Free The Governess Club: Claire by Ellie Macdonald

glarin’ at Thomas.”
    Jacob scowled even more. “His name is Thomas?” Claire’s dead betrothed’s name was Thomas. Perhaps she had a penchant for men with that name.
    “Come on,” Lucy insisted. This time Jacob allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor. They joined the dancers mid-set. Jacob tried to keep his eyes on Claire and Baby Thomas, but it was difficult with all the whirling bodies crammed into such a small space.
    “Mr. Knightly,” Lucy said, “see tha’ man over there?” She indicated a tall, strapping man with curly blond hair that resembled a mop standing on the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed, feet set apart in a fighter’s stance and glaring at him so fiercely that Jacob wouldn’t be surprised if the air between them burst into flame.
    “Who’s he?” Jacob asked, turning his back on the potent glare. “And why is he trying to kill me with his eyes?”
    Lucy grinned and looked at the man. “Alfie. He’s a stable boy at the Beecham estate. He’s sweet on me.”
    “Why are you telling me this?”
    “Cos’ he’s lookin’ at ye the way ye be lookin’ at Thomas. He don’t like me dancin’ wit’ other blokes neither.”
    Jacob looked at Lucy and raised a brow. “I do not look like that.” He looked over the dancers, trying to spot Claire again.
    “Yes, ye do. Yer the one who didn’t ask her to dance fast enough. Jes’ like Alfie.”
    “That is a mistake I will never repeat,” Jacob said, still scanning the crowd. The music had ended, and the dancers were beginning to dissipate. Jacob caught a glimpse of Claire’s pink dress making its way to the refreshment table on the arm of Baby Thomas. “Come,” he said, taking Lucy’s arm and tugging her in the same direction.
    Lucy resisted. “Mr. Knightly, I think I’ll be goin’ over to Alfie now.”
    Jacob stopped and glanced between the maid and the scowling stable boy. The man hadn’t moved with the ending of the music. Knowing he was taking a risk, he leaned over and whispered in Lucy’s ear. “Never go to him; make him come to you. Now smile like I said something sweet and flirtatious.”
    Lucy smiled at him like she was born to the stage. She slipped her arm through Jacob’s and said, “Yes, lemonade would be lovely.”
    R ight. Enough was enough. The first dance, he had been too slow to ask her. He understood that. The second dance—he could allow even that. It was crowded, after all. But the fourth dance? Unacceptable. For four dances, Jacob had to watch Claire spin and sashay and smile at her dance partners. All at her dance partners, not at him. At the rate this was going, his scowl was going to freeze onto his face.
    Even Alfie hadn’t made Lucy wait long into the second dance. And here he still was, cooling his heels on the edge of the dance floor, watching Claire spend her time with other men. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was deliberately taunting him.
    He didn’t like it. Not one iota. Even now, halfway through the fourth set, his teeth were aching from the grinding. And he still had at least ten more minutes until the set ended. He was considering forgetting his gentleman training and striding onto the floor to claim what was his.
    “She has always been popular at assemblies and other gatherings.”
    Jacob turned to the soft, cultured voice at his elbow. A woman who could not be much more than twenty stood beside him, gazing out onto the dance floor. Her blond hair was swept up into a simple yet elegant coif that accentuated her slender neck. Glancing at him with intelligent brown eyes, Jacob was given a clear view of her gently rounded face and classic nose. His gaze involuntarily swept downwards, taking in the quality of her dress, despite its age. Returning his gaze to hers, Jacob was sure of one thing: she was out of place here.
    “I beg your pardon?” he asked.
    She smiled. “Miss Bannister. She has an innate kindness and vivaciousness that draws people to her, both