Page 15 of The Return of the Rake

“I would not dream of doing so,” Izzy said with a sigh, leading the dowager away.

Lady Della laughed. “Oh, I am so glad for your group, Mrs Adamson. It has given the old dear something to focus her attention on and has done her the world of good. She’ll murder me for saying so, but Grandmama has been sorely out of spirits of late, but to see her so very revived and full of verve… well, I am grateful, more than I can express. She is very dear to me, you see.”

“I can see,” Anne replied with a smile. “And, to be frank, that is the purpose of our club: to give women interests outside of the home, to give them support when required, and a voice, when others might not listen.”

“I am all admiration,” Lady Della replied, looking entirely sincere, but then Clara was before them, wide-eyed as a deer caught in a snare.

“Clara, don’t look so terrified,” Anne said reassuringly. “I have brought this charming young woman with me, who was determined to have an introduction. Lady Della Seymour, might I present my friend and cofounder of the Venturesome Ladies, Miss Clara Halfpenny. Clara, dear, this is Lady Della.”

For a moment Clara only gaped, before dipping a haphazard curtsey that had her lurching sideways into the potted palm. She righted herself, pushing a large frond from her face before discovering it had tangled in her hair.

“Oh,” she fretted, turning pink. “Oh, drat the thing. I—”

“Here,” Lady Della said easily, moving before Anne could do likewise, and reaching for the troublesome leaf and disentangling it with deft fingers. “There we are. No damage done.”

“Th-Thank you,” Clara said miserably, looking as though she wished she might sprout fronds too, and disappear behind a canopy of foliage.

“Do you play, Miss Halfpenny?” Lady Della asked gently, giving Anne an anxious glance as she tried her best to put the girl at ease.

“M-Me?” Clara squeaked, turning pale as parchment at the idea. She shook her head, panic hopelessly garbling her words. “Oh, play n-no, n-no-no, I should… w-would… nev-nev—”

“A pity. I should have liked to know what the other ladies are playing too, for I shall be mortified to discover I have stolen a favourite piece from someone else,” Lady Della said, smiling kindly at Clara and looking honestly crestfallen at how agitated the young woman was at meeting her.

“Perhaps we all should sit down. I believe everyone is here now, so we are ready to begin,” Anne said, taking a firm hold of Clara’s arm and towing her to the front row so she had no chance of escaping.

She settled Clara beside Izzy as Della took her place beside the dowager. Giving Izzy an unspoken glare that ensured she would not allow Clara to flee the moment she turned her back, Anne walked up the steps to the temporary stage they had erected for the recital and turned to address the assembled ladies.

As she looked around, she felt a sudden swell of pride. It was early days yet, but there was Mrs Doomsday, and Mrs Bagot from the butcher’s. Madame Auguste, looking exceptionally elegant in grey silk, sat in the same row as Mrs Adie and Polly from the vicarage. And there was Mrs Jenkins—a dreadfully snooty woman who had never deigned to address Anne once over the past six years—who had even brought her daughter, a pretty girl of perhaps twenty years. There was Miss Edith and Miss Dorothea Brumley and even Mrs Chesson from The Ship Inn, as well as dozens of other women, many of whom Anne had only ever nodded to in passing. As she looked around, Miss Marwick caught her eye and the young woman grinned at her, such a look of approval in her eyes that Anne felt buoyed by it. She took a deep breath.

“Ladies, thank you all for coming….”

“Oh, she’s wonderful,” Clara breathed, closing her eyes as the music swelled around her.

Though she still wanted to sink into the ground every time she thought about the stupidity of her behaviour when she had met Lady Della, even that embarrassing spectacle could not make her regret having come. Not when she might listen to such divine playing.

“She is,” Izzy whispered, reaching for Clara’s hand and holding on tight. “Our club is going to be such a marvellous success. How fortunate we are to have her play for us.”

Indeed, the young woman held the entire room utterly spellbound, and Clara, loyal as she was to her friends, had to admit that even Izzy’s splendid recital lacked some of the finesse of this remarkable performance. Her choices were perfect for the setting, being light-hearted and merry, and yet so complex that it was clear she took the performance and her audience seriously. She did not require anyone to turn the music for her, for she played the complex pieces from memory, and Clara wondered at the mind, at the exceptional talent, that could accomplish such a feat.

As the last note of Mozart’s piano sonata number twelve faded away, there was a hush cast over the audience, as if no one wished to breathe, for fear of breaking the spell Lady Della had woven around them. Then the applause began, quietly at first but rising to a crescendo as Lady Della turned becomingly pink and stood, dipping an elegant curtsey as she smiled and made her way from the stage.

“Clever girl!” the dowager said, getting to her feet and holding out her hands to Della, who took them but leaned in and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Did me proud. Not that I ever doubted it.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it,” Della told her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Clara wondered at the comment until the old lady spoke again. “That brother of yours may go to the devil with my compliments, telling me what I may and may not do, and who I may and may not associate with.”

“Grandmama!” Della reproved, though there was a tremor of laughter behind her scolding that Clara did not miss.

“I hope the duke was not too terribly vexed by your attendance today, my lady,” Anne said, her expression troubled.

Clara could well appreciate her concern. Having such a powerful man take against their club would hardly be something to hope for when they were just getting started.

“Oh, please do not concern yourself,” Lady Della replied, giving her grandmother a stern glance that spoke volumes. “My brother worries for me, as all good brothers do. He’s really not so dreadful as Grandmama would have you believe. Indeed, I would not swap him for any other brother in the world.”

Clara thought this very prettily said but could not help but wonder if it was more politic than truth, for what little she knew of such families suggested they would always present a united front even if they were at each other’s throats in private. However, Della seemed a genuinely warm person, and her words appeared sincere. So perhaps the duke was not the cold, haughty man the newspapers would lead one to imagine.

Clara hoped she would never find out. Keeping company with Lady Della and the dowager duchess was quite terrifying enough. She had no wish whatsoever to add a top lofty duke to her suddenly extraordinary social circle. How she, Clara Halfpenny, daughter of a penniless army officer killed so long ago she hardly remembered him, had come to move amongst such illustrious society she really could not credit. Her Aunt Edna would have an apoplexy if she ever discovered it.