An Earnest Favour

Prologue

"Nice people don't necessarily fall in love with nice people." Jonathan Franzen, Freedom

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Prologue

November 1806

The Winter Assembly

Claire Denham's innocent, excited eyes took in the grandeur, or what she perceived as grandeur, in the public rooms where the annual Ashwood winter assembly was taking place. Claire loved that she was now old enough to accompany her mother and elder sister to events such as these.

Being just those few extra years younger than Grace and Kate had meant that Claire had long been excluded from their few invitations. But now that she was finally seventeen, her mother had begun to allow her to attend these affairs.

Claire enjoyed being perceived as a grown-up woman. She desperately wanted to be seen as mature, amiable, and worthy. She had always been the little sister, the young girl, the child in comparison to Grace. Oh, how Claire had envied Grace when she had gone to work.

Of course, Claire did not envy Grace her position, only the location of her work.

Her mother, Mrs Denham, and Grace had secured positions as housemaids in the Slickson residence upon her father's death. This work had secured the family until her mother's fall.

While they worked for Mrs Slickson, Claire had made up every excuse under the sun to walk the few miles to the house. Perhaps Grace had forgotten her bonnet, or her mother a shawl. Anything to happen upon Arthur Slickson.

Claire could still remember the very moment she first saw Arthur Slickson. She had been eight years old and waiting outside of the schoolroom with her siblings before lessons. She had looked every bit a little girl, with a dress hemmed above her ankles.

Arthur Slickson had been sixteen, galloping through town atop the gelding he had been gifted as a birthday present. He had long been away at school, and Claire had never happened to meet him before.

Never had she seen such a beautiful man. And beautiful he was indeed. His hair was golden and curled like an angel's, his skin pale and smooth like porcelain. His eyes were a bright, piercing emerald green, and he was tall and lean. Claire could have sworn he looked at her and smiled, a grin that made her go weak at the knees.

It was then, Claire was certain, that she had fallen deeply in love with Arthur Slickson. Never would a man affect her so. Never could a man compare. At eight, her heart was stolen, and Claire became quite convinced that Arthur would be to her, what Adam had been to Grace.

Though Adam and Grace's understanding had fallen through, Claire was certain that when Arthur fell in love with her, it wouldn't end. It couldn't.

While her heart yearned for him when she was a girl, Arthur didn't look at Claire again for many years. It was not until she was fifteen, and finally allowed to wear her hair up in a fashionable style at church, did Arthur glance over at her.

Of course, Claire noticed this. She had not listened to a sermon in years. She used those precious hours in church to pray that Arthur might notice her and might see that she could be worthy of such a beautiful man.

Though she would never say so, it vexed her greatly whenever her family spoke negatively of him. Grace was often the naysayer. For whatever reason, she had seemed to form a negative opinion of Arthur while in his mother's employ, and Claire could not understand why. Grace seemed to think him terribly vain, but Claire had never sensed vanity about him.

Though, she supposed, any man who looked like Arthur did ought to deserve a little vanity. Regardless, Claire had never heard a cross word from him, and those few smiles and glances that she had collected over the years were utterly priceless to her.