Alexa turned and gave her aunt a warm smile. Venturing into this new chapter of her life without their support was unthinkable, and the knife hidden in her belongings was of little use in this situation or in the ton’s fashionable drawing rooms.
However, despite Alexa’s reluctance, Aunt Bridget had insisted after a brief visit at Wedderford Abbey, they continue on to London to prepare for the Season.
Season. Bother and blast. Season.
How in the world would Alexa endure weeks of pretending to be something she wasn’t? For certain, she would say or do something ignorant and stupid.
She didn’t know how to waltz, flirt, apply rouge, or arrange her hair in the latest, complex fashion. She could no more carry on a polite conversation about mundane matters than use a fan or parasol properly. What’s more, she didn’t want to learn those things.
Aunt Bridget nudged Alexa’s elbow. “Come along, my dear. I promise, they won’t bite. If they try, I shall use this on them.”
She wielded Uncle Hugo’s silver walking cane and didn’t appear to be jesting. Hadn’t Uncle mentioned the cane concealed a short sword?
Aunt Bridget adjusted her grip upon the handle.
Definitely not a good sign.
Alexa faced the entry once more. Not a spent blossom, twig, or fallen leaf marred the ornate gardens paralleling the house’s sides. Perhaps she’d been allowed to frolic in the manicured lawns as a toddler. Or play hide-and-seek beneath the dangling branches of the willows standing at attention along the drive.
Had her doll’s shoe been found below one of them?
She clasped her hands around her reticule. “I don’t remember any of this.”
“Of course, you don’t.” Katrina swooped in for a sideways hug. “You were scarcely more than a babe. Good heavens, I don’t remember a thing from my early years except a yellow blanket I toted everywhere. Whatever happened to that blanket, Mama?”
She gave her mother an accusing look. Nevertheless, the impish smile teasing her mouth revealed her humor.
“What blanket?” Aunt Bridget regarded her daughter blankly. “Oh, that ratty—” She chuckled. “Never mind.”
Uncle winked and wiggled his mustache before taking Aunt Bridget’s elbow. “Forward ho, my dears. Armor on and swords at the ready?”
Good God. Just how heinous was Minerva Atterberry?
Arms linked, Alexa and Katrina followed her parents. Well, more aptly, Katrina towed a reluctant Alexa up the wide risers. Her stomach tightened, and she swallowed. She’d been braver facing the Blackhalls, for pity’s sake.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Needham.” The butler dipped his head deferentially. He turned his passive gaze on Alexa and Katrina, and a smile of delight erased his intimidating countenance.
Alexa blinked at the transformation.
“Miss Katrina.” He gave her a courtier’s bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Katrina bobbed a quick curtsy and gave him a saucy smile. “Thank you, Squires. You’re as tall as I remembered.”
He crooked a black brow. “I should hope so. Wouldn’t do to gradually shrink. Why, in no time, I’d disappear entirely.”
Katrina giggled. “Indeed.”
Squires’s keen gaze assessed Alexa, and his expression softened.
“Miss Atterberry, may I be the first to extend a warm welcome from the staff? They await you in the entry.” He smiled and friendliness sparkled in his hazel eyes. “Our delight at your return cannot be expressed with words.”
Her astonishment at his transformation couldn’t either.
He stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.
Alexa took a deep breath and crossed the threshold into a magnificent entry, half the size of Craiglocky Keep’s great hall.
Good Lord. The place stole the air from her.
Had she slid across the ebony, gray, and white tiled marble floor or hidden behind the towering Grecian pillars and giant potted plants when playing?
What fun a child would have, chasing the myriad of miniature rainbows the crystal chandelier sprinkled atop every surface. The sprawling dual staircase banner tempted one to slide its gleaming mahogany length even as an adult.
A neat row of smiling servants lined one side of the lavish entrance, except for a long-faced middling-aged woman wearing a severe black gown, white cap, and chatelaine—the housekeeper, no doubt.
