A chill ran through her as she imagined Philadelphia’s most formidable matron glaring down her bony nose, as they stood in her marble foyer damp from exertion. Of course, if Mrs. Montgomery decided not to admit them, they would never lay eyes on her. Her butler would be the one to throw them out on their ear, but that would be humiliating enough.
“Ohhh!” Alex groaned, hitching her skirts up further and doubling her pace.
The fault did not lie with her alone. She hadn’t wanted to go in the first place. Dressed only in her shift, she had squared off with Angelina in the confines of her small bedroom on Baker Street in a fruitless argument for well on half an hour.
Angelina had refused to let Alex talk her out of this ill-advised outing. Heavens, she had refused to let Alex talk much at all despite the numerous excuses she had at the ready. She had nothing to wear. She did not know how to act at a proper tea. And the most convincing of all, the proprietress of a tavern would not be welcome in the home of such a grand lady.
With each argument, Angelina’s impatience grew until she informed Alex she would make her life a living hell if she did not consent to accompany her. From vast childhood experience, Alex knew Angelina could make good on the threat, so she relented, although with tight lips and a sharp throbbing in her temple.
Once Alex acquiesced, Angelina insisted on spending another forty-five minutes making her presentable. She loaned Alex a moss green satin gown for the occasion, necessitating even more time wasted pinning the dress to make it fit her smaller frame.
To make matters worse, the carriage driver, perhaps distrusting his fare’s ability to pay based on the shabby neighborhood, had not waited. They were forced to walk the several blocks, picking their way around murky puddles lest they soil their hems.
The old admonition about trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear crept unbidden to mind as Alex stumbled, flopping along in Angelina’s too-big slippers. Curling her toes to keep them on slowed her progress even more. And worse, the delicate shoes offered little protection from the rough stones. She winced as her foot found another sharp edge.
“I don’t enjoy going to these affairs alone,” Angelina responded. “Besides, you need to get out more often, or you’ll never find yourself a husband. You’ll be a burden to Reid the rest of your life.”
“Me? A burden to him? Now that is an absurd notion!” Alex argued, her voice rising. “Turner’s Tavern supports Reid and his presses, not the other way around.”
She sucked in a breath as another stone bit into her foot.
“Besides, I have Nathanial,” Alex added, regretting it as soon as the words left her mouth.
“Bah!” Angelina said. The one syllable spoke volumes about her opinion of Alex’s would-be suitor.
Alex scowled at Angelina’s regal profile. What could she know about the choices Alex had open to her? Angelina had her pick of the wealthiest and most handsome men in Philadelphia. Right now, they were hastening toward the home of the current object of her affections—Colonel Stanley Montgomery.
Did her relationship with the colonel have something to do with Angelina’s eagerness to accept an invitation to tea? She couldn’t imagine why. He would not be in attendance with a room full of ladies. A smile crept to her lips despite the sharp pains in the soles of her feet. No man would subject himself to such a thing of his own free will.
Musing on Angelina’s current choice, Alex paid scant attention to shop widows and curious onlookers. Although a colonel in the army, Montgomery’s wealth bought him a regiment stationed in Philadelphia where he would see little action if any. That same wealth could go far in appeasing Angelina’s taste for the finer things in life.
Judging from the cold blue sapphire dripping between the swells of her bosom, it already had.
Colonel Montgomery could not be described as handsome, however. Perhaps he might have been once, but he had developed a paunch about the middle, and his jowls drooped below his chin. He also had a wide bald spot atop his head that he covered with a ridiculous and ill-fashioned wig. When he exerted himself, it had the unfortunate tendency to slip to one side.
At any rate, he had to be well over forty. His age, if nothing else, should distance him from Angelina who had been born less than a month after Alex.
“I thought Mrs. Montgomery hated you,” Alex said, expanding aloud on the direction her thoughts had taken.
“Yes, she does.” Angelina giggled, the girlish sound catching Alex by surprise. “I maneuvered the colonel into insisting his mother invite me to her weekly tea.”
