An Unsuitable Match (10 page)

‘Oh,' Lucy replied. In her excited haste to see two brothers wed in quick succession, the possibility that Clarice did not love David had never entered her mind. She bit her bottom lip, feeling rather foolish.

Millie smiled. ‘Cheer up, Lucy; that does not mean that we cannot help Cupid's arrow to remain true in its aim. We may just need to hold the bow for a while. As soon as we can get Clarice out of those widow's weeds, we shall begin our campaign in earnest.'

‘Excellent. Now, can we please go and get some champagne? All this plotting and intrigue is making me thirsty,' Lucy replied.

Millie nodded her agreement.

‘This is an experience to which I could become addicted,' David said as he spun Clarice into the next turn of their dance.

She smiled in return.

With the warmth of his hand permeating through her cotton evening gloves, she felt the first unexpected stirring of passion. When he laughed, her breathing faltered again and she knew it was not just the tight bindings.

His dancing skills were on par with his father's; she felt safe, confident in his sure step as they moved around the floor. As the dance progressed, he pulled her ever closer to him.

He gave her a smile. He was skirting the boundaries of socially acceptable behaviour but she doubted he cared. His hold on her remained strong.

‘Forgive me for taking all the liberties I can while your father is not present,' he said.

Clarice shook her head. ‘Let's not talk of my father, and just enjoy the dance,' she replied.

Her father would hear soon enough that she had defied him and danced with David; until then she simply wished to savour the moment. To burn every heated memory of their embrace forever into her brain.

His hardened body pressed up against her as they completed the next turn and he let out a groan. She looked up and saw his jaw was set firm, the smile gone.

‘Clarice,' David whispered, blinking a second too long. He faltered in his step, only saving them both at the last possible moment. He regained his composure and they made one last turn of the dance floor before the waltz ended.

As the music slowed and finally came to a halt, he tightened his grip on her waist and pulled her close.

‘Thank you, Lady Clarice, I shall remember this special evening always,' he murmured into her ear.

The faintest kiss of his lips brushed her neck, before he pulled away and sank into a bow.

‘Shall I escort you back to your grandmother, or would you care to join my family for supper?' he asked.

Clarice looked across the ballroom to where Lady Alice and the Duchess of Strathmore were seated together. She put a hand to her chest. Beneath the bindings, her heart was drumming a strong military beat, begging for her to say yes.

The words were close to her lips when out of the corner of her eye she spied Thaxter Fox making his way purposefully toward her grandmother. It would not be fair to abandon her grandmother to yet another session of making polite conversation with the self-centred Mr Fox.

She turned back to David, noting that his gaze had followed hers.

‘Who is that?' he asked.

She sighed. ‘Thaxter Fox, my father's heir.'

David nodded. ‘Yes, a terrible pity for poor Rupert to die so suddenly; he was a decent chap. I liked him.'

She closed her eyes and swallowed, forcing back the tears.

He squeezed her hand. She lowered her head, acknowledging his regard.

‘Anyway, it took a surprisingly long time to sort through the rest of the family tree, and Mr Fox was found to be next in line for the title. Since he was not a member of London society, it was only quite recently that Papa's solicitor managed to finally find him. Papa suggested he join us in Norfolk later in the year, so he could become acquainted with Langham Hall, but for reasons known only to himself, he has decided to join the social set at the earliest opportunity,' she replied.

‘I expect, as the future earl, he would have to make his social debut some time,' David replied.

‘Yes, and unfortunately he has decided it is to be at my father's expense. He has already had several large advances given to him, and it would not surprise me if he runs out of blunt before the end of the season. For someone who was until recently just a country-bred man, he has quickly acquired expensive tastes. And from the way he has allowed all the matchmaking mamas to fawn all over him, I expect he will shortly be in the market for a wife.'

A cold touch of realisation gripped David as he looked from Mr Fox, who was now being introduced to Lady Caroline, back to Clarice.

A wife.

Preferably one with a substantial dowry. He tried to dismiss the notion that Thaxter Fox would attempt to access estate funds through a marriage to Clarice, but to his consternation he failed.

