Page 1 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 1

E ngland 1824

The happiest day and the worst luck hit Lady Clover Dunhurst in the same week. The former sat with her now. The latter gained force as she visited with her friends Adeline Markham and Evelyn Rochester.

“Isn’t he the most precious thing you ever laid eyes on?” Adeline Markham said to Evelyn Rochester as Clover sat back in awe, watching a squirming, chunky, smiling four-month-old’s wonder capture the room with one tiny coo.

These women were her dearest friends. She could not remember a day when the three of them did not know each other. They had been together for every foible, every misdemeanor of their childhood. Even the time when Evelyn had allowed them into her brother Winn’s bedchamber to fill his tub with frogs. Evelyn had screamed when a green-legged prince leaped, landing on her beautiful cheek, his sticky toes pulling at the soft skin under her right eye. Just another opportunity for Winn and his friends, Rochester and Darrington, to see what unsophisticated moppets they really were.

The infamous moment had taken place when Clover was ten years old. It was also the last time she had seen Hugo Darrington before her come out eight years later. And it would be another three years until she saw him again. Now, with Adeline married to Winn and Evelyn recently married to Rochester, Clover felt like a third wheel. In a perfect, girlish world, she would have married Darrington. Her childhood infatuation with him had felt real at the time. Now, as an adult, she couldn’t deny an attraction to the man, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think she was in love with him. Besides, since the Christmas party where she and her friends had agreed to break the rules of the beau monde, Darrington had shown no interest in her. He had seemed preoccupied most of the time.

Then again, perhaps she was no longer interesting—if ever she had been. Her brother, the Duke of Kingsley, sheltered her while her position in this aristocratic lineage lent itself to overly boring, good manners. No one could call her a bad student. The death of her parents four years prior had silenced her rebellious nature. Mostly, though, she felt compassion for her brother, whose friends played at the game of life while Stratford Dunhurst shed his youthful veneer for his new ducal responsibilities, which—unfortunately for Clover—included her. Now, she was on her best behavior. In other words, no more frogs.

Today, gripping the cushioned edge of a green velvet sofa, she sat with Adeline Markham in her boudoir, admiring a downy-cheeked baby. Clover gazed at little Chase Markham. Her smile was genuine, but her heart sank to think she had less in common with her best friends than she had two years ago.

“Oh, Addy, he is perfection,” Evelyn said. “I am in heaven to be his aunt.” Evelyn chuckled when the baby took hold of her index finger, wrapping his tiny hand around it as he moved about unpredictably.

Of the three, Evelyn was the natural beauty, with hair the perfect shade of medium blonde and a figure to rival the most sought-after mistress in London. Adeline’s dark-brown locks had a touch of curling whimsy at the ends. And then there was Clover. Late bloomer and destined to stay that way. However, her friends were not her competition. They were simply a reminder that the world was passing her by once again. With the same shade of blonde as half the eligible women of the ton , she melted into the landscape, and her good manners made her completely invisible.

Both Evelyn and Addy looked Clover’s way with a mixture of glee, hope, and sympathy. “It will happen for you soon. I’m certain of it,” Addy said to Clover.

“Not the way Rochester does it,” Evelyn volleyed. Dalton Rochester and Evelyn were newly wed, and Clover imagined as busy as rabbits if one could measure the gleam in their eyes when their gazes met.

Clover’s friends giggled, looking at each other knowingly. A secret obviously shared between brides and one she remained ignorant of. Even the secrets of mistresses were foreign to Clover. No woman with such brazen knowledge would be so gauche as to speak freely in front of an untried young woman. For a moment, Clover cursed her own virginity.

Her friends finally noticed she did not partake in the humor and did not share their private smiles.

Addy handed the babe into Evelyn’s eager arms and said to Clover, “Darling, it will happen for you, too.”

Clover smiled weakly, her stomach achy with embarrassment and nerves. “I am not envious because of the babe. I’m jealous because after sharing everything for so much of our lives, I am now left in the dark because I have no idea what either of you are talking about, or laughing about, or alluding to.” She tried not to sound pathetic but couldn’t help the exasperation.

“I am sorry, love,” Addy said. “I didn’t stop to think what a selfish conversation this might be. And hurtful.” She finished with a dip of her head that bordered on condescending if Clover didn’t know her better. Addy wouldn’t purposely be unkind, nor would Evelyn.

