Chapter Nine
“At the age of three and ten, Clara told me I could have married our neighbour, Mrs Dayton, if I had not called her an ‘absurd goosecap’. I often wonder if she was right…”
Mr Daniel Lockwood – classical scholar, philosopher and bachelor.
Rook yawned over his mail. It was the last day of the house party, and his estate manager had left him an inordinate amount of paperwork to sort through. He looked out of the window and saw Clara walking into the village with the other ladies. He wondered why he’d even bothered searching for his masquerade lady. She gave him passion that was true, but Clara was intelligent, witty, and honest. He could teach Clara wanton passion – it would be a job he would relish. He would just have to convince her to let him…
Noticing an envelope sitting at the top of the pile, Rook opened it, whilst savouring a strong, black coffee. The letter was from his friend, Hardwicke. Apparently, being tricked into marriage wasn’t enough for his bride’s family: they were now demanding money for past debts and dowries for her sisters. Rook felt anger rise, and then settle deep within him. How could some people be so devious? Hardwicke had decided to decamp to the continent and asked if Rook wanted to go with him.
He gritted his teeth and wished he could help his friend somehow, but nothing came to mind. Hardwicke had simply beentoohonourable. If Rook was tricked like that, he’d tell the girl to go to hell. Tapping the letter against the desk, he decided to talk with Jack and see if they could come up with anything.
Rook frowned at the paperwork. Jack had mentioned that the ladies were visiting town, but the gentlemen were going horse racing. However, thirteen years of hard lessons that the estate and business always came first, made him open the account ledgers – maybe this afternoon.
ΦΦΦ
Come the evening and the dance was well under way. Ladies shimmered like butterflies, and the men… well…they didn’t, but they still looked very nice, thought Clara.
Jack was dancing with Lady Minkworth. The lady was dressed in a cerise gown and matching turban, and Clara watched as she giggled coquettishly up at her partner. Clara shook her head. Honestly, he made a conquest everywhere he went. Jack was wearing a very fine, burgundy coat which, unfortunately, clashed with Lady Minkworth’s cerise, but she could see why all the women fell in droves for him.
She wondered what kind of a woman Jack would eventually marry? A timid, shy girl who would put up with his wild ways or could Jack be tamed by the right woman?
Rook had yet to appear. Jack had informed her that he had found some problems with the ledgers, and ended up working late with the estate manager. “All work and no play for Rook, makes Jack seem more exciting,” the cheeky man had said with a sly wink, and he’d whisked Clara off for a dance.
It was her last night, and Rook wasn’t even here yet. She missed him. She missed his conversation, his teasing remarks and his hot glances. Perhaps she should forget about his masquerade woman? After all, it was essentially her – perhaps his body knew, what his mind refused to accept?
Sipping some more champagne, she realised that she hadn’t forgotten to use her left hand for a few days now, and she felt more… content with herself, more confident. It had been thoroughly enjoyable going into the village with the ladies today. She had even traded barbs with Lady Pinesdown, and a grudging respect had developed between the two of them.
She realised that she had hidden herself away for the past months for no reason. No-one noticed her damaged hand here. Hestia knew, but she was kind and thoughtful – even purchasing Clara a pair of soft, kid-leather gloves today. And Rook…he didn’t seem to care one whit for her hand the other night – indeed he had kissed her swollen fingers.
“What are you doing here all alone, Clara dear? At least you’re not hiding behind a plant this time.” Clara smiled at her aunt.
“I’m fine, aunt, still recovering from my dance with Jack – he’s so exuberant.”
“Hmm, why don’t you go and wait for your young man in the garden, I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
Clara spluttered through the champagne at her lips, “My young man!” she repeated, but Dill came to claim her aunt and with a twitter of her fingers she was gone, leaving Clara still choking on her drink. She didn’t know which statement to respond to first. That Rook washers, that she waswaitingfor him or, indeed, that Rook wasyoung. However, she did follow her aunt’s directive.
The French doors were open, but they did not help the heat in the ballroom tonight. A thousand candles burned brightly, and although there were not many guests, the combined perfumes, colognes and occasionally, she had to say, bad odours, made her head swim.
The balcony was blissful. There were no other people, and the moon shone bright and full, highlighting the terrace. From here, she could just about see the sunken garden.
She pursed her lips. What would have happened if she hadn’t run there, that first night? Would Rook have been with Lady Pinesdown all week, instead? Would he even have noticed her? It was a rather sad thought, but her uncle had always believed in fate and would have concluded that it could not have happened any other way.
Rook watched Clara from the ballroom. He really shouldn’t go and see her. He was in a foul mood from all the paperwork that his estate manager had managed to cock-up somehow. Hardwicke’s letter had sat on his desk all day, breeding maggots in his brain, and his valet had managed to rip his best wool doeskin, bluecoat.
Irritation marked his features, and he took a slug of champagne – a thorough waste of an expensive bottle. It hadn’t been his valet, Daniel’s, fault either – he’d been eager to get to the ball – to see Clara. Now, he was annoyed with himself for seeming like an over-eager puppy looking for its mistress’s attentions.
The dotty aunt had told him that ‘his young lady’ was on the balcony, getting some fresh air, and he felt even more irked. Did everyone know about his affection for the girl?
He saw Clara’s shoulders slump. He should leave, but his feet totally ignored his command and instead, made their way to her.
She turned at his footsteps, and his heart stuttered in his chest. She was wearing a shimmering silver ball gown with a blue edging. Its neckline was lower than he had previously seen on her, revealing white shoulders and a delicate collarbone. Ribbons of the same colour were threaded through her hair, and black as night ringlets fell to her shoulders in bouncing abundance. She was wearing a pendant in the shape of a dove, its body in blue enamel and diamonds. He reached out and traced the length of necklace from her neck, down her décolletage, till his finger rested on the dove’s diamond tail.
“Where did you get this bauble?” His voice came out low and thick.
“My uncle gave it to me. It was meant for his future wife, but he never married.”
“It’s beautiful.” He rubbed the body of the dove, but his fingers kept catching on her skin underneath, and he could feel her shiver.
