The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott
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You can’t stop now. You do want him, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ More than before if that was possible. After spending hours with him in lessons, walking and talking with him, she was discovering a whole new Jonathon Lashley. When she’d started this, it had been with the intention of showing him a different side of her. She’d not bargained on also seeing a different side of him. Now, there were consequences she’d not planned on. ‘But not like this—’ Claire insisted.
‘Like what?’ Beatrice interrupted. ‘We’re doing what every woman since Eve has done to get a man and that’s use our assets to attract a man’s notice. The last time I checked, that wasn’t a sin.’
‘But if I hadn’t forced my way into his life, he would still be on a trajectory headed for Cecilia. I don’t want to steal another girl’s beau.’ Even if that girl was Cecilia and there was definitely some settling to do between the two of them.
‘I think your definition of stealing is a bit too liberal, Claire. There’s been no formal announcement, except for Cecilia clinging to his arm for the past year.’ May shook her head. ‘If that was all it took to claim a man, we’d all have the husbands of our dreams by now. If he wants to marry her, he will. It’s simple.’
‘It’s not simple at all, May.’ Because Jonathon was not simple. He had layers beneath that easy smile, layers she was just beginning to discover. ‘He can’t sell himself to her. She will never understand him. You heard her, he’s nothing but the “colour” of the month.’
She had to tell them. ‘You’ve all worked so hard for me and I appreciate everything you’ve done, I truly do. Evie, your gowns are lovely and I feel beautiful in them. Bea, you gave me the courage to seize my moment and I did. May, you made everything happen by setting up seats at the dinner and dropping the right hints at the right time. It all worked wonderfully, but I don’t want to stoop to Cecilia’s level,’ Claire said firmly.
She hoped they wouldn’t notice how hard it was to say such a thing calmly. It had been a difficult decision to make. She wasn’t as sure as May and Beatrice that the kiss signified progress, but if there was even a flicker of ‘progress’ it was even harder to give up knowing she might have success. But at what price? She did not want to ‘lure’ Lashley away. After last night, she felt that might be the case. ‘I think it’s gone too far.’
He’d kissed her out of desperation over his own circumstances or over hers. And that was the ‘good’ explanation. Perhaps he’d kissed her because he felt sorry for her, the poor blue-stocking girl who had never been out in a garden with a beau before. She looked her friends in the eye. ‘I have to give him up.’ It was the right thing to do. Il n’y a pas d’oreiller si doux comme une conscience claire—there is no pillow softer than that of a clear conscience, as the French would say.
Beatrice was staring at her, dark eyes hard. ‘I would say it hasn’t gone far enough. I thought you wanted more than a few stolen moments and a couple waltzes. I thought you wanted Jonathon.’
She did. ‘I do, it’s just...’
‘What? Hard?’ Beatrice was relentless. ‘Of course it’s hard. You are going to have to fight for him. You’re going to have to fight Cecilia and you’re going to have to fight yourself. In fact, you’re probably your worst enemy.’
Claire bristled, Bea’s comments stoking her anger. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Bea, be careful,’ May warned, looking between the two of them.
Beatrice flicked stern eyes in May’s direction. ‘No, she has to hear this. We’ve coddled her too long.’
‘What are you talking about? Coddling me?’ Claire was angry now. Had her friends been keeping secrets? About her?
‘We let you retreat, Claire, when we should have pushed you forward. You are not a wallflower, but we let you play at it until you became one. You’ve changed and not for the better. You’ve created far more doubt for yourself than Cecilia Northam ever could.’
This was stunning. It was definitely not what one expected to hear from one’s friends. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Just uncomfortable. She’d come here anticipating that they would all nod their heads and gather around her in support of her decision to give up Jonathon. They’d fought the good fight, gave it a good run and all that, but in the end it was probably best to stop here. Claire stared at her friends, each of them in agreement with Beatrice. ‘Et tu, Evie?’
Evie nodded. They were disappointed. In her. Why shouldn’t they be? Hadn’t she thought much the same thing lately, although not quite in Beatrice’s succinct terms? She was different when she was with Jonathon, bolder, braver, stronger. And it scared her. She liked that girl. She didn’t want to lose that girl again. It was a big risk to take. Maybe too big.
‘Excuse me, Miss Evie.’ The butler coughed discreetly to announce his presence. ‘Pardon my interruption, but there’s a gentleman downstairs who is asking to see Miss Welton. He’s quite insistent. He says he’ll wait. I think he means it. He’s been here a half-hour already. What shall I tell him?’
Claire stiffened. Everyone looked at her, even the butler. No one actually expected Evie to answer. Beside her, May murmured in I told you so undertones, ‘He’s come for you. It seems he doesn’t want to be dismissed. Perhaps he didn’t mind that kiss so much after all.’
Bea gave her a challenging stare. ‘Begin as you mean to go on, Claire.’ Apparently she wasn’t giving him up after all.
Jonathon rose the instant she entered the room and came to her, his hands gripping hers, his face tight, devoid of his usual smile. She searched his face for a clue. Something had happened if he’d made the effort to follow her here.
‘Claire, I apologise for the intrusion, but I must speak with you right away.’ She felt the hard pressure of his hands where they covered hers. Her mind slowed down over that one thought, repeating the idea once more: Something had happened and when it had, he’d come to her. Another sort of woman might have taken a vindictive sort of pleasure in knowing that he’d rushed to her and not to Cecilia. But Claire was far more concerned about Jonathon to spare thought for a petty girlish rivalry.
He glanced towards the door, indicating he’d rather not talk here. She understood at once. He wanted privacy. ‘We can walk in the key garden just across the square.’
* * *
Claire was all efficiency, calling for her maid and her pelisse. Within moments she and Jonathon were out of the house. The key garden was quiet, frequented only by nannies and prams and a few small children who were too busy to notice them. ‘Now, tell me what’s happened.’
‘We have to step up the French lessons. I have to get my fluency back faster.’ Get it back? That was an odd word. She’d been unaware he had any fluency to ‘get back’.
‘All right.’ Claire hoped she sounded patient, sounded calm. Her mind was reeling with questions. What had sparked such urgency? She assumed it must be the Vienna position. ‘We can meet twice a day or for a longer period of time.’ The idea that the Vienna position had been moved up would also mean her time with Jonathon had been shortened as well.
‘No, that’s not enough,’ Jonathon said hastily, his own impatience showing in the roughness of his tone. ‘I think I need a more immersive experience,’ Jonathon argued.
She knew what he meant, but it would be more difficult to arrange. Claire nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking about that, too, only I had thought to wait just a bit longer. But you’re right. You need to be able to speak French without the safety net of English in order to truly test how much you can do. There are eating houses in Soho that are French and other small businesses that cater to the expatriates. We should go there.’ There was an entire French émigré society living in London. They could make use