Page 3 of Clarity

“ L ike dancing with a stick,” Purity declared when Clarity asked how it went. “A stiff, humorless, dried-up stick.” By the time Clarity’s dance partner returned her to their table, Alex had already dropped off her sister and disappeared.

She wrinkled her nose. “He did appear a little wooden,” Clarity agreed, “but I thought he was a little anxious in front of all of us. What did you talk about?”

Purity shook her head. “You would not believe it, but he asked me questions as if he were considering me for a life’s mate.”

“You are joking!” Not that there was anything wrong with Purity, who would make someone a perfectly wonderful wife, but Clarity knew her sister was all wrong for Alex. He had a mischievous heart and a fun spirit. At least, he had when they were children. Purity, on the other hand, could be somewhat too proper and would never engage in frivolous frolics.

Yet if even her sister thought Alex an old stick, he must have changed indeed. Besides, one didn’t decide upon a wife over the first dance.

“Sadly, I am not joking,” Purity said. “Before we had made it through the line once, Lord Hollidge asked if I was already spoken for or in an arrangement with anyone else. He asked if I was good enough at mathematics to do household accounts. Before we parted, he even asked if I had ever arranged or hosted a dinner party!”

Clarity frowned. Those did seem the questions of a man hunting for a wife, which was the main purpose of these assemblies, she supposed. But one normally spoke of the weather and the quality of the musicians. The gentleman asked to be allowed to come calling the following morning for anything more personal. How strange!

She couldn’t help wondering if he would be so practical with her. After all, they had a history, and while they knew little of each other now, she had been surprised how warm her feelings had been upon seeing him. More than that, her insides had fluttered pleasantly when they’d spoken, albeit briefly, and when he held her hand.

His face was familiar yet greatly changed. Good looking as a youth, Alex was absolutely dash-fire handsome as a man. She could hardly wait for her turn to dance with him. She doubted Alex had realized why she’d chosen the particular dance, but as he approached, Purity made it clear she knew.

“Here comes your next partner and your dining companion. I wish you good luck with him.”

Putting her hand in Alex’s outstretched one, Clarity let him lead her to the floor for a waltz. Again, there was that flutter when he placed his hand upon her back and stood facing her, awaiting the music.

And then they danced. Perhaps it was the nature of the spirited waltz that caused his silence, but she was most disappointed when he did not ask her questions of a similar nature to the ones he’d asked Purity. Moreover, when they made eye contact, his expression was absolutely neutral. There was nothing in his visage to remind her of his wicked grin right before he nicked a freshly baked pie from the cooling shelf or tied his mother’s bonnet to the cart horse, not caring about the punishment.

In fact, his doting parents had hardly ever reprimanded him with anything more than a stern talking-to.

And while his hands upon her made her feel pleasingly warm, he seemed distracted and distant. When the old-fashioned Rutscher waltz came to a close, he took her arm and began toward the table, appearing eager to be rid of her.

Could that be possible? She was certain she’d done nothing to offend him.

However, her parents had already left the table and were on their way downstairs to the dining rooms.

Just as Alex’s steps faltered at seeing the empty table, his head swiveling about at the mass exodus from the ballroom, Clarity put her other hand on him to make him look down at her.

“It’s time for the meal, and you are to take me in and sit with me.” Maybe without the vigor of the dance, he would talk to her in the old, familiar way.

“I see,” Alex said, looking less than thrilled.

She hoped it was because he’d been caught unawares and not because he was forced to dine with her.

“Of course. How stupid of me. The dance before supper,” he muttered, as if it was something he’d memorized.

“You have chosen a good start to your social debut,” Clarity remarked as they spun about and followed the other guests toward the staircase.

“Have I?” he asked.

“Yes,” Clarity assured him. “The food provided by Hart is above average.”

“Hart?”

“The Duke of Devonshire. He still prefers to be known by Marquess of Hartington, perhaps because he likes the short moniker of Hart. Devonshire is such a mouthful. In any case, as Lord Lieutenant of Derbyshire, the duke is on close terms with my father. He's come to Oak Grove more than once. I believe you and your parents were there for one of his visits. Sadly, he is growing quite deaf.”

When Alex said nothing to any of her prattle, she went back to her original point.

“At some balls, one receives nothing but white, floury soup.”

“Does one?” he asked.

Internally, Clarity wanted to give him a poke in the ribs. If she could get only two words out of Alex at a time, this was going to be an exhausting supper.

“Yes, truly.” She had to come up with something to get him talking. “Are you residing in the same Grosvenor Square home as when you were a boy?” Well done, she praised herself, having managed to ask him without mentioning his parents.

“I am.”

Two words again! “It appeared vacant a long while. I wonder it was never sold,” she said, “since it must be a little musty.”

Clarity felt him startle under her fingertips resting on his forearm. Yet, since she hadn’t asked him a question, he said nothing.

This was ridiculous!

“Is it?” she asked with steely determination.

“Is it what?” he asked.

Ha! Three words out of him.

“Is it musty?” she clarified. “I remember the sweet scent of flowers wafted throughout your home except that time we went into the attic looking for treasure. Why we thought any of the trunks might belong to pirates, I cannot imagine.”

She chuckled, recalling the Hollidge housekeeper’s ruddy face when she caught them with every trunk open, and their contents, mostly old clothing and linens, strewn about the dusty floor.

“When we were in London, my mother ordered flowers brought weekly to fill the vases,” he said quietly. “I had somehow forgotten that.”

Oh dear! Clarity had dredged up something painful, she feared. Yet when she glanced up at him as he drew out a chair for her at one of the massive dining tables, he looked not cross, but thoughtful.