“Whatever for?” Alex asked, casting a sidelong glance at Angelina’s mischievous grin.
She couldn’t imagine Angelina looked forward to this afternoon any more than she did. To be sure, Angelina, with her refined manners and wealthy upbringing, would fit into the assembly of guests far better than would Alex, but it still seemed a little sedate for someone with Angelina’s need for mischief. Maybe she hoped tweaking Mrs. Montgomery’s disapproval would provide an amusing diversion.
“For reasons you wouldn’t understand, Alex,” Angelina replied, as they climbed the wide granite steps to the front of the mansion.
Alex had no time to ask Angelina what she meant by the cutting remark. Only a second passed between Angelina’s rapping of the brass knocker and their admittance into the foyer of the tall Georgian mansion by a man in a black suit and immaculate white shirt and cravat. The sharp crevices in his face and his stooped shoulders suggested he had seen many years of service, but the solemnity of his countenance bespoke of a man who had reached the pinnacle of his profession.
Angelina lifted her chin and gave the man a haughty appraisal, daring him to show the slightest disdain for the late arrivals. She handed him the small white envelope with gold script containing their invitation.
With an impassive expression, he gave the fine paper the merest of glances then shuffled down the hallway toward a set of double doors opening into a room just off the foyer. The soft shushing of his pant legs and the soles of his leather shoes on the polished floor broke the reverent silence of the formal entryway.
As he turned the cut glass knobs in gloved hands and pushed open the doors, Alex craned her neck to see if she could see what lay beyond. The soft chiming of feminine voices and muted laughter reached her ears before he dragged the doors shut behind him, leaving them immersed in silence once more.
As they waited for the butler to return with Mrs. Montgomery’s verdict, Alex eased the nervous churning in her stomach by examining the marble floor with its intricate black and white patterns. Sunlight streamed through the Palladian window over the oak door and shattered in sharp bursts of ethereal light everywhere it touched the highly polished surface. But for all the appearance of warmth surrounding them, a chill shook Alex’s shoulders.
The double doors opened again, and the aged butler returned.
“You will follow me,” he said, looking at them with cloudy eyes that made Alex wonder how he could see anything at all.
When Alex didn’t move, Angelina screwed her face into a look of pure exasperation and linked Alex’s arm through hers. Together, they followed the butler through the double doors and into the salon to join the other ladies already assembled.
Alex could feel all eyes on her as they entered a grand room decorated in layers of verdant green and majestic gold.
Not the small, cozy chamber she had expected to find off the foyer, the spacious room had a high ceiling, rows of long windows letting in the afternoon sunlight, and a yawning fireplace at the far end. The room might have been described as cavernous, but the thick carpet beneath her feet and the rich upholstery and comfortable pillows covering the chairs and ottomans scattered about in artful disarray saved it from appearing so vast.
Even so, Alex imagined the contents of her entire townhouse would fit in this one room alone. Perhaps her townhouse and the tavern, she amended.
Her stomach did a little flip. Even if her personal possessions would
fit into the room-she did not. The expensive furnishings and sheer grandeur confirmed her status as an interloper.
She found it hard to return the curious gazes of the other women as she shrugged off her shawl and handed it to the butler, so she focused on examining the furnishings, appreciating their beauty.
Dark green draperies fell like sheets of thick moss on both sides of the tall paned windows. Her feet sunk into a carpet embroidered in rich shades of green and gold, accented by blue thread. In the center, where she would have placed a table stacked with books ready for reading on a rainy day, the carpet pattern showed two lions flanking a checkerboard shield. Above the shield, a scroll bore an inscription in Latin. Alex mouthed the words, wondering at their meaning. Nemo me impu…
“Ah, Angelina,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
Her voice, as cold as ice, compelled Alex’s gaze from the intriguing puzzle. Coming toward them, she held out two bony hands to draw Angelina and Alex further into the room.
