The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey by Carolyn Miller

Author:Carolyn Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kregel Publications
Published: 2017-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

Brighton

“And how was London, Miss DeLancey?” Lady Osterley said.

“Pleasant enough,” Clara said, her forced smile at this unwanted visit to the Osterley mansion beginning to falter.

Lady Osterley sniffed. “Well, I suppose one can afford to be cavalier when one has had several seasons.”

Clara swallowed the sting. Perhaps her ladyship wasn’t quite so harmless as she’d previously imagined. She lifted her chin. “I have had several seasons now, it is true.”

Lady Osterley blinked.

Beside her, Mother visibly wilted. “Clara, dearest, perhaps you should have some more tea. It is most delicious, I must say—”

“It is delicious tea,” Clara said, happy to comply with her mother’s unvoiced wish for amity.

Lady Osterley favored Clara with a slight curling in the corner of her lips, no doubt meant to represent a smile. “I like to think I serve my guests nothing but the best.”

“Your pride serves you well,” Mother said.

Well, her pride served her, Clara thought, hiding her smile behind her freshly refilled teacup. In all their interactions over the past year, she’d noticed that Lady Osterley did little that did not draw attention to her own self-importance or reflect her vaulting ambitions for her son.

“Where is Reginald?” Clara enquired. “I am surprised not to see him today.” As he’d been every other time, gazing at her like a moonling, his conversation as stilted and awkward as a newborn foal’s first steps.

“He will be disappointed not to have seen you, my dear, and gratified to know you enquired after him,” Lady Osterley said with a sigh. “He had some previous business and could not get away. Most unfortunate,” she said, with a triumphant air that suggested the opposite.

Clara studied her. Had something been whispered to the Osterleys about her sad experiences at the Seftons’ ball? A twinge of regret streaked through her, followed by fresh determination. Did she really care for the opinions of such shallow people, whose interest in her extended only so far as her lineage? The Osterleys might possess an almost equally ancient name, but they were as venal as all those who’d once sought her for the dowry she was supposed to have brought to a marriage—the dowry Richard had gambled away. The Osterleys had clung on longer than most, perhaps believing they would somehow see its return, but it appeared that they, too, had given up on her.

Strangely, the thought such people considered her unmarriageable did not sting the way it would have once. She’d read this morning in the Psalms about God’s love and His promise to take care of her regardless of circumstances. She did not need to impress these people, nor to play their games.

Seemingly aware of her perusal, Lady Osterley left off her quiet conversation with Clara’s mother to offer Clara another thin smile. “I confess I heard something of your exploits in London from my dear niece, Lady Ashbolt.”

“I wondered if that were so,” Clara said, with a sweet smile.

Lady Osterley looked nonplussed for a moment before gathering her venom for another thrust. “It seems your conduct at the Seftons’ ball was much talked about.

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