@lyresung
In New York City, the Boyd family lived on a street with large, ostentatious houses. Despite many of these being used for billeting soldiers, the Boyds had been spared of this inconvenience due to their close ties with the British generals and Governor Tryon, himself.
Jedediah, a successful attorney, lived with his wife, Laura, and their three young daughters, Charlotte, Clara and Catherine. The eldest and youngest were both well-poised and charming, but the middle daughter – well…she’d nearly brought the Boyds to great shame, seeing how she’d already succumbed to “premarital carnalities” that were best to be kept hidden. After paying off the young man who’d stolen Clara’s virtue, the problem had more or less disappeared… Though Clara’s outrageous behavior most certainly had not.
Presently, the Boyds were hosting a party for every man and woman worthy of note – loyalists and British soldiers only, of course – and Clara stood along the outskirts with her sister, Catherine, trying not to roll her eyes with each cloying attempt at flirtation. After the latest sod walked off, Clara's head dropped back in disgust. “Fie, this is so boring!” she complained. “There isn't a single gentleman under 30 within reaching distance, and all that drab, melancholic stringed music is making me want to pack my own ears with sand.”
Catherine winced. “It's not that bad...”
“What isn't? The music or the tragic lack of young, interesting, not to mention handsome men?”
Catherine rose on tiptoe, attempting to peer around the milling guests. Finally, she grinned and inclined her blonde head toward a nearby victim. “What about him?”
Clara turned along with the gesture, frowning. “Oh, that's just Jonathan Smythe,” she said dismissively. “I don't count him since he sprays when he talks. Handsome he may be, but hygienic he is not.”
Catherine sighed. “Okay, then what about him? The blonde with the drink?”
“Him? Hmm...” Clara peered at the newcomer, tonguing the corner of her mouth. “I've never seen him before.” Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Ooh, let's play our ‘married or not’ game! I say not.”
Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Why? He's attractive and polite-looking.”
Clara snorted. “But look how uncomfortable he is! A man secure in his life wouldn't be gazing about like that, all helpless and adrift, so he is definitely not married.”
“I don’t know...”
The redhead grinned, then tapped her sister on the nose. “Don’t you worry, I'll be sure to find out.”
Catherine gasped. “Clara, don't!”
“Why ever not? I can't very well declare my victory without knowing the answer!” Re-adjusting the low neckline on her gown, Clara straightened, spared her sister a sly wink, and then weaved her way through the crowd until she was standing alongside the tall man at the refreshments table. “You seem a little lost,” she declared, looking at the array of foods rather than his face. “Are you having trouble picking something out?” There was a hint of jest in her tone, but she tried to mask the fact she was poking fun at him. Clearing her throat, Clara gestured down to the man’s left. “Since you’re standing there like a guarding sentinel, would you pass me one of those flutes of wine, please?” Lowering her voice, she added, “And perhaps you could also act as though you’re enjoying my father’s party? I’m afraid it’s my job to be the ingrate, and no one else’s. I’ll be rather sore if you steal that honor from me.”
