Dukes Prefer Blondes by Chase Loretta

Author:Chase, Loretta [Chase, Loretta]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

This word bar is likewise used for the place where Serjeants and counsellors at law stand to plead the causes in court; and where prisoners are brought to answer their indictments, &c. whence our lawyers, that are called to the bar, are termed barristers.

—Thomas-Edlyne Tomlins, The Law Dictionary, 1835

Clara glared at the Cupid.

She itched to throw him as well as the clock he was attached to at the door as well, but then she’d be acting like a spoiled child.

Which she was.

Yet she was a reasoning woman as well, and the reasoning woman knew Mr. Radford was right.

At this point, Mama would have accepted, albeit not delightedly, any gentleman owning a title and some property.

But no, Clara had to become infatuated with a man who had no title and might not get one for years—or ever—depending on his connections among influential men. He lived in chambers, not even a rented town house. His father had property, apparently, but no title. Worse, he’d married A Divorced Woman. Adultery and other marital woes abounded in the beau monde, but ladies quietly suffered or quietly went away without advertising their troubles in costly legal proceedings.

As to rank: Mama had accepted Harry’s marrying Sophy Noirot, a dressmaker, but gentlemen were allowed more leeway in marriage as in everything else. As it was, Mama and Papa were ecstatic because Harry hadn’t married a ballet dancer. Too, Sophy Noirot had had a lady’s upbringing. This, combined with her devastating charm, had made Mama almost affectionate toward her.

To expect Mama to accept Mr. Not-Remotely-Charming Radford was beyond the bounds of probability. And if she didn’t accept a suitor, Papa would not, unless he wanted to move to Arabia and live in a tent.

Even Mr. Radford, for all his rhetorical skills, would not be able to argue, browbeat, or coax them to accept him.

And perhaps, after all, Clara wasn’t a suitable wife for him. She was expensive, frivolous, and shallow. One good deed did not turn her into somebody else, and her good deed was nothing to brag about. Mr. Radford could have rescued Toby Coppy without her, and with a great deal less annoyance, then and afterward.

Her trouble was, she wanted to be somebody she wasn’t.

It was the same as she’d always done, wanting to be with the boys, because their lives were more interesting. Their toys were more entertaining. Their books were more intriguing. Their games were more exciting.

Mr. Radford was more entertaining, intriguing, and exciting than any other man she’d known, and so of course she wanted him. But he was a man, not a book or a toy or a game. This man had a career he thrived on. He had a brilliant future—unless somebody killed him—in which she didn’t fit. Perhaps he liked and desired her. But one must live in the world, and the world hated large gaps in social positions. Had the chasm been smaller and more easily bridged, their paths would have crossed from time to time in the last thirteen years.

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