A Stolen Heart

by Candace Camp

  “I know. I’m sure you did what was best. Mother could not have handled raising me or managing the house by herself, much less running a business, too. You must not blame yourself.”

  “And you must not, either,” her aunt retorted decisively, bobbing her head. “Your mother is the way she is, and who’s to say she wouldn’t have been worse if you had left her back in Massachusetts with only servants and distant relatives to take care of her? She is used to having the two of us with her. She probably would have taken it into her head that we had abandoned her or some such notion.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And don’t tell me that you shouldn’t have come to England at all, for I won’t hold with that. You can’t live your whole life around your mother’s…oddities.”

  “I suppose you’re right. It’s just so distressing to see her this way. Sometimes I—” She stopped abruptly.

  “Sometimes you what?” Aunt Hortense turned to look at her niece when she did not continue.

  “Nothing.”

  “It sounded like something to me. Out with it. Is something else troubling you?”

  “No. Only—” Alexandra’s voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “Do you ever wonder if Mother is—well…” She twisted her hands, frowning, reluctant to voice the fear that had been nagging at her for some time now. “What if she’s not just odd? What if she’s mad?”

  “Wherever did you come up with such nonsense?” Aunt Hortense demanded indignantly. “Your mother is not mad! How can you say that?”

  “I don’t want to think it!” Alexandra cried, her voice tinged with desperation. “But you’ve seen how she acts. Most of the time I tell myself that she isn’t insane—obviously she’s not insane. After all, she doesn’t run screaming naked through the house or tear her clothes and try to do herself harm like Mr. Culpepper’s sister did.”

  “I should say not!” Aunt Hortense crossed her arms pugnaciously.

  “But sometimes I can’t help but think these things she says and does are not simply genteel eccentricities. Aren’t they something worse? More peculiar? In a person without wealth or standing in the community, mightn’t they be called evidences of madness?”

  “It doesn’t matter what they’d call it if she were poor, because she isn’t and never has been. She’s not mad. She’s just…more fragile than the rest of us.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Alexandra summoned up a small smile for her aunt, but she could not completely rid herself of doubt. Nor could she admit, even to Aunt Hortense, the other cold fear that lay beneath her worry. If her mother did indeed lean toward madness, would the taint of it lie in her own blood, as well? Might she, someday, disintegrate into insanity?

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALEXANDRA TOOK A LAST LOOK AT HERSELF in the long mirror of the hallway; then, satisfied that she would look her best among the titled crowd this evening, she turned toward the staircase. Her deep rose satin gown would doubtless be outshone by many of the gowns on the ladies present at the ball. Her clothes, while of good cut and material, were not in the first stare of fashion in London, and she had not brought her very best ball gown with her, not thinking that she would attend anything dressier than the opera. Still, she knew that the dress was fashionable enough to cause no comment, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that its rose color was excellent on her, bringing out the rose in her cheeks and contrasting stunningly with her black hair. Her hair was done up in a mass of curls, thick and shining, with a pale pink rose nestled on one side as adornment. In her hand she carried, besides her fan, a small corsage of rosebuds delivered an hour earlier and sent, she was sure, by Lord Thorpe, though the card had contained no message.

  Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she walked into the formal drawing room. Much to her chagrin, she saw that Thorpe was already seated there with her aunt. Alexandra had made it a point to come downstairs as soon as the maid had brought her word of Thorpe’s arrival precisely because she did not want Lord Thorpe to be subjected to her aunt’s inquisition. From the frozen look on Thorpe’s face, she guessed that he had already been here for several minutes, and Alexandra was struck with the suspicion that her aunt had deliberately bade the servants to delay taking Alexandra the message that his lordship had arrived.

  As she started into the room, Lord Thorpe was saying tightly, “I assure you, madam, it is a most respectable party, given by one of the leading peers of the realm.”

  Alexandra had to stifle a smile at the man’s barely concealed look of affront.

  Her aunt continued blithely. “Be that as it may, Lord Thorpe, I don’t know any of your peers of the realm, so their respectability is unknown to me. I’ve heard stories of some of the doings of so-called noblemen, and it’s not what would be called suitable in America. The Hellfire Club, gaming hells, houses of—”

  “Miss Ward!” Lord Thorpe looked shocked. “You can’t believe that I would take your niece to such places!”

  Alexandra wasn’t sure whether his dismay came from the idea that her aunt thought him capable of such ungentlemanly actions or because she so bluntly brought up the subject.

  “Too bad,” Alexandra interjected lightly. “They sound terribly fascinating, I must say.”

  “Miss Ward.” Thorpe jumped to his feet, relief spreading across his face.

  “Good evening.”

  “You look—”

  Alexandra raised an eyebrow as he paused. “I hope you are not going to say ‘like a country bumpkin.’”

  “No, indeed. It is simply that you render me speechless.” His gray eyes shone in the candlelight as they drifted involuntarily down the front of her body, taking in the curves to which the rose satin clung. “You look stunning. I fear you will cast our London beauties into the shade.”

