Dance of Seduction (2 page)

And pigs flew, too.

“This is quite sudden,” Clara remarked. “Are you sure Uncle Cecil meant for the money to be left to
me
? I’m merely his niece. Perhaps you’ve confused me with one of his…er…mistresses or by-blows. I’ve heard tell he had several of both.”

“Clara!” Aunt Verity clapped her hands over Empress’s floppy ears. “You shouldn’t speak of such matters before Empress. She’s chaste!”

The dog squirmed to escape Aunt Verity’s hands, clearly eager to drink up every scandalous word.

Clara shrugged. “Uncle Cecil was always perfectly forthright about his vices, so I don’t see why
I
should pretend they don’t exist.”

“Good lack-a-daisy, niece, you’ll shock all of my lassies with such talk. They’re very sensitive about the proprieties.” When the stony-faced solicitor snorted, Aunt Verity glared at him. “Well, they
are
. They have to be, living in the Stan
bourne household as they do. My brother, Clara’s father, was a clergyman, you know. A very fine man.”

“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Gaither retorted, “but I was given to understand that he was the marquess of Pemberton.”

Clara gave him a pained look. “He was. Later in life, when he unexpectedly inherited the title. Until then, he was a clergyman. Now, about my uncle’s estate…”

“Yes, of course. To answer your question, the other five thousand of his fortune is going to his ‘mistresses and by-blows.’ So the ten thousand is most assuredly for you. Unless you wish to refuse it? Mr. Doggett did mention that if you refused it, I was to accept that without murmur.”

“I suppose you really ought to refuse,” Aunt Verity put in. “Your father was always adamant that your mother not accept any proceeds from your uncles’ ill-gotten—”

“She means
ill-conceived
,” Clara broke in. “My uncles’
ill-conceived
schemes.”

“No, dear, that’s not what I meant—” her aunt began.

“Yes, it was,” Clara said firmly. Perhaps Uncle Cecil had cheated. She would never know for sure and could do nothing about it.

But she could put ten thousand “ill-gotten” pounds to very good use. Not for herself, of course. Papa had left her a nice annual allowance of a thousand pounds. Between that and Aunt Verity’s portion, there was plenty for them both to live comfortably in Stanbourne Hall all their days. But with ten thousand pounds, only think of the improvements they could make to the Home!

“So you do want the money, Lady Clara?” the solicitor asked impatiently.

Ideas already rushed through Clara’s brain. “I do indeed.”

“Very good, madam.” Mr. Gaither began to explain the process of transferring the funds to her.

“If you’re taking the money anyway, Clara,” her aunt broke in, “you could put it to good use.”

“Exactly what I was thinking, Aunt Verity,” she said patiently.

“You could finally get married!”

Clara glanced at her, bemused. “What has money got to do with
that
?”

“Why, everything, my dear. With eight thousand pounds added to your present dowry, you’d have your pick of the respectable eligible gentlemen. Especially after we use the other two thousand to fix you up.” She paused to pat Clara’s knee. “Not that you aren’t nicely fixed up already, you understand. For myself, I prefer your way of dress. But I’ve noticed that even respectable men like women with…umm…”

“Expensive clothing?” Clara said archly.

“No, dear. Elegance. Your wool gowns are all very well for reform, but you need elegance to attract a man. Once you’ve got a husband with your elegance and your fine dowry, then you can go back to dressing as you please. But you have to catch him first. Isn’t that so, Faddle?”

Faddle barked enthusiastically. Clara rolled her eyes.

“I hear that the newly widowed Lord Winthrop is looking for a wife,” her aunt went on slyly.

“Good Lord, not Winthrop again,” Clara said.

That
had certainly been a tempest in a teapot—the stodgy earl had paid some attention to her during her coming out but had retreated when his mother had protested Clara’s “sordid” connections. Clara had hoped she was done with him forever when he’d married another woman eight years ago, dashing Aunt Verity’s hopes.

Then the earl’s poor wife had gone and died on him, leaving him with five children. So clearly Aunt Verity was back to planning the match. “Once we’ve got you properly done up,”
her aunt said, “and he hears of your newfound wealth, he’s sure to look your way again.”

“I don’t want him looking my way again. He was a pompous twit back then, and he’s pompous twit now.”

“Respectable, God-fearing men sometimes are, dear. But with your responsibilities, that’s the sort of husband you need, don’t you think?”