“No, I’m not hurt,” she tried to assure. “Really, I’m not. But I am frustrated. What is Rochester not doing?” Clover sat forward, bringing her hands to rest in her lap and pushing down the impatient note behind the question.

Evelyn licked her lips as she looked uncertainly from Addy to Clover. A deep blush broke out on her cheeks. It must be something terribly wicked because Evelyn was not the blushing type. After all, it was Evelyn who initiated the rule-breaking game two Christmastides ago, where the three of them agreed that a holiday party was the perfect opportunity to behave scandalously. Apparently, Evelyn had placed an indecent wager with Rochester, and Adeline had spent a good deal of time with her now husband, Winn. The kind that demands a wedding and ends with a baby.

But Clover had done nothing—unless one could call accepting too many turns about the dance floor from Hugo Darrington something scandalous.

Clover scrunched her brow, trying to understand what Evelyn meant by “not the way Rochester does it.” “Oh,” she breathed in a low growl when it dawned on her what Evelyn meant. “He’s not?—”

“Remaining deeply involved for the entire act? No, he’s finishing elsewhere but very nearby.” Evelyn’s eyes were round and owlish, and she grimaced with her mouth.

“Oh,” Clover repeated on a high note this time. “I was actually going to say he was not performing his marital duty?”

“Rogue that he is, he’s performing, I assure you, just not in a way that is likely to produce a child.”

“I’ll refrain from asking how since I rather think I’d be up to my gills with a mortifying blush.”

“Clover?” Adeline asked. “Have you not considered any prospects? Clearly, you want to marry, so why have you not pursued it?”

“Marriage?” Clover asked. “I suppose I want to marry, but mostly, I want to know what these secrets are, and I want to know it with someone I like.”

Evelyn cleared her throat and busied herself with the cooing baby, obviously avoiding any further conversation on such a blushing subject.

Clover continued, “But no one of my interest is interested in me. I thought he was, only to find out?—”

“That you were courting the favor of the wrong person,” Evelyn finished for her again. She gave Clover a sturdy, meaningful slant of her mouth and cocked an eyebrow as the now-sleeping baby snuggled in the crook of her arm.

“Who?” Addy passed a look between Evelyn and Clover. “Now I am apparently on the outside of the conversation. Don’t forget, I was home the entire Season. Someone, please tell me what happened.”

Clover sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “At the Baileys’ ball, I accepted a dance from Mr. Franklin. And not just any dance, but a waltz.”

“Egad. Albert Franklin? A man almost twice your age?”

Evelyn gave her another determined stare. “Are you going to tell her?”

Addy looked thoroughly confused. “Where was Darrington? You had a partiality for him a year ago if I remember correctly.”

“And?” Evelyn coaxed Clover along.

Clover exaggerated another sigh, loud enough to stir the baby momentarily. “The waltz was a mistake.”

“Clearly,” Addy emphasized, flaring her eyes to their largest potential.

“She thought he was Mr. Darrington.”

Both Addy and Evelyn’s husbands were close friends with Mr. Darrington. Clover could only surmise that her friends wished for her to wed Darrington so the three of them would be eternally connected even more so than now.

Addy’s jaw dropped open. “Mr. Franklin? She thought Mr. Albert Franklin was Mr. Darrington?” Addy asked Evelyn in disbelief.

“In my defense”—Clover laid a hand over her heart—“he was all the way across a ballroom in a wash of people standing on the tips of his toes. So, yes. He looked as tall as Mr. Darrington.”

“Mr. Franklin is old and bald. Mr. Darrington is tall and has an unmistakable full head of nut-brown hair.” Addy’s confusion was understandable.

Clover bobbled her head side to side, her mouth digging into a slant. “The man was wearing a beaver hat.”

“Indoors? At a ball? For heaven’s sake, this is not getting better.”

“I did mention he was far away, and I made the mistake of fluttering my fan when he lifted a hand and waved.”

“First of all, waving across a crowded ballroom does not sound like Mr. Darrington.”

“Obviously, because it wasn’t,” Evelyn cut in.

“Well, it looked as much to me. It was an honest mistake.”