Watching Clarice, he was relieved to see that the only emotion she appeared to display toward that gentleman was one of slight annoyance. The thought that Mr Fox might have more than Lord Langham's purse on his mind took a deep hold in his brain. He had been so preoccupied with smoothing the waters with Clarice that the existence of a possible rival had never entered his consideration.

Even at a distance he could see that Thaxter Fox was a threat. The way he stood, looming over the seated women, made David's blood boil. He was sorely tempted to stroll over to Mr Fox and teach the future earl a lesson in good manners.

Across the room, Thaxter Fox gave Clarice a friendly wave. When David saw a tentative smile appear at the edge of her mouth, his fists clenched into tight balls.

‘I must join them,' she said and took a step forward.

He swallowed, and inwardly cursing the gods who had so recently bestowed him with their favour, reached out and placed a hand on her arm.

Not without me.

She stopped and looked up at him.

‘
We
should join them. It would be remiss of you not to introduce me to your father's heir,' he stated firmly.

She nodded. ‘Yes, of course.'

With Clarice's arm in his, David made a pointed show of possession by gently patting her hand before they set off across the ballroom.

‘Clarice, my dear girl, I was beginning to think you had forgotten your manners,' Thaxter said, greeting her. Without the slightest sign of acknowledging David, he thrust out a hand and pulled her toward him. Without Clarice becoming the centre of an unpleasant tug-of-war, there was no other option but for David to release his grip. She staggered forward and nearly fell into Thaxter's arms.

‘Steady on, young thing, no need to be throwing yourself at me in public,' he said loudly with a laugh.

David saw the hurried, disapproving looks from some of the other guests. A gentleman did not address a young lady in such a common fashion, nor manhandle her.

Then he saw Clarice's face. Fear was in her eyes.

He stepped forward, ready to take issue with Mr Fox, when his mother suddenly cleared her throat. Lady Caroline's social signal was loud and clear. David stopped himself.

‘Mr Fox, this is my son David. David, this is Lord Langham's heir, Mr Thaxter Fox,' she said, opening her silver evening fan and fanning herself.

With proper introductions now made, David gave a formal bow of the head. Thaxter Fox responded with a half nod.

The two men exchanged a silent glare.

After a lifetime of dealing with others who judged him to be socially inferior, David had developed a thick skin. He gave Thaxter Fox a languid smile.

Enjoy it, Mr Fox; you will soon discover it will be one of the few times you get to best me in this city.

He turned to the dowager countess and asked with genuine concern, ‘Lady Alice, how is your knee? I haven't seen you since we attended the opera together; I do hope it has improved. And may I say it was a particularly enjoyable evening, with both you and Lady Clarice present as our guests.'

He took great pleasure in the snort of disgust that came from Thaxter. The future earl was no doubt receiving invitations to the major society events courtesy of his connection to Lord Langham, but private parties, for the moment at least, would be out of his reach.

David's enjoyment was tempered by the knowledge that Thaxter Fox's bachelor status was the key to his social acceptance. Once he put himself openly on to the marriage market, every family with an unmarried daughter would be scrambling to send him an invitation to dine privately.

Lady Alice held out a hand. He took it and placed a kiss on her glove.

‘David, always a pleasure to see you, young man. Thank you so much for the opera; it was a delightful evening. I know Clarice had a most enjoyable time in your company.'

He caught her gaze and the very edge of a wink. She had addressed him by his first name. He breathed a sigh of relief: the dowager was in his camp.

‘Your mother was just regaling me with the wonderful news that you have been visiting your new estate. How marvellous. You must accompany your mother when next she comes to visit me at Langham House and tell me all about it. I do so love the Bedfordshire countryside.'

‘Grandmamma?'

‘Yes, Clarice?' Lady Alice replied.

‘Would you like me to bring you something from the supper table? Mr Radley has offered to escort me if you would like a seed cake or two. Or I could bring you back a flavoured ice.'

‘I could accompany you, Lady Clarice,' Thaxter interjected.

David saw a glint in Lady Alice's eye and smothered a smile.

‘No, no, Clarice and David can bring me back a cup of tea,' Lady Alice replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Why, Mr Fox, you and I have only just begun to get acquainted this evening. Come, stand over me once again and tell me more about your new boots. There is something absolutely fascinating about the cut of a man's boot.'

