“Do You really love me, God?”
The sun’s gleaming seemed to gild the sea anew as the peace inside magnified. The peace within and the beauty without seemed to be singing a resounding yes.
She drew in another deep breath, then exhaled.
God loved her.
God loved her.
God loved her.
Clara’s eyes grew wet even as she smiled. Assurance solidified. The breeze toyed with her hair as her ponderings continued.
If God loved her, then it followed that He would have good things for her, things that would bring her hope. Her smile widened as she wiped away the dampness on her cheeks. Perhaps she did not need to worry about whether she could find a man to love her; perhaps God’s love could be enough.
Tightness eased in her shoulders. Hope thudded in her heart, the steady reassuring beat underlining a confidence unlike anything she had experienced before. She need not trust in her own abilities or looks or fortune anymore. God’s love and His goodness meant she would trust Him with her future, rather than valuing such things as she had trusted in the past.
And she did not want to wallow in the old anymore. She did not want to be the shallow Clara of her past, the vain, mean-spirited girl whose friends were as quick to talk behind her back as she’d once been to talk behind theirs. She could not be that girl again.
“Lord, please help me change.”
Her words were swallowed in the wind. Had she even been heard? Or was God ignoring her, too?
But—no. If she was to change, these negative thoughts had to change also. God couldn’t be ignoring her, not with this heavenly light show, more spectacular than any display at Vauxhall Gardens. God must care. God did care.
A soft kind of certainty coiled within. Her spirits lightened, lifted. Just as the sky transformed from azure to the rosiest of pinks, she too could change—would change—with God’s help. He loved her. He had good plans for her. Conviction firmed further.
She would let go of self-pity, let go of the past, allow God to bring her into the new.
The new. The unknown. The far horizon.
She studied the ocean’s smudging violet as another thought bubbled into remembrance.
What had Matilda said weeks ago? Who was Clara?
Someone who cared about the latest fashion? Someone who lived for herself? Who cared for music? Someone who cared for others? She was five-and-twenty. Who did she want to be? Who could she be?
The vaguest stirrings of an idea slowly unfurled, gradually taking shape. She drew in a brine-laden breath. Society would frown on her; her parents would not understand. And how on earth could she do it?
A smile tugged at her lips. Perhaps she could not do it. But with heaven’s enabling …
Who was Clara?
A tremor of excitement flickered within. Her chin lifted. She knew exactly where to start. Father’s words earlier had only confirmed it.
She would start by once again offering her services to Matilda, playing at the Sailors and Soldiers’ Hostel as soon as possible.
London
“And here she is!”
George’s dramatic interruption to afternoon tea jerked their attention to the door. Ben rose to his feet as a small brunette entered the room. Fine-featured, but lacking the soft prettiness one normally expected from the ladies who caught George’s eye, she could scarcely be called handsome, let alone the glorious, beauteous creature their brother’s description had led them to expect. She appeared shy, barely meeting his glance or responding to his bow or Tessa and Aunt Addy’s murmured greetings except with an awkward curtsy.
George drew her hand over his arm, patting it tenderly, the love light clearly seen in his besotted eyes. “You mustn’t mind them, my love.” He performed the introductions, concluding with, “My younger brother, Benjamin Kemsley.”
Trust George to reinforce his elder-brother status. Ben bowed again. “Good afternoon, Miss Windsor.”
She curtsied and finally met his gaze, curiosity in her pale blue eyes. “Are you the Benjamin Kemsley?”
He chuckled. “Well, I am certainly a Benjamin Kemsley. I cannot be certain how many of us are in existence in the world.”
Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment he could see why his brother might describe Miss Windsor as pretty. “I mean, the captain of the Ansdruther?”
“I am he.” He looked an enquiry. She gave a small smile.
“I am acquainted with one of the soldiers you helped rescue. A Major Dumfrey.”
“Really?” said George, with a frown.
“He is … was, my uncle.”