Clara scowled, though her aunt was probably right. When Clara married, it should be to a solid citizen who’d approve of her reform activities. The trouble was, Clara couldn’t seem to warm to such men. Perhaps it was her unfortunate Doggett blood, but she found them so…tedious. One day, she’d have to take her medicine and align herself with such a husband, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it just yet.

Aunt Verity bent down to croon in Empress’s ear. “What do you think, girl? Wouldn’t Clara look lovely in an elegant French gown, with pearls in her hair? Even a high stickler like Winthrop would overlook her mother’s scandalous connections, and—”

“I shan’t use the money for a dowry,” Clara interrupted with an embarrassed glance at Mr. Gaither before her aunt started going on about reticules and pink bonnets and what all. “I intend to use it for the Home.”

Her aunt straightened abruptly. “The Home?”

“With ten thousand pounds, I can expand it enormously.” Excitement built in Clara’s chest. “The children can have a real schoolroom, and we can provide financial incentive for tradesmen to take them on as apprentices. We might even start some little business of our own that the older children could run.”

“But Clara, must you use it all on the Home? You could give half to the Home and leave half to enhance your dowry.” Her pale brows knit in a frown. “But then there’d be nothing for fixing you up. Hmm, perhaps if we settled for an English modiste—”

“I’m not using one penny for my dowry,” Clara snapped, her patience at an end. “Lord knows it’s ample enough already.”

Her aunt’s hands fluttered against her pigeon breasts. “Dear girl, think what you’re saying. You’re getting on in years, you know.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Clara said, mortified to be having this conversation in front of a stranger. “I’m only twenty-eight, hardly old enough to be reduced to buying myself a husband. There’s still plenty of time for marriage.”

“Good lack-a-daisy, Clara—”

“Enough! I’ve made my decision.”

Aunt Verity appealed to Mr. Gaither, who’d been listening to the conversation with smug interest. “Do tell her she can’t use all the legacy on reform.”

For the first time that morning, a smile lit Mr. Gaither’s thin, bookish features. “Mr. Doggett made no stipulation whatsoever on how the money was to be used, madam. He left it entirely up to his niece.”

“Clever man, my uncle,” Clara muttered under her breath.

Mr. Gaither went on, almost maliciously, “If she wants to use it to make gold cages for your little beasts, she’s perfectly free to do so.”

Horror filled her aunt’s face. “Cages! Clara, you would never—”

“Of course not, Aunt. I wouldn’t think of it.” Clara added teasingly, “Unless you persist in this notion of using it for my dowry—”

“I’m only trying to help,” Aunt Verity grumbled. She was no fool—she knew when to retreat, though that didn’t mean she’d given up. “If you insist on ignoring the possibilities, I don’t suppose we can do much about it, eh, lassies?”

The poodles’ yapping wiped the smile right off Mr.
Gaither’s face. He leaped to his feet. “I’d best be going. I must pass on those other bequests, you know.”

Clara smiled at the American as she rose, too. “Yes, to Uncle Cecil’s by-blows and mistresses. I don’t suppose you could tell me who—”

“Don’t even think it, Clara Stanbourne,” her aunt protested. “Reforming pickpockets is one thing, but if you begin associating with
those
sorts of women—”

“Actually, madam,” the solicitor broke in, “Mr. Doggett thought that his niece might ask such a thing, and he instructed me to keep everyone’s identities secret. I think he was afraid that if his…er…consorts knew of his exalted connections, they might take advantage of the association.”

Tears sprang to Clara’s eyes again. It was so like Uncle Cecil to try to protect her. “Thank you, Mr. Gaither, for carrying out his wishes so faithfully.”

To her surprise, he winked. “I’ll inform you when all the papers are drawn up, my lady, and you can collect the funds. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Yes, of course, I’ll just see you out.” Clara shot her aunt an indulgent smile. “Aunt Verity, I’m going to the Home, but I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Do be careful, Clara,” her aunt called after her. “Take one of the footmen!”

“I always do,” Clara said irritably as she ushered Mr. Gaither into the foyer.

Samuel jumped to his feet and hastened to bring Mr. Gaither’s overcoat. But as the young man helped the solicitor into it, she saw his right hand flash.

