Why would she be? She was no longer a proper young woman. She’d been freed from the yoke of that responsibility, and had no intention of shouldering it again.
She raised her glass. “Mother, Father, I have some news I want to share while everyone is sitting down.” She delivered the words with what she thought was an admirable steadiness, but her voice must have held a secret tremor. Or perhaps it was that today, of all days, the promise of more news was impossible for her family to ignore.
Whatever the cause, the table fell silent.
Clare looked out over her family’s expectant faces, considering how to begin this necessary speech. “If I have learned nothing else today, it is that secrets have no place among family. We should be open and honest with each other, even if we fear the news might disappoint someone we love. After all, it is better to tell the truth than live a lie.”
“Hear, hear!” Geoffrey crowed, raising the half glass of wine he’d been permitted tonight, on account of it being a special occasion.
She glared at her brother until he settled, then lowered her glass and drew a deep breath. “Even though I know that what I am about to say may come as a shock, I will not keep this a secret anymore. I have made my choice for a husband.”
There was a moment of strained silence, and then Mother lifted a trembling hand to her throat. “Never say you’ve finally decided on Mr. Meeks,” she said in a choked voice. “I know I had pushed you in that direction, but I must say, I have my doubts as to the suitability of the match.”
Clare bit her lip, trying not to laugh. How could Mother think she would choose Meeks, after everything they had discussed?
“I know the revelations of the day are a lot to take in,” Mother went on, “but surely there is no need for panic.”
“I am not panicking, Mother.” In fact, Clare felt the oddest sense of calm, as though the air in the room and the blood in her veins had stilled in anticipation of her announcement. “It is just that given the importance of my decision, I do not want to wait a second longer to tell you.”
Her mother’s brow wrinkled. “There is no need to be hasty.”
“I am not being hasty either,” Clare protested, the sense of calm slipping toward irritation now. This was her news to share. And she’d not yet had chance to share the most important bits.
“I didn’t know you were interested in Mr. Meeks,” Alban said, turning in his chair to face Clare. “I can’t fault your choice, though. He’s a capital fellow. Handy with a cricket bat. I went to school with him at Harrow.”
“I like a good game of cricket myself,” Geoffrey exclaimed. He straightened in his chair. “I say, Father, maybe I should go to Harrow.” A grin washed over his face. “And it would be lovely to trounce those Eton dandies in next year’s match at Lord’s field.”
“Harrow, hmm?” Father scratched his head. “That is not such a bad idea.”
“I can speak with the headmaster, if you like,” Alban offered. “I’ve kept in touch with him through the years.”
“Now, who exactly is Mr. Meeks?” Lucy broke in, her eyes narrowed, as if trying to remember. “I do not recall spying on someone by that name.”
Clare sighed. Good heavens, there were five different trains of thought happening, and nary a one involved her intention to marry Daniel. When had the conversation been so thoroughly wrestled from her hands?
And how could she wrestle it back?
“About my news,” she huffed. “If you would just let me explain—”
“Yes, we were talking about your choice of husband,” Mother interrupted, her voice now contorted into a shrill knot. “I know I had been encouraging you to marry quickly, but I am quite regretting it now.”
“There is no need to regret—” Clare started, only to be cut off once more.
“And you must think of poor Mr. Meeks as well. The man is admittedly fond of you, but with the details of your birth to be made public now, he could hardly be blamed if he cries off.” Mother broke off her tirade, then tilted her head, staring quizzically down the table toward Clare’s father. “Unless we doubled your dowry,” she mused. “That might tempt Mr. Meeks to overlook it all.”
Clare almost choked on her snort of laughter. “Er . . . no.” She hesitated, realizing how ungrateful she probably sounded. “That is, thank you, but I am not interested in doubling my dowry. In fact, I am not interested in any part of my dowry.”
Father’s brows bunched. “Clare, you must know I would gladly double your dowry if it brings you happiness.”