“Was?” Ben asked.
“He died three months ago from influenza. My parents were most relieved to have him returned to England before he passed away.”
“I am very sorry for your loss.” He inclined his head.
He peeked up, noted George’s frown, as if his brother was unenthused to see his shy betrothed apparently eager to speak to his little brother. To soothe any ruffled feelings, he said, “My brother has been singing your praises, Miss Windsor. His heart seems ensnared most completely.”
“Ensnared?” George sputtered. “I do not like to hear you describe my intended in such terms.”
“It was not your intended whose heart I described.”
George eyed him narrowly, before grasping Miss Windsor’s arm and gently turning her to face Tessa and Aunt Addy. “Theresa, I trust you will be able to make dearest Amelia feel welcome as a new sister.”
“Of course.” Tessa shot Ben a worried look over George’s shoulder before smiling kindly at Miss Windsor.
Through the course of conversation, they came to learn that Miss Windsor’s parents wished to call upon them the following afternoon, that George would be dining with them tonight—this said with a tight smile at Aunt Addy—and that they hoped to have the pleasure of meeting all of George’s family in the not-too-distant future.
“Are they planning on visiting Brighton, then?” asked Tessa.
“Why on earth would they wish to do that?” George demanded.
Ben restrained a sigh. He had no wish to inflict George and company upon what refuge he had found in Brighton. “Surely you don’t expect a vicar to be able to drop his responsibilities at a moment’s notice?” he said. “Or had you forgotten Matilda is married to a clergyman?”
George muttered something under his breath, before saying to Miss Windsor, “Perhaps your parents might be persuadable to a short stay, dearest?”
His dearest blushed again and murmured something about her parents not having made any fixed plans as yet.
“Brighton tends to fill up quickly whenever the Regent is in town,” Aunt Addy said. “You might want to ensure they investigate letting a place as soon as possible,” she continued, oblivious to Ben’s silent protests about encouraging their brother to stay.
By the time she finally rose to leave, Miss Windsor had impressed upon Ben that she was as eager to please her parents as she was her betrothed and her family-to-be. George finally escorted her from the premises, their brother’s company immediately exchanged for Lord Featherington’s daily visit.
Aunt Addy sank back with a sigh. “Well! Such an insipid little creature I never saw.”
The viscount looked between them. “Was that the drab, brown dab of a thing I passed on my entry? With a fair gentleman who looked rather more pleased with himself than he ought?”
“That would be George,” Tessa said with a giggle.
“With his intended,” their aunt added.
“Well!” Lord Featherington’s brows shot up. “Rather a surprise, I gather?”
“It is something of a shock to us all,” Ben admitted.
“She’s certainly not in the style of your young lady, O heroic one,” he said, with a sidelong look at Ben.
“My young lady?”
“Yes.” The viscount’s eyes glinted. “Apparently Miss DeLancey—”
“She’s not my young lady,” Ben muttered.
“You are sure?”
“Yes!”
“If you say so.” The viscount’s sardonic look spoke volumes of his doubt. “Anyway, apparently she caused something of a to-do the other night at the Seftons’.”
“In what way?” Aunt Addy asked, preventing Ben from the necessity of doing so.
“While most young ladies wear white, she wore a red gown—quite scandalous!” He chuckled. “Then she had a set-to with Lady Hawkesbury, then stumbled into several dancers before racing out! The whisper I’ve heard is that people thought she might be drunk.”
Ben clenched his fingers. “That is ridiculous.”
“Drunk? What an abominable thing to suggest!” Tessa looked the outrage Ben felt.
“Pray, don’t bite my head off, dear one.” The viscount shrugged. “But they say it may explain why the family’s left London.”
“Poor thing! I’m sure there is explanation for all of that.” Aunt Addy said. “I do not like gossip, you know.”
“None of us do,” the viscount said comfortably. “Now, enough about her. What’s this about your brother? Does he plan to marry soon?”