“I wondered what was missing but hadn’t placed it,” Alex added.

“Easy enough to remedy,” she said, earning a nod from him.

Then he surprised her by saying, “Our house was never entirely vacant, nor did I ever consider selling it. My aunt always lived there, even while I was away at school or living in Belfinch or traveling round the holdings. I guess she closed most of it off and thus, it might have looked dark from the outside.”

He trailed off as if that much talking was a chore.

“I loved your Belfinch Hall,” she admitted, deciding not to think of his old aunt residing in the spacious four-story home on Grosvenor Square, shuffling around in the darkness. “Suffolk is lovely countryside, and the Tudor chestnut paneling in the dining room was warm and welcoming.”

He stared down at her, maybe amazed that she could remember such a detail. Then he nodded again.

When all the ladies were seated, the gentlemen followed suit. Everyone removed their gloves, the ladies also closing their fans if still open, before all such accessories were placed upon their laps and covered by a clean, white napkin.

Alex did the same, but stiffly, still managing to seem like a beast of the forest brought indoors by mistake.

“For someone who has not been out much in society, at least not in London,” she said as the servers poured wine, “your dancing was rather good.”

Finally, he offered the smallest smile she’d ever seen, barely the tiniest raising of one side of his mouth.

“Not perfect, by your standards,” he said. “Merely good , and even that marked with a qualifier.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she was glad he hadn’t taken offense.

“No, certainly not perfect,” she agreed. “If you had been, then the rest of us who attend these assemblies regularly might as well hang up our slippers.”

“I had lessons,” he disclosed.

“We all did,” she said, “at one time or another.” Hers finished when she was fourteen.

“Recently,” he added. “Last month, to be precise.”

Digesting this tidbit, she blinked.

“I see.” Now, she was the one giving short answers, but the notion of Alex standing before a dancing master at his age ... why, he must be about twenty-five ... seemed improbable. And then it simply was funny.

Unable to stifle the little bubble of amusement from becoming laughter, she clapped her hand over her mouth as it burst forth.

A few around them ceased speaking while turning to look at her. As for Alex, his expression had darkened as if he were actually irritated.

Dropping her gaze to her lap, Clarity managed to conquer her merriment with thoughts of having lost one of her favorite earrings that night. She added in the recollection of how their housekeeper’s songbird had died, keeling over in its cage the day before.

Well and truly somber, she lifted her glance back to her dinner partner. He was fuming.

“You have embarrassed both of us,” he hissed.

Eyes widening, she had no response for a long moment. Instead, she reached out for her glass of wine, taking a sip purely for something to do while awaiting the first course. Miserably, she wished the meal was nothing more than thick white pottage and a slice of bread so she could get away from him sooner.

He might look like her old friend, but he was behaving, as Purity said, like an utter stick.

Glancing around, she saw Purity at the other end of the table of singles, with Adam across from her, chatting with a pretty young lady. Their parents were at another table.

Alex is alone with no family, Clarity reminded herself. She must do better to make him feel comfortable.

“I am sorry I laughed when you told me about your lessons. It tickled me, but it shows great dedication on your part, and I did not mean to offer insult.”

After a brief hesitation, he said, “Thank you.”

Releasing a sigh, she hoped they could get off on a better footing.

“Tell me what you have been doing,” she prompted, priding herself on the broad question.

“Doing?” he repeated, before sipping his wine and looking down at the small bowl of soup placed before him, a brown creamy pottage with slivers of vegetables.

“With your life,” she clarified. “You haven’t been to London, or we would have run into each other.”

“Not necessarily,” he said.

She wondered if that was the entire answer. Instead of hurrying him, she waited.

“It’s true I was away from Town for years at boarding school and then at university. I have returned to London occasionally when my aunt requested my presence but didn’t see any reason to go to a ball. Now I am back for the foreseeable future. My aunt has made room for me.”

Clarity blinked, realizing that was his idea of a jest — that his aunt was giving him space in his own house. In the next instant, she considered the older lady’s sour-face and the fit she had when her dress was draped over a dog. Mostly, Clarity recalled how Alex hadn’t liked the joyless woman who was vastly different from his own mother’s sweet and fun-loving temperament. Finally, the awful truth dawned on her.

“Are you saying you live with Lady Aston?”

“Yes, of course. My father’s sister is the only close family I have. Although I suppose, correctly, she is the one who lives with me, but one wouldn’t know it by her demeanor in running my household as her own. I suppose it’s because she’s had run of the place for a long time.”

Clarity nodded, absently slurping her soup while imagining it to be a bleak home indeed.

When she glanced at him again, he was staring disapprovingly. Quickly, she stopped wool-gathering, straightened her shoulders, and set down her spoon.

“Why have you never visited us, either when we were in Town or at Oak Grove?” She also wanted to know why he had never extended an invitation to her family, but supposed that would put him on the spot, which was impolite. If his aunt was in charge, then she had her answer.

“I haven’t had the need to go into society until now, so I didn’t,” he told her. “As for calling upon you, I believe that would have implied I was courting either you or Lady Purity, which would have been premature, incorrect, and presumptuous. As for showing up at your country home, that is not done.”

That is not done. The words echoed in her mind. Where had her old friend Alex gone?

He was certainly not seated beside her. But later, despite enjoying a dance with Lord Brennon, who’d been attentive at a ball before the Season began and tonight had paid her every kind of compliment, including asking to call upon her during the week, it was Alex who remained in her thoughts when she closed her eyes to sleep.