same.
The next week passed quickly for Claire. Her days were filled with additional shopping excursions while her evenings were occupied by at-home dinners, family entertainments and the occasional excursion out on the Town.
Edward didn’t always accompany the ladies. Sometimes Drake or the twins stepped in to serve as escorts when pressing business prevented the duke from fulfilling the role. Edward never deigned to explain just what his “pressing business” might be, informing her, her mother and Mallory only that he would not be able to accompany them to a particular event. At those times he would stop by the drawing room for a few minutes to wish them an enjoyable evening before he bid them adieu and withdrew with a bow.
Claire couldn’t help but wonder where Edward went and what he was doing. He didn’t seem the type to indulge in gambling and she’d observed his habits long enough to know he was no more than a moderate drinker. A woman, then? Was he visiting his mistress in another part of the city? After all, a man like Edward must have physical needs that required appeasement.
Of course a sheltered young lady like herself wasn’t supposed to know about such things, but one heard servants’ chatter on the most interesting of subjects sometimes. And so, what if Edward were carrying on with a lightskirt…? Well, that was his “business,” and despite the queasy churning such thoughts gave her, she vowed to dwell on them no more.
Instead, there was her new trousseau to consider and what would happen once all of it arrived. Four of her new dresses had been delivered yesterday, but only four. The vast majority of her order was still being created—along with the bill.
Seated now in the family drawing room, she skimmed a hand over the skirt of her new green-and-white striped merino crepe day dress and tried to concentrate on her mother’s conversation with Mallory. The two of them were discussing the art of decorative table painting—a topic Claire had never been able to abide.
“Which do you like better, Claire?” her mother asked. “Oranges or apples?”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Oranges or apples?” her mother repeated with a measure of exasperation. “Which one makes the better visual tableau? Or have you not been attending, child?”
“Your pardon, Mama. I am afraid you have caught me out. But since you have asked my opinion, then apples, I believe.”
Her mother heaved a sigh. “I prefer oranges. So much more colorful to my way of thinking.”
Over her mother’s shoulder, Claire met Mallory’s twinkling gaze, her new friend lifting her teacup to her lips to conceal a smile.
“And I have a decided preference for roses,” her mother continued. “None of those woodland flowers that are so popular with some. As I told our neighbor Jessica—”
A sharp knock came at the door, interrupting Lady Edgewater in mid-sentence.
“Ever so sorry to intrude,” one of the maids said. “But this letter just come by special messenger for her ladyship.”
“For me! Who could be writing in such haste?” Claire’s mother extended a hand to receive the missive, absently nodding her thanks as the servant bobbed a curtsey and departed from the room. Without hesitating, Lady Edgewater tore open the wax seal on the letter, a scowl descending across her brow as she read. “Oh dear. Oh good heavens!”
Claire leaned forward. “What is it, Mama? What has occurred?”
“It’s Nan,” her mother said, the parchment crackling faintly beneath her fingers. “She has fallen out of a tree and injured herself.”
“Oh, Mama, no!” Claire clutched a hand to her chest.
“She has broken her leg and is confined to bed. The doctor has attended her and apparently she is faring well enough under the circumstances, but your father writes beseeching me to come home at once. He says he hasn’t the faintest notion of how to care for a sick child, and as we all know, he does not. Of
The next week passed quickly for Claire. Her days were filled with additional shopping excursions while her evenings were occupied by at-home dinners, family entertainments and the occasional excursion out on the Town.
Edward didn’t always accompany the ladies. Sometimes Drake or the twins stepped in to serve as escorts when pressing business prevented the duke from fulfilling the role. Edward never deigned to explain just what his “pressing business” might be, informing her, her mother and Mallory only that he would not be able to accompany them to a particular event. At those times he would stop by the drawing room for a few minutes to wish them an enjoyable evening before he bid them adieu and withdrew with a bow.
Claire couldn’t help but wonder where Edward went and what he was doing. He didn’t seem the type to indulge in gambling and she’d observed his habits long enough to know he was no more than a moderate drinker. A woman, then? Was he visiting his mistress in another part of the city? After all, a man like Edward must have physical needs that required appeasement.
Of course a sheltered young lady like herself wasn’t supposed to know about such things, but one heard servants’ chatter on the most interesting of subjects sometimes. And so, what if Edward were carrying on with a lightskirt…? Well, that was his “business,” and despite the queasy churning such thoughts gave her, she vowed to dwell on them no more.
Instead, there was her new trousseau to consider and what would happen once all of it arrived. Four of her new dresses had been delivered yesterday, but only four. The vast majority of her order was still being created—along with the bill.
Seated now in the family drawing room, she skimmed a hand over the skirt of her new green-and-white striped merino crepe day dress and tried to concentrate on her mother’s conversation with Mallory. The two of them were discussing the art of decorative table painting—a topic Claire had never been able to abide.
“Which do you like better, Claire?” her mother asked. “Oranges or apples?”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Oranges or apples?” her mother repeated with a measure of exasperation. “Which one makes the better visual tableau? Or have you not been attending, child?”
“Your pardon, Mama. I am afraid you have caught me out. But since you have asked my opinion, then apples, I believe.”
Her mother heaved a sigh. “I prefer oranges. So much more colorful to my way of thinking.”
Over her mother’s shoulder, Claire met Mallory’s twinkling gaze, her new friend lifting her teacup to her lips to conceal a smile.
“And I have a decided preference for roses,” her mother continued. “None of those woodland flowers that are so popular with some. As I told our neighbor Jessica—”
A sharp knock came at the door, interrupting Lady Edgewater in mid-sentence.
“Ever so sorry to intrude,” one of the maids said. “But this letter just come by special messenger for her ladyship.”
“For me! Who could be writing in such haste?” Claire’s mother extended a hand to receive the missive, absently nodding her thanks as the servant bobbed a curtsey and departed from the room. Without hesitating, Lady Edgewater tore open the wax seal on the letter, a scowl descending across her brow as she read. “Oh dear. Oh good heavens!”
Claire leaned forward. “What is it, Mama? What has occurred?”
“It’s Nan,” her mother said, the parchment crackling faintly beneath her fingers. “She has fallen out of a tree and injured herself.”
“Oh, Mama, no!” Claire clutched a hand to her chest.
“She has broken her leg and is confined to bed. The doctor has attended her and apparently she is faring well enough under the circumstances, but your father writes beseeching me to come home at once. He says he hasn’t the faintest notion of how to care for a sick child, and as we all know, he does not. Of
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