Tessa filled him in about George’s plans to introduce Amelia to her sister.
Ben eyed his aunt. “How you could virtually invite them to visit Brighton, I don’t know.”
“My dear boy, what would you have me do? I cannot help matters if George wishes to see Matilda. Such a plan has nothing to do with me.”
“But it will us,” said Tessa. “Oh, Benjie, what should we do? I don’t mind her very much, in fact I am sure she is all that is pleasant, although it is a little difficult to know when she appears so shy.”
His lips curled to one side. “I imagine she is not the first young lady whose diffidence hides a charming personality.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks tinted. She peeked at the viscount, whose look of admiration seemed nearly as besotted as that worn by George only minutes earlier.
His heart panged. Now with George’s news, if Featherington did indeed come up to scratch and make Tessa an offer, Ben would be the only Kemsley left unwed.
Should he make more of an effort to secure a bride? He was nine-and-twenty, and if not exactly fit, he was at least healthy, what many would consider in the prime of life. But more than that, he was conscious of a feeling of something akin to … loneliness.
He shook his head. If his siblings all married, he would be alone. He felt sure they would all be happy to have him stay—with the obvious exception of George, though Amelia might persuade him. But was that enough? Could he be satisfied with being the brother, being an uncle, watching from the outside as other people’s lives blossomed in ways he’d always vaguely imagined might one day exist for him? Did he not wish to be a husband, to be a father?
A twinge knotted his chest. He swallowed, forcing his thoughts away from places that would only lead to frustration. He did want more. He studied his sister, light suffusing her face. She smiled at Featherington as he continued to engage her in hushed conversation.
His siblings seemed to have a kind of radiance about them these days. In the time he’d spent with Mattie and David, he’d noticed the newlyweds seemed to possess a joy that lit from within, a peace that eased the ebb and flow of ordinary life. Should he seek to find someone who could partner with him through life’s journey, someone with whom growing old would be a blessing?
What was the alternative? Growing older and more crippled and more sour—alone?
He shook his head, biting back a bitter laugh. It was not that he had never found young ladies attractive. Heaven knew he had felt the stirrings of attraction to Miss DeLancey when she’d been here, despite knowing nothing could ever come of it with their situations in life so vastly different. He stifled fresh frustration. The timing had never been right. He had been too young—Lord Ponsonby proved correct—then off at sea, then rising through the ranks to be made a captain, then under contractual obligation to His Majesty until that last disastrous voyage.
The timing was still not right. And unless he was paid what he was due, the timing would never be right.
“Benjamin?”
He started, glancing up from his ruminations to see three pairs of eyes fixed on him. “I beg your pardon. I was not attending.”
“You were attending something if that scowl is any indication,” Tessa said.
“Forgive me.” He plastered a smile on his face. “Better?”
“Much.” Tessa gestured to her suitor. “Lord Featherington was saying he intends on visiting Brighton soon and has taken a house on the Steyne.”
“Really?” He eyed the other man. Perhaps it was time to finally force his intentions out into the open. “Is attending Brighton a regular practice of yours?”
“It was,” the viscount said. “I feel it is about time it was reinstated.”
“Because you enjoy the seaside?”
“Brighton has many attractions.” This was said with a sidelong look at Tessa that raised Ben’s internal warning flags faster than the sharpest midshipman.
“Are your parents planning on visiting Brighton also?”
“My mother wishes to spend time with my sister, up at Hartwell Abbey in Northamptonshire, but I’m not sure if Hartington is so keen.” He made a wry face. “My parents have a spot in Devon that we usually try to visit every year. Didn’t last year, what with Charlotte getting married and all, so I imagine they’ll be quite keen to get there this year.”
“And you will go, too?”
“That depends.” He glanced at Tessa again, like a love-struck swain.
“On what?” Ben persisted ruthlessly.