A rail thin, striking older woman, a pretty, rather plump, sable-haired girl, and a man—who might at one time have been handsome, but a life of dissipation left him paunchy and sallow—huddled on the other side.
Upon Alexa’s entrance, the woman gasped and clutched her throat. Russet-brown eyes wide, a trembling smile touched her mouth.
“Alexandra.” Tears streaming from her eyes, she flew across the floor, her aqua and peach gown floating behind her. She wrapped Alexa in a fragrant embrace.
Alexa’s lashes brushed her cheeks. Rosewater and lemon. Her stepmother always smelt thus.
Minerva leaned away a fraction and gave a trembling smile.
“When I received Mr. Needham’s letter, I was afraid to believe it was true.” She sent him a contrite glance while wiping at her eyes with a lace scrap of cloth she’d retrieved from inside her sleeve. “I thought someone played a horrid, twisted joke, or sought to impersonate you, but . . .” She tenderly touched below Alexa’s right ear. “It’s really you. You have the scar from when you took a tumble from the swing.”
“I remember your perfume, Minerva.” Alexa blurted the first thing that popped into her mind.
Minerva’s smile faltered, but she forced renewed enthusiasm to her upturned lips. “None of that silliness. You must call me Mama like you used to.”
Rather than agree, Alexa sought her aunt. “I used to have dreams of a wonderful smelling woman, and one who liked to sing. Also a green-eyed man.”
Her expression cautious, Aunt Bridget nodded while removing her bonnet. “Lyette had a lovely voice, and your father’s eyes were green.”
“Shona, come meet your half-sister.” Minerva kept an arm about Alexa’s waist and beckoned her daughter.
So, Minerva was portraying Shona as an Atterberry.
Rigid disapproval radiated from Aunt Bridget. If she were a cat, she would have arched her back, bared her teeth, and hissed her displeasure.
Alexa slid Uncle Hugo a covert glance. Now what?
He gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head and mouthed, Shh.
Aunt Bridget’s lips pursed tightly as if she’d recently sucked a lemon, and Katrina’s wide, blue eyes reflected her troubled musings.
With a crooked finger Minerva signaled the man, his hip perched against a table. “Harrison, I’m sure you remember Alexandra.”
“Of course.” His lazy gaze trailed over her.
“He’s my stepbrother, Harrison Peterson,” Minerva offered for Alexa’s benefit. “He came to live here shortly after Steafan’s passing and has been my steward and man of business ever since. I don’t know what I would have done without him all this time.”
Alexa resisted the urge to cover her breasts from his snake-like perusal. An uncle shouldn’t leer so lasciviously.
Mr. Peterson straightened and, with his hand extended, approached Uncle Hugo. “Needham. Haven’t seen you since last Season. At the theater, I believe it was.”
Uncle hesitated for the briefest of moments before clasping Mr. Peterson’s hand. “Yes, quite so.”
“Please call me Harrison, ladies.” Mr. Peterson bowed to the women, belching as he leveled upright. He patted his paunch, the cumbersome lion-head ring on his little finger glinting with the movement. “Pardon me. Too many kippers this morning, I fear.”
Aunt Bridget’s winged eyebrows wrestled with the curls framing her fore
head as she snapped her drooping mouth shut.
“Alexandra, your resurrection from the dead has taken us aback, I must say.” Mr. Peterson gave her a thin-lipped smile before focusing on Uncle Hugo once more. “Naturally, we shall need to see the proof you claim you possess verifying her identity.”
Someone smothered a gasp.
If Mr. Peterson thought Alexa would bare her behind for him to take a gander at her birthmark, he could munch on fresh horse biscuits.
“You have eyes, don’t you?” Aunt Bridget visually impaled him. “What other proof do you need? Shall we inspect her blood under a microscope? If she’s not Alexandra Atterberry, then you’re a mermaid.”
Shona erupted into giggles but slapped her hand across her mouth and tucked her chin to her chest at her mother’s and uncle’s censured looks.
