Of course, I thanked him properly.
I punched him a good one when he tried to kiss me.
Her stomach quivered then gurgled. She pressed a hand there. She should have eaten her luncheon, but she’d been too busy practicing her dance steps and reviewing the ton’s protocols and expectations.
Pray to God she didn’t revert to a lifetime of habits and seize a piece of meat with her fingers, talk with her mouth full, or snort when she laughed. She’d never claimed a dainty, musical laugh like Katrina or Aunt Bridget. No, hers sounded like a bleating goat with a head cold.
“I’m fraught with apprehension.” She met Katrina’s excited gaze in the mirror. “I’m going to commit a gaffe. I know it.”
Katrina heaved an exaggerated sigh and wrapped an arm around Alexa’s waist. “You’ll take London by storm.”
Alexa chuckled at her stunning cousin. “You’re not exactly street rabble, and I’m sure every gentleman present tonight will wish to dance with you. Me, on the other hand.” She pulled a face and stuck out a silk-clad foot. “I’m all heels.”
“Flim-flam. You’ve come so far in two weeks. You have mastered most of the dance steps, and your manners are as pretty as mine.” Katrina dimpled. “Papa paid Mr. Beufort handsomely for the little inconvenience he suffered.”
In the process of dabbing perfume behind her ears, Alexa shook her head and released an unladylike grunt. “Katrina, I broke the man’s toes. He swore in all his years as a dance master, he’d never known anyone as ‘maladroit’ as me.”
“Pooh.” Katrina flapped her hand. “He’s a cross old boar who likes to use pretentious words. You’ve practiced with me this entire week and only trod upon my foot twice. My toes are none-the-worse for it.”
“Liar.” Alexa shook a finger at Katrina. “I saw the bruise atop your foot, cousin.”
In the past fortnight Aunt Bridget, and a beehive of others, had attempted to transform Alexa from a Highland bumpkin into a lady worthy of a title.
Alexa didn’t share her aunt’s enthusiasm about presenting her long-lost niece to Society, not only because Alexa’s education in comportment had only just begun, but in truth, she had no desire to fit in to the haut ton. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t deny Aunt Bridget her joy, and her aunt’s exuberance was contagious.
The same couldn’t be said for Minerva’s and Harrison’s eagerness to marry her off. After Shona’s remark at Wedderford Abbey, Alexa hadn’t minced words. She wasn’t in the market for a husband, and when she did decide to pursue marriage, she, and she alone, would select her mate. Even so, their persistence spurred Alexa’s impatience and wariness.
They’d soared into Town a mere two days after Alexa arrived. Thankfully, Minerva hadn’t fussed when Alexa insisted on continuing with the Needhams rather than moving to her residence on Regent Street where Minerva intended to remain for the Season.
Minerva and Harrison came round the next day with a slew of suggestions, from practical to outrageous, as to how Alexa might most effectively and efficiently go about acquiring a spouse, post haste. One of their tamer recommendations consisted of hiding in a peer’s carriage wearing nothing but her chemise.
One would think them desperate to see her married.
Perhaps they thought she’d reside at her husband’s home and they’d be free to do what they pleased at Wedderford.
The entailment included other properties as well, and Alexa hadn’t quite decided how to proceed with her new family or her holdings. Her change in circumstances became a mixed bag of blessings and conundrums. After a visit with Uncle Hugo’s solicitor, she’d be in a better position to make decisions.
Difficult at best and humiliating at worst, Alexa didn’t envy Minerva and Shona’s situation. Nevertheless, that hadn’t prevented Minerva from indulging in enthusiastic shopping sprees which Uncle Hugo politely, but firmly, put an end to. Minerva’s generous allowance would have to suffice.
Why Harrison continued to reside at Wedderford Abbey, or tag along wherever her stepmother went, baffled Alexa, unless he had no means. He’d been living off the barony’s funds for the past two decades. Rather hard to respect an opportunist and wastrel of that caliber, but she didn’t know his whole situation either. Perhaps he suffered from a malady of some sort.
