As she walked back through the gardens, she considered her bizarre reaction to Woolwich. Once the danger was done, and Beau was safely on the bank, Clara’s eyes noticed the way his wet shirt revealed Woolwich’s magnificent body. She had read that scandalous women liked to dampen their shifts to get the material to cling to their frames. If men had any idea how good they looked in a soaking wet shirt, perhaps the fashion would catch on amongst the gentlemen.
“Ah, my dear Miss Blackman.” It was Mr. Goudge. How had she forgotten him again? Here was the man she had purposely set her cap at, forgotten because of one stern, infuriating duke? “It’s all quite shocking. I do hope you are feeling well.”
“The main thing is that his lordship was saved,” Clara said. She scolded herself roundly for all the lurid things she had pictured around Woolwich’s muscular torso and how much she wanted to run her fingers and even her tongue over the shape of him.
“Fancy running off like that. I hope he has learnt his lesson,” Mr. Goudge said primly.
“It would have been one of the more brutal ways for someone to learn such a thing. There certainly would be no repeating the error if he drowned. Children are sometimes naughty,” Clara replied. Surely everyone knew that, on occasion, children misbehaved. Besides it was not as if Beau had jumped in the water, he had been pushed in.
“Yes, well—” Mr. Goudge seemed taken aback that she would reply in such a manner, and he shuffled awkwardly to and fro. His face was contracting as if he were chewing an unpleasant sweetmeat.
“The duke asked me to speak to his mother. Please excuse me.” Clara made to walk away from him, but Mr. Goudge was too quick.
“Allow me to escort you there. Your gown…” His hands made an odd fluttering motion, and Clara remembered that her body was as much on display as Woolwich’s front had been.
“Here.” With what Clara assumed Mr. Goudge meant as a gallant gesture, he bowed as if they were on a dance floor and offered her his arm. She took it. There was a contrast, she realised, to how, with brutal efficiency, Woolwich had directed her, compared to the courtliness of Mr. Goudge. It struck her as strange, given her romantic sensibilities, which attention she infinitely preferred. “This way.”
Mr. Goudge walked her back towards the belvedere, leaving her there once she was on the edge of the huddled and excited group. The dowager and Lady Lamont had gathered a concerned crowd of onlookers, and it took several minutes for Clara to draw the dowager’s attention.
“There you are, Miss Blackman. I am assured that dear little Beau is unhurt. Please, you were seen with my son. Can you let me know where he has gone?” The dowager moved forward and snatched up Clara’s hands.
“His Grace is taking the boy to the doctor, but Lord Saunders seemed well when I left them,” Clara said.
All around her, there was a collected outpouring of relief, including from Lady Lamont, and in reply, the dowager squeezed Clara’s hands most keenly. She even removed her own shawl and wrapped it around Clara in both a kindly and protective gesture. “We are relieved indeed. I have heard that Lord Heatherbroke jumped into the water. As soon as I can, I’ll be paying my visit to thank him most heartily.”
The gleam in the dowager’s eye told Clara that the older woman knew all too well of the shocking story of her former daughter-in-law’s betrayal with the marquess. It seemed the dowager also had a plan to remedy any scandal that might come out.
Dropping only one of Clara’s hands, the dowager pulled her back amongst the huddled onlookers, so she could more clearly see the grand faces they had attracted over. In turn, and in rather a hurried rush, Clara made the much more informal acquaintances of Lady Jersey, Lady Cowper, and then Lady Sefton, some of the most elegant patronesses of Almack’s, that the dowager seemed to be on close terms with them. These women fussed and fretted with the dowager Woolwich and even spared an encouraging smile or two for Clara. Who felt increasingly embarrassed by her wet gown, but it was her bravery they focused on.
“I think you should come with me,” the dowager suddenly said. “On my return to Almack’s, Miss Blackman will be my special guest.”
Clara attempted to make an excuse, but one look from Lady Jersey cut off her protestations. Despite her awkwardness, she reminded herself that this was an honour.
“Indeed, I think that an excellent idea. Perhaps I will even invite the marquess and his dear wife. I believe that they are special friends of yours too,” the dowager added before Clara could say very much more.
“You are very good, my lady.” Clara bobbed a curtsy as she backed away.
On her way out, Lady Lamont joined her side. “I would be grateful for the company. I find myself ill-suited to parties and balls. So having you present would be wonderful.”
“Hush,” Clara replied, and the two of them stepped back a little. “It would not do for them to overhear us.”
“The dowager already knows my feelings all too well,” Lady Lamont said. She walked to one of the side tables, and Clara followed after her. With careful consideration, once they were out of earshot, Lady Lamont poured out two glasses of lemonade. “Your dress is terribly soggy.”
“I should go home,” Clara said.
“It makes you seem very dashing, almost as if you, too, went into the water.”
“I did not.” She sucked in some steadying breaths and sipped the drink. It was weak, and suddenly Clara wished it could be whisky.
“My father hopes I will wed the duke,” Lady Lamont said. There was a coldness and sadness to her voice which struck Clara as odd. A great many girls would be thrilled to marry Woolwich.
“He is a fine catch.” Clara took a larger sip of her drink. If a great matrimonial union was to take place between this young heiress and Woolwich, it could only be a good thing in terms of the duke’s plans of pursuing Prudence. Clinging to this idea, Clara forced a smile onto her face. It hurt her to do so.
“I do not care for him,” Lady Lamont added. “And I do not think he thinks of me in such a manner. He never follows my movements as I saw him do with you. Before Beau went to the lake, he kept looking at you when you weren’t watching.”
A great warm blush swept over Clara’s face and chest. Hastily, she put her glass down. “Is there someone else who has caught your eye?” she asked in the hope that a change of subject would distract Lady Lamont.
“Oh yes, but it would never be possible,” the girl said with a finality that made Clara wonder if the suitor was a tinker, a servant, or a criminal. A well of sympathy swept through her. It was easy to imagine that as an heiress, Lady Lamont had all the options, but it seemed one domineering father could alter everything.
