Clarissa had taken note of him. How could she not? He was a man of above average height, dark of hair, with a fine brow and a well-shaped mouth. His dress was of the highest quality and cut, his hair well-groomed, and his cravat impeccable. It was equally obvious that he knew he cut a fine figure. His pride affected her mood like cold water on a frigid day; there was no warmth in her toward him, as she could detect no warmth in him. He called from her, for all his masculine appeal, only the chill of winter. Though it was difficult to keep her eyes from him.
"He has a loose button. I cannot abide a slovenly man," Clarissa said, turning her face away from the sight of him.
"A loose button?" Jane was incredulous. "At this distance? And surely, if so, his valet is to be blamed and not the man himself."
"You are of a generous nature, Jane, a trait I find most welcome, most comforting, but in this instance, when I must choose a husband, I must be exacting in my standards. I will not wed a slattern."
"Surely a wife would be of assistance to him. If a slattern he is-and I do not say so, for I think he is a most fine-looking gentleman-then a wife's gentle counsel would cure such an ill. He but wants feminine care."
Clarissa looked over her shoulder at the man. With his looks, she was quite sure that feminine attention was not something he lacked. He was a most… rigorous-looking man.
"He looks very English," Clarissa said instead.
Jane smiled and arranged her shawl over her shoulders. "As do we all, I would say. It will be a fault most difficult to cure."
"Impossible, you mean to say," Clarissa said. "Would that there were a single Irishman in the room. I would happily give myself into his keeping."
"And into his small cottage?" Jane said. "You know Lindley spoke only the truth. Who among the native Irish owns a fine Irish estate? To have the life to which you have been born, you must marry a man as English as yourself."
Clarissa tried not to bristle at the insult, for she saw it as nothing less. Jane meant well and, as far as she was able, spoke the truth.
"I do understand your fascination with the Irish," Jane continued, looking down at her hands, "for during my own come-out, I developed a fondness for an Irishman who spoke tenderly and beautifully to me. I would have married him and even believe he would have asked, if not for my father's blunt refusal to have any part of him. So you must see, I share your frustration in being urged to marry against one's heart. But cannot the heart learn to follow where the mind has led?"
Perhaps. Perhaps the mind could lead the heart. She had a good mind; it should not be terribly difficult to command her heart to follow where reason led. Yet Jane had never married, never followed her own counsel. And perhaps she was warning Clarissa against making the same choice. Was the life of a companion to a distant relation really the life she sought for herself? It was clear Jane did not want it for her.
Clarissa looked at Jane with eyes full of gratitude at baring her soul in a heartfelt attempt to keep Clarissa from making the same misstep that she had made long years ago. The attempt had succeeded. She would rather marry than remain a spinster, even if that meant marrying an Englishman. Her head would rule her heart; she would become the buyer in this game of matrimony and find herself the husband who best suited her, Englishman though he be.
But certainly in all of London she could find a man who owned property in Ireland.
"Any progress?" Dalton asked.
Beau greeted Dalton with a grunt and a half bow of recognition.
"I thought to find you well engaged, with perhaps half a dozen women simpering at your elbows by this hour. What have you been up to, to be standing here alone?" Dalton persisted.
"Alone? I am hardly alone. I have my thoughts, my speculations, my plans to abide with me," Beau answered.
"Better than a wife, I daresay. Smart man. Keep marriage as a speculation and all will be well."
"Can't," Beau said. "Must get myself an heir. Family duty requires it."
"Not such an onerous duty, when it comes to that." Dalton grinned. "Have you found any takers?"
"I am rather taken with her," Beau said, looking across the room. "Why didn't you tell me that you had such a fine-looking sister? Lindley was more than happy to point her out to me."
"Lindley would be," Dalton said. "He's been made to take the plunge and is grabbing for any and all to get wet with him. I wouldn't fall for it, were I you."
"I must marry," Beau said easily, still looking at Clarissa. "Your sister has a look about her… Will you make the introductions? I've looked enough; 'tis time to take the first step."
"I will not," Dalton said stiffly. "You and Clarissa would not suit at all. I'm surprised you would suggest it, even more surprised that you can't see it for yourself."
"I beg your pardon?"
Beau looked stupefied. Dalton couldn't have been happier.
"She's a sheltered girl, hardly out of the country, and as innocent as rain. A man as experienced as you with a girl like that? You'd have nothing to say to each other inside of five minutes. Besides, as you said, she's a fine-looking girl; she could do quite well for herself this season. Isn't Halston looking for a bride this year? He's got Haverly to offer. Must be worth more than-"
"Montwyn Hall is no shabby cottage on the edge of a field, Dalton," Beau cut in. "And Halston is almost forty. You'd encourage a match with a man twice her age?"
"And why not? He would be a stable, solid man for her." He ended the sentence there, but both heard the unspoken insult to Beau's maturity, solidity, and stability.
"I'm certain he would be," Beau said coldly. With a bow, he excused himself from Dalton 's company, his anger plain.
Dalton watched him go with the faintest of smiles. Leave it to Lindley to play his hand openly, boldly encouraging Beau to offer for Clarissa. He pursued a darker course, one less plain. Nothing would set Beau after Clarissa like opposition; the man was as bored as he was himself in a sea of smiling and submissive girls. A squall would make him sit up and check his ropes. Dalton had stirred the breeze, and if he knew Clarissa, which he did, she would do the rest. If all went well, not only would Beau offer for her, he would be fairly determined to have her and none other.
Dalton smiled again at the thought of the two of them together and ducked his head until he had composed himself. He liked Beau, he truly did, and he would be a splendid match for Clarissa. Beau had an estate in Ireland, after all.
Determined not to indulge her sense of injustice and outrage about her inescapable fate as the wife of an Englishman, Clarissa decided to enjoy herself as well as she might in such company and circumstance. She had much to do if logic was to triumph over sentiment. With Jane beside her, they circled the room, mingling.
"He was rather… moist, was he not, Jane? I do not think that I should have to tolerate a damp husband. All the upholstery would be ruined in a month," Clarissa said softly as they moved away from Lord Dalrimple and his sister.
"Clarissa!" Jane gasped.
"What?" she replied.
"It is not seemly to say-"
"He cannot hear me, and I do say that I should be allowed my own opinion on the matter of my husband and his odors," Clarissa said. "Now, shall we join Lady Wolling and her son? He looks a likely sort, though a tad small for me. I should hate to outweigh my husband. Most difficult. I foresee very small and fragile children, and if they are boys… Well, perhaps we should simply bypass Lady Wolling altogether."
Jane nodded to Lady Wolling as they passed, her eyes alight with embarrassment and horrified humor.