  Alexandra chuckled. “Very pretty words, my lord, but I am not so naïve as to believe that.” She turned toward Hortense. “Good night, Aunt. I am going to take your victim away from you.”

  “Victim!” Aunt Hortense assumed a look of great offense. “I was merely looking out for my niece’s best interests.”

  “Your aunt is a very careful woman,” Thorpe remarked politely. “You are quite rightly cherished.”

  Alexandra grinned. “You see, Aunt Hortense, how polite he is.”

  A servant brought her Paisley shawl, which Thorpe took and draped across her shoulders with a courtly air. The brush of his fingertips against her bare arms sent a tingle through Alexandra, intensified when he leaned in to murmur, “It seems a shame to cover up such beauty.”

  Alexandra ignored the little thrum that started along her nerves and smiled at him. “It is a lovely dress.”

  “It was not the dress of which I spoke.” His gaze dropped significantly, if fleetingly, to the expanse of bosom that swelled above the square-cut neckline.

  Alexandra wrapped the shawl more tightly around her, covering the swell of her breasts. “I think it’s time to leave,” she said repressively. “Good night, Aunt.”

  She smiled across the room at her aunt, who was glowering suspiciously at their whispered conversation. Lord Thorpe sent the other woman a polite bow, and they left the room.

  Outside, he helped her into the same elegant carriage that had taken her home this afternoon, and they settled across from each other on the plush seats.

  “I was beginning to fear that your aunt was about to question me about my intentions toward you,” Thorpe said dryly.

  “I am sure she would have, given enough time. Her first concern, of course, was the wickedness of the place you were taking me. Aunt Hortense has a collection of stories of what has happened to innocent girls in the Babylon of London.”

  “I don’t doubt that. What intrigued me was why she presumed I was going to introduce you to these evils.”

  “That is easy,” Alexandra replied with an impish grin. “The English are given to wicked pursuits, but those who are most given to them are English noblemen, who, apparently, spend most of their time abducting o
r seducing innocent maidens.”

  “Indeed? I suspect that abducting you would prove to be a tiresome experience, so I must stick to seduction.” His sensual mouth curved up in a way that made Alexandra’s heart pound.

  “Indeed?” Alexandra smiled, striving to keep her voice light. “I’m afraid you might find that experience equally tiresome.”

  “Oh, no.” His eyes glittered in the dim light. “Lengthy, perhaps, but never tiresome, I assure you.”

  Alexandra’s mouth went dry, and she had to glance away from his gaze. She looked out from beneath the rolled-up curtain of the carriage window, watching the houses go by as she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. Why did this man have such a strange effect on her?

  After two blocks, the carriage turned and joined a long line of carriages stretching down the block. At the front of the line stood a house ablaze with lights.

  “Is that where we are going?” Alexandra asked in some astonishment.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “But it—it can’t be more than four blocks from my house.”

  “Probably.” He looked at her, faintly puzzled.

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to walk?” She looked at the stalled line of carriages again. “Faster, too?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Then why did we take the carriage?”

  He smiled. “It wouldn’t do to be seen arriving on foot, my dear Miss Ward—as if one didn’t own a carriage.”

  Alexandra gazed at him for a moment, unsure whether he was joking. “That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s a balmy night, the distance is short, and in a carriage we will have to wait substantially longer. Yet we don’t walk because it would look wrong?”

  His eyes danced. “I think that about sums it up.”

  “I presume it would be too gauche for words to get out of the carriage now and walk the rest of the way instead of sitting inside it for twenty minutes.”

  He nodded. “Decidedly déclassé.”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes I think my aunt is right.”

  “What? That we English are all debauched?”

  “No. That the nobility are rather absurd.”

  “Absurd? I have never heard that one. Arrogant, yes, prodigal, yes, impractical and even decadent. But absurd?”

  “Of course. It’s too silly a concept to be taken seriously. What else would you call a system where the wealthiest and most highly regarded people have done nothing to earn their position but are there simply because they are descendants of other people?”

  “Family is often considered a good indication of character, I believe. Do you have no regard for bloodlines? For what is passed from one generation to the next? Do you not believe that families instill their values in their offspring, and so on and so on, for generations?”

  Alexandra felt a slight chill run down her spine at his mention of bloodlines. She wondered what he would think if he knew what sort of mother she had and what she might have passed on to her daughter.

  “Family is an indication of character, yes, and certainly there are families who instill courage and honesty and all sorts of commendable traits in their children. My point, however, is that in England it doesn’t matter whether one’s family is good or bad, but simply what one’s family name is.”

  “Are there no leading families in America?”

  “Of course there are, but at least they have done something to earn it. They have worked hard, built up wealth, been educated or simply been honest, decent people.”

  “But let us say one’s grandfather did that. His descendant today is regarded highly because of who his grandfather is. Isn’t that right?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “It is the same principle. It is just that with us the ancestors were farther in the past.”