Alexa busied herself with removing her gloves and bonnet. Tension oozed from everyone, including the servants.
“Many people bear a strong resemblance to each other, as I’m sure you’re well aware, Mrs. Needham.” Harrison’s chilly reply sent a fleeting shudder through Alexa. “We cannot have some beggar or bit o’fluff off the streets impersonating Lady Atterberry, now, can we?”
Cheeks apple-red, Shona choked on another giggle, earning her an inquiring glance from Katrina.
“If you have the evidence you claim, then there is no need for concern, is there?” He smiled, more of sneer than a show of humor, his lecherous gaze ogling, first Alexa’s behind, then Katrina’s.
Reprobate.
He didn’t believe she was Alexandra Atterberry.
“Hush, Harrison.” Releasing a nervous titter, Minerva made a shooing motion with her hand. “There’s time for that disagreeableness later. Right now, I’d like to reacquaint myself with Alexandra.”
Glancing at the assembled servants, Minerva hesitated.
“Must we do this now, Squires, when she’s just arrived? I’m sure Alexandra would rather wait to be introduced to her official duties. They are ever so tedious, after all.” She procured a sunny smile, clearly expecting him to concede.
“Very well, Dowager.” Squires gave the merest slant of his head toward the staff. “The mistress of Wedderford Abbey will greet you later.”
Did Alexa imagine it, or had he emphasized the titles, and had Minerva’s false cheerfulness faltered a mite?
“Not mistress yet.” Harrison’s face contorted into a scowl which did nothing to enhance his already dour appearance.
“I’m sorry. I do want to make your acquaintance.” Alexa offered the servants an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I don’t remember any of you.”
Several gave her friendly smiles, but the elderly housekeeper glowered at Harrison then at Minerva as the staff obediently filed from the entryway.
Interesting. It appeared everything was not affable at Wedderford Abbey.
“I’m sure you would welcome a spot to eat. Come along. Squires, please have tea and sweets brought round to the drawing room.” Before the butler acknowledged Minerva’s request, she looped one arm through Alexa’s, the other through Shona’s, and propelled them the hall’s stretch, leaving Alexa’s family to follow at their own pace.
Alexa glanced behind her as her stepmother towed her, willy-nilly, along. Aunt Bridget spoke quietly to Uncle Hugo, and poor Katrina, looking anything but pleased, reluctantly took the elbow Harrison extended.
Alexa tried not to gawk at the ostentatious display of wealth, from the gilded paintings covering practically every inch of the silk covered walls, to the assortment of marble-topped tables, Empire style chairs, lamps, vases, and valuable whatnots lining the corridor.
“Mrs. Eades has your chamber prepared.” Forced enthusiasm tinged Minerva’s voice. “Such a lovely room, too, in different shades of yellows. You’ll quite like it, I’m sure.”
Alexa opened her mouth to thank Minerva, but her stepmother prattled on.
“Do you prefer a tray in your chamber, or will you come below to break your fast? If I remember correctly, you’re quite fond of marmalade and stovies. Do you favor tea or chocolate in the morning? Or coffee, perhaps? I do hope you are partial to cats. We have three. They’re prowling around somewhere in the house. Your luggage will be taken above stairs and unpack—”
“That’s most kind of you, but we won’t be staying long, just a day or two.” Gracious, the woman carried on an entire conversation by herself.
“Oh? Whyever not?” Confusion creased Minerva’s brow.
Alexa hurried to explain. “Aunt Bridget is anxious to return to London and begin preparations for the Season.”
“Mother says we shall both have our come-outs this year. I was . . . unwell last winter, and prior to that, I was too timid. But with your company, I do believe I shall get on famously.” Shona gave Alexa a shy smile. They reached the floral drawing room’s entrance, and Shona slid her uncle a wary look. “He insists at your age, you must find a suitable husband at once.”
Alexa forced an affable curving of her lips. Planning her future, were they? They’d best prepare for a rather abrupt upset then. She had no intentions of abdicating her newfound independence for the constraints of matrimony and submitting to a husband’s will just yet.
