“Oh, you’ve not met Lady Austerley’s personal physician?” Clare leaned forward, knowing that for once she had a delicious drop of gossip that Sophie did not. “He was kind enough to assist me when I sustained my injury during Lady Austerley’s ball.” No sense mentioning the geese, really. Better for Sophie to believe the less colorful version being bandied about. “My family has retained his services during my convalescence.” Clare gestured in Daniel’s direction. “Dr. Merial, may I present my friends, Lady Sophie Durston, and Miss Rose Evans.”
They shifted in their seats to stare at him with wide eyes.
“That’s your doctor?” Sophie frowned. “I thought he was your footman.”
“Your very handsome footman,” Rose added in an unladylike whisper. A flush crept up her neck as she peeked back at him, and then she cupped a hand to Clare’s ear and giggled. “Although I am beginning to see why you sprained an ankle. I feel a swoon coming on myself.”
Clare fought the urge to roll her eyes. This bold interest in Daniel felt remarkably similar to how she had felt watching Sophie waltz with Mr. Alban, and it was an emotion she didn’t care to examine or revisit.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both, ladies.” He put down Sophie’s things and picked up his bag and umbrella. “But I fear our introductions are bound to brief. I have an . . . er . . . appointment to keep.” He winked at Geoffrey and gestured to the door. “Are you ready, Mr. Westmore?”
They took their leave, their voices growing fainter down the hallway. For an impulsive moment Clare stared at the open door, wishing she could just go with them.
But it was impossible, and not only because of her ankle.
“Well.” Sophie turned her speculative gaze back to Clare. “I suppose there are worse ways to spend one’s time.” She raised a brow, her meaning all too clear. “Still, it’s already been four days. It is a terribly long time to be absent, is it not? I thought you had your hopes pinned on an excellent match this year.” She smiled, the gesture feline and mildly threatening. “A good deal can happen in such a period of time, especially during the height of the Season.”
Clare fidgeted in her seat, wondering what Sophie was up to. It was clear she was leading her somewhere with this conversation. “Surely you haven’t come to talk only about my ankle,” she said, trying to turn things around. “I was rather hoping to catch up on the news I missed when I was forced to leave the ball so early.” News she had already gleaned from the Times, of course, but would now be forced to pretend she didn’t know.
Sophie’s lips returned to their usual curving ribbon of mischief. “Oh, didn’t you know? You’re the news. Why, Lady Halsey said she saw you limp from the ballroom, dragging your maimed foot behind you. We decided we must come and get all the details.”
Clare covered her nervousness with a dismissive laugh. “It was not as bad as that, surely? I simply twisted my ankle.” And Sophie had just admitted she’d known about the turned ankle for four entire days, and was only now coming to check on her welfare.
Lovely friends, they were.
“Not maimed, then?” Rose sounded almost disappointed.
Clare shook her head. “No.” She needed to shift this conversation in a new direction, one that led squarely away from her. The one vital bit of education she’d received at the hands of the ton was that it was always better to be the bearer of unfortunate gossip than the subject of it. She leaned forward from her perch on the sofa. “Now, tell me about Lady Halsey. She has the most hideous taste in fashion. What was she wearing?”
Her question effectively dissuaded the malicious interest in her ankle and encouraged Rose and Sophie to chatter on about other things. But she found it difficult to concentrate. No doubt Daniel and Geoffrey were halfway to their grand adventure by now. Though a part of her itched to go with them and leave Rose and Sophie to their gossip, she felt an odd reassurance that with respect to her brother, at least, the doctor appeared to have things well in hand.
And so would she, once she returned her head—and her body—to the game.
MAYFAIR EVEN MANAGES to make a dreary London rain appealing, Daniel thought as he opened his umbrella on the front steps.
He breathed in deeply, enjoying the rare, clean scent of rain on spring leaves. Only a few blocks away the trees of Hyde Park shimmered, an almost violent gasp of green against the gray clouds and white stone town houses.