Laziness.
She shoved the uncharitable thought aside.
Alexa scrutinized her appearance in the mirror one final time. “I’m afraid I shall make a God-awful blunder.”
Katrina gathered her gloves. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Do as I do and smile. People will understand when they learn of your uncivilized upbringing.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, Alexa. I didn’t mean that how it sounded.” Laying the gloves aside, Katrina glided to Alexa’s side. “I only meant, dear one, you cannot be expected to learn in a fortnight what most members of le beau monde have had a lifetime to perfect. And trust me when I tell you, many of that pompous lot are quite barbaric beneath their snooty, outward mien.”
“It’s fine. I’m not offended.” And Alexa wasn’t.
Although she’d been in London a short while and attended several intimate functions, she felt as inadequate as a pig dressed in chartreuse satin taking tea in Lady Jersey’s parlor. Nonetheless, she intended to learn as much as she could and make the most of the opportunity she’d been afforded. As an heiress, she possessed the power to help the gypsies and other less fortunates.
An hour later, holding Katrina’s hand, she entered Lord and Lady Rutledge’s glittering ballroom. Several people turned to stare as Uncle Hugo guided the women to empty chairs near parted French windows. As they took their seats, a few guests smiled and inclined their heads while a good number whispered to those nearest them.
By design, Alexa’s fascinating tale hadn’t remained a family secret. Uncle Hugo and Aunt Bridget had thought it best to let the story out in the open, lest viper-tongued gossips contrive something unpleasant and untrue. However, their romanticized version of her disappearance and life amongst the gypsies didn’t include sharing her abduction and imprisonment at the Blackhall’s hands.
A stout, older gentleman examined Alexa through his quizzing glass while two dandies openly leered—one wearing a rose and jonquil striped waistcoat, and the other, a neckcloth so stiff and complicatedly tied, he could scarcely move his head.
“The rotund fellow is Mr. Myers, the fop, Lord Craven, and the starchy chap, Sir Howard,” Katrina whispered from the side of her mouth while bestowing a brilliant smile on a dark-eyed man, with hair slightly longer than fashionable, lounging against a pillar.
You can do this, Alexa. Remember, savoir faire.
Alexa recited in her mind, again and again, what Aunt Bridget drilled into her.
“A lady must demonstrate savoir faire, Alexa. She must behave correctly and with poise in every situation.”
Raising her chin, Alexa smiled at those smiling at her, unflinchingly met the direct stares of those rudely gawking, and raised an amused brow at the haughty few turning their noses up. She also indulged in a bit of Name the Lord and Lady, a child’s game she had played growing up. No ill-intent was behind the silly, fabricated names, just nonsensical fun.
A triad of overly perfumed, bejeweled dames sauntered past, taking Alexa’s measure as surely as her nose objected to their powerful aromas. Holding her breath and stifling the urge to sneeze, she offered a genial smile and received flat, unblinking stares in return.
No allies there. She promptly dubbed them The Three Un-Muses.
Fixing her smile firmer, she inspected the teeming ballroom, already beastly warm. Alexa inhaled a bracing breath. These people would not intimidate her.
Desperate for the insignificant draft waving the frilly accessory afforded, she flipped her fan open despite not having concentrated in
her studies on how to most effectively use the thing to communicate. Silly her. Here she thought a fan a tool to cool oneself, not to send coded messages.
She had allowed a tiny whimper and slouched onto the salon settee yesterday when Aunt Bridget announced she must also learn the language of parasols and handkerchiefs.
Absurd.
Just talk, for the love of God. Wasn’t that why the Good Lord gifted people with mouths and tongues? Pray she didn’t thwack herself on the nose or poke herself in the eye with her fan tonight. Or communicate something wholly inappropriate.
A small cluster of distinguished looking ladies inclined their heads toward her before gliding from the room. Her confidence nudged up a morsel. They’d looked important.
Aunt Bridget tapped Alexa’s forearm with her closed fan. “Bravo, Alexa. You’ve won the patroness’ initial approval without an introduction.”
