“I have a little, you will remember.”
Understanding flashed in Sarah’s eyes. “Ah. So that is why you cannot let this rest. But please, for me, will you be very, very careful? And I should feel much better if you would consult Nicholas about this.”
“Englemere? He’d either laugh, or frown me down in the particularly irritating way he has and tell me to mind my own business.”
“I don’t think so. Really, Clare, you must admit I know him better than you! He will find this of grave concern, and he can advise you much better than I.”
“Oh, Sarah, Englemere and I have never rubbed well together. He only tolerates me for your sake.”
“Nonsense, Clare, he’s very fond of you.” At Clarissa’s look of patent disbelief, Sarah added, “It’s been some years since your broken engagement. You’ve both grown beyond that.”
The mention of engagements brought her sorrow, never pushed very far out of mind, rushing back. Yes, she and Englemere had both quickly recovered from their ill-advised betrothal. Why should they not, since neither’s heart had been engaged? She was painfully certain she would never get over the colonel.
Her inner distress must have been mirrored in her face, for her too-perceptive friend widened her eyes in concern and seized Clarissa’s hand. “What is it, Clare? What’s wrong?”
The desire to be stoic and strong warred with a cresting tide of misery. Weary of trying to stem it, Clarissa let the wave wash through her, filling her once again with desolation and bringing weak, despicable tears to her eyes.
She managed to produce a wobbly smile. “N-nothing of importance, really. It’s just I’m terribly afraid I’ve gone and done something s-stupid.”
“Nothing you and I together cannot mend. Haven’t we always managed to fix everything?”
Tears came in earnest now. “I d-don’t think anyone can f-fix this. It’s…it’s your f-friend Sinjin.”
Sarah paled. “What about Sinjin? He’s not injured!”
“N-no. The sh-shoe is rather on the other foot.” Clarissa fisted away the tears and took a huge gulp of air. “You see…Sarah, are you all right?”
Perhaps Sarah suspected what Clarissa was about to confess, for her friend had gone linen-white. She brought one trembling hand to her lips. “I’m fine. Please, continue.”
Clarissa still wasn’t sure it was wise to tell Sarah everything, but having confessed this much, she could hardly turn evasive now. “’Tis sheer idiocy, I know, given his opinion of me, but I rather think I’ve, well, fallen in love with Sinjin.” She said the last words in a rush.
Sarah lurched past her, seized the china pitcher on the dressing table, and cast up her accounts.
“S-sorry!” Sarah gasped a moment later, wiping a handkerchief against her brow. “The sickness comes and goes at odd times. A child is a joy indeed, but the business of making one is sometimes less than pleasant.”
Wretched as she felt, Clarissa had to laugh. She poured her friend a glass of water and waited for her to sip it. “Better now?”
“Better. And I’m so sorry. You were—”
“Confessing my heart has been broken for all time, which moved you to vomit. That’s Englemere’s brat you’re carrying for sure.”
“Rubbish. Clare, you’re much too severe with poor Nicholas. He is all sympathy and concern,” Sarah protested. Ignoring Clarissa’s unladylike snort, she continued, “So you think you love Sinjin. And I take it by your distress you do not feel he returns your regard?”
Clarissa laughed again, this time without humor. “Returns it? Recall he is the one who found me that night at Covent Garden! He thinks me vain, rash and spoiled. We cannot seem to have a single conversation that does not end with us snarling at each other.”
“And yet you believe you love him?”
Clarissa sighed. “I surely hope I’m wrong. But as much as he aggravates me, I cannot help admiring him. To the point that he so invades my thoughts I can scarce concentrate on anything else. And when I see him, even though I know he doesn’t approve of me, even though I know we’ll likely quarrel, still there’s this—leap of joy. I crave being near him. No other man has ever affected me like this.” At that admission, tears stung her eyes yet again. “Pathetic, isn’t it? The heartless Clarissa Beaumont, who’s left a trail of rejected suitors in her wake, at last succumbs. To a man who doesn’t want her.”
“Are you so sure he doesn’t?”
