"Did you make any other purchases at Lackington's today, Lady Clarissa?" Montwyn asked.
"Didn't you watch?" she said. Yes, she could be bold and would be. It delighted him, she knew, and delighting him, just for the moment, amused her.
"Please excuse my sister-" Lindley began, his cheeks red with fury. She knew she had pushed him past mere embarrassment.
"There's no need," Beau interrupted. "She's quite right. I did watch. One book. No-"
"Husband," Clarissa completed for him, smiling up at him. His eyes were like emeralds, deep and sparkling, almost blue in the candlelight.
"Come, Lindley," Jane said, approaching and drawing Lindley off. "Miss Whaley insists on hearing of your exploits with your regiment. It seems her cousin has just bought himself a commission…"
Lindley let himself be taken off, for the most part because Clarissa made it clear that she wanted him to go.
"You enjoy embarrassing him?" Beau asked when they stood alone.
"Not at all. I simply enjoy speaking my mind," she said, still holding his gaze.
Beau studied her, this bold girl, and decided again that he liked what he saw. She had a tongue in her head, and he'd always had an appreciation for redheads. Good family, good name, good looks-and she was not immune to him. He could read her fascination easily enough, and none of it had anything to do with his Irish estate, not with that glowing eye and flushed cheek. A girl could well like Ireland and not have that sort of response. No, she had an affinity for him; that was plain. And she was not afraid of him. So many of these girls this season appeared overawed. But not this one, this girl who so boldly declared herself to be shopping for a husband this year.
Beau smiled deeply, and decided. She was the one. He'd make an offer for her tomorrow morning. It should all be settled by next week-by Christmas, in fact. Convenient, that. He liked to be at Montwyn Hall for the holidays. It would be good to get it all settled and behind him.
"And every Englishman has the right to speak his mind," he answered. "You will find no hindrance here, Lady Clarissa." She bristled as if poked. Had he insulted her somehow? Damned if he knew.
He had insulted her, the dolt. Instantly his facility at amusing her vanished. Really, there was so little logic in allowing herself to find enjoyment in the company of a moderately handsome man of marginal intelligence; her heart thumped an entirely different summation of the man, but her heart- and her eyes as well-had no part in this.
"Excuse me, but I have promised this dance to another. I should like to see you again this evening." He bowed, his eyes never leaving hers.
Arrogant fop. Words of insult crowded her tongue and threatened to smother her judgment. She had been better brought up than to bow to uncivilized urges.
"Enjoy your dance, Lord Montwyn," she said.
"Oh"- he turned to her-"but it is more than a dance, is it not? I am shopping for a bride."
"You attempt to shock me," she said, furious with him as completely as she had been delighted by him a moment before. "All you have accomplished is to illustrate the degradation of your manners and, perhaps, your morals."
"By speaking my mind?" he said with a smile, tormenting her with her own choice of words. "Good evening, Lady Clarissa. I hope to see you again. Soon."
He left her then, his smile as wide, arrogant as a fox. He was a boor. She hated him. He was the most arrogant and insufferable of them all. He was also the one her eyes followed. Stupid thing, eyes. One didn't need them to make a marriage contract. She forced herself to look away from him and survey the rest of the room.
He did cut a splendid figure, though, his height being an advantage few could lay claim to. She forced her eyes to obey her will and studied the other men arrayed for her consideration. What she needed was a list, a list of net worth, annual income, and, most important, Irish holdings. That would be the measure of the man she chose, not green eyes and a devilish manner, for she would return to Ireland as mistress of her own domain and destiny. Let her husband, whomever he was, wallow in London. In fact, she would prefer it.
Chapter Four
The next morning, in the privacy of her room, with a cup of chocolate to sustain her, Clarissa sat amid a haphazardly organized pile of papers and lists-all necessary research materials in her attempt to compile her list of men suitable to fill the position of husband.
Naturally Jane was horrified by the cold-bloodedness of it, but Jane had a strong leaning toward sentiment and romance. Clarissa was going to be ruled by her head and the sense that God had given her; she was going to be logical and she was going to be efficient. And she was going to be quick.
"But Clarissa," Jane pleaded, clasping her hands before her, "there is more to marriage than contracts and obligations."
"Is there? I fail to see it. What is there of sentiment in arranging a marriage anyway? Albert would scoff at you, Jane."
"But sentiment should grow in such a union. What chance is there for warm sentiment with such a cold beginning?"
"Let him have lands in Leinster and I shall have sentiment enough," Clarissa said, taking a healthy swallow of her morning chocolate. "If he has lands in Wexford itself, I shall love him unreservedly… from Wexford. Let him occupy himself in London or even Dublin."
"Clarissa," Jane said, trying for severity.
"It is no use your trying to dissuade me, Jane. I am quite determined and have even given Lindley my pledge that all will be settled by next week. I do so want to enjoy the Christmas holiday without this hanging over me. Now, help me with my list if you would help me."
"I shall help," Dalton said, coming into her room, "and gladly. What is it you wish to know?"
"Oh, Dalton, just the one I need," Clarissa said, laying aside her shawl. "You know everyone in society. Just who has Irish lands?"
"Irish lands, is it? Well, I suppose I'm not surprised. You will have your way and go back, and if it takes an aging husband to get you there, then you're hardly likely to balk."
"Of course not," she said, hesitating only slightly. "If you'll only help me compile my list?"
"Yes, of course," Dalton said with a slight smile.
" Dalton, you're not to encourage her," Jane said.
"But how can I not, Jane, when she is being so very reasonable, so extremely logical?"
"Exactly," Clarissa said with a nod to Jane.
"Well, then, you must have Lord Benson on your list. He has a prime estate in County Wicklow."
"Lord Benson," she repeated, forcing herself to add him to her list. Benson was past fifty and had a small pastry for a nose.
"Then there is Lord Esherton, recently available, with an estate in Waterford much talked of."
She had already met Lord Esherton; he was without a single hair on his head, and he had a most peculiar odor about him. His first wife had most likely died of asphyxiation. Still, Waterford was so very near Wexford, the place of her youth. Esherton was added to her list.
"I almost hesitate to mention…" Dalton said leisurely, "but you did ask for my complete help."
"Yes, who is it?" she said sharply, redipping her quill.
"There is Lord Montwyn, whom I know you have met. He does have an estate of some merit in County Meath, I think it is."
"Ah," she said, trying not to smile. And failing.
"I thought you'd be glad to add Montwyn to your list," Dalton teased with a chuckle.
"Don't be ridiculous, Dalton," she barked, laying aside her quill. "If I must shop for a husband, I would be rather stupid not to have a shopping list from which to make my selections."
"And you are certainly not stupid," Dalton said merrily. "Tell me, what exactly is on your for a future husband?"
"Irish lands, of course. That is of primary importance."
"And of secondary importance?"