Page 7 of Courting Claudia
“Richard is lovely? Listen to yourself. I’ll tell you what Richard is—Richard is not right for you.”
“I cannot understand why you dislike him so.”
Poppy shrugged. “I don’t trust him. He’s too agreeable to be genuine. And I don’t think he pays proper attention to someone he’s supposed to be courting. You know what you need?”
Claudia shook her head.
“A decent husband. Someone who will take you away from here and let you be yourself. Someone who will love you. Like Stephen and Anne—he adores her and allows her to do as she chooses. Look at them.”
Claudia turned toward the dance floor. Anne was four and twenty, three years younger than Claudia and Poppy, but they’d all been friends when they were girls. Anne and Stephen had married last year. He did adore her—it shone all over his face. He looked at her as if she were the only woman in the room. The only person in the room. A love like that would be wonderful. More than wonderful—but love like that didn’t happen often, and certainly not to women like Claudia.
Claudia raised her chin a bit. She twirled a stray curl behind her ear. “You and my father agree on something, isn’t that a miracle?”
“Agree on what?”
“On my needing to marry.”
“I don’t, however, think Richard is the right man for you. If your father is so fond of him, why doesn’t he marry him? He certainly could use someone’s love to soften him.”
“If my mother’s love couldn’t soften him, then no one’s could.”
“True indeed. In any case, you deserve to find a man who loves you—you should have the freedom to marry your choice and not your father’s protégé.”
“We both know that marriages like Stephen and Anne’s are very rare. And might I point out that you are not married either.”
“No, but I have plenty of suitors.” Poppy flashed her a smile.
A footman walked by with a tray of champagne. They each took a glass. Claudia sipped at the sparkly liquid, enjoying the bubbles tickling her nose.
“You don’t like any of them,” Claudia said.
“That’s not true.” Poppy stuck her chin out and crossed her arms. “Why, last month I almost fancied myself in love with Christopher Newman. Then he up and married that girl from the country. He didn’t want to marry me.” Her voice softened. “None of them want to marry me. Simply because my dance card is always full doesn’t mean, when it comes down to it, I’ll have my pick. I know my fate. I shall have to marry some old codger like old man Weatherby with yellowed teeth and bad breath.”
“It won’t happen like that.” Claudia took Poppy’s hands and squeezed them. “You’ll find someone lovely. You’re beautiful.”
“Sometimes being pretty isn’t enough,” Poppy murmured.
Claudia loved her friend, but she’d never understood her aversion to her own looks. Granted, Poppy’s nonexistent dowry had made marriage proposals nonexistent as well, but why would being beautiful ever be a bad thing? Oh, to know how it felt like to walk into a room and have all the men stop and stare!
“This isn’t about me,” Poppy said. “We’re talking about you, remember? I know you don’t want to abandon your illustrating.”
“Not this again. Poppy, I have to. You understand about familial duty, I know you do.”
“Yes, but my family is supportive of one another.”
“Would your father approve of you taking a paying position?”
“I don’t know. If my family doesn’t figure out some way to get back some of our money, I very well may have to. Claudia, it’s 1848, the times are changing. Someday it will be respectable for women like us to have paid positions other than governesses. Being a governess is all I could do, but not you. You’re so talented, and you shouldn’t have to give that up. Not for your father or any other man. If you found the right husband, someone who would support you…”
“It would be nice,” Claudia agreed. But it wouldn’t happen. “You know something? You and I together make the perfect woman. You with your beauty, not to mention grace, and me with my pretty dresses and dowry. Someone would snatch us up, wouldn’t they?” Poppy looked so pretty in that dress, prettier than it had ever looked on Claudia. Poppy, an accomplished seamstress, had taken it up in all the places where Claudia had more flesh than a girl should have, and the bodice fit snugly against her slender body. She’d removed the bows and ribbons so that now it was simple. Just a pretty, sea-green, satin dress.
“Indeed they would. But someone will snatch you up. Look at this hair.” She picked up one of Claudia’s ringlets. “And you don’t even have to use an iron to get these curls. I would wager half of the girls in this town would likely pull themselves bald if they thought their hair would grow back like yours.”
Claudia nodded to the scene in front of them. “I hate to admit it,” she said quietly, “but I should like to see Francie Barkwell yank all her hair out. Of course if she doesn’t marry soon, her mother might do that for her.”
They both giggled as they watched Francie’s mother practically push her daughter into a passing earl’s path.
“I almost feel sorry for her,” Poppy said. “But as I was saying, I just don’t think you should close yourself off to other suitors. Why should you have to put your life on hold while Richard pussyfoots about? He’s not your only choice.”