The viscount’s blue eyes snapped back to Ben’s, a faint flush overspreading his cheeks. “Forgive me. I fear I have overstayed my welcome.”
“Oh, but you haven’t!”
“Theresa,” said their aunt, “I am sure the viscount has many responsibilities requiring his attention.”
Lord Featherington rose, made his bows, promised Tessa he would call again soon, and exited.
“That was unkind of you,” Tessa frowned at Ben.
“Perhaps a little less aggression next time, Benjamin,” Aunt Addy murmured.
“Tessa, I am concerned for you.”
“If you’re so concerned, why did you chase him away?” She rose, flouncing out the door.
Leaving Ben to exchange glances with his aunt, and filling him with all the more determination to learn just how far the viscount was willing to pursue his sister.
CHAPTER SİXTEEN
TESSA’S UPSET HAD not diminished the next day. When the viscount still had not visited by late afternoon, leaving them to the mercy of their only visitors of the day—George, the unassuming Amelia, and her parents, whose visit had accompanied an invitation to dinner that evening impossible to refuse—Tessa’s discontent was scowled all over her face.
His sister’s unhappiness seemed contagious, judging by the crease in Aunt Addy’s forehead. “Really, Theresa, I would have thought you could be a little more circumspect.”
Tessa only looked away, flicking through the pages of Ackermann’s Repository before tossing it on the satinwood side table.
“Tessa, I am sorry you are upset with me, but I cannot be sorry for feeling a measure of caution.” Ben gentled his voice as she crossed her arms, “I wish to know his intentions.”
“But you are not the head of the family.”
“No. The head of the family is too busy seeing to his own happiness to have any care of the responsibilities due others.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Of George? I assure you, I envy him nothing, save the respect you seem to feel owing him simply for being born first.”
She hmphed, and looked away.
Aunt Addy cleared her throat. “Benjamin is right, Theresa. It is not usual for a young man of Lord Featherington’s background to pursue a young lady lacking the consequence to which his family is accustomed.”
“His sis
ter married a duke, Tessa.”
“I know that!” she snapped. “And his mother is the daughter of a duke, and his father is a marquess, and we are nothing but the cousins of a baronet.”
“The siblings of a baronet, now,” Aunt Addy said. “Be that as it may, surely you can see it is wise to ascertain what his intentions are.”
“Does he wish to marry you?” Ben asked bluntly.
“Benjie! How can you ask me that?”
“I ask you because I see how he looks at you, because he plans on taking a house in Brighton in an apparent wish to be near you, because he is here nearly every day. Now tell me I have no right to be concerned about the welfare of my little sister!”
Her bottom lip trembled. “He has been a gentleman.”
“But has he spoken with you of marriage?”
A quick jerk of her head indicated no.
“Have you met his family?”
Another shake of the head.
“Then how can it be anything but a passing fancy of his? I’m sorry, I know you do not wish me to say such things, but can you not see? If his pursuit of you is not intended to lead to marriage, then his intention cannot but make me apprehensive.”
“Make us both apprehensive,” Aunt Addy murmured, nodding.
Ben shifted to sit beside Tessa, her bright hair tumbling forward to hide her downcast face. “We love you. We wish you to be happy, to marry someone who will treat you the way you deserve. And you do not deserve to be strung along while he decides if he’s courageous enough to even introduce you to his family.”
A drop of water slipped from her face to stain her gown.
His heart twisted. In moments like this, he really wished George would take his head-of-the-family duty seriously. Ben wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. “I can speak to him if you like.”
She gave a shuddery breath, shook her head no. “Perhaps … perhaps he should meet George. George might know what to do.”
Annoyance coiled within, smothering his earlier wish. Why did people always seek his brother’s opinion above his own?
“I think that a very good idea,” said their aunt. “It’s about time George started treating some of his responsibilities as he ought. The least he can do is to meet your young man so we can ascertain whether he really is your young man or just someone living in a fool’s paradise.”
The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey Page 15
