A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

“Or earlier at the Fortescues’.” Clarice nodded. “Good. Let’s get on to Lady Hartford’s.”

They did. Like Lady Fortescue, Lady Hartford was thrilled to greet Clarice. Not having any daughter to establish, she hadn’t previously met Jack, but smiled and welcomed him effusively. “Your aunt Cowper was here earlier, but I believe she’s gone on. She mentioned she was exceedingly pleased that you’d returned to town.”

Jack used his charming, completely noncommittal smile to escape. Leading Clarice into the crowded ballroom, he murmured, “I sent a note to my aunt Davenport—she’ll have passed the message on to Aunt Emily. I requested a meeting tomorrow morning, if possible. No doubt there’ll be a note waiting at the club when I get back.”

Clarice caught his eye with a speaking glance. “Just as well Amelia Hartford thought to mention Lady Cowper.”

Unrepentant, Jack shrugged. “I would probably have remembered to tell you, but you’d have coped, regardless.”

Clarice humphed and gave her attention to the massed throng. Lady Hartford’s ballroom was smaller than the norm, yet if anything, there were more guests than the usual crammed within its walls. “We’re unlikely to achieve much here.” She leaned close as Jack steered her protectively through the crush. “Private conversation will be impossible.”

Reaching the center of the ballroom, they paused to search for Alton.

Jack bent his head, and murmured, “By the windows. They just came in.”

Clarice turned and looked. Alton was just shutting a door leading out onto the terrace. Beside him, eyes only for him, stood a young lady, blond, well coiffed and gowned, graceful and slender.

Because she was watching, Clarice saw their expressions in the instant before they turned to the crowd, in that moment before they set aside the topic they’d been discussing.

The sight made her catch her breath in empathy. Was love always so painful?

“Come on.” Gripping Jack’s sleeve, she tugged him in Alton’s direction.

Jack caught her hand, linked her arm with his, and by dint of his broad shoulders and grim determination, forged a path through the milling guests.

Sarah was at first trepidatious over meeting Alton’s powerful sister, but she lost all reticence when Clarice mentioned Moira. Color returned to Sarah’s cheeks and sparks lit her fine blue eyes. Unfortunately, with too many eager ears far too close, they had to converse using subtle references; openly discussing the matter presently exercising them was simply not possible.

Clarice took Sarah’s hand and squeezed it meaningfully. “We’ll meet again soon, in more congenial surrounds. Meanwhile, if I can—” Clarice stopped, studying a lady she’d glimpsed between two gentlemen’s shoulders. “That’s Claire, isn’t it? Over there?”

Sarah couldn’t see, but Alton looked over the heads and nodded. “Yes.”

Clarice glanced at Jack. “Stay here—all of you. I want to speak with Claire alone.” She grimaced as she surveyed the crowd. “If I can manage it.”

She tacked through the crowd, conscious that both Jack and Alton watched her. It was only fifteen feet to where Claire stood chatting to some gentleman; it took a full ten minutes to cover the distance. Emerging through the crowd opposite Claire, Clarice caught her eye and held it. Claire blinked, recognizing her, paused, then, realizing why Clarice was standing back, she smiled at the gentleman and quickly brought their exchange to an end.

The gentleman moved on. Claire came to Clarice.

“Clarice.” They exchanged nods. Claire cast a glance at the shoulders all around them. “This is not a suitable venue in which to discuss the topic I surmise you wish to talk about.”

Clarice met her eyes. “Indeed. What about the withdrawing room?”

Claire hestitated, then said, “There’s a small parlor I know of. We could try there.”

Clarice waved. “Lead on.”

They slipped from the ballroom. Somewhat to both their surprise, the parlor was empty. “Lucky.” Claire sank into one armchair. She waited while Clarice sat in the other, then said, “I take it you wish to speak of Alton’s wish to marry Sarah. It seems an eminently suitable match to me. I’ll certainly tell Conniston so when he asks.”

Clarice held Claire’s gaze and swiftly considered how much to reveal. Claire was a few years older than she, more Alton’s age, yet years ago they’d been contemporaries of sorts. Not friends, perhaps even, in the hothouse of tonnish matchmaking they’d been rivals, yet they’d had much in common; Claire had been a viscountess’s well-dowered daughter, beautiful enough to attract the attention of many, sensual and clearheaded enough to know her own mind. To make her own decisions.

Sitting back in the armchair, Clarice nodded. “While I’m happy to know you’ll support the match—and yes, while I’ve barely had time to make Sarah’s acquaintance, I agree it’s an excellent match on all sides—I’m actually here to discuss Moira.” When Claire’s brows flew up, Clarice smiled grimly. “Moira and her blackmailing schemes.”

Briefly, she outlined Moira’s threat.

Claire’s features hardened. “The bitch.”

Clarice nodded. “Indeed. The reason I thought to speak with you is that you’re in the best position to assess how this situation might play out.” She studied Claire’s face. “How will Conniston react? Are you under threat, too?”

Frowning, Claire shook her head. “I’m really very fond of Sarah—not as a daughter, of course, more like a younger sister.” She met Clarice’s eyes. “Conniston and I have an agreement, have had from the first. I always tell him who my lovers are. He doesn’t care, but it does make for less awkwardness all around. He knows that Alton and I…but that was nearly ten years ago!”