How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(8)

Sophia settled on the settee and patted the spot next to her, urging Clary over. Kit balanced on the edge of a chair, leaning forward, appearing almost as eager as Mr. Whitaker to have the matter resolved.

“Your one-third share of Ruthven Publishing is herewith declared in perpetuity, Miss Ruthven, and will eventually pass to your heirs, barring liquidation of the business.” Mr. Whitaker uncapped a fountain pen and held it out to her, barrel first.

Clary leaned forward, scanned the document, and signed her name before handing the pen to Sophia.

“Of course,” Whitaker added, “you may wish to pass ownership to your husband once you marry.” He glanced at her, a smile causing his neatly trimmed mustache to quiver. “See me, and I shall be happy to add a codicil to the agreement.”

“I have no wish to marry, Mr. Whitaker.”

The solicitor drew back as if she’d struck him. Sophia emitted a little gasp.

Kit turned to face her. “Clary, you’ve just come home after four years away at college. You needn’t make such a decision now.”

He implied she hadn’t given a thought to her future until this moment, but Clary had been looking forward to this day for years. Turning one and twenty meant reaching the legal age of majority, but for Clary, it had always been more. A prospect of the independence she craved.

“There is another possibility.” Sophia’s soft voice stopped Clary from saying something to her brother she’d likely regret. “My dowry was transferred into an annuity. Is such an arrangement possible for my sister, Mr. Whitaker?”

Clary let out a sigh of relief. Sophia had a knack for finding solutions to dilemmas.

The solicitor nodded hesitantly. “Your situation was quite different, Lady Stanhope.” The patches of skin above his thick side whiskers began to redden.

“How so?”

“Well, you . . . your situation.” The solicitor tugged at his ascot. “My lady, you activated the spinster clause.”

“I see.” Sophia cast the older man a rueful smile. “Father finally had given up on the prospect of my ever marrying.”

“Yes, that’s the provision I want.” Clary bolted up from the settee, too tense to stay still. “I’ll take the spinster clause, Mr. Whitaker.”

“You’ve just turned one and twenty.” Kit held out his hands, palms up, beseeching her. “How can you be eager for spinsterhood already?”

“I’m afraid I cannot assist you, Miss Ruthven.” The solicitor pressed his lips together and shook his head. He looked truly bereft. “The clause is only applicable if a Ruthven daughter remains unmarried at the age of five and twenty.”

Four years. An unbearable delay when an eagerness to start her life burned inside her like the sun.

“Much can change in four years.” Kit’s voice had softened. “At least wait and see what the coming year brings.”

What Clary saw was doubt in her brother’s eyes. He knew she wasn’t patient and that waiting had never been her way.

“I wish you birthday felicitations, Miss Ruthven.” Whitaker began collecting his documents and carefully recapped his fountain pen. “If you remain unwed, perhaps we shall meet again in four years.”

After the solicitor departed, Clary slumped beside Sophia on the settee. Her sister wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“We have a suggestion.” Kit stood as if he’d been waiting for the moment since Whitaker’s arrival. “What would you say to a Season?” His voice rose on a cajoling lilt, the way he’d spoken to her when she’d been obstinate as a child. “Balls, gowns, dinner parties. Sophia and Grey will sponsor your coming out.”

To the surprise of the family—and Sophia herself—she’d fallen in love with a viscount, Jasper Grey, Lord Stanhope. A man who’d pretended to be nothing more than an actor but was heir to an earldom. Sophia and Jasper had gained many friends among London’s aristocratic set, but Clary had no interest in following in her sister’s footsteps.

If worry wasn’t gnawing at her insides, Clary would have laughed at Kit’s suggestion. “Did you forget who I am in the years I’ve been away? Odd, unusual, never quite fitting in.” At her ladies’ college autumn ball, she’d been a wallflower, content to read while others danced. “I’m not a debutante. I don’t wish to be.”

She only wished to be free.

“I know you mean well, but I don’t want a Season.” Rising from the settee, Clary tugged loose the strangling knot of a ribbon at the high neckline of her gown. “What I need is employment.”

A far better choice than relying on her father’s money. She’d earn her own.

“Why would you need employment?” Kit’s voice rose to incredulous pitch. “We can increase your allowance.”

“An allowance comes with expectations and judgements about how I spend my pounds and pence.” Clary drew in a breath. She sounded ungrateful, and that wasn’t at all what she intended. Kit and Ophelia had been generous, opening their home to her when she returned from college. “You and Phee have been wonderful to me. It’s not a matter of expecting you to do more. I simply wish to provide for myself. To make my own way.”

“You will, of course, receive a portion of the earnings from Ruthven’s.” Sophia tempered the news by adding, “Though they are only paid out twice a year, and Kit and I have been investing most profits back into the business to expand our offerings.”