Unlike the streets of Smithfield, the alleys off Grosvenor Square boasted garden courtyards, instead of drunken souls sleeping off a bender. Here there were no belligerent carters, their voices raised in angry shouts, and no manure-clogged sewers, blocking the outflow of rainwater. No, Mayfair’s inebriated residents laid their heads on feather beds instead of cold paving stones. The streets in this part of the city—and the strange, titled creatures who inhabited it—were a world away from his own humble flat and the bustling charity ward at St. Bartholomew’s.
As they stepped down to the sidewalk, he regarded his companion, wondering if the boy realized how rare it was to live in a place of such privilege and safety. While he didn’t begrudge the young man his wealth, he did begrudge him his naiveté. Between Mayfair and Eton, it was doubtful Geoffrey had seen much of the world, and Daniel hoped to show him something more enduring today than Napoleon’s privates.
Once Geoffrey saw the charity ward at St. Bart’s, the young viscount-in-training might even realize there was more to life than lewd jokes and bubbies.
But at the moment, the boy appeared far more distracted by puddles than life lessons. He took a flying leap and jumped into one, splashing mud and water before grinning impishly up at Daniel. “I never get to do that,” he crowed through the drizzle.
“Well, you might want to limit the experience to the one,” Daniel advised, turning north. “The bus driver will make us ride outside if he thinks we are too wet.”
Geoffrey ducked under Daniel’s oilskin umbrella. “We’re going to ride the omnibus?” he asked incredulously. “Gor, this is the day to end all days! Clare will be sorry she missed it.”
Daniel thought back on Clare’s hesitant agreement to let Geoffrey go. “I doubt very much your prim and proper sister would think riding on a public omnibus to see a Frenchman’s shriveled penis is a worthwhile way to spend her day.”
Geoffrey scoffed as they walked slowly northward. “Oh, she’s not so prim, nor proper, either. I’ll admit, you couldn’t have bounced a quarter off that tight smile she put on when her visitors arrived, but that’s not Clare.” He tapped a conspiratorial finger against his nose. “At least, that’s not the real Clare.”
“Ah,” Daniel said, intrigued by this alternate picture of her. “Non sum qualis eram.”
“What does that mean?” Geoffrey asked, cocking his head.
“It is a quote, from Horace. I was not what I once was.” Daniel lifted a brow. “Didn’t they teach you Latin at this mythical place they call Eton?”
“They taught us Latin. And I’m not stupid,” Geoffrey protested, the tips of his ears turning pink. “It just wasn’t my favorite class.”
Daniel stopped, forcing Geoffrey to stop as well to continue enjoying the protection of the umbrella. “I do not think you are stupid. In fact, I suspect you are quite sharp, and that is partly what gets you into trouble. While I can see why a boy with your energy might consider conjugating Latin verbs the height of tedium, if you pay a bit more attention you can say things like ‘Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.’” He grinned. “That means whatever is said in Latin sounds profound. You’ll find there is little more satisfying than delivering a sound set-down to your detractors using a language they don’t understand.”
“Oh.” Geoffrey blinked. “Well, I’ll admit I wasn’t much of a student in any of my classes at Eton. But that’s not why they turned me out. Clare is as mad as a wet hen over it, and fusses over me to the point of madness. She says I don’t care about my future, but she’s wrong, you know. It was because of my future I did it. And hers, to
o.”
Daniel guarded his response, given that he didn’t know what “it” was.
The boy would reveal all when he was ready.
“Anyone can see she cares about you,” Daniel said solemnly as the rain dripped down on the spread surface of his umbrella. He knew they needed to move on quickly if they were to make the next bus, but somehow this conversation seemed important enough to take a moment, and so they continued to stand in place, talking as the rain pattered down. “You are fortunate to have a sister that fusses over you. I myself was an only child, and both my parents are now gone.”
“Oh. I am sorry,” the lad mumbled. The faint pink on the tips of his ears spread to his cheeks. “For your loss, I mean.”