“I’m afraid I’ve no intention of seeking a husband for some time.”
Eyes widened in disbelief, Shona sent her uncle another furtive glance then bent toward Alexa. “Oh, but you must. Uncle Harrison has already contacted several eligible gentlemen on your behalf.” She lowered her voice. “Though, it’s supposed to be a secret.”
Not anymore.
“That’s quite enough, dear.” A chagrined flush swept Minerva’s cheeks as she ushered them into the grand drawing room. “She does get things confused sometimes.”
Shona’s formed a petulant pout. “But, Mama, don’t you remember? Uncle said at supper last evening he’d already received an acceptable offer for Alexandra’s hand.”
Chapter 10
My God, how many husband-hunting women did his mother and sister know?
Lucan took a gulp of coffee, and burning his tongue for the second time in five minutes, swore. Perusing the paper Genny handed him a moment ago, he pushed aside his plate of hot eggs and ham, his need for food having flown.
What he did need, however, was a lady of breeding and quality, and more on point, one with whom he could anticipate an amiable future for several decades.
Fidelity would be a nice bonus. The latter might prove to be the more difficult of the qualifications he required. He hoped his family would accept his chosen bride and that she would mesh well with them. If they adored her, so much the better. If not . . .
He mentally shrugged. He’d have to make sure he selected someone they got on well with or keep them apart. Not an ideal arrangement.
Tibbs’s clanging around at the sideboard echoed the cacophony of thoughts jarring in Lucan’s head. Commitment prodding him, he ran his forefinger down the list of eligible misses the meddling females in his family contrived with the force and speed of an avalanche once Mother’s health crisis passed.
She’d made a most miraculous recovery in the past ten days; so much so, he might have become suspicious if he hadn’t spoken to the doctor himself. However, she would never again be well, and the knowledge pricked annoyingly, like a thorn in his arse.
Sending Lucan a sympathetic glance, his brother-in-law took his customary place at the table. Lord Montgomery sniffed appreciatively as he placed two sausages on his plate, followed by a mound of scrambled eggs, a slice of ham, and a piece of toast.
“Are you quite sure you didn’t forget anyone?” Lucan shook the list.
Genny chuckled naughtily and tapped the foolscap before taking a seat and spreading her serviette.
“Those are suggestions to help you get started, Luc
an. Mother and I wrote a few close friends to see if there are any more eligible women on the social scene we’re not acquainted with.”
“Wrote more than a few, old chap. My deepest condolences,” Montgomery muttered as he chewed a bite of buttery toast. “Had my fill of damsels contriving to become my countess. Sorely glad it’s you and not me this go round.”
“Hush, darling.” Genny waved him silent with a vague flutter of her ringed fingers, her attention lingering on Lucan. “We’ve already received a couple of responses, and I’ve added their names.”
There are more?
“Tea, Miss Genevieve?” Tibbs pattered to her chair, holding the tea and coffee pots at precarious angles.
Lucan held his breath as the wavering butler prepared to pour the hot beverage.
“Leave the pots, please, Tibbs. I can pour for Lord Montgomery.” She bestowed a brilliant smile upon the butler. “I’m ravenous this morning and shall require several cups of tea while breaking my fast.”
Well played, Genny.
“She’s always owned to quite an appetite in the morning,” Montgomery said between mouthfuls.
Lucan hid a grin at his brother-in-law’s double entendre.
“Complaining, darling?” Genny poured her husband’s coffee then added two lumps of sugar while giving him a sensual smile.
Spearing a sausage, Montgomery grinned. “Not at all.”
She peered around the table. “I would dearly love some marmalade, Tibbs.”
“At once, Miss Genevieve.” Tibbs had never quite become accustomed to Genny’s or Lucan’s status as adults. “Young sir, do you require anything from the kitchen while I’m there?”
Searching the neatly scribbled rows for names of ladies he might know, Lucan glanced up. “No, thank you.”
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