  “What did they do to deserve their titles to begin with?” Alexandra asked tartly. “Wage war? Take lands from others who were not as strong?”

  “Service to King and country,” he countered.

  “Ha! Catering to the whims of another man who is revered solely because of his ancestors!”

  Thorpe let out a short bark of laughter. “I am looking forward to this evening! I can just imagine what furors your conversation will stir up.”

  Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you invited me? To stir up a social tempest?”

  “No. That is simply an added benefit.”

  Alexandra studied him for a moment. “Why did you ask me?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Thorpe admitted. “I think because you intrigue me.” He paused, then asked, “Why did you agree to come with me?”

  A smile curved Alexandra’s lips as she said, “Perhaps for the same reason.”

  They inched their way along the line until their carriage was at last in front of the door. They climbed down and followed the family in front of them across the red runner laid over the front steps and through the imposing double front doors, held open by two liveried footmen.

  They stepped into an entry hall that was, by any standards, grandiose. Black and white marble tiles checker-boarded the floor, and the walls rose to the second floor. It was large enough to fight a pitched battle in, Alexandra thought. At the far end a double staircase curved upward, the mahogany balustrades twined with masses of white flowers. Candles burned in a multitude of wall sconces and struck sparks off the glass drops of two enormous chandeliers, casting soft prisms of light over the people. Huge portraits of people in various styles of dress hung around the walls of the entry room. In the place of honor hung an enormous portrait of a bay horse.

  “Where are we?” Alexandra asked, glancing around the room, aware of an unaccustomed feeling of awe.

  “This is Carrington House, the town house of the Duke of Moncourt. That is the second Duke’s favorite mount,” he added, noticing the direction of her gaze. “It’s said that he ordered the painter to make sure that its portrait was twice as large as that of his wife.”

  “What an odd man.” Alexandra’s gaze went from the surroundings to the people going in a line up the graceful staircase, to where a couple waited at the top to greet them. The woman was dressed all in black, with diamonds around her neck and arms and a diamond spray in her hair. “Obviously this Duke must value his wife more.”

  She nodded toward the bejeweled woman.

  “Ah, yes. The Carrington diamonds. Been in the family for centuries. This Duchess had the temerity to have the earrings reset. The Dowager Duchess hasn’t stopped talking about it yet.”

  Alexandra could see that she had been right when she had assumed that most of the women here would be dressed more elegantly than she. Lace, satin and velvet were everywhere, sewn in the latest styles by London’s most fashionable modistes. Jewels winked at ears and throats. Hair was curled and upswept, decorated with roses, feathers, jewels, combs. It was, Alexandra thought, the most breathtaking display of extravagant beauty that she had ever seen.

  She was therefore rather surprised to realize, after they had passed through the receiving line and gone into the ballroom, that she was the woman who was the most at the center of stares. She was too busy for a few minutes looking around at the mirrored and gilt walls and the crush of people to notice the whispers and the sidelong looks. Finally, however, she did. Alexandra shifted uneasily and glanced at Thorpe. He was gazing coolly across the room, seemingly oblivious to the small ripples they created wherever they went.

  “Lord Thorpe,” she whispered. “What is going on?”

  “What do you mean?” He glanced at her with polite inquiry.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t see it. People keep looking at us. They’re whispering.” She heard with a little chill the eerie echo of her mother’s words, but she shoved the thought aside. This was entirely different.

  “I would think you would be accustomed to that. It is often the fate of beautiful young women.”

  “Don’t be obtuse. I look the same as I always do, and I am not usually talked ab
out.”

  He cast her a wry look. “With your tongue? You must give me leave to doubt that.”

  “Rudeness is not called for.”

  He smiled. “Whatever you may think, Miss Ward, you are unusually attractive.” He cast a look at her smooth, sculptured face, the dark glowing eyes, the thick mass of dark hair that made her head look too heavy for the fragile support of her slender white neck.

  “There are many women in this room just as pretty as I and doubtless others who are prettier.”

  “But none as…arresting.” She was tall and statuesque among a ballroom of dainty women, vibrantly black-haired among a plethora of sweet-faced blondes. Alexandra Ward was different. Thorpe felt sure that there were as many biting comments being made about her as there were admiring. But whatever the words, they came because it was impossible not to notice her.

  “Bosh,” Alexandra retorted rudely. “Actually, I think they are looking at you.”

  “I am not a usual guest at such events,” Thorpe admitted. “The London social world is such a stagnant pond that even so small an event as my appearing at a party will cause a ripple. When I appear with a stunning beauty on my arm, and no one has the least idea who she is, the ripple turns into a wave.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “Sebastian!” As if to prove his point, a man’s deep voice rang out, and they turned to see a large, broad-shouldered man shoving his way through the crowd toward them, a fragile-looking beauty walking with him, her hand tucked into his arm. “What the devil are you doing here? Beg pardon, ma’am, Nicola.” He nodded toward Alexandra, then glanced at his companion, who smiled with easy grace, obviously used to the man’s unbridled speech.