How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(11)

“What’s most disappointing is that my father only thought me worthy of a bounty for whatever man wishes to bind himself to me in wedlock.” Clary slapped her journal shut and settled against the back of her chair.

“You cannot be surprised.” Helen lowered her voice to a confidential tone. “Your father valued tradition. Marriage is what our fathers expect of us.”

“Even yours?”

“My father planned my marriage when I was still a child.” Helen’s voice softened. “The son of his business associate was to be my groom.”

“Who?” She and Helen shared a desire to work and improve the lives of others, and Clary assumed her friend also shared her desire to postpone marriage.

“Nathaniel Landau.”

“That handsome doctor from the Royal London Hospital? The one who came to visit the school?”

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” Helen removed her glasses and blew a bit of lint from one lens.

“Half the girls wanted to follow him out the door when he spoke of employment opportunities at the hospital.” With his dark wavy hair, easy smile, and natural charm, Dr. Landau had been an instant favorite at Fisk Academy. Clary’s chief memory of his visit was how difficult it had been to keep the girls from giggling every time he said something amusing.

“Nate has a heart for helping his patients in the East End,” Helen confided. “He’s passionate about making a difference through medicine.”

“And you’re besotted with him.”

For a young woman who usually excelled at concealing her emotions, Helen was failing miserably. Her cheeks had taken on a peachy hue and her green eyes glinted in the gaslight.

“I never planned to be,” she said defensively. “We’ve known each other since childhood. He’d always been a friend but never more until . . . well, until the last few months.” She swallowed down the last of her punch and took a deep breath. “I’m quite independent. You know that. But lately I find that I miss him when we’re apart. Quite a lot.”

“So you’ll chain yourself to him forever?”

Helen’s brow pinched in a frown. “I don’t recall anyone mentioning chains.” She turned a scrutinizing gaze Clary’s way. “When did you become so averse to marriage?”

“I can’t pinpoint a date.” Perhaps it had simply been her parents’ example of how miserable wedlock could be. Her father had carried on exactly as he pleased, while her mother frittered away her days, planning menus and selecting gowns. She’d seemed more miserable with each passing year.

“Surely in twenty-one years, some gentleman caught your eye, if not your heart.”

“Plenty catch my eye. I can acknowledge a handsome gentleman’s appeal easily enough.” Even if the man in question was boring and boorish and managed her family’s publishing business. “But the notion of vowing my life away, my choices, my freedom.” The thought ignited a panicky flutter in the center of her chest. The panic of being trapped with no way to escape. “I cannot imagine any man who could persuade me to forfeit my independence. At least not yet.”

Helen’s mouth puckered in a thoughtful moue. “You’ve never fallen in love? Not even a little?”

A nervous laugh burst from Clary, but Helen continued to stare. A sandy-brown brow arched up. A sure sign that she’d keep pushing for an answer.

“There was someone once.”

“I knew it.” Helen’s excited pitch drew a few gazes their way.

“Digby Smythe was twelve when I turned ten, and I thought him the most interesting boy in our village.”

“And?”

“I gave him a drawing I’d made for him.” A chipmunk in a top hat. She’d gotten quite skilled at drawing the little creatures and thought the fancy headgear a nice touch. “He called me ‘pudgy Clary’ and tore my sketch in two.”

“Digby sounds dreadful.”

Clary laughed to think of her foolishness. How nervous she’d been. How much care she’d taken with the little chipmunk, which, thinking back, was quite like Digby, with his sleek brown hair and beady eyes.

“You should take another chance,” Helen whispered. “Not all men are as rude and thoughtless as Digby Smythe. Your brother is happily married, and your sister.”

“My brother broke his wife’s heart before finally having the good sense to marry her, and my sister happened to find the one man in England who suited her. She waited a long time. I can wait too.”

“Perhaps a bit of dancing and less waiting is in order.” The voice of Clary’s brother-in-law, Grey, Earl of Stanhope, startled them both. “Forgive me, ladies, but I couldn’t bear to see two such lovely creatures stuck in the corner. Which of you will partner me for the first dance?”

“I would be honored, Lord Stanhope. I’ll join you directly.” Helen smiled as Grey executed a dramatic bow before heading back into the gathering of guests.

“You were right,” Clary admitted.

“Wonderful. I do enjoy being right sometimes. What was I right about?”

“I have no business lingering in the corner and grousing about my inheritance when we’re in a room filled with potential philanthropists. Perhaps some of them would be willing to contribute funds toward the school.” Clary nudged her chin toward her sister and a literary-minded couple Kit and Phee had befriended.