Daniel nodded. Christ, but these Westmores were a fair-skinned lot, wearing their emotions on the surface of their skin. It was perhaps the only obvious physical trait Clare shared with her siblings. “Thank you,” he said gently. “But I didn’t tell you such a personal thing to make you feel uncomfortable, or to embarrass you. I told you so that you might realize how important it is to appreciate the family you have.”
Geoffrey threw his hands up in a universal gesture of adolescent frustration. “I know you’re right. It’s just when Clare’s sniping at me, I get a devilish urge to vex her. You know, before she started going to parties and such, she used to be a lot more fun. She can throw a ball better than any boy I know. She’s stubborn to a fault, although she smiles at you while she refuses to listen.” He met Daniel’s eyes, nearly man-to-man. “She’s smarter than she pretends. Reads like a demon, and she can give me a thrashing on the chessboard. She knows Latin, too. Better than I ever will.”
The stubborn part Daniel had already gathered. The Latin as well. He recalled how Clare had tossed that stinging barb back in his face in Lady Austerley’s library. Yet, today she had dispatched her newspaper with a speed that would have put a burning mail coach to shame.
“She pretends she lacks intelligence?” he asked, perplexed.
Geoffrey shrugged. “It’s more that she takes pains to hide things she used to enjoy. Although, you may be right about the omnibus. She hates to get wet, unless it’s soaking in a tub, which she does for hours when she’s getting ready for one of those fancy balls.” An indelicate shudder possessed the boy, whether at the thought of a bath or a ball, it was difficult to tell. “But then, we’ve Father’s coach at our disposal, so there is never a need for us to take a bus or a cab.”
Daniel considered that a moment as the rain began to pick up, drumming on the slick surface of his umbrella. Riding everywhere by coach was easier—and drier—than taking public transportation or walking, but it was also an unhealthy way for a vigorous, active young man to spend his days. There was a downside to always being cosseted on velvet seats, and he wondered if some of Geoffrey’s social difficulties might not stem from a lack of wholesome diversions. Daniel’s own childhood had been rather more remarkable for its lack of bus fare, but he’d at least been permitted to run and jump in all the puddles he’d wanted.
“We’ll catch the bus two blocks north on Oxford Street,” he said, motioning up ahead. “And you can tell your sister all about it when we return. Perhaps I’ll even teach you some Latin, to surprise her.”
But as they once again started to walk, his thoughts wanted to stay behind. All the talk of Clare—and Geoffrey’s claim that his sister hid her true inclinations from the world—bothered him. Why did she feel the need to hide what might arguably be the most interesting aspects of her character? He thought back on Clare’s behavior after her friends had arrived, trying to dissect some hidden meaning behind her brittle smile. There had been a brief moment in the drawing room when it seemed like she regretted not coming along.
It had surprised him, that glimpse of acute uneasiness he’d detected when she greeted her friends. He’d have thought their arrival would be a welcome distraction, especially given the bleakness of the weather and her stated hope that someone of note might come to visit her.
But despite his curiosity, it was none of his business. Geoffrey was his main concern at the moment. She’d given the charge of her brother over to him, and he’d see the lad safely to Smithfield and back again.
As they turned north toward Oxford, a mass of brown wool tumbled out of a large oak tree in front of Lord Cardwell’s town house, sending up a wall of dirty water to engulf them both.
“Ooomph!” the figure gasped. Two arms flailed about, splashing more muck.
Daniel shook the water from his eyes, even as he stretched out a hand. The youth who had soaked them clambered to his feet, a grin stretched widely across his mud-splattered face.
Correction. Her mud-splattered face.
“For heaven’s sake,” he growled, taking in Lucy’s damp wool trousers and shapeless brown coat. Her blond hair was bundled up beneath an old felt hat, which, judging by the bits of straw clinging to it, must have been snatched from one of Cardwell’s grooms.
Now that he’d seen evidence of her clumsiness firsthand, he could see why Clare worried over the girl. “You might have been killed if you’d landed on your head,” he pointed out. “I doubt it’s worth risking life and limb, all for a bit of eavesdropping.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping.” A slight flush stained her cheeks. “I had planned to follow you, once you set out. But then I lost my balance and . . .” She shrugged, and swiped a hand across her dirty face. “So now I shall go with you. Besides, I want to see the horses on the bus line, and judge for myself how they are being treated.”