“Oh, he desires me. There’s fire enough of that sort between us whenever we meet. But as he’s pointed out in no uncertain terms on several occasions, I’m too pretty, impulsive, extravagant, spoiled and aristocratic to meet his requirements for a wife.”
Sarah patted her hand. “Perhaps. But you are also brave, loyal, devoted to your friends and family, and utterly unflagging in pursuit of what you feel is right.”
Clarissa gave her friend a hug. “Dear Sarah. Even if what you say were true, Colonel Sandiford wants a wife who is quiet, calm, frugal and biddable. I’m certainly none of that. And why shouldn’t he have an excellent woman possessed of every virtue. He deserves someone like you.”
“Tush, we both know I’m no paragon either. Still—”
A niggle of panic touched Clarissa’s heart. “Sarah, I absolutely forbid you to mention anything of this to him! ’Tis bad enough to pine away in foolish infatuation. I would not have his pity.”
“Calm yourself, my dear. I trust I’m old and wise enough not to meddle in affairs of the heart. But surely all is not lost yet. And you’re a very persuasive lady when you wish to be.”
A wild hope flared and was as quickly dashed. “Even were that true, which in his case I sincerely doubt, there isn’t time. He’s already found a suitable candidate. I saw them in the park today, and by the way she clung to his arm as they walked together, I’d guess an announcement will soon be forthcoming.”
“You’re that sure?”
Clarissa nodded, finding it suddenly impossible to speak. Voicing the idea of the colonel marrying another was simply too difficult to manage.
Well, she’d have to manage it…but later. Surely with time she could learn to mask and control her unruly emotions. With a sigh, she gave Sarah another hug. “I must be going. I promised Mama a book from Hatchard’s, and if I don’t hurry, I shall be late for luncheon.”
“We’ll talk more of this later. But Clare, about the first matter, will you humor me and speak with Nicholas? I know you feel you must deal with it, and I applaud your good intentions, but I would feel easier if I knew you weren’t proceeding all alone.”
Clarissa shrugged. “If it will ease your mind. After all,” she added with an attempt at humor, “since I already feel lower than the Thames at ebb tide, his ridicule or criticism can’t make it any worse.”
“He shall do neither, I promise. He’s in the library, I believe. Won’t you take a moment and speak with him now—for me? After all, I’m a lady in a delicate condition and I shouldn’t be made to worry.”
“Lest you cast up your accounts yet again.” Clarissa smiled gamely. “Very well. I’ll bait the bear in his den immediately if ’twill make my Sarah happier.”
And so a few minutes later, she knocked at the door to Englemere’s library. Though his brows shot up in surprise at seeing her, he quickly recovered, cordially inviting her to join him. After the usual exchange of civilities and her refusal of tea, he invited her to a wing chair before his desk. “To what do I owe this unusual honor, Clare?”
“Only Sarah’s insistence that I consult you about a matter of some…delicacy.” Bracing herself for Englemere’s disdain, with a touch of defensiveness Clarissa recounted the story of Maddie’s abduction.
To her surprise, he listened to her entire tale without once interrupting, his face grave. After she concluded, he remained silent for several minutes.
“I’m glad Sarah induced you to consult me,” he said at last. “The situation may well be more dangerous than you’re aware. We’ve had some reports of abdu
ctions such as this. Even the smuggling of young women to dens of vice abroad. The interior ministry is looking into it, but quite frankly their efforts are concentrated more at sniffing out insurrection at home—drat the Levellers for fomenting the fears of all the conservatives.”
He sighed. “Men who can scarcely be moved to consider the plight of jobless, homeless returning soldiers are unlikely to work up much sympathy about the activities of a baud. Not when her victims are country serving maids. But that does not mean persons of conscience can allow such a situation to go unchecked.”
“So you approve my plan?”
“Let me consider it further. Hiring runners to watch the posting inn when the Mail arrives seems prudent. I’m not sure how far the runner could intervene in the baud’s affairs without endangering himself, however. The woman undoubtedly has enforcers to discourage interference, and probably financial backing as well. I’ve long suspected some man of prominence must be behind the overseas scheme. It may be necessary to take more precautions. And I must warn you the efforts may be futile in the long run. The procuress will probably simply shift her ‘recruiting’ efforts to another inn.”
