Page 44 of Courting Claudia
“How will you ever know if you’re happy, if you never dream?”
She was happy. Wasn’t she? And she dreamed, or she used to, but her dreams were impossible. Fantasies. Women of her station didn’t have paid positions, and they rarely married for love. Then she remembered what Baubie always told her—that when she was born, she brightened her mother’s life. As if her mother was born for that purpose, to be a mother. Perhaps that was Claudia’s purpose as well.
“I want a family, Poppy. That is my dream. And that will make me happy.”
“Even if you do not love your husband?”
“I can love Richard.”
“Not real love, Claudia. Not the heart-pounding kind that shakes every fiber of your being.”
“Probably not that kind of love. But I would wager that most marriages lack that kind of love, and they survive and those people are happy. You’ve never said love was a requirement for marriage. You’ve said yourself many times how you’ll end up in a rotten marriage. What is so different now?”
“Alistair.”
“The painter?”
“Yes.” Poppy scooted closer. “He’s so wonderful. I love him. And I know he loves me. We haven’t said so, of course, it’s far too soon. But I feel it, and I’m positive he does as well. Oh, Claudia, it’s so wonderful to be in love. Just like the heroines I’ve read about.”
Claudia forced herself to smile. She was happy for her friend, and she didn’t want to strip her of this moment simply because she hadn’t been fortunate to find the same kind of luck.
“That’s marvelous, Poppy. What have your parents said?”
“Nothing yet. I haven’t exactly told them.”
“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but what of your responsibility to your family? How will an artist’s wages improve your family’s financial situation?”
Poppy clapped her hands. “That’s the beauty of it! Alistair is rich. He’s the second son of an earl. His brother only recently came into the title. Alistair even has a holding in Sussex.”
“Oh, that’s splendid. See, I told you that you wouldn’t get stuck marrying some old codger!”
Chapter 9
“Your note said it was urgent, so I came as quickly as I could,” Richard said.
Emerson Prattley, Viscount Kennington, eyed the man in the doorway. He motioned him to enter the room. “Close the door. This matter is not only urgent, but extremely private.”
“Is Claudia home?”
“No, but she might be soon. I sent for you hours ago when she first left. Where have you been?”
His eyes shifted. “I was in a meeting.”
“I see. Let’s carry on before my daughter returns. Sit.”
Richard obeyed and sat across the desk in the leather wingback.
“When are you planning to propose to my daughter? I assume you have not forgotten your promise to do so.”
He swallowed, then cleared his throat. “No, I have not forgotten. But still I am not ready.”
“I can’t blame you for stalling. I wouldn’t want to be saddled with a woman like my daughter. Too much flesh. And far too many opinions, although I’ve done what every father could to try and break her of that.”
He poured himself a drink, deliberately not offering any to Richard. “She’s not the pick of the litter, I realize that, but once you’re married, you’ll have ample opportunity to mold her to the kind of woman you wish…or I suppose you could just blow out the candles at night so you don’t have to look at her.”
“It’s not that. I have a bit of a situation.”
“Ah, a lady not willing to share you? You can dally with other females after you’re married. There’s no reason to drag your feet now. You have a nice dowry waiting for you.”