Page 6 of Betting on a Duke
“I’m sorry for what your father is doing to you.”
It was the first time anyone had mentioned it, and she nearly froze on the spot. Her heart accelerated, and her body quivered from head to toe.
“Forgive me for being so forward and upsetting you. I just want you to understand my feelings on this. I’m dancing with you to please Portsmouth, but I’m not going to buy my bride. I’m neither desperate nor in any hurry to wed.”
Things were getting worse for her. She could feel the heat rising up her neck and encompassing her entire face, no doubt turning it bright pink. His green eyes fixed on hers, expecting a reply. “Th-thank you. I’m only allowing this to help my family.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could find it in myself to offer for you and save you from the clutches of a disreputable gentleman, but I’m holding out for the elusive love marriage. I sincerely hope things turn out well for you.” He bowed as the dance ended, then escorted her back to her father, who had a hopeful expression on his face.
She could shake her head and alleviate his curiosity, but she refused to make his life easier. Not until he ended his madness.
When they were alone, he asked, “Well, what about the marquess?” When she didn’t answer right away, he gripped her upper arm rather tightly, hurting her.
“He is not interested in purchasing a wife. He is also not in a rush to wed.” Laughter burst out before she could stop it, and she slapped her gloved hand over her mouth to stifle it. “He is a romantic and holding out for love. I’m going to the ladies’ retiring room.” Not only did she need to relieve her bladder, but she also needed some timealone without her father. Opening the door to the retiring room, she sighed with relief upon finding it unoccupied. After taking care of her needs, she sat in one of several chairs around the small room. Her feet hurt inside her shoes, and painful blisters had already formed on the backs of her heels. She was about to kick them off when the door opened and two older women, whom Clarice didn’t know, entered.
“What a pleasant surprise to find you in here,” said one of the ladies, dressed in forest green. “Are you enjoying the ball?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I was disappointed that your mother didn’t accompany you this evening,” said the same lady as she patted her brown hair streaked with gray. “I’ve met her several times, and she is a lovely woman.”
“She isn’t feeling well this evening. Perhaps you’ll see her again soon.”
“I hope so.”
Clarice stood and curtsied. “If you will both excuse me.” Before she took a step, the other lady, dressed in navy blue, placed her arm around hers and smiled sadly.
“I’m the Marchioness of Dowding and I saw you dancing with my son, who is now the marquess. Is there anything we can do for you?”
Before she broke down in tears from the marchioness’s kindness and her own shame, Clarice hurried out the door. Instead of going into the ballroom, she lingered in the large entryway and sat on a bench between two potted palms. One glance at her dance card showed several names she owed dances to, but there was nothing that would make her step inside that ballroom again tonight.
Her father could drag her kicking and screaming, as far as she was concerned. She would not put herself through any more shame or embarrassment. He would have to find another way to sell her. She refused to be paraded in front of half theton.
It wasn’t long before her father sought her out. “Here you are. Why are you out here?” he snapped.
“Because I’m ready to leave. I will not go back in there. I’ve had enough mortification for one evening.” Without waiting to see what he did, she hurried down the stairs, stopped at the door, retrieved her cloak from the butler, and stepped outside. The racing of her heart calmed when she realized he had followed her and was signaling their driver.
The ride home was tense and silent. Her father glared at her, letting her know he was displeased with her. Too bad. It was time she stood up for herself. She would need to if she was to survive what he planned for her.
With Mrs. Shelley’s help, she undressed, put on her night clothes, and climbed into bed with a relieved sigh, finally home and back in the privacy of her chambers. What was even more relieving was being without her father’s company. After the trying evening, she fell asleep quickly.
Morning arrived quickly as well. Afternoon tea and visitor time came even faster. When Clarice arrived in the drawing room, she froze in the doorway at the sight of four gentlemen standing around talking with her father. Taking a deep breath for courage and strength, Clarice stepped into the room and sat beside her mother on the settee, curling her hand around her mother’s, letting her know she appreciated her support even if she looked as though she could collapse at any moment, making her wonder how her father convinced her mother to leave the sanctuary of her chambers.
“You have gentlemen callers, daughter,” her father said with a greedy grin plastered on his once handsome face. Oh, he was still handsome for his age, but to her, he now resembled the trolls in fairy tales. “Let me introduce them.” He indicated an elderly gentleman with snow-white hair, leaning on a cane. “May I present the Marquess of Chesterfield?” He continued down the line. “The Earl of Banfield, the Viscount Haddington, and Mr. Lewis.” His hand swept to Clarice, who stood up. “This is my lovely daughter, Lady Clarice Dawson.”
Clarice curtsied. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She lied so easily.
Each man bowed, even the old marquess, making her believe he was more spry than he let on. As the introductions concluded, she breathed a sigh of relief to be seated again. Her legs felt weak and unsteady.
Her mother poured tea for both of them, while her father served brandy to the gentlemen. They kept talking among themselves as if she and her mother weren’t there. One by one, her father took each suitor out of the room, likely to his study to negotiate her marriage. She nearly spat out her tea at how ridiculous it all was. Who would have thought that a month ago, this would be her life?
Pain eviscerated her heart whenever she thought about Samuel, which was almost every minute of each day. Would she ever see him again? And if she did, would he despise her for her father’s actions? Oh dear, she needed to think of something else before tears pooled in her eyes and she cried openly.
Somehow, her mother sensed her feelings, squeezed her hand, leaned in close, and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Clarice. I know how much you love Samuel. Perhaps one day...”
“Why can’t he take out a loan, sell some properties?”
“He has already sold the property near Stanton. Everything else is entailed. He has nothing to offer as collateral for a bank loan. He squandered the money I inherited from my mother. Money I had hoped to put in a trust for you when I die.”
