Alice Clavering stood with Cleda Bell, Philippa Blythefield, and Susan Evans in the corner of Almack’s, studying this Season’s crop of young women entering the marriage mart. Cleda and Philippa were both young mothers, but they had decided they would leave their newborn sons with the nurses so they might attend Almack’s opening night. Alice counted herself lucky that she had the pleasure of their company tonight, as they were her favorite friends to spend time with. She had also come to realize that life in London was not so terrible, even without bosom friends at all the social events.
“There is the young Miss Delby,” Cleda said. “She will fly off the shelf, with that flaxen hair.”
“It’s the loveliest color, is it not?” Susan said wistfully. “And her eyes are so large, she is sure to turn many a head.”
Philippa studied the girl in question. “Perhaps. But I am to understand her parents wish for her to make an advantageous match. The poor girl will not have much choice as to whom she marries.”
Alice came to stand next to her sister-in-law and turned her eyes to Miss Delby. “Perhaps something might be done,” she said, her tone innocent, but she knew Philippa was not deceived. “Why, there is Mr. Ernest Winche. He might do the trick for Miss Delby. He does not want for fortune, and it does not appear as though he proses on.”
Cleda choked back a laugh.
“I don’t believe Mr. Winche is in the least need of a wife at present,” Philippa observed. “I am not entirely convinced he is able to sprout a pair of whiskers.”
“Oh, no, surely he must be old enough for that,” Susan said. When everyone looked at her with mirthful eyes, she put her hands to her mouth. “Oh, you are joking. Of course.”
Alice had not been able to understand why Philippa was so close to Susan, who had not been endowed with wisdom. Their friendship predated Philippa’s marriage to Susan’s brother. At least Alice and Cleda’s friendship made sense since they shared the same interests. But Alice was learning to appreciate Susan’s simplicity. She was inherently kind, and that trait grew in value as one aged.
Not that Alice was aged. She had not been married above a year. “Ladies,” she said. “I spy my husband. I’m going to be horribly unfashionable and go talk to him.”
Philippa smiled. “Do come back before too long. You don’t want to set London ablaze with talk of how the Lady Alice Clavering is mooning over her husband for all the ton to see.”
Alice could not help but smile back. She had needed no time to learn to appreciate Philippa. She adored her sister-in-law and knew she had gained much in her marriage with George.
Her husband was standing with his back to an alcove not far from the one where they’d met. His arms were folded as he stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought.
“Careful, Mr. Clavering. The people here will think you are unhappy. And if they think you are unhappy, they will blame your wife.”
“It would be the height of injustice to lay the blame at my wife’s door. She is an angel.” George glanced around him quickly, then took his wife’s hand and kissed it before setting it on his arm. He leaned in. “I just saw Harrowden. That man irritates me.”
“Him! I had nearly forgotten his existence. Did you ever badger him for your shillings?” Alice knew the answer, but she could not resist teasing George. It was no longer a sore subject between them.
“You know very well I did not. The sooner that piece of folly is forgotten, the better. You are unkind to tease, my dear.”
A chuckle escaped Alice. She was feeling charitable with the world just now. Lord Harrowden himself might approach her, and she might even condescend to nod. She stayed by George’s side, not caring that she was setting idle tongues wagging about how she lived in her husband’s pocket.
She leaned into George. “We were just talking about a Miss Delby, who—”
“No.”
Alice continued to keep her face expressionless for the sake of Society, but she had the greatest urge to laugh. “What is this—no? You do not even know what I was going to say.”
George was carrying on the same farce at her side, pretending that he was living the height of boredom, and speaking words that could only be heard by her. “I do not need to know what you will say, for I know my wife. And the last time she took on the notion of arranging a match for poor Miss We-Both-Know-Whom, it ended in scandal.”
“No, husband. Not scandal.”
“Scandal,” he repeated, lengthening his lip. Alice was hard put not to giggle.
They had received another letter last week from Oswald and Gwendolyn Duckworth, who were settled on Duck’s estate. From the sound of it, they were living a life of unparalleled bliss. Alice and George had spoken seriously on the subject, agreeing that the decision had been the right one to make. Besides, there had been an announcement in the Gazette that Lord Hicks had become betrothed to Miss Teresa Wolfe, and the marriage would take place this Season. Alice had found it easy to congratulate Teresa wholeheartedly.
George kept her arm tucked in his, despite the fact that a new set was forming and he was neither offering to dance with one of the ladies nor off talking to the gentlemen. He was horribly unfashionable himself.
“Miss Whomever aside, I do not know why we are still attending Almack’s. Both of us are married. Is making a match not the only reason to come here?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
Alice suddenly went breathless. She had not thought through how she would tell George. She had intended on it being a private moment, but suddenly it felt perfectly right to do it here. After all, this was the place that had brought them together.
“We will need to keep abreast of Society’s latest on-dits for the”—she lifted her eyes to his and dropped her voice even more—“next eighteen years or so, at which point it will become extremely relevant.”
Her husband did not remove his gaze from hers, so she saw when his look of bafflement turned to one of comprehension. He pulled her farther back away from the press of people and guided her with a firm hand into an alcove—their alcove—which was miraculously empty, save for them. He turned to face her.
“Alice Clavering, you tell me this here?” he murmured. His look was intent, sparked with joy. “Where I cannot sweep you into my arms and let out some kind of shout of triumph or something?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded, smiling. He leaned down and pressed a kiss on those lips, sinking them both.
“I shall have to find some way to retaliate for this piece of thoughtlessness,” he said.
“I shall look forward to seeing how you attempt it,” she replied sweetly.
He pulled back suddenly, his brows knit. “But why would Almack’s be relevant all those years from now? You know, a boy has no need of Almack’s—”
“A boy?” Alice retorted, tugging his arm playfully. “Pish! Why, I’d be willing to wager…”