Her throat clogged with tears, and the room seemed to swim before her eyes. “Thank you, Father. Your offer means more to me than you can imagine.” She shook her head, trying to clear her vision. “But with the inheritance provided by Mr. Alban, it seems I no longer have need of a dowry.” She glanced at her sisters—one familiar, one new. “You might consider doubling Lucy’s, though, or providing one for Lydia.”
Her father rubbed a surreptitious finger along the bridge of his nose, and though he was some ten feet away, Clare could see that his eyes were suspiciously moist. “You were always my most sensible child,” he said, his voiced graveled with emotion. “It should not surprise me you would be sensible in this as well.”
The tears fell in earnest now from Clare’s own eyes, splashing on her empty plate. She still considered him her father, and always would. He was the man who had raised her, after all, the father she loved.
But to hear he still considered her his child closed the last tiny hole in her heart.
She swiped a hand across her eyes and met her mother’s still-worried gaze. “I am not interested in Mr. Meeks in that way, Mother. I would not pretend I might make a suitable viscountess, not anymore.”
“But with the right dowry,” her mother protested, “you might still aim for a baron.”
“Or a second son,” Geoffrey supplied helpfully. When all the women at the table stared at him, he shrugged. “You cannot deny that second sons can afford to be less fastidious in their choice of a wife, the lucky bastards. I live in terror of the thought of the shrew-faced heiress I will probably be forced to marry when I come of age.” He grinned. “Maybe the trick is to be so incorrigible no one respectable will have me.”
Clare winced. There was a terrifying logic at play in her brother’s mind. And there was no doubt he was well on his way to earning the title of such an adjective. But she didn’t want to talk about Geoffrey’s future. She wanted to talk about hers.
It was time to end this circus of a confession, in the only way she knew how.
She placed two hands on the table and pushed herself to standing. Unfortunately, this made the gentleman at the table gain their feet as well, which rather lessened the effect. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the absurdity of manners at a time like this.
“I do not want to marry Mr. Meeks!” she all but shouted. “I want to marry the man I love, and the man I love is Daniel Merial.”
She looked around the silent table, taking in her family’s stunned faces.
“He makes me happy. He makes me beyond happy. He challenges me, even as he accepts my flaws. And it really doesn’t matter if you object or not. If you will not grant your consent now, Father, I will simply wait until I am of age.”
“Why would I refuse my consent?” Father asked slowly.
Of all the things she had expected her father to say, this was furthest from what she had constructed in her head. “Well . . . because he is my doctor,” Clare admitted.
“Because he is poor,” Mother said, though she sounded unsure of herself.
“Because he’s a Chartist?” Lucy said, her tone more of a question than a fact. But there was no surprise in the echo of her voice. Indeed, a smile was stealing across her face, one that quite cried I told you so, and she nudged Lydia with an elbow, nodding.
For her part, Lydia stayed wide-eyed and silent, though she sent Clare a distinctly sympathetic smile.
“Because he’s a Gypsy,” Geof
frey added, making Clare want to wrap her fingers around her brother’s neck. He rubbed his hands together with glee. “Oh, this is rich. It is the prank to end all pranks, and I didn’t even come up with it!”
“It’s not a prank,” Clare muttered, feeling deflated. “It’s my life.”
“And I am not saying no,” Father said, pinning her with his gaze over the rims of his glasses. “Sit down, please, so we can discuss this like adults.”
Clare sat.
Father stayed standing, staring down at her from his position at the head of the table. His hand stroked his chin in thought. “Dr. Merial makes you happy?” he finally asked.
Clare nodded.
“And you would relinquish your dowry to have him as your choice?”
“Without hesitation,” Clare answered, her heart beating mad circles in her chest. She would wait to marry Daniel until her twenty-first birthday if she had to, but she really didn’t want to delay her future happiness a moment longer than necessary. “In fact, I quite insist on it.”
“I see.” Father looked at Mother. “You were objecting to hasty decisions earlier. Do you have any objections to her choice of Dr. Merial, beyond the state of the man’s lack of a title?”