“Perhaps, but if I can save even one innocent, the effort far outweighs the risk.”
“Of course. The runners are a good starting point. I’ll check my sources and let you know what else might be prudent.” He paused, then said, “You have a good heart, Clare.”
Clarissa looked up sharply, but found no mockery in the faintly smiling glance Englemere rested on her. Tentatively she smiled back.
Perhaps Sarah was right. Perhaps she had allowed their past history to color her opinion of Englemere for too long. Now that she considered it, in the years since he’d married Sarah she couldn’t remember one instance of his being the dictatorial, overbearing, stuffy autocrat to whom she’d been so briefly betrothed.
How vain and self-absorbed she’d been then, no doubt all too transparently pleased with herself for garnering a proposal from so rich and prominent a suitor. The realization made her wince. Had she ever even considered his feelings? Thank heavens she’d matured with the years!
Then a flash of insight, sudden and startling as unexpected thunder, rattled her mind.
In consternation, she stared at Englemere and blurted, “You wanted me to cry off! That’s why you turned so disagreeable after we were engaged.”
The look of guilt she surprised on Englemere’s face confirmed that lowering suspicion.
Obviously realizing it was too late to prevaricate, he held up both hands. “Unfair of you to catch me unawares. And if it is possible to atone for so unhandsome an admission, I must say that on numerous occasions, the woman you’ve since become has made me regret doing so.”
That could only be a polite fiction, but nonetheless her eyes burned. “Considering you have Sarah, that’s ridiculous, but I thank you for it anyway.”
He took her hands and kissed them. “Someday you will find a man you truly care for. And he will love you, as Sarah and I both do, for the wonderful lady you are.”
I already have, and he doesn’t want me. But of course, she wasn’t about to whine to Englemere about that. She pasted a smile on her face and bid him goodbye.
But once she’d collected Diablo and guided him toward Hatchard’s, the unhappiness that by force of will she’d suppressed just below the level of consciousness surged up to swamp her in a tide of uncertainty and despair.
Try as she might to deny, ignore, or explain it away, in the hidden depths of her heart, the awful conclusion resonated true. She had indeed been foolish enough to fall in love with Sinjin Sandiford.
What was she going to do about it? A rapid review of her options revealed she had none. She simply wasn’t the kind of woman he sought, and no amount of wishful thinking, no depth of pain could alter that grim fact.
Sarah was. No wonder the colonel had loved her. Sarah possessed all the virtues he sought, with gentleness, empathy and a loving heart thrown in besides.
For the first time in her life, Clarissa found herself envying the poorer, plainer, less dashing friend to whom, she realized with mortifying insight, she’d always felt superior. Now she’d gladly give away any of her supposed advantages—looks, fortune, the adulation of the gentlemen she met—to be the kind of woman, like Sarah, that Sinjin Sandiford could love.
Although a future without the colonel seemed desert-bleak, she had too much pride to confess her love and throw her money and her heart at the feet of a man who’d doubtless throw them both back. Didn’t she?
The truly awful truth was, if she thought there was even a prayer that such a degrading gambit might work, she probably would try it. But it wouldn’t. With the colonel about to offer for the Virgin, time was desperately short, and she had nothing with which to deter him from proposing save the passion he had already scorned.
The absolute dearth of any hope that she might find a way to win the man she loved slammed her against a wall of desolation so absolute that for a moment she simply sat motionless in the saddle, paralyzed by the pain of it.
A dizzy faintness seized her and she realized she’d stopped breathing. She gasped in a lungful of air. You will get through this. He will go on with his life, marry the Virtuous Virgin he deserves, and you will go on with yours. You are tough, stubborn, and determined, and you will survive.
Just don’t ask how.
Having slept badly, Clarissa pulled herself out of bed before dawn. Walking to the windows, she threw open the casement and breathed in a lungful of chill morning mist, its swirling vapor barely illumined in the darkness.
