A Match for Mother

by Mona Gedney, Kathryn Kirkwood, Regina Scott

  “Yes, indeed. All eyes will be upon you.” Lady Bollinger also rose to her feet. She pressed Claire’s hand in farewell and regarded her with a smile. “We are friends, then?”

  “We are most certainly, Marcella.” Claire returned her smile.

  Once Claire had been ushered from Lady Bollinger’s mansion and had gained the privacy of her carriage, her smile was replaced by a frown. She did not like to deceive Lady Bollinger for she had found she liked her immensely. Still puzzling over why Marcella had believed her to be in love with her nephew, Claire ordered her coachman to spring the horses and leaned back against the squabs to consider with care each nuance of the conversation that they had enjoyed.

  When Claire arrived at her rented town house, she was no closer to an answer than when she had left Marcella’s side. She hurried to her chamber, rang for her dresser, and sank down, exhausted, on the edge of her bed. Though she attempted to turn her thoughts in another direction, the question still plagued her. Why had Marcella believed her to be in love with John?

  The next hour was a whirlwind of frantic activity. A hip bath was ordered, Claire chose the gown that she wished to wear, and her dresser rushed to gather her accessories. Once Claire had availed herself of the scented water, she sat down at her dressing table so that her hair could be properly arranged. When this task was accomplished, she was assisted into her gown, and the exquisite pendant that John had given her that very afternoon was clasped round her neck. Within the space of an hour, Claire was descending the staircase armed with her favorite pair of gloves, the ivory fan that her brother-in-law had brought to her from Asia, and the lovely cashmere shawl that had belonged to her mother.

  Since Willow was not yet dressed, Claire seated herself in the drawing room to await John’s arrival. As she sat quietly, perched on the edge of a chair so that she should not wrinkle the skirts of her blue satin gown, she realized that her heart was beating much more rapidly than was normal. The very thought of seeing John again filled her with a most delightful anticipation.

  With no intention of doing so, Claire’s thoughts turned to the kiss that they had shared in her sitting room. She could not help but remember the strength of his arms as he had held her, and she shivered slightly as she recalled how his heated lips had etched a blazing trail down the softness of her neck. She sighed in longing as she remembered the touch of his fingers upon her skin and how he had loosened the fasteners of her bodice to touch her smooth, feminine flesh. She had thought that simple passion had caused her knees to go weak and all thoughts to flee from her mind, but now she was not so certain. Could Marcella be right? Was she truly in love with John?

  John frowned as his carriage rounded the corner of Half Moon Street. He should arrive at Claire’s town house in very short order, and he found that he was eager to see her again. The kiss they had shared in her sitting room had left him shaken, and as he had dressed for their evening together, he had cautioned himself most severely. He must not kiss her again. He could not even go so far as to raise her lovely hand to his lips. His feelings for Claire had grown so volatile, he could not trust himself to behave in a manner that befitted a gentleman.

  What was it about Claire that so intrigued him? John considered what little he knew of her. She was both gracious and charming, that was quite evident, and her generosity was unequaled in the character of any other lady that he had previously met. She had saved him from scandal without a thought for herself. And even if she had taken the time to assess the consequences of her rash action, John was certain that she should still have come to his aid.

  He could find no fault with her humor. Indeed, it was delightful. Claire knew how to laugh without the slightest embarrassment, and she seemed not to care a button if her eyes streamed with mirth or her peals were heard across the room. Unlike most ladies, she did not take offense if the joke was aimed at her. Claire’s marvelous spontaneity and fine sense of the absurd perfectly matched his.

  Added to the mix was the fact that Claire was lovely. She was not a classic beauty in any sense of the word. Her mouth was slightly too generous to be perfect and her figure was a shade too thin. But her nose was straight and perfectly formed and her ears resembled nothing so much as the delicate pink shells that could be gathered on the beaches of his mother’s homeland. Her chin was small and firm, with just a hint of stubbornness, and her movements were graceful and agile. Her green eyes were so luminous he could lose himself in their depths, and her hair was a shining curtain of spun gold.

  John pictured her golden tresses spread out on his pillow and he groaned softly, deep in his throat. He knew that he could seduce her if he wished. She had confessed as much this very afternoon when she had fallen captive to his ardor. If any other lady had declared herself so boldly, John should have suspected her character. But he had no doubt that Claire was virtuous and he was certain that she should allow this pleasure to no other gentleman.

  Was it possible that this pattern card of his perfect match had somehow come to love him? John was not certain, but the very thought caused his hands to shake. She was all that he could have wished for in a wife, and more.

  John began to smile as he remembered the near disaster in her sitting room and how she had cleverly covered her dishabille with the tall stack of books. He had not dared to gaze at her for fear he would chortle with laughter. Claire was quick-minded and resourceful, another aspect of her character that he found most pleasing. Was there anything about her that did not please him?