****
Mont Trignon could not believe his eyes as Angelina dragged Alexandra into Mrs. Montgomery’s tea salon. The last person he expected to see, she looked lovely in a gown of moss green, and he had to focus to slow his breathing. Knowing Alexandra would never buy such a luxury for herself, he surmised Angelina had lent it to her.
He smiled in appreciation as the butler took her summer shawl from her outstretched hand. Nor would she have chosen a dress with such an enticing décolletage.
Her corset, perhaps another borrowed item, pushed her breasts up so twin swells rose above the ruffled edge of the shimmering fabric. A generous expanse of exposed skin, as fine as porcelain, spoke of beauty wasted beneath high-necked dresses and tatty neckerchiefs.
The soft green hue of the stylish gown fit her complexion, pulling out the red highlights in her auburn hair and the delicate rosiness on her cheeks. He grinned, noting the close resemblance of the shade of her gown to the window coverings in the salon. At least this time her surroundings enhanced her appearance instead of hiding it.
If she were his to dress, he would have her wearing such finery everyday—and he would enjoy removing it every night.
His body hardened beneath his skirts, reminding him he had been invited to this party in the guise of Marie Noielles, aunt of the Marquis de Lafayette.
He would be known to Alexandra, but he would have to work hard not to show the affect she had on him, or she would guess his identity. The effort would be great, as he could remember how supple her lips had been beneath his own and how soft he imagined the rest of her would be. Similar musings had robbed him of all but a few minutes of sleep in the early morning hours.
He hid his grin behind his teacup. A tedious afternoon had turned more promising. He welcomed her presence despite the struggle to control the desire simmering inside him, ready to turn into a full boil with the slightest provocation. The finagling of the invitation to this tea party might be worth something after all.
As Le Chevalier de Mont Trignon, he rented a suite of rooms on the top floor of the mansion. It had not been difficult to procure the invitation, as Mrs. Montgomery, all too willing to associate with anyone she deemed worthy, had been pleased to include Marie, the aunt of a friend to the chevalier who, despite her wealth and status, knew few people in Philadelphia.
Mont Trignon imagined she hoped Marie’s one association, to a marquis, might bear fruit of one sort or another. Of course, she had not said as much, but her thoughts were clear as her dour countenance turned to one of grace and refinement as soon as he mentioned the marquis.
Mont Trignon had not expected much of the afternoon, but in his experience, women had a tendency toward gossip, and one should never overlook an opportunity. So far, the afternoon had been filled with banal talk of the latest fashions-not a very illuminating topic for his purposes. He had grown weary feigning interest enough to offer an opinion.
Alexandra would be a most welcome distraction.
“Who is your friend?” Mrs. Montgomery asked, peering at Alex with watery gray eyes.
“Alexandra,” Mont Trignon said, before Angelina could make the introductions.
He had noted the friction between Madame Montgomery and Angelina and decided it would not hurt Alexandra to have a connection with the aunt of the marquis.
“Marie!” Alexandra said, pleasure shining in her eyes as she spotted her friend.
Mont Trignon moved forward and grasped Alexandra’s arm with two lace-covered hands.
“My dear Mrs. Montgomery, may I introduce my special friend, Alexandra Turner?” He patted Alexandra’s hand, in what he hoped looked like a feminine gesture.
“Alexandra,” Mrs. Montgomery said, with more warmth than she had used to greet Angelina. “Any friend of Marie’s is welcome in my home.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.” Alexandra curtseyed.
“Come. Sit by me.” Mont Trignon led Alexandra to a cushioned stool next to the chair from which he had just risen.
The other six ladies in the room sat in gold cushioned high back chairs that appeared to be scattered about, but were in fact all arranged so Madame Montgomery remained the center of attention. Her high back chair with the carved mahogany lions’ head handles sat at the far end of the room, the back squared against the hearth. A footstool of matching blue velvet and mahogany claw-foot legs sat in front of it. All of the other chairs angled toward hers to varying degrees, giving the impression of disarray but not the effect.