“Is that who they—” Alexa’s breath caught, and her pulse stuttered.
“We shall remedy that oversight before evening’s end. Well done. First round to you, dearest. I knew you’d take.” Aunt Bridget’s giddy whisper and beaming face hardly registered.
A tall, ash-blond man attired in black, except for his pristine cravat, ambled through the French windows accompanied by two laughing gentlemen.
The Duke of Harcourt’s languid gaze swept the room, passed by her and her family, then careened back to rivet on her as his eyes widened in disbelief. No sign remained of his injured eye.
A slow, wolfish smile curved his full mouth.
No doubt existed that he’d recognized her.
Look away, Alexa.
Her dratted eyes wouldn’t obey. She couldn’t blink as he strode in her direction. What must he think, seeing her here, elegantly attired, and in the company of her well-heeled aunt and uncle?
She permitted a welcoming smile and what she hoped qualified as a flirtatious flutter of her fan, which, from his astonished expression, confounded him.
Her smile slipped. Bother. Perhaps she’d told him to go to the devil or bugger himself with her inept flapping.
His striking companions exchanged amused glances before hieing after the duke. Probably didn’t want to miss the sport about to take place.
Heads turned and conversations tapered when people noticed the duke’s intent. She’d bet her new fortune le beau monde favored him, and that he’d set his attention on her—an unknown—marked her for their regard.
Uncle Hugo scratched his upper lip and murmured beneath his cupped hand. “Alexa, my dear. Do you know the Duke of Harcourt?”
“Stop staring.” Katrina nudged her. “People are taking notice.”
Alexa still gaped. She’d thought him attractive before, but dressed formally with a predatory glint in his eye . . . Her body reacted most peculiarly—hot, shivery, and excited at once.
“Alexa.” Katrina toed Alexa’s slipper then poked her in the side, using her fan to make her point.
Alexa perched, riveted on the edge of her seat, like a leery bird ready to take flight. Except, where could she escape to? She had the oddest urge to scamper to the curtains and hide behind their protective lengths. With him.
A sharp pinch to her arm at last made her turn and look at her aunt.
“Ouch, that hurt.” Alexa rubbed the offended flesh. “Why did you pinch me?”
A glittering false smile on her face, Aunt Bridget conveniently dropped her fan. Bending to retrieve it, she whispered, “A Covent Garden courtesan is less bold. Drop your gaze. He’s almost upon us.”
No need to ask who he was.
At once, Alexa found the parquet flooring’s pattern utterly fascinating. Three pairs of glossy black shoes soon obstructed her view. She switched her attention to the even more intriguing toes of her satin slippers.
Silly, this having to pretend demureness.
“Good evening, Mrs. Needham, Miss Needham, Mr. Needham.” The duke’s voice floated over and around Alexa, churning memories she’d tried to forget. Such as how she could listen to the rumble of his voice forever.
“Your Grace, my lords,” Aunt Bridget and Katrina murmured as one, sounding rather like trained circus parrots.
“Alexa.” Katrina poked Alexa’s elbow with her blasted fan.
Did every tonnish women use the things as miniature swords?
The women stood then dipped into graceful curtsies. However, Alexa continued to study his grace’s polished shoes. She wouldn’t want Aunt Bridget working herself into a fuss because Alexa couldn’t tear her gaze from a disturbingly handsome duke.
Why did she have to see him right off? Couldn’t she have been afforded a night or two . . . a week . . . a month to practice her newly acquired skills?
Why did it matter? He’d already seen her at her absolute worst and had still tried to steal a kiss.
Savoir faire, Alexa.
Uncle Hugo swept his hand toward the new arrivals. “Alexandra, may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Harcourt, the Marquis of Bretheridge, and Viscount Warrick? Your Grace, my lords, this is my niece, Alexandra Atterberry.”
“It’s a pleasure, Your Grace, my lords.” Why, she sounded quite composed. No one present would suspect her heart had sunk to somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach—which tumbled riotously—or that a thousand red ants danced a Scottish jig along her nerves.
