Clare went very still, her gloved fingers tightening around the stem of her rose.
For a moment, she only glanced between Gemma and Meredith, feeling the weight of their expectant stares. No one had ever asked her this before. Though it stood to reason they would wonder. After all, Clare was known among certain people in thetonfor being the lady to go to when a scandal had reared its ugly, unwanted head. She’d had plenty of experience with the subject, after all. And she knew precisely how to clean things up. And there was a very good reason she’d never employed her skills to fix her own situation.
Clare finally sighed. “The truth is, I’d rather deal with my controlling mother than a controlling husband.”
“Really?” Meredith asked, frowning. “I never knew you felt that way, Clare.”
“Yes, well.” Clare gave a dry smile. “There’s a certain amount of freedom I enjoy—slipping away from Mama from time to time. She falls asleep so often now that she’s getting older.” She let out a short laugh, though there was no real humor in it. “If I had restored my own reputation, I’d be obliged to marry, and I’m not interested in marriage in the least.”
“I suppose I understand why you’d rather not marry,” Gemma said softly. “But Lucian issucha dear.” Her eyes grew soft and misty as she thought of her beloved husband.
“And I cannot imagine my life without my Griffin,” Meredith added with an equally wistful smile.
Clare rolled her eyes and waved a hand in the air. “I know. I know. You’re both quite inlove, but it’s not like that for most ladies of theton. And I have no intention of making myself another grim statistic. With or without my scandalous past.”
Meredith sighed, shaking her head. “Well, in that case, let’s focus on other people’s love lives. Ash may be resisting my efforts, but at least Cecily and Lord Albion seem to be enjoying each other’s company.”
“Oh, yes,” Gemma said, nodding as she reached down to scoop Oliver into her arms. “Cecily is quite enamored with Lord Albion. Just this morning, she said she cannot thank you enough for inviting him here.”
Cecily was Gemma’s closest friend and still unmarried. They were all hoping for a betrothal by the end of the house party.
“At least someone is benefitting from my matchmaking efforts,” Meredith replied with a laugh, just before a determined look brightened her eye. “But we’re having a dance tonight, and I fully intend to threaten my elusive brother with bodily harm if he doesn’t choose a lady to dance with.”
Clare arched a brow. “Do you really think that will work? I honestly cannot picture Trentham asking anyone to dance. Heisn’t exactly the dancing sort.” Thekissingsort? Yes. Dancing? No.
Meredith scowled. “Well, he’d better become the dancing sort…and quickly. If not, I may just trip him into someone’s arms.”
Gemma giggled. Clare only sighed, shaking her head.
Tonight was going to be interesting indeed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling cast a golden glow over Southbury’s ballroom, illuminating the swirling silks and satins of some of London’s finest as they glided across the polished floor. The scent of beeswax, expensive perfume, and the sharp tang of champagne filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of the orchestra.
Ash exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine ivory shirt beneath the midnight-blue velvet of his overcoat. His waistcoat, a shade lighter, was embroidered with silver thread, subtle but decadent, paired with an immaculate snowy-white cravat fastened by a sapphire pin. He looked every inch the marquess his sister so desperately wished he would behave like.
Unfortunately for Meredith, tonight was not going to be one of those nights.
She had threatened him—actually threatened him—if he didn’t choose a lady to dance with, she would trot one over and foist her upon him.
The problem was every eligible debutante she had hand-selected for his consideration and invited to this blasted house party had turned out to be a complete bore.
Simpering, shallow, utterly predictable.
They echoed back his own thoughts as if they had none of their own, their conversation limited to their latest gowns, the next ball, and which gentleman had the most agreeable prospects. Most annoying, however, was their tendency to stare at him as if he were a prized pig. He found few things as unattractive as desperation, and he could smell the desperation on every single one of the ladies Meredith had invited.
Was this truly the best selection Meredith could find?
If so, he would remain single indefinitely, thank you very much.
“What about Lady Julia? She’s sweet,” Meredith had pleaded earlier, right before the threatening had commenced.
“Sweet? Sweet is a word reserved for pastries and children. I’m not looking for sweet.”
Far from it, if he was looking for anyone, she would be quite the opposite. Someone intriguing, daring, unforgettable. Someone like…Clare.
After their kiss last night, he’d been unable tostopthinking about her, actually.