“Horses?” Daniel echoed, trying to sort it all out.
“Lucy fancies herself a bit of a savior where London’s animals are concerned,” Geoffrey broke in. “But she’s mad, if you ask me. There’s thousands of them, everywhere you look. More than people, even.”
Bloody hell. Lucy wanted to go with them because of horses?
“Are you trying to get me drawn and quartered?” Daniel demanded, visions of kidnapping charges and prison dancing in his head. It occurred to him, as he glared down at the girl, that she was quite adept at this particular brand of subterfuge. If he hadn’t already known her as female, he wouldn’t have looked twice. He readjusted his grip on his umbrella. “Your sister has already made her opinion on this matter quite clear.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed in a fashion that reminded him remarkably of Clare, though in truth they shared few physical traits that bespoke a familial connection. “I am seventeen years old. Clare can’t tell me what to do.”
“Well, I can.” He transferred his bag to the hand holding the umbrella, then clasped her arm and tried to steer her back to the safety of the town house. “Back you go, then. Through the front door, where I can see you safely delivered.”
“No!” both siblings cried out, identical horrified expressions on their faces.
Daniel was startled enough to drop his hold on the miscreant’s arm.
“Are you daft, man?” Geoffrey demanded.
“The drawing room window is right there.” Lucy pointed to the large picture window fronting the street.
Daniel followed the direction of the girl’s finger to an unassuming picture window—unassuming, that was, until he realized it overlooked the street. Lucy had cleverly staged her appearance to fall on the opposite side of the tree, out of view of anyone inside the house.
“Well, you should have considered the risk to your hide before you chose to dress like this,” he told her. He had plans for educating young Geoffrey on this outing, and the presence of a woman—even one dressed like a boy—would make the coming conversation difficult.
“If you take me back dressed like this,” Lucy warned, “Clare will be the one to suffer.”
“How will your sister be the one to suffer,” Daniel asked, growing exasperated now, “when you are the one falling out of the tree?”
“Lucy’s right,” Geoffrey protested. “Did you see the way her friends turned their noses up when they marched into the drawing room? I
saw that expression on a good number of bullies’ faces at Eton, usually right before they attacked someone. They’ll be looking for an excuse to pounce on her while she’s down.”
Lucy nodded her agreement, sending a handful of blond hair cascading down from the cover of her cap. “I heard them whispering to each other on the front porch steps while I was in the tree. The blond girl said Clare was a terrible dancer anyway, and that she had probably twisted her ankle on purpose to avoid further embarrassment. And the dark-haired one said that with a family like Clare’s, Mr. Alban would be mad to offer for her.”
“Mr. Alban?” Daniel echoed stupidly.
“The presumptive heir to the Duke of Harrington, and the gentleman Clare hopes to marry, though I can’t help but question her sanity in wanting to marry at all.”
Daniel blinked. Clare wished to marry a duke? The pronouncement shouldn’t have surprised him, but there was no denying his body’s reaction to the thought. Bloody hell, his fist was clenching around the slick handle of his umbrella.
Lucy lifted her chin. “I know Clare is concerned about appearances, but I suppose I didn’t realize before why it was so important to her. Now that I’ve seen her friends, I have a better sense of why she’s been so worried of late. So, while I don’t care what they think or say about me, I imagine Clare does.”
Daniel eyed the window again, still distracted by the thought of Clare marrying anyone, much less a bloody duke. He could see the logic in Lucy’s arguments, he supposed, but he refused to be manipulated by this scrap of a girl. “You shall return through the back door, then.” He turned back to her with a frown and plucked a piece of straw from her cap, holding it accusingly in front of her face. “Or take yourself to the mews, where it looks like you spend a good deal of time anyway. But you can’t come with us. Not without a chaperone, and not lacking your sister’s permission.”
Diary of an Accidental Wallflower Page 10