With a groan, she stepped forward to manacle Samuel’s wrist before Mr. Gaither turned around. “Oh, dear, Mr. Gaither,” she said smoothly, “I believe you’ve dropped your purse. Samuel seems to have found it.”

Samuel colored, but held the purse out with such lightning speed that nobody but Clara would have known it had resided in his pocket for a full five seconds. “It was on the floor, sir. Is it yours?”

With a look of complete bewilderment, Mr. Gaither patted his pocket, then said, “Bless my eyes, it is indeed.”

“It must’ve fell out when you put on your coat,” Samuel said helpfully.

“I suppose.” Mr. Gaither eyed Samuel with suspicion as he accepted the purse. Then turning to Clara, he made a sketchy bow. “Good day, madam. I’ll send a note round when everything is done. Perhaps it would be better if we meet elsewhere next time.”

“Certainly,” she agreed quickly. “Good day, Mr. Gaither.”

The door had scarcely closed behind him before she whirled on Samuel. “I cannot believe that you—”

“It ain’t what you think, m’lady,” Samuel hastened to say. “I would have returned the purse before the carriage drove off, truly I would. I was just practicing.”

“For what? You’re out of that life now.”

“I got to keep my skills up, because you never know…” He trailed off as if to keep from saying too much.

But he’d already said enough. She knew what he was thinking.
Because you never know when you’ll lose a position. Because one day the dream will vanish as so many others have, and you’ll have nothing to stand between you and starvation but your skills
.

She took one look at his anxious face and sighed. “From now on, please practice only on me and the servants, all right?”

He blinked at her. “You mean you’re not dismissing me?”

The hopeful yearning in his face made her heart hurt. “No. Though if you ever do anything like that again—”

“Oh, yes, m’lady…I mean no, m’lady…I mean I’ll never do it again, I swear!” Grabbing her hand, he kissed it
with a slavishness bordering on desperation. “I won’t disappoint you. I’ll never pick a pocket again, and I’ll be the best footman ever to work at Stanbourne Hall!”

“You’ll certainly be the most nimble.” When he looked downcast, she smiled reassuringly. “There, there, you’re a good, hard worker, and I have every faith that you’ll put your quick fingers to better use than you have in the past.” Gently she extricated her hand. “Now go on with you, and summon my carriage.”

With a quick nod, Samuel scurried off. She shook her head as she watched him go. Samuel was one of her successes, yet even he had his moments. How much hardship must it take to bludgeon such a promising young man into believing he had no hope of a future beyond stealing? That he must always expect life to hand him lemons?

She squared her shoulders. She was here to counteract all that bludgeoning, and with this new source of funds, she could do it on a grand scale.

The carriage rumbled up at once. As Samuel took his place on the back, she climbed inside and began to contemplate plans for her new inheritance. There were the practical improvements, of course, expansion of the children’s dormitories and a new stove for the kitchen, not to mention at least two more teachers and a whole slew of books. Mama had always wanted better heating. Indeed if they’d had adequate heating during the cruelly bitter winter of 1812—

She sighed at the dark memory. Her mother had died of pneumonia during that winter. Clara herself had taken ill, for they’d spent many hours at the Home trying to keep the children warm. But her mother hadn’t possessed the youthful constitution to survive frequent exposure to the dank, cold air.

Tears stung Clara’s eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently. How silly to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. The news of Uncle Cecil’s death had made her morbid.

She smoothed out the skirts of her practical worsted gown, the sort she always wore to the Home, and straightened her spine. The best way to honor the dead was by making their passing useful to the living. Mama would be pleased to know she’d indirectly contributed to the Home’s present windfall. Indeed, if not for Mama’s steadfast insistence that Clara associate with the Doggetts as well as the Stanbournes, Uncle Cecil would never have known his niece well enough to warrant giving her such an inheritance.

Clara smiled. She hoped Mama was watching from heaven and smiling, too.

By now they’d entered the grimy, despair-ridden environs of Spitalfields. The passing of her carriage was scarcely noted—the bleary-eyed denizens of the streets were used to seeing the black-and-gold Stanbourne equipage trundle by nearly every morning. Clara had been coming this way alone for the seven years since Mama’s death, and for three before it.

They lumbered onto Petticoat Lane, a street notorious for its receivers of stolen goods, who often worked out of pawnshops. She gathered up her leather reticule and striped wool shawl as they rode within sight of the Home.