‘Thank you, we won't be long,' Clarice said.

As he and Clarice began to walk away, David risked one look over his shoulder. Thaxter Fox was standing stony-faced while Lady Alice prattled on about her preference for jewelled tassels. Lady Caroline sat beside her, a sly smile on her lips.

He didn't need to read her mind to know what had his mother wearing such a contented look. The smile of the victor. Mr Fox might have slighted her son, but it was David who was accompanying Clarice to supper.

‘Make sure we bring your grandmother back a double helping of the best cakes,' he murmured.

‘This will be such fun,' Lucy said, as she led a reluctant Clarice up the stairs and into Madame de Feuillide's salon.

All morning Clarice had been trying to come up with a plausible excuse to cry off the trip with the Radley women to one of London's most exclusive
modistes
. As she lay in her bed in the early hours of the morning, she prayed her grandmother would wake with a sore knee and have to cancel. Lady Fate had, however, decided upon other plans.

The only thing Clarice could find of benefit about the shopping trip was that she was out of the house and able to avoid her father. When he'd finally confronted her about accepting a dance with David, Lady Alice had stepped in and given him a piece of her mind. By the end of her grandmother's tirade, she was beginning to feel sorry for her father.

But since Clarice refused to apologise for her actions, the earl had sent her to her room for the rest of the day. In the days since then, both parties had remained stubborn. Clarice would not speak to her father and he had continued to ignore both his mother and daughter, taking his meals at his club.

‘I expect he will speak to one of us once he sees the size of the bill for our shopping,' Lady Alice observed as they alighted from the Duke of Strathmore's town carriage out the front of an elegant shop in Coventry Street.

Climbing the stairs, Clarice stopped repeatedly and asked if Lady Alice wished to go home, but the Duke of Strathmore's footman, who was assisting the dowager countess, was more than up to the task. At one point he offered to carry her up the stairs, at which she roared with laughter.

‘You poor boy; His Grace would never forgive me if I took such liberties with his staff. No, I am quite all right to make it to the top, just keep a firm grip on my arm.'

Clarice forced a smile to her dry lips and continued up the stairs.

Her heart thumped hard in her chest, knowing that very soon someone was about to take her measurements.

Someone would see the marks from her bindings.

Someone would know.

Once she began binding her body, she'd started taking her own measurements and ordering her oversized clothes from a catalogue. After countless arguments, her grandmother had finally given up trying to get Clarice into the hands of a society dressmaker and had left her to her own devices.

‘There is no need to be shy, my dear; this dressmaker has seen it all before,' Lady Alice noted before they left the house that morning.

As they reached the top of the stairs and entered Madame de Feuillide's elegant salon, Clarice temporarily forgot her fears.

She stood open-mouthed in awe at the sight that met her eyes.

Pale pink wallpaper with a Grecian-patterned gold border graced the walls. Long lace fabric panels covered the windows, framed by deep gold curtains.

Three richly stuffed pink-and-gold-striped couches formed a semi-circle in the centre of the room. Set on a low table between the couches was a crystal tray laden with champagne glasses, each filled with soft yellow bubbles. Lucy let go of Clarice's arm, raced over to the table and picked up two glasses. She handed one each to Millie and Clarice, before going back and collecting one for herself.

She raised her glass and said, ‘A perfect pair of sisters,' before taking a sip of her champagne.

Millie raised her glass and gave Clarice a warm smile. ‘I certainly hope so.'

‘Ah, my best clients have arrived,' Madame de Feuillide announced as she entered the room. She curtsied deeply to Caroline and Lucy. Then after paying her respects to Lady Alice, she turned to Millie.

‘Lady Brooke, how wonderful of you to grace us with your presence today,' she said, and began to curtsy. Millie put down her glass and threw her arms around Madame.

‘It is so wonderful to see you again, Madame. I have not had the chance to personally thank you for my magnificent wedding gown,' Millie replied.

Clarice raised an eyebrow; she had never seen a member of London society so friendly with a shopkeeper. Lady Brooke, it would appear, was determined to live by her own rules.

The small French woman gave Millie a warm kiss on the hand, before stepping back and making a close study of the new bride.

