smiled. ‘I told you it just needed a little management on your end. Mr Lashley has been dancing with you quite a lot. I don’t suppose dancing is part of the French lessons?’
‘Yes, Jonathon seems to have made a habit of it, although I’ve assured him it’s not necessary.’ In her attempt to treat the remark lightly, she made her mistake.
Her mother pounced. ‘Jonathon, is it? Have you two become as close as all that? First names, is, well...’ She fluttered a hand.
‘It’s nothing, Mother.’ Claire leaned back against her vanity, her hands gripping the edge against the blatant lie. He’d kissed her in the Rosedale garden. She’d kissed him in a French bookshop. She could still feel his hands on her, the strength of his body as he’d come up behind her, his mouth at her ear whispering decadent words. ‘Claire, I don’t want to read.’ He’d put his hand on her breast. He’d climbed a trellis for her at midnight, she’d had her hand on his manly core in the very bed her mother now sat on. What they’d done, what they’d become wasn’t exactly nothing even if what existed between them lay undefined.
Her mother was not satisfied. ‘Are the flowers downstairs that arrive like clockwork nothing either?’
‘He is appreciative. He wants this position in Vienna badly.’ She hoped that was a lie, too. She wanted to believe last night was more than a show of appreciation.
‘Flowers, dancing, he even called at Lady Morrison’s to enquire as to your whereabouts.’ Her mother built her case, her soft, doe eyes growing shrewd. Lady Morrison’s would have been the day he’d come to Evie’s and waited for a half-hour downstairs, but Claire kept that to herself—voicing it wouldn’t help her argument. Her mother wasn’t done. ‘It seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble for French lessons, no matter how badly he wants the post.’ Her mother paused. ‘He’s not the only one going to a lot of trouble these days. I see other things, too, Claire. I see you, looking beautiful in altered gowns. I see you taking an interest in your appearance and in society. You haven’t complained at all this Season about going out. Usually by now I have to pry you out of the house. And I see why. If a handsome man like Mr Lashley was waiting to dance with me, I’d not want to stay home either.’
‘We enjoy one another’s company,’ Claire prevaricated. ‘I wouldn’t make too much of it.’
‘And slipping off to destinations unknown in the middle of the afternoon without a chaperon?’ There was a quiet steel in her mother’s voice now as she dropped the most damning piece of evidence. The irony was that the adventure had been for learning purposes, it had simply turned in to something more. Her mother rose and paced to the window overlooking the garden. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot, Claire?’
‘No, of course not.’ She did, however, think her mother wouldn’t pay enough attention to notice. Apparently, her mother had noticed quite a lot, not only this year but the other years as well. Claire had misjudged her there. They had been polite but distant family members since the debacle with Sheriden.
Her mother let the lace panel drop over the window and turned to face her. ‘Your father and I have let you be these last two years, after Sheriden. We did not understand, at the time, how much you didn’t want to marry. If you want a quiet life of books and solitude, you shall have it. We won’t force you to marry for the sake of marrying, but if that has changed, we should be informed, Claire.’
Claire was silent, absorbing the words. It was the most personal conversation her mother had had with her since the refusal. ‘Claire?’ her mother prompted. ‘I am asking you point blank—is Jonathon Lashley courting you under the pretence of French lessons?’
‘I don’t know,’ Claire replied softly, lifting her gaze to meet her mother’s. She could see her mother’s frustration in the knit of her brow. Her mother thought she was being purposely evasive. But this was the sad truth. She had so little experience with courtship games between men and women. ‘Sometimes I think perhaps he is.’ Last night had certainly seemed like it. It was the first time she’d ever said the words out loud. ‘But always, there are the lessons between us, a reminder that without them, he wouldn’t be with me.’ Would he?
Her mother resumed her seat on the edge of the bed. ‘Do you wish he was? Do you want him?’
She had to be careful here. Did she want him? It made him sound like an object to be purchased, a sweet to enjoy. ‘I hardly know him.’ Now she was truly evading.
Her mother brushed the objection away. ‘We know his family. Viscount Oakdale is eminently respectable and we know his prospects, which are very good. He has money, his family has money and he’ll likely go abroad as a diplomat. Ultimately, Lashley will inherit the title, although not soon. His father married young and will live another twenty years. Lashley won’t see the title until he’s fifty if he’s lucky.’ Her genteel mother surprised her with a rather practical dissection of Jonathon’s prospects. When put that way, it was no wonder Jonathon was so eager for the Vienna post. He wasn’t about to while away his life waiting to inherit well into middle age. He wanted to do something useful.
But the bigger surprise were her mother’s next words. ‘We are people of some consequence, Claire. We may be quiet and keep a retiring profile by choice, but your father has connections. If you want Lashley, we can get him for you.’
‘No!’ Claire’s response was vehement and instant. ‘I don’t want him that way, trussed up and delivered like a Christmas goose.’ It would make her no better than Cecilia, who had picked Jonathon out and begged her father for him. ‘Should anything evolve between us, I want it to be natural. I want him to choose me on my own merits, not my father’s persuasion.’
Her mother’s eyes pointedly went to the note peeking out from under the jar. ‘He wants to meet with you again, secretly.’ She smiled. ‘You see, I don’t need you to open the envelope. I was young once, too. I remember quite well what young men in love are like.’ Her smile faded. ‘Go to him then, you will anyway, so I might as well know about it. But do not let him trifle with you. If you are caught, there will be no more talk of choosing. He’ll be yours then, personal merits being amenable or not.’ She stood and crossed the short distance to her and placed a kiss on her brow. ‘Be careful, Claire.’
Claire sat at her vanity, reaching for the two notes, her mind reeling and full. Her mother knew. Had known. Her mother was endorsing a secret rendezvous. She was starting to understand where she got a thirst for adventure from. It existed in her mother, too, buried deep down, just like her, coming out in surprising ways that weren’t always obvious.
She opened Jonathon’s note first, staring at the bold, straight script. He wanted to meet at an eating house in Soho for dinner, tonight. He wanted to see her again. For now that was enough. Never mind that the venue was a chance to practise French and on the surface had nothing to do with last night. She would see him again and that would be a start. The rest would sort itself out.
Claire glanced at her clock. It was just now five. She had plenty of time. Her mother might endorse it, but her mother would still expect her to be discreet. She’d have to put on a show of going to Evie’s or May’s and make her way from there. Alone. Jonathon had written he was sorry he couldn’t come and escort her since a meeting would delay him. It was probably best her mother didn’t know that part or she might rethink her endorsement.
Claire reached for the second note and opened it, her eyes dropping to the signature at the bottom. Lord and Lady Belvoir. She frowned and began to read. The message was simple enough. It was invitation more than it was a note. She was invited to a musical evening featuring Italian soprano Signora Katerina Pariso.
It