  The carriage stopped and John drew back the curtain to see that they had arrived at Claire’s town house. Though it was a charming little place, quite adequate for a widow and her grown daughter, he wondered if Claire ever had cause to long for a larger and grander home. He should like to show her Sommerset Park. He was certain that she would delight in the fine Tudor architecture that made up the west wing, and glory in the soaring cathedral ceilings of the grand hall. The ancient ruins to the east would please her immensely, and he chuckled as he imagined her armed with a shovel, digging up the earth for the treasures that some believed were buried beneath the crumbling stones.

  Claire would also be partial to the castle, though it was drafty and ancient. It had a sense of history that more than compensated for its lack of modern convenience. Perhaps they could spend the summers there, and winter at one of the more commodious of his estates. If Claire so desired, they could even reopen Sommerset House, his father’s town mansion. It should have to be thoroughly renovated and decorated, but Claire might welcome the opportunity to exhibit her exquisite taste.

  Where would Claire choose to live? John considered the question for a moment, but he could not be certain which of his estates should please her the most. Once they were married, he would take her on a tour of all his properties and leave the choice to her.

  Instructing his coachman to wait, John jumped smartly from his carriage and hurried up the walk to Claire’s door.

  It was only after his arrival had been announced, and he was following Jennings to the drawing room, that he remembered his engagement to Claire was only a sham.

  SIX

  Claire smiled softly and shifted her position slightly so that she was able to gaze out the tall windows of the library at the darkened gardens. She had been closeted here for upwards of an hour and though her duties as Willow’s mother were clear, she found that she could not seem to concentrate on the marriage agreements that Philip’s solicitor was attempting so earnestly to explain. She was lost in contemplation of the exciting pleasures that she had enjoyed with John during the past fortnight and the details of Willow’s marriage agreement seemed as dull as dust in comparison.

  On the evening following their unexpected engagement, they had attended the opera, a superb production that should have delighted Claire’s senses had her attentions not been thoroughly diverted by John’s presence beside her in the box. Not even the play that followed, The Farmer’s Return, with David Garrick, had served to claim her interest for more
than a few brief moments. She had found herself instead observing John’s strong profile and recalling the passion that they had shared in her small sitting room.

  In the days that followed, John had arrived each day to introduce her to the varied delights of the city. They had spent an entire afternoon shopping, an activity that John, unlike most gentlemen of Claire’s acquaintance, had appeared to enjoy. Claire had purchased a fine length of muslin and trimmings at Grafton’s, a lovely china bowl from Wedgewood’s shop, and tea from Twinings. In Gray’s, the jewelers on Sackville Street, Claire had admired an exquisite cameo brooch. It had been far too dear and she had departed without making the purchase, but John had arrived the very next day to make her a present of it.

  In the company of both Philip and Willow, they had enjoyed the horse-riding display at Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre. They had also perused the exhibitions at the Liverpool Museum and the British Gallery, where they had discovered that their tastes in art were remarkably similar. There had been several walks in Kensington Gardens and a marvelous evening spent at Vauxhall pleasure gardens, where they had rubbed shoulders with the general populace. They had feasted on the thin slices of ham that had become so famous and amused themselves by observing the varied groups of revelers that had strolled by the open box that John had acquired for them. Though the vocal concert had not been as excellent as Claire had been led to believe, the tightrope artist had been daring indeed, and both Willow and Claire had been exceedingly delighted with the fireworks display.

  Once John had found that both Claire and her daughter enjoyed riding, he had provided superb mounts for them so that they could explore Ladies’ Mile in Hyde Park. They had also taken part in the Promenade, Claire in John’s curricle and Willow in Philip’s, and all four of them had spent one entire day in John’s well-appointed coach, traveling from one point of interest to the next. But though Claire had found these amusements most pleasurable, she had enjoyed even more the time that she had spent conversing with John, learning of his interests and his preferences, and sharing similar confidences of her own.

  Most pleasurable of all had been the time that they had spent in private; Claire was put to the blush as she remembered the sweet, stolen moments that they had shared. John’s lips had claimed hers more times than she could count and they had achieved an intimacy that should have been most improper had they not been engaged. It was while she was in the midst of one such recollection that Claire became aware of the lack of conversation around her. When she turned to glance at Philip and his solicitor, Mr. Watkins, she found them both regarding her with amusement.

  “I see that you have returned to us, Lady Radcliffe.” Mr. Watkins cleared his throat. “Is the settlement, thus far, to your satisfaction?”

  Claire nodded quickly. “I am certain that it is. And I apologize to the both of you. I fear I have been wool-gathering and not giving this matter the attention it deserves.”

  “Your behavior is quite understandable, given the circumstances,” Philip was quick to reassure her, and then turned to his solicitor with a smile. “Lady Radcliffe is also engaged to be married.”

  “My felicitations, madame.” Mr. Watkins gave a slight nod. “When will this happy event occur?”

  “We have not as yet set a date, Mr. Watkins.” Claire repressed a sigh of longing. If only her engagement to John should truly end in marriage, she would be the happiest woman in all of England.

  “Is there any of this agreement that you should like Mr. Watkins to further explain?” Philip looked a bit anxious and Claire knew he was eager to have the matter settled so he could spend the remainder of the evening with Willow.

  “No, dear Philip.” Claire smiled as she shook her head. “You have my full approval.”