“No.” Her mother shook her head. “Not if she loves him.” She smiled then, just enough, and to Clare’s mind—though it was nigh on nine o’clock at night—the sun began to peek over the dim horizon of this day.
“Well then, I see no reason to withhold my consent.” Father lifted his chin in Alban’s direction. “And besides, if it came right down to it, you could always petition the court to recognize Mr. Alban as your guardian and have him offer consent.” He shook his head. “No, far better to do it this way. Keep it in the family.” His face grew stern, accenting the lines at the corners of his eyes. “I love you, Clare. You will always be my daughter. And though it may be hard to see sometimes, the happiness of his daughters is a father’s primary concern.”
Clare flew from her chair and launched herself down the long length of table into her father’s arms. As his arms closed around her, she breathed in his pipe tobacco and peppermint scent, utterly swamped with happiness.
It was going to be all right.
If only Daniel would come.
May 24, 1848
Dear Diary,
My happiness seems assured, but for one important fact.
Daniel has not come, as he promised he would.
It has been two days. Two days full of new family¸ but missing the one man I most want to see. I have so much to tell him, so much to explain. But he has not responded to the letter I sent to St. Bartholomew’s, and I’ve no notion of where he might be staying now that he has been turned out of his rooms.
I am trying to be patient, truly I am. But if there is one thing I have learned over the past month it is that I am not a patient sort of woman.
And I would have thought Daniel knew that as well.
Chapter 32
Lydia, what is the difference between a courtesan and a mistress?” Lucy asked as they crowded into the hot, busy vestibule of St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Geoffrey leered at a woman to his left. “And do you think I might meet one here today?” he asked.
Clare glared daggers at Geoffrey’s back—not that the imp seemed to notice or care. Dressed as he was in respectable black, he gave an initial impression of maturity, but he had quite ruined the gentlemanly effect by tugging at his necktie until it tilted in a raffish fashion.
“For heaven’s sake,” she warned. “Show a little respect. We are in a church.”
And by the looks of things, they were not the only ones.
It felt as though the entire city had turned out for the dowager countess’s funeral. Everywhere Clare looked, she saw somber black crepe and gray wool, despite the swelter of May. Perhaps, she thought peevishly, if a few more of these souls had turned out during the woman’s life, without a lavish ball or musicale to draw them to her side, Lady Austerley might have kept her health a bit longer.
“Presumably courtesans go to church as well.” Geoffrey shrugged, glancing back over one shoulder with a devilish grin. “They’ve more sins to atone. And it seems like it’s time for me to begin thinking about these things if I am to begin cultivating a reputation as a proper rake.”
“Oh, stuff it Geoffrey,” Lucy interrupted. “I was asking because I intend to help save them from scoundrels like you.” She arched a fair brow in Clare’s direction. “And you needn’t look as though I’ve said something blasphemous. I am only asking about them because of your suggestion.”
“My suggestion?” Clare echoed, thoroughly confused.
“You told me to properly research my topics, after the disaster with the horses.”
Clare closed her eyes and prayed she might find a modicum of patience. Did Geoffrey really think there was such a thing as a proper rake? And leave it to Lucy to decide fallen women were her latest obsession, with Lydia so recently joined the family. Given that Mother and Father had gone on ahead and were already waiting in the family box, it was her responsibility to keep them all in line. She tried to bolster the energy to deliver a lecture worthy of an older sister.
But when she opened her eyes, instead of landing on her siblings, her gaze insisted on scanning the milling crowd instead.
Speaking of prayers . . .
She knew Daniel was here somewhere, paying his respects.
Her pulse kicked up a notch.
“It is all right.” Lydia’s quiet response pulled Clare’s attention reluctantly back to the conversation. “I don’t mind the questions. The truth is, I don’t know much about the subject.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “My mother was simply my mother.”