“Not entirely,” Evelyn continued. “It was a mistake, yes. But an honest one? No. And why not? Because she cannot see a blasted thing.” The baby began to squirm, and Adeline called for the nurse.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Clover pinned Evelyn with a look and hid her discomfort by taking up her cup and saucer of lukewarm tea.

Addy kissed the baby’s downy-soft head before the little dear was taken off to nap. She tucked a few errant strands of her dark-brown hair back into place and joined them again at the quaint sitting area in her room. “Why has His Grace not taken you to see an oculist or, in the least, a jeweler?”

Evelyn folded her hands patiently while silently encouraging her to tell the truth.

Clover felt like the tea leaves settling gently at the bottom of her cup. Her friends had always been her soft place to land. She set the cup back on the table, keeping her gaze fixed on the swirling leaves. “My brother has not called upon the physician because he does not know. And I am not interested?—”

“In what? Seeing?” Evelyn asked, but not unkindly. She had been exasperated with Clover since the incident with Mr. Franklin. “Let’s play this scenario to its finale, shall we? If you do not get measured for spectacles—and I mean quickly—you will find yourself at the altar with someone worse than Mr. Franklin. And, if history is any indication, it will be your wedding night with the man before you discover his true identity. That’s how badly she needs spectacles,” Evelyn directed the last part at Addy.

Clover’s head popped up. “On my wedding night? Isn’t it dark on your wedding night?” Forget that Evelyn was speaking of the boorish Mr. Franklin. She was now more interested in the process of newlywed bed sport.

Evelyn and Addy looked aimlessly about the room, purposely avoiding eye contact until their gazes settled on each other. Addy gave a shrug.

“You mean to tell me you do this thing in the light?” Clover asked, a measure of satisfied shock in her voice. “Interesting.”

“The details don’t matter.” Addy waved away the derailing conversation. “What truly matters is you need the help of an eye physician.”

“And then no man will be interested in me at all. Least of all Mr. Darrington.”

“I have it on good authority that Mr. Hugo Darrington hates his name. It should give you something in common to talk about. The fact that you will hate your spectacles, and he already hates his name. It’s perfect.” Addy suggested kindly, even if it did sound far-fetched and bizarre.

“No need for all that since we already have something in common.”

All eyes were on her, and Evelyn asked impatiently, “Well? What is it?”

“We are both fond of boxing.”

“You want to engage in a pugilist exercise?”

Clover laughed, feeling as she always had with her friends, comfortable, accepted, and heard. “No, of course not. I want to watch a match.”

“How do you know you want to watch? Have you seen one before? And how on earth did you get around Kingsley?” Evelyn asked.

“I didn’t have to get around my brother because he was the one delivering the cuff.”

“That sounds like a fight. Or was it a bout?”

“Perhaps a little of both. It took place in the fully enclosed fence of the back garden. I was hiding behind a closed window and a sheer curtain. The raucous broke out between Darrington and Kingsley. Before that, there had been a measure of shouting, although I couldn’t say whether it was all in good fun or not. Before I knew it, they had divested themselves of their waistcoats, their cravats, and eventually their shirts,” Clover finished, energized by the turn in conversation.

Addy sat forward. “The duke let you remain to watch a half-naked man throw punches while glistening in sweat?”

Clover raised her eyebrows and grinned. “I avoided the lecture because Kingsley didn’t know I was there. It was over before it began, ending with both men bent at the waist, holding their knees, and laughing.

“Was Rochester there?” Evelyn asked.

“I don’t believe so.” Clover took a satisfying breath and sat back, a smile pinned to her cheeks. “I confess I had never seen a man’s bare chest before.”

“Not even your brother when you were children?”

“No. I have been quite protected—coddled, some would say—and I am sorely tired of it all. Where’s my adventure? And why should I need a husband for it?”

“I never thought you were the kind.” Addy regarded her, a tilt of her head as if she were recalling every event they’d ever shared, looking for a hint of daring behavior.

“Oh yes, she is,” Evelyn said. “Her newfound shyness, which developed after being propelled from childhood to adulthood in one afternoon, has overshadowed her whimsical side. The mischief maker is still in there, I suspect. Remember, Addy? When we were young girls, we stole Mr. Meyer’s sheet music?”

“That was your idea,” Addy said to Evelyn.

“To hide it, yes, but it was Clover who suggested we make subtle changes, turning the sharps flat and the flats sharp.”