The ball she’d attended last night had been every bit as tedious as she’d feared, leaving her with a colossal headache that sent her to bed uncommonly early. Better get used to it, she told herself as she rested her chin on her hand and stared out into the dimness. The rest of your life is like to hold nothing better.
Irritated, she slammed the window closed. Enough whining. Striding back to her bed, she rang the bell pull to summon her maid.
She always took a morning ride in the park, and so she’d ride. At the idea of the park, though, her pulses commenced thrumming and her stomach took a shuddery flip. The colonel often rode in the park early, Sarah had told her.
She tried to squelch an absurd burst of excitement. Probably he didn’t ride every day. Certainly he didn’t ride so early. She absolutely, positively would not ride in the park hoping she might encounter him.
Being too honest to lie to herself and too desperate to scorn any chance of meeting him, Clarissa wrenched her habit from the wardrobe and began to pull it on.
Chapter Sixteen
Mist made opaque by the struggling early sun hung damp about the treetops as, brow knit in thought, Sinjin guided Valiant into the deserted lanes of Hyde Park. He hoped to call upon his mother this morning with some interesting news about their financial status, but with his mind churning, he was too impatient to sit in his rooms until the hour when his mama, never an early riser, would likely be ready to receive him.
With the intention of encouraging Lady Sandiford to refurbish her wardrobe and begin attending some of the parties he knew she so loved, after his walk with the Motrum ladies yesterday he’d paid a call on his solicitor to ascertain the current status of his funds.
To his surprise, that question elicited a broad grin from Mr. Manners and a hearty invitation to join him in some port. Over that fortifying beverage, Mr. Manners confided that, in the mysterious way of the world, news had already circulated the city that the impecunious Lord Sandiford was courting the daughter of the very rich Mr. Motrum—with that gentleman’s approval. Even better, Mr. Motrum had apparently assured some of his banking and trading partners that whether the former soldier became his son-in-law or not, Colonel Sandiford was a steady man who’d make good on any sums he was advanced. With backing from such a source, Mr. Manners informed him, Sinjin could now draw on his bank for whatever he required.
Grateful as he was for the
unexpected financial reprieve, Sinjin left Mr. Manner’s office embarrassed and with a deepened sense of unease—an unease born of his talk with Miss Motrum.
To be brutally honest, it appeared that young lady did not possess those housewifely virtues he’d been so supremely confident he’d find in a well-brought-up middle class maid. And during their second meeting, he’d felt as uncomfortable with the Motrum party as he had at the first, struck ever more forcibly by both Mrs. Cartwright and the erstwhile suitor Mr. Wickham that he was out of place.
Lastly, though, it was the least of considerations, and probably not gentlemanly to judge, he had to admit he found Miss Motrum, well—dull.
The memory of a young lady who was decidedly not dull flashed through his senses like a Congreve rocket.
Apt, he thought, trying to squelch the thought. The lady in question was just as likely to erupt unpredictably and go streaking off in the wrong direction.
Not that Miss Beaumont didn’t possess some virtues worthy of admiration. After further thought, he’d had to concede she had likely assisted Alex in full awareness of the positive attention it would generate for him. She might be reckless and extravagant, but she had also shown herself courageous, witty and kind. To his considerable surprise, she had treated the Motrum party throughout their encounter with the same courtesy she would have extended another member of the haut ton. Still, she was hardly the sort of wife he’d envisioned.
He had to chuckle wryly at that conclusion. What widgeon-headed notion possessed him to think a Beauty courted by the wealthiest and most eligible bachelors of the ton—and one he’d treated on several occasions with less than courtesy—would entertain for an instant the idea of marrying a scarred old soldier with barely a pound to his name?
Somehow, that indisputable observation left him feeling more hollow than amused.
Dismissing with difficulty the image of Miss Beaumont, he considered once again what he must do. He needed a wife who was serene, hardworking and dependable. He’d been so sure that a moderately accomplished middle-class girl with sufficient dowry would be his best choice.
The Proper Wife Page 18
