Page 14 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)
" W hat were you thinking, Claire, to accept an invitation from a man who admitted himself unsuitable for marriage?
If you are to go driving it ought to be with someone well known as eligible and suitable, so that you become more sought after by association.
I shall have a note sent to inform this young man that you are not available today after all, nor any other day. "
Aunt Elizabeth delivered this speech over four-minute eggs and toast with enough lashings of salted butter that Claire forewent the marmalade.
She also listened politely to her aunt's proclamation, taking a bite of the very nice egg before saying, "Please don't, Aunt Elizabeth," when she meant you certainly shall not, Aunt Elizabeth .
Mrs Dalton paused with a bite of egg suspended halfway to her mouth, then slowly lowered her etched silver spoon to say, "I beg your pardon, Claire?" in a tone that expected her niece to quiver and retreat.
"I said please don't. I am new to London and while I'm sure I'll soon have many friends, at the moment it is yourself and Uncle Charles and Charles Edward and," Claire took care to put on a slightly pained expression, "the Lads.
" She allowed her face to clear instantly and put all the innocence she could muster into her voice.
"Who are lovely, do not mistake me! But they are so many, and so very…
laddish. They come and go together, as if regimented, making it positively impossible to become good friends with any of them.
So it seems it might be wise to search out my own friends, don't you see?
I have no expectations at all of Mr Graham, nor he of me.
It is the most suitable first friendship in Town that I could imagine. "
"It is not suitable at all," began Aunt Elizabeth, but Claire, determined to be blithe, carried on as if her aunt had not spoken.
"Besides, if he is on the fringes of Society due to his lack of wealth, then first it is only charitable to maintain an acquaintance with him, for we who are fortunate enough to be comfortable have a duty to those who are more wretched, do we not?
I've spent many a happy day at home visiting with widowers and widows alike, making certain that they feel wanted. "
"But those are widowers, Claire," Elizabeth protested, "not men in their prime."
"And," Claire concluded, "if he is to make a suitable marriage for himself, why, then, is not being seen with me as useful to him as being seen with Lord Cringlewood might be for me?
It shows that he can be regarded as an acceptable match for someone in the right circumstances.
It would be an absolute cruelty, Aunt, to cut him away before our first outing. Think of what people would say."
Elizabeth Dalton, unaccustomed to being thwarted, sat across the table from her niece and thought for the first time that perhaps it was as well that she had borne no daughters.
The girl was wrong in every way that mattered, and yet the argument she presented was a pretty one indeed.
Worse, as if the matter was settled, Claire said, "I had best go see what Madame Babineaux has arranged for suitable driving ensembles.
Thank you so much for your understanding, Aunt Elizabeth.
" With this, she departed the table with a winning smile that gave no impression that she realized she had won a route.
The girl was either dangerously clever or a fool, and Mrs Dalton, gazing now at her cooling eggs, could not decide which.
Claire sank against the breakfast room door after it closed behind her, and bit a knuckle to keep from giving a shrill laugh.
It had been a near thing there with Aunt Elizabeth, and she wasn't absolutely confident of her victory.
Never once had Charles Edward described his mother as easily flummoxed, and she would no doubt recover in short order.
With that in mind, Claire hurried for her rooms to admire the driving ensemble that Madame Babineaux had assembled amongst her other pieces for Claire.
The gown was simple and the overcoat a lovely mustard yellow that Claire would not have imagined to choose for herself, yet which had become an instant favorite as soon as she had tried it on for Madame Babineaux's fittings.
She looked forward to wearing it out for the first time, but it was hours before Mr Graham would come calling.
The coat must wait. Her hair, though, in order to be perfect, required some attention, particularly so that her charming little hat would nestle nicely in brown curls.
Attending to such activities should keep her out of Aunt Elizabeth's way until it was too late; that was all Claire wanted.
Nearly three hours later, with her scalp aching from Marie's ruthless ministrations, Claire conceded to herself (and herself alone) that there might have been more comfortable ways to avoid Aunt Elizabeth for the interim.