‘The flowers you sent were a delightful surprise; you truly are a duchess in the making,' she replied as she fixed her all-knowing gaze on Millie's waistline. ‘The line of the skirt still fits, excellent. But I expect I shall be making some more comfortable gowns for you by Christmas. I see the sparkle of romance in your eye and your new husband loves you very much. You will be giving him an heir very soon,
n'est-ce pas
?'

Millie smiled and put a finger to her lips.

Clarice studied her gloves intently. She had heard enough talk in the ladies' rooms at parties and balls to have a fair inkling as to how babies were made, but to hear someone speak of such a thing in public was outside her limited experience.

‘And whom do we have here? A new young lady, whom I have not seen before.'

A finger placed under Clarice's chin gently lifted her head, and she found herself gazing into a pair of warm brown eyes. ‘
Ma chérie
, you look terribly uncomfortable. May I enquire as to your name?' Madame asked.

‘Clarice,' she whispered.

Lady Alice stepped forward and took hold of Clarice's hand. She gave it a reassuring pat and turned proudly to the seamstress. ‘Madame, this is my granddaughter Lady Clarice Langham. It is my heartfelt wish that you will accept her as a new client.'

A single eyebrow was raised at the mention of her family name and Clarice frowned at the not-uncommon response. A small, secretive smile came to Madame's lips.

‘So, you are the young lady whom Lady Alice has never been able to get to the top of my stairs? I am most pleased that you have finally come.' She softly clapped her hands. ‘
C'est bon!
I have waited years to be able to serve you, my dear. Your beautiful mother was one of my best customers. It would be an honour to dress her lovely daughter. If you will have me, then I am yours.'

Clarice watched as Madame de Feuillide looked closely at her gown. The expression on the
modiste's
face was not one of disdain, but rather curiosity. Clarice looked to Lady Alice in alarm. What was this woman about to do to her?

‘Trust me,' her grandmother reassured her, ‘I would not have brought you here today if I did not think Madame was exactly what you needed. Today is the beginning of a lifelong relationship. Apart from your husband, your
modiste
will be your closest confidante. And for many women she is even closer.'.

‘Ladies, if you would like to take a seat, my assistants will bring out some new fabric samples which arrived this week from Paris. I am sure you will find something that will catch your eye. In the meantime, Lady Clarice and I shall get better acquainted,' Madame announced.

Taking Clarice by the hand, she guided her through a doorway and into a small dressing room. Clarice removed her dark blue kerseymere spencer, revealing the plain coal-grey muslin dress she wore underneath, and waited.

She flinched as the
modiste
laid her hands ever so lightly upon her shoulders. ‘Your dress as well, my dear. I need to be able to take accurate measurements.'

A spear of panic coursed through her body. Her breath caught tight in her throat. She whipped her head around, searching for the door.

She closed her eyes as hot tears began to run down her cheeks. Having managed to avoid anyone seeing her undressed for so long, she was traumatised by the
modiste's
request.

‘Could you just take note of my measurements? I know them by heart,' she pleaded.

‘I promise you, my dear, that whatever minor imperfections you have, I shall make you shine. You can trust me,' Madame murmured softly. She handed Clarice a clean handkerchief.

‘Thank you,' Clarice said, drying her face. She summoned her courage and nodded her head. ‘
Bon
.'

With her back to Madame, she removed her dress and stood clad only in her chemise. When she turned back to face Madame, her arms were crossed over her chest. Her last line of defence.

Madame offered her a hand. Clarice looked at it and reluctantly released one arm.

‘And now the other,
ma bichette
,' Madame said, as she reached out and took Clarice's other hand. She smiled as she slowly pulled Clarice's arms open.

‘Trust me,' she whispered.

She stepped forward and with a quick motion, slipped the chemise over Clarice's head.

Clarice closed her eyes, too afraid to look.

The merest of sighs whispered in the room before she felt a warm hand on her cheek. A thumb brushed away a tear as it rolled down her face.

‘Fear not, my child. It is normal to be unsure of your womanly figure. Many young ladies are just the same as you.'

Clarice opened her eyes and stared at Madame de Feuillide. The woman's face was a study of warmth and honesty. She had not sought to judge her, only to reassure.