Only the chair to Madame’s right remained unoccupied, and Angelina settled herself into it with great aplomb. Mont Trignon did not miss the stiffening of Madame Montgomery’s lips and the iciness in her eyes before Alexandra distracted him with a soft touch on his sleeve.
“Marie, it has been so long since I’ve seen you,” Alexandra whispered, the soft hum of conservation giving them a degree of privacy.
A maid handed her a cup of tea, and the women’s discussion settled on the proper method of pruning roses.
“Ahh, chérie, I too have missed you,” he responded, relieved Alexandra still had not recognized his resemblance to her friend. “I was just thinking of you, and voilà, there you are. Imagine my joy.”
Her face flushed with a healthy glow, and her eyes sparkled with happiness. If only she would regard him with such contentment when he spoke to her as Mont Trignon; then he could be happy as well.
“Marie, I understand you are a friend of the Chevalier de Mont Trignon who rents the upper rooms from our esteemed hostess,” Alice Allen said, breaking into their private conversation, her bright yellow curls bobbing for emphasis.
“Well, it is perhaps more accurate to say he is a friend of my nephew.”
The effort to keep his voice feminine scratched at his throat, and he took a sip of tea to alleviate the discomfort.
“Your nephew, the marquis?” Cassandra Wharton asked, her teacup frozen in hand halfway to her lips. Calculation shone in her blue eyes as she pondered the association.
Mont Trignon had learned that Mademoiselle Wharton had just seen her twenty-fifth birthday with no suitor in sight-a surprise given the wealth of her family. Perhaps not as surprising if one noticed the whine in her voice when she spoke and the tendency to whistle through her nose when she breathed.
“Yes, the Marquis de Lafayette is my nephew,” Mont Trignon replied to a chorus of delighted giggles, including, to his surprise, from Madame Montgomery.
Apparently, a woman’s heart, even in the more egalitarian states, still thrilled to the romantic notion of noble blood. All save one, he thought as he looked at Alexandra, an ill-concealed look of disgust in her luminous brown eyes.
“Yes, a marquis is all very well and good,” replied Alice, sounding a little out of breath. “But have you seen the chevalier? He is wonderfully tall and equally as handsome.”
“How would you know who is the more handsome man?” Cassandra set her cup in her saucer with an indignant clank, making their hostess cringe. “It’s not as if you’ve ever met the marq
uis, have you now? I doubt you’ve seen the chevalier either.”
“You do know him, don’t you, Marie?” Mary Chilton asked, in a quiet voice. “The chevalier I mean.”
More well-mannered than her friends, respect warmed him when he regarded her plain yet earnest face. Despite impeccable familial connections, she didn’t stand a chance in society surrounded by her more ostentatious friends. Hopefully, her father would take her wishes and sensitive nature into account when he bought her a husband.
“Yes, I have met him a time or two,” he answered.
The understatement had been justified he decided, as claiming to know him well would just prolong this interrogation.
“Is he as handsome as Alice says he is?” Cassandra asked.
“Perhaps you could arrange an introduction?” Alice added, saving Mont Trignon from having to comment on his own appearance.
“Oh, what if he were to walk through that door right now?” Mary asked, her voice wistful. “He does live here, you know,” she added, as though she were the authority on his comings and goings.
“Well, he’s a little young to catch my eye,” Madame Montgomery said, recalling attention to herself. “But, I do say he is the most charming company.”
Mont Trignon wondered how she had come to that conclusion considering he had spent little more than five minutes in the old lady’s company since he had moved in.
The salon erupted with questions, begging Madame Montgomery to tell them all she could about the handsome and mysterious foreigner. Madame Montgomery looked ten years younger as her eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed.
It surprised him to hear he kept regular hours, considering he often did not come home at all. He almost choked on a sip of tea when he learned he took his meals with Madame Montgomery, taught her French every week and had kissed her hand on more than one occasion.
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