh, my darling, that gown is perfect. You look so beautiful. So radiant,’ Lady Alice said, as a huge smile spread across her face.

  Bella raised her eyebrows and nodded at Clarice. Bella had spent the whole afternoon in a rapture of delight as she opened one after the other of the boxes of new gowns. As her maid had hung the last of the gowns in the wardrobe, Clarice caught Bella wiping away tears.

  A pile of her drab old gowns sat neatly in the corner of her room.

  ‘Doesn’t my granddaughter look divine?’ the dowager announced to the world in general. With a nod, she dismissed the maid, who made a discreet exit from the room, her arms full of the old gowns.

  Lady Alice walked across to where Clarice stood and kissed her cheek. ‘I am so happy you have given up your widow’s weeds, my dear. I was beginning to think you had resigned yourself to a life of drabness. The madame does wonders, does she not? Come, show me how you twirl; I want to see how well the skirt is cut.’

  Clarice twirled and found herself laughing. Joy filled her heart. The day was full of possibilities.

  ‘I cannot wait to see the look on a certain young man’s face when he sets eyes upon you today,’ Lady Alice said.

  Clarice looked pensively at the closed bedroom door. ‘You mean David?’ she whispered.

  Lady Alice continued to smile. ‘Of course. Though you may need to be discreet at the garden party; your father has suddenly decided to accompany us. Why is beyond me, as it’s not exactly the sort of function he normally attends. But since he is actually speaking to me once more I am hardly in a position to argue the point.’

  The warmth in Clarice’s heart rapidly cooled.

  With her father in attendance, she would have to stay near her grandmother and be on her best behaviour. It was at times like this she wished she had not been raised to be quite such a lady. That perhaps a small rude word of disappointment could find its way to her lips.

  ‘Bother,’ she replied.

  Lady Alice patted her gently on the arm. ‘Not to worry, my dear; I shall do my best to distract your father so you can spend time with your friends. Though you may wish to consider this as the perfect opportunity to get back into your father’s good books. Word has reached his ears that you have been spending time with the Radley girls in preference to your other friends. If he adds that piece of news to the fact that you danced with David, then you can see how things might look to him.’

  Clarice sighed.

  She had managed to avoid Susan Kirk and the Winchester sisters for the better part of a week, the pressing need to attend to her feeble grandmother being the best excuse she had had at her disposal for a long time. At some point she would have to resume her afternoon walks with them.

  ‘I shall be the perfect daughter this afternoon; Papa will have no reason to be displeased with me.’

  Lady Alice hugged her. ‘Just be very careful when it comes to your heart, Clarice. You have suffered enough pain for one so young, and believe me, a broken heart never fully mends.’

  For the first time in years Clarice was going out in public not dressed in mourning garb. With her breasts no longer bound, she felt naked and vulnerable. Before leaving she spent several minutes in the front entrance of Langham House fussing with the skirts of her new dress. Then her bonnet became unpinned from her hair and Bella had to find more pins.

  She was about to give up and go back to her room when her father appeared.

  ‘Clarice?’ the earl said.

  She spun and faced him as he reached the bottom of the grand staircase.

  ‘Yes?’ she replied.

  He stood for a moment, silently staring at her, entranced. Then he pulled a small cream object from his pocket and held it up to her gaze. It was her mother’s favourite cameo brooch. As he pinned it to her gown, she heard the tremor in his breath.

  ‘You look so much like her,’ he said.

  She searched his gaze. Gone was the hard countenance, the mask he always wore. In its place, she saw the lines of pain and grief etched into his skin. Her father aged before her eyes.

  Her eyes quickly moistened as she whispered, ‘Papa.’

  He reached into his jacket and, pulling out a white handkerchief, proceeded to wipe away her tears. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

  ‘I am so pleased you have taken Lady Alice’s advice and come fully out of mourning. Just remember to proceed slowly; you are still delicate.’

  She nodded. She was not going to argue with her father’s judgement. Today she would do exactly what her grandmother had said; she would be a perfect, dutiful daughter.

  With luck he would still feel the same happiness for her when he received the enormous bill from Madame de Feuillide.

  She handed the handkerchief back to her father.

  ‘Oh, and did I tell you Mr Fox will also be in attendance this afternoon? I managed to secure him a late invitation,’ her father said.

  ‘I see,’ she replied. The fact that her father had even bothered to mention Thaxter Fox did not bode well, but she was loath to spoil t
his special moment.

  ‘I was hoping you would spend some time with him this afternoon. Perhaps share a spot of luncheon with him. He is new to society and knows few people. As he is the future of the Langham title, I am counting on you to assist him in gaining a foothold.’

  Keeping to the promise she had made, Clarice respectfully replied, ‘Yes, Papa.’

  A short time later, with her bonnet and hair arranged, Clarice took her father’s arm and walked out into the warmth of a summer’s afternoon.

  The earl made his excuses not long after they arrived at Lady Brearley’s party. A select group of older gentlemen was slowly making its way upstairs to the private rooms of the host. Clarice waved her father farewell.

  ‘Cigars, whisky and billiards,’ Lady Alice remarked as they both watched the earl ascend the stairs. ‘Your luck must have changed; I expect we won’t see him again until shortly before the party ends.’

  Clarice smiled. With her father otherwise occupied, her hopes of spending time with Lucy and perhaps one or two other members of the Radley family rose.

  ‘Clarice?’ said a voice to her right.

  She turned and was met with the sight of Lady Susan Kirk and her cousins. While Susan had at times a modicum of decorum, her two cousins were as socially inept as could be. Daisy and Heather, true to form, were giggling and whispering behind their hands.

  Do those two ever stop?

  ‘So you have finally stopped dressing like something out of a graveyard,’ Susan sniffed, as she looked Clarice up and down.

  Clarice’s heart sank. She had not been in Susan’s company for a number of days, and it was clear her absence had been taken as a personal slight. A twinge of guilt reminded her that she had abandoned Susan to days alone with the giggling misses. She looked from her friends to her grandmother and back again.

  ‘Susan, I am so pleased to see you. I told Papa how eager I was to show you my new clothes; he said he knew you would approve. With any luck you will be able to say hello to him before we leave. He headed upstairs with your father not long ago.’