‘Please,' Clarice whispered.

Madame hummed knowingly. ‘Of course no-one will ever know. The secrets of my clients are something I shall take to the grave. I take it, from your reluctance to visit me, that your grandmother does not know you bind your body?'

A shake of the head was all Clarice could muster.

Lady Alice had always been kind to her. If her grandmother were to know she hid herself from the world in such a way it would only cause her pain.

‘And that is how it shall stay,' Madame replied. She pointed to the pin at the top of the bindings and softly said, ‘They must come off.'

Clarice raised a hand to her chest, her fingers touching the cold, hard pin.

‘Please,' she pleaded.

Madame stepped forward and removed the pin. When she nodded, the unspoken message was clear. Clarice would have to remove the rest of the bindings herself.

She fumbled with the muslin, eventually locating the end. Slowly she unwrapped the topmost layer of the bindings. Madame gave her another encouraging nod and Clarice continued to unveil her body.

When finally she was finished, Madame took the bindings and placed them on a nearby chair.

‘Tell me, Lady Clarice, do you like how your friends dress?'

‘Yes.'

‘Would you like to bloom into a beautiful flower? Now that I can see your figure, it is obvious you are perfectly proportioned,' Madame said.

She stepped back and held up a hand before disappearing into an adjoining room. Within a minute she returned with a large armful of fabric samples.

When Clarice looked at the
modiste
, she could see the glint of excitement in her eyes.

Madame de Feuillide dropped the bundles of fabric onto a nearby chair and then stood over them for a moment, muttering to herself in her native tongue. Finally she clicked her fingers and pulled out a pale blue piece of silk. She turned and with a most uncharacteristic giggle, raced back to Clarice.

Holding the fabric up against Clarice's skin, she continued to mutter to herself.

Finally she stepped away and stood nodding. Whatever discussion Madame had been conducting with herself, she had obviously reached an accord. She took hold of Clarice's hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘Do you wish to be loved?'

Clarice felt her ears burn as she uttered, ‘Yes.'

‘Good girl. Beautiful girls like you deserve to be loved, but it is the brave ones who find love. I think it is time you decided to be brave, Lady Clarice.'

‘What should I do?' Clarice replied. She had no idea how to be brave in love.

Madame picked up a second piece of fabric. It was a deep gold satin, which Clarice barely felt as the
modiste
draped it over her shoulders. Madame hummed with satisfaction.

‘I understand your father is very wealthy, which is good, because you are going to need a whole new wardrobe, my dear. Everything from your undergarments to your slippers. I will make you the most wonderful and exquisite gowns, but you have to promise me something.'

It didn't require a fortune-teller to predict what came next. But the vehemence with which the words were delivered took Clarice by surprise.

‘I want you to deliver to me, without delay, every piece of binding that you own. All of them!
And
along with them, I want your promise that you will never bind your beautiful body again,' Madame de Feuillide demanded.

She crossed her arms and stood with her back ramrod-straight, her gaze fixed firmly on Clarice.

A nervous titter escaped Clarice's lips. It had been a long time since another woman had spoken so strongly to her.

She nodded.

‘Say it.'

She swallowed deeply. ‘I will be brave. I will send all my bindings to you today and from this day forward I will no longer bind my body.'

‘
Bon
. Now let us spend lots of your papa's money,' Madame replied with a clap of her hands.

‘Within reason,' Clarice replied, not wishing to be a burden on her father's purse.

Over the next half-hour Madame de Feuillide measured every inch of Clarice's body, constantly reassuring her that she was neither the first nor the last girl the madame would see who hid her charms from the world.

By the end of her private session with the warm French widow, Clarice understood why Millie and Lucy had insisted she accompany them to their appointment.

Stepping out into the main salon, her bindings carefully reapplied for the last time, she gave her friends a confident smile. Millie raised her eyebrows in expectation, to which Clarice nodded.

‘Wonderful; now we can choose fabrics. Millie and I have already decided on several we think would be perfect,' Lucy said.

As she walked over to a display panel laden with silks and satins, Clarice heard the
modiste
and her grandmother share an exchange. Madame de Feuillide rattled off a quick but extensive list of all the things Clarice would require for her new wardrobe.