But the deed—and her hair—was done, and she emerged to the drawing room, where Charles Edward looked at her approvingly and said, "Oh, well done, Claire. "
"Thank you. You ought to let Madame Babineaux do something about your wardrobe, Charles." She kissed her cousin's cheek and settled herself enough to rise gracefully when Mr Graham was admitted.
He was not, she decided as he bowed over her hand, quite as handsome in daylight as he was by candlelight.
The warm glow of the flames brought out the sunshine in his hair and skin, whereas actual sunlight diminished it.
That was perfectly fine: they were, after all, to be bosom friends, not lovers.
And he was still impeccably attired both in clothes and by an open, honest smile that made her instantly glad she had stood up to Aunt Elizabeth.
The thought of her aunt made Claire glance nervously toward the door as Charles and Graham exchanged pleasantries. It was well and right that they should, but she didn't want to add Mrs Dalton's presence to the mix, and so with a smile suggested they depart to catch the best of the afternoon light.
"As you command," Graham said cheerfully. "A pleasure, Dalton. I hope we'll see each other again. Miss Dalton?" He offered his arm, and to Claire's relief they departed the house unmolested.
A pretty little cabriolet pulled by a sturdy grey awaited them, though Graham, disarmingly, admitted, "I've hired it, I'm afraid. Can't afford to keep a carriage this fine. We'll look well, though, won't we? And I'm trusting the weather to hold and brought a picnic."
"Then hold it shall," Claire proclaimed as she stepped into the cab. "This is lovely, Mr Graham. Thank you. I haven't gone for a drive in the park since I was a child, I think. Last time I visited London, it was snowing!"
"That must have been three years ago, then. Last winter there wasn't enough snow to stop the young folk from driving in it."
"Ah, but I was with my aunt and uncle, who are old enough to avoid the cold when they can.
But you're right; it was three years ago.
" Claire smiled toward the sky. "But now it's only a little chilly, and I'm glad for the sun.
London can seem so…colorless, without sunshine.
Not like the country, where it's always green or gold or white.
Or mud," she added after a moment of prosaic thoughtfulness.
Graham laughed. "We have our share of mud too. Do you miss it? The country, not the mud."
"I've hardly had time to," Claire admitted. "I miss my friends, but I've been writing to them, and that makes them seem near. And I shall soon make more friends here in Town. It does my heart good to be your friend now, Mr Graham."
"And mine, Miss Dalton. Now, see, I always find a bit of color in London.
Look there, the yellow brick standing out against the black.
Or—" He brought the horse about in a deft turn, and the empty black branches in the near distance suddenly became whole trees lining the still-green walkways of the park.
"Or a stretch of green," he said in triumph, and Claire clapped her hands in delight.
"Shall we try a bit of speed?" Graham asked.
"Oh, let's! Not too fast, we wouldn't want to look like mad things, but yes, please!"
She laughed aloud again as Graham clucked the grey into a trot, bouncing speed enough for the cold wind to pull tears from the corners of her eyes.
A whole circuit of the park, both of them waving gaily to passers-by, many of whom smiled and some few who looked so disapproving it heightened their joy even more.
As they reached the gates they had first entered, Graham reined in the team to a walk again, though the smile never left his face. "Too mad?"
"Perfect!" Claire exclaimed. "Once more around to cool the horse, and then our picnic, perhaps?"
"Perfect," Graham agreed, and took the cab around in a much more sedate turn that earned them no further ill looks. "Pleasant," Graham whispered as he helped Claire out of the carriage afterward, "but less fun, wouldn't you say?"
"A different kind of fun," Claire suggested. "Here, will I lay the picnic out while you hitch the horse?"
"An excellent thought, although I'm afraid the basket is rather heavy. Let me at least settle it in the grass." Graham did so, and laid out an oilskin beneath a double thickness of blankets, so damp wouldn't rise to stain their clothes.