  It did not take long to conclude their business and once Mr. Watkins had taken his leave, Claire rang for the tea tray. “I shall leave you now, Philip. I am certain that Willow is hovering anxiously in the hall and I shall send her to join you.”

  “Thank you.” Philip nodded, a smile turning up the corners of his lips. “It is a fair agreement, you know, even if you did not hear the details.”

  Claire returned his smile. “I would expect no less, dear Philip, as you are Willow’s perfect match.”

  “And she is mine.” Philip responded quickly. “I am most eager to marry her and settle in at our estate. Perhaps you and Sommerset will agree to join us for a sojourn in the country when you return from your wedding journey?”

  “Perhaps. I shall be sure to mention it to him. Your invitation is most kind.”

  Claire turned and hastened to the door so that Philip could not see the tears that sprang to her eyes. There would be no wedding journey with John. She had promised to cry off, once the gossip had diminished, and she could not break her vow.

  Once Claire had sent Willow to join Philip in the library, she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. An hour remained before she should see John again, and she was anticipating his arrival with pleasure. Only one thing was lacking in her engagement to John: Claire fervently wished that she could take back her promise and truly become his wife.

  John sighed as he glanced at the clock that sat atop the mantel in Brooks’s Circulation Room. It was eight in the evening and he could not join Claire until another hour had passed. No doubt she was still closeted with Ralston’s solicitor in her library, mulling over the terms of Willow’s marriage agreement. He had offered her the services of his own highly regarded solicitor, thinking to set the two lawyers together to accomplish the deed and spare Claire from the tedium. But though Claire had thanked him most sincerely for his offer, she had insisted that it was her duty to her daughter to accomplish the task herself.

  He had arrived at Brooks’s at four-thirty and had enjoyed a solitary dinner of marrowbones, accompanied by a fine glass of claret whose vintage had pre-dated his birth. At the conclusion of his dinner, John had adjourned to the Circulation Room, where he had requested a snifter of brandy and chosen an excellent cigar from the humidor. Ensconced in an armchair well away from any other members who might choose to intrude upon his privacy, he had perused the London papers until he had exhausted the club’s ample supply. He had then spent the better part of an hour gazing alternately at the vaulted ceiling, the splendid chandelier, and the clock whose hands did not move rapidly enough to suit him.

  John’s father had joined the prestigious gentlemen’s club when it had opened its doors in Pall Mall, in 1764. He had assisted Brooks in moving to the present site in 1778, and John had found a most interesting rhyme among his father’s papers, concerning the founder’s generosity to members in debt. It was a copy of a verse that had been sent to Brinsley Sheridan, himself the author of several witty comedies, A School For Scandal among them. John had found the verse so engaging, he had committed it to memory as it captured all that his father had told him of Brooks.

  Liberal Brooks, whose speculative skill

  Is hasty credit and a distant bill,

  Who, nursed in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade,

  Exults to trust and blushes to be paid.

  Richard Brinsley Sheridan was also a member of Brooks’s, though John’s father had confessed that his election had been havey-cavey. A close friend of the Prince Regent, Sheridan had been put up for membership several times, only to be consistently blackballed by George Selwyn and the Earl of Bessborough. John’s father had himself helped to hatch the stratagem that had gained Sheridan membership, and he had recounted the details to his son.

  The plan had been set into motion on an evening when Sheridan’s name should again be put forward. Shortly before the members were to vote on the candidates, a message had been delivered to Bessborough, stating that his house was on fire. After that gentleman had effected a hasty departure, Sheridan had arrived, arm in arm with the Regent. Sheridan had been shown into the waiting room for candidates and shortly thereafter, his arch enemy Selwyn had been told that the Regent desired a word with him. Once Selwyn had departed to
answer the Regent’s summons, the vote had been taken and Sheridan had been admitted quite handily.

  Reviewing the history of his club did not hold John’s interest for long. Thoughts of Claire took possession of his mind and he sighed deeply as he remembered the way that her generous lips had parted so eagerly when he had kissed her. She desired him completely, he was certain of that, and John had found it increasingly difficult to deny the passion that took hold of them both when they were together. Only a sennight remained until their engagement ball and John was on the verge of asking Claire to make their engagement real. They were perfectly suited and he truly desired to make her his countess.

  She would agree, of that John was convinced. Claire was not the type to engage in feminine wiles and her response to his affections was honest and forthright. It was clear that she loved him, and he loved her in return. There was no reason why they could not marry and enjoy a lifetime of connubial bliss. He would declare himself tonight and propose that they plan a double wedding with Willow and Ralston. Though Claire’s daughter and her fiancé had objected to his attentions at the onset, he had won their respect and it was readily apparent that they had come to regard him as a suitable match for Claire.

  John’s musings were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway. He leaned slightly to the side and saw that two gentlemen had paused at the open doorway, their features hidden by the shadows. Thinking to discourage anything from intruding upon his privacy, John settled back into the cushions, well out of sight.

  “You were right. There is no one here at this hour.” The first gentleman spoke so softly, John had to strain to hear him.