Lucy looked momentarily chagrined. “Oh, I am so sorry, Lydia. You mustn’t take offense to my rambling. I do not mean any disrespect, you know. It is just that I had hoped you might know more of these things than I do.”
Lydia shook her head. “I never even realized my mother had been your father’s mistress until I found her letters after she died. From what I read, I suspect their arrangement was based as much on love as necessity.”
Lucy stepped closer and slid her arm around Lydia’s shoulders. The sight of their growing closeness sent a pang through Clare’s heart. There was no doubt that out of all of them, Lucy had the most to lose in this new family arrangement. And yet, she’d welcomed their long-lost sister as though she were a veritable pardon.
Perhaps to Lucy’s mind she was.
But Clare knew that Mother was already plotting a spectacular launch for Lucy in a few years, something the ton would remember, in order to quell the inevitable whispers. Perhaps, when enough time had passed, they might even eventually give Lydia a Season of her own. She only hoped both her sisters were prepared for Mother’s meddling.
Despite the assurance being offered by Lucy’s arm, Lydia’s feet seemed to hesitate. She looked miserably over at the rows of pews marching to either side of the cathedral, where those without the money to rent a box sat. “You have all been so kind to me. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather I sit back here? I don’t mind . . . truly, I don’t. I do not want to do anything that might cause people to whisper.”
“They will find out eventually,” Clare said firmly. “And as Mother said, it can only help matters to have your first appearance with our family be in church.” She intended her words to soothe, but by the stiffening of Lydia’s posture, she could tell the girl was not convinced.
“Well I, for one, cannot wait to see the expression on people’s faces when you sit down in the Cardwell box,” Geoffrey said, a tad too gleefully. It was clear he was every bit as excited by the stir they were about to cause as the new sister he had to torment. “It’s housed five generations of Cardwell arses, you know.”
“As apt a description for our brother as there ever was.” Lucy squeezed Lydia’s shoulder encouragingly. “But don’t worry. I promise I shall sit between you and the monster. He pinches, y
ou know. Besides, if the service goes long, I’ll need you to keep me awake.” As they continued their good-natured banter, Clare slowed her feet until the milling bodies quite obliterated her family from view. She might be the oldest sister, but she could see they didn’t need her to hover beside them, not anymore.
She drew a deep breath, seeking courage.
Because Lydia wasn’t the only one about to cause a stir.
She craned her neck, searching again for a handsome dark head. It had been four days since Daniel had left her on the Cardwell House steps. Four days since she’d told her family of her intentions, their acceptance making it easier to manage than she had feared. But despite the remarkable and unanticipated support of her family, Daniel was proving the biggest uncertainty of all, and every minute without word from him seemed to stretch to five. Whatever the cause for his absence, it felt suspiciously like a rejection. He’d said he would come, but he hadn’t. Worse, the letters she had sent to St. Bartholomew’s had gone unanswered. She knew of no other way to reach out to him, given that he’d been turned out of his flat.
Had he changed his mind? Begun to regret his choice?
Or was he simply lost, mourning the death of his friend?
She finally caught sight of him, sitting alone in a common pew on the left side of the cathedral. With a jolt of awareness, she realized he was watching her. Everything about him—from his hair to the hands shoved in his jacket pockets—gave the impression of a dark scowl.
Clearly, he had noticed her arrival.
But he was neither standing up nor lifting a hand in greeting.
And so Clare gathered her skirts and wits in hand and started toward him. He was avoiding her, though she didn’t know why. But she refused to relinquish the future she’d chosen without a fight.
AS ALWAYS, THE sight of her kicked the breath from Daniel’s lungs.
Like a man on borrowed time, he watched her come, wanting but wary of each torturous inch lost between them. As she settled onto the pew next to him, the floral scent he always associated with her washed over him like scalding water. He’d once presumed the fragrance to be an artifact—perfume or soap, liberally applied. After the night they’d spent together, he now knew it was something that hovered beneath her skin, impossible to wash away.
Diary of an Accidental Wallflower Page 31