Addy started to laugh, holding a hand against her mouth. “And he began the recital with that piece and spent the next hour trying to understand what happened.”

“He did.” Clover chortled. “He spent half that time with his head under the piano lid checking the tuning pins. I don’t believe he suspected us.”

“Certainly not you,” Addy said.

Clover sobered, catching her breath. “Since Stratford became duke, I have been set upon a different course. No more piano shenanigans for me. It’s quite dreary.” Clover quieted into introspection. “I doubt I will ever get used to calling him Kingsley.”

The room grew solemn.

Addy stood and crossed to where Clover sat. She leaned her hip against the chair and put a supportive arm about Clover’s shoulders. “We must get you away from your brother. I know he means well. He’s been forced to be a parental figure. But if you expect to snag a husband, you need a modicum of freedom for at least a little flirtatious banter.”

“I hate that phrase. I don’t want to snag a husband.” She looked up coyly from under her lashes, her mouth spreading wide with a wicked grin. “I want a man to snag me.”

“And marry you,” Addy insisted.

“If it is agreeable to us both, otherwise I haven’t thought that far.”

Addy looked conspiratorially at Evelyn. “I suppose we aren’t the ones to speak since we have both broken the rule of rules.”

Evelyn grinned. “Yes.” She turned toward Clover. “And some of those rules were broken in the presence of a boxing match.”

“Evelyn,” Clover giggled. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes watering, which was her normal nervous response to everything. “Where?”

“Strong’s,” Evelyn whispered. “And do you know who was there?”

“Rochester, I hope,” Clover said.

“Rochester took me there to watch his friend fight.” Evelyn raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. “His friend… Hugo Darrington.”

Again, Clover smacked a hand over her mouth. “You little minx. Should I call you out for gaping at Mr. Darrington’s remarkable physique?”

“Honestly, I was too far to notice much and was being kissed to distraction at the time.” Evelyn bit her lip.

“Bravo,” Addy said through peals of laughter.

Clover had been back in Mayfair for nearly a week since visiting with her friends at Adeline Markham’s country home. She had hoped the titillating conversation she’d shared with Evelyn and Addy would have dissipated at least a little by now. But it had done the opposite. Time had greedily catered to her burgeoning imagination, and who could blame her when her brain was clouded with thoughts of being kissed to distraction? Evelyn had made it all sound so sinfully delicious.

With the Season all but over, she would have to rely on the infamous summer house party or a small country masquerade. She preferred the idea of a house party because her brother wasn’t likely to attend. One could hide behind a mask, but a country house party put the guests in constant contact with one another, and that was something Stratford could not abide. If nothing else, Stratford preferred to be alone more now than ever.

After their parents died, he’d retreated into his title and she into her position. In many ways, they had each relinquished a significant part of their formative years. Newly graduated from university, Stratford had left his carefree life as a young man behind. His friends went on to accomplish all manner of capers, and her brother had resolved to be worthy of the esteemed title of duke, ensuring their family legacy would endure. The family name must be maintained.

As for Clover, she passed up the year before her come out and took her responsibility for managing a home seriously. She’d even missed the beginning months of her first Season. Evelyn had been correct when she suggested Clover’s shy side had overshadowed her whimsical nature. Clover had almost forgotten how to have fun. She’d lost her spontaneity for life. But it wasn’t shyness that did it. It was self-preservation because allowing herself too much freedom only reminded her that her life had drastically changed when her parents died. It was better to be the woman she was expected to be than to play at being the girl she’d lost. The weight of her family’s title bore heavily on her shoulders as well as Stratford’s.

Her brother was well aware of her change in disposition. As a result, he doted on her with a steel resolve to see her ridiculously happy. Unfortunately, his idea of protecting her from harm meant that she rarely had any fun. And now with her friends married and busy with their families, Clover was convinced she would die a bored spinster.

In truth, she didn’t mind the spinster part. It was the bored part that had her scheming and plotting ways to explore her independence or lack thereof.

Even Evelyn had been to a boxing match.

Clover would pay her entire allowance to see just one bout with Mr. Darrington at the ropes. Evelyn would suggest it was because of an old infatuation with the man, but it was more than that. It was said the handsome rogue was unbeatable, and that was something she must see.