“What a sacrifice.” There was a sarcastic undertone to this, and Woolwich lowered his paper an inch to see who was making enough noise to pull focus. It was from Quarles, who looked slightly worse for wear as if he had been drinking the night before and had not fully recovered yet.
“Marriage does not seem like such a curse.” The man Woolwich did not know, but he had beady eyes and an optimistic look on his puppy dog face. Fresh to Town, Woolwich concluded. “No, indeed, if one marries a gel with good birth and a better fortune. It must be seen as honourable and right.”
Instinctively Woolwich looked to Mr. Goudge, the final man at their table. There was a smugness to the younger man’s face, especially around the mouth, a barely suppressed grin of satisfaction. “I will say that provided your match has equally good connections, then an eager bridegroom might well be prepared to sacrifice much.” Here, Mr. Goudge coughed, covered his lips, and then continued, “Were I to seek an advantageous match, a woman with a well-connected family would be necessary. As I am sure you know, Mr. Shore, since we spoke on the point during the term.”
Goudge’s meaning could not be clearer, and it left a distasteful sensation in Woolwich’s mouth. Clara had influential relations, she might be bookish, but she was sister-in-law to an earl, with friends throughout the Oxford Set. It seemed that was what Mr. Goudge was after her for: those great connections rather than her own self.
Rather than stopping on that particularly unpleasant revelation, Mr. Goudge continued, digging himself deeper as his two friends listened on. “I daresay it’s to my distinct advantage that no one else is sniffing around her.”
“Who is it?” asked Shore.
“Never you mind. Just to say that no one would normally look twice at a red-haired wallflower, and we’ll leave it there. There is something rather pleasing about swooping in when no one else has seen the offering, a pathetic gratefulness to the female ego that I rather enjoy witnessing.”
To this, the other two chuckled as if they were schoolboys.
On the balance of it, Woolwich thought as he lowered his paper to the table, describing Clara in such terms told the man’s friends precisely who she was, just as well as saying her name would do. If anyone else had overheard them as Woolwich had just done, Clara would have to hope for a proposal sooner rather than later from the bloody scoundrel who had just insulted her.
He got to his feet and made his way closer, towards where Goudge, Shore, and Quarles were gossiping. When he reached them, Woolwich dropped his paper onto their table, cutting off whatever they had been about to say next.
All three jumped, guilt reddening their faces. There was something in it, Woolwich reflected as they looked at him with society-dictated respect, in commanding a title.
“I think such errant comments regarding a female would have no place amongst the learned halls that you patronise, Mr. Goudge.” Woolwich turned unfeeling eyes on him. “They certainly have no place being uttered here amongst goodton.”
“I thought this was a gentlemen’s club,” Mr. Goudge replied. There was a laugh to his voice and, to Woolwich’s surprise, a challenge in his eyes. “And anything may be raised as a topic of conversation, provided one is prepared to follow through on one’s words.” Looking around at his friends, Mr. Goudge sought out some kind of confirmation or solidarity from them. It did not appear forthcoming. Rather than backing down, Mr. Goudge fixed a cheerful look on his face and said, “I have been given to understand by the girl’s brother-in-law an offer would be most welcome.”
Curse Hurstbourne and his desperate desire to see everything in the world slotted together neatly. Why did he have to be such a good-natured fellow who simply believed everyone else could be seen in a similar light? Could the dratted man not see that there was some solace and order to spinsters and bachelors, or must the entirety of London be paired off?
“I certainly meant no offence,” Mr. Goudge continued. “Will you do us the honour of joining us?” He indicated a free seat at the table.
With a shake of his head, Woolwich remained standing. He felt sure any woman would be mortified to be described as Mr. Goudge had done so, especially one as sensitive and intuitive as Clara. If the blasted fool could not see beyond her studious tendencies, and thought he only wished to wed Clara because she was well connected, then he simply did not deserve to look in her general direction, let alone make light of marrying her.
“I would hope you do not make a habit of this.” Woolwich raised a hand, cutting off whatever thedonwas about to say next. “As a friend of the family, such speculation would be unseemly.”
Sometimes even to his own ears, he sounded like a prude. But it could not be helped. What precisely could he be expected to say? Morality was the only option as a defence of Clara—anything else would be mighty suspicious, and if he laid Goudge flat out on his back, as he dearly wished to, it would only stir talk.
An uncomfortable silence stretched, and it was all too clear that other surrounding tables and listening nobles had picked up on the air of hostility that resonated out of Woolwich. That could hardly be helped. His entire being felt stiff and uncomfortable, and he wanted to hit Mr. Goudge more than anything. There was a pollution to the idea that someone of Mr. Goudge’s ilk would ever get near Clara. A new thought occurred to Woolwich: He would simply inform Hurstbourne of what he had overheard—damn it most of the room would have heard the stupid man—and the earl would ban the match. Unless Hurstbourne felt Clara’s name was too despoiled. Woolwich shot a look at Goudge. He had his doubts that thisdonwould wish to spoil his connections by acting too quickly or ruining Clara. The very idea made him clench both of his hands into fists.
A smile reached Woolwich’s lips, and he doffed his head an inch in readiness to leave. Perhaps he should return to his estate early. He had promised his son to take him fishing and then, in the summer, buy Beau his first pony. Engaging in such, such…
“It is most touching, Your Grace, that you would care so much about such lowly creatures.” Mr. Goudge was still speaking and forced Woolwich to focus back on him.
“I do not consider that particular young lady to be lowly.”
“No, indeed.” This was said by Quarles, who reached out and tapped his own nose wisely, indicating that he had something sensible to impart. “But it’s as God says, all ladies are put on this earth to serve us, and this chit doesn’t even have a title. To boast of. On the shelf too.”
“You would think,” Shore said, taking up the subject, “that the lady would be grateful for the attention.” This generated an unpleasant snigger from the man and even drew the smallest of smiles from Goudge.
“I have always assumed,” Woolwich gripped the back of the chair he had been previously offered as he gazed around at the gentlemen before him, “that if one was using a woman to boost one’s own name, or rather if one only sought out a lady because you felt certain of success, this said rather more about the gentleman’s own… failings than it ever did about the lady.”
Feeling pleased with himself for such a cutting remark and having jumped to Miss Blackman’s defence so adequately, Woolwich turned and walked away. Surely such a speech would stop any more talk from the men. He had barely moved five feet back when an outbreak of churlish giggles escaped from the table he had just left. Looking back, it was with disappointment, Woolwich realised, that rather than take him up on his suggestion of dropping the subject, Mr. Goudge was apparently confident enough in his own success to continue to crack jokes at Clara’s expense.
Having never been one for a copious amount of words, Woolwich walked back to the table, coming to stand right by Goudge’s chair. “What did you say?”
To Goudge’s credit or perhaps to his detriment, he merely muttered, “Nothing of import.”
“I would like to know. I am sure if it was humorous, I would enjoy it. Or perhaps it was funny enough to share with my good friend Hurstbourne.”
“No, no, it quite slips my mind.” Goudge looked shifty and then shot Woolwich a smile, as if this would dispel anything.