“Thank you, Mr. Needham. However, I’ve had the privilege of previously meeting your niece in Scotland.” The duke’s amused silver gaze collided with Alexa’s. Heaven forbid he reveal how they’d met. She’d be ruined, through and through.
Lord Warrick sent the duke an amazed look. “She’s the one?”
That didn’t bode well. Alexa swallowed and braved examining the ballroom beyond them. Oh, God. Nearly everyone present turned to watch, and the bolder amongst the crowd sidled closer.
She clenched her fan until the scalloped edges cut into her fingers, and clamped her teeth to keep from telling the meddlers to shove off and mind their own business.
“Harcourt, I thought you said the woman you rescued was a gypsy lass?” Lord Bretheridge, his green-eyed gaze baffled, sent Lord Warrick a questioning look before his attention leapt to Alexa.
The viscount shrugged then scowled at the brazen guests blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation. A half dozen had the grace to blush and, averting their gazes, bustled away. However, one prune-faced man had the audacity to smirk and step closer.
Perhaps the duke had decided to avenge her hitting him after all, and had chosen to do so publicly. He must have known she’d be here. Perhaps, Laird Sethwick had written his grace and told him of her change in circumstances.
No. The Duke of Harcourt hadn’t feigned his surprise upon discovering her here. He hadn’t known, and nothing he’d done at Dounnich House remotely hinted he possessed a rancorous character. In fact, the opposite might be argued. He’d been contrite and remorseful . . . thoughtful, in fact.
Uncle Hugo maneuvered until the peers’ backs faced the titillated onlookers, but the annoying, prying man slinked to the side in order to see and hear their exchange.
Alexa slid him a surreptitious glance and found him staring at her. His thin lips twitched upward, as did the hair on her nape.
A granary rat claimed better manners. Rather looked like a rodent, too, with his narrow face, pointed nose, mousy-brown hair, and close-set, beady eyes. He even wore a gray waistcoat and only lacked whiskers and a tail. She could almost imagine his nose trembling while he cleaned his paws.
Rat man.
“You’ve met my niece, Your Grace?” Uncle gave Alexa a reassuring smile, although puzzlement lingered in his eyes.
She offered a sympathetic arcing of her mouth in return.
Dear man. He’s utterly flummoxed.
“Inde
ed, I’ve had the pleasure.” The duke didn’t sound angry.
Alexa took a deep breath, determinedly affixed a smile to her lips, and lifted her head to meet his gaze straight on.
Do your worst. I can take it. I am Scottish and a gypsy.
Well, not gypsy anymore. Her heart gave a pang.
Only warm kindness shone in the duke’s eyes, and she relaxed the tiniest bit.
His grace took her hand then bowed over it. “And a braver, more courageous, woman I have yet to meet.”
She parted her lips in surprise as a flurry of whispers erupted around them.
Alexa’s story might seem romantic to some, but her aunt and uncle had warned her not to breathe a word about her captivity. Surely, the duke, too, knew how disastrous such a revelation would be to her reputation.
Harrison elbowed his way through the throng.
Perfect. Someone else disagreeable to deal with.
One step behind him, both wearing spectacular parure sets, Minerva towed a pale and trembling Shona.
Alexa doubted the shimmering rubies, diamonds, and sapphires were paste, and irritation pricked at their deceit. She couldn’t tolerate liars. What else had Minerva lied about?
Shona’s parentage?
Most unwise to trust her stepmother.
Every now and again, Shona darted an enamored look at the rat. Apparently, she knew the man well enough to have formed an infatuation. Interesting. And nauseating.
“Alexandra was raised as a Scottish Highland traveller. A gypsy.” Harrison’s bold announcement held a gloating note. His eyes shrank to shrewd slits. “Having been abducted, and her true identity recently discovered, she’s just returned to her family’s bosom.”
Now he’s done it, the scunner.
Katrina slipped her hand into Alexa’s and gave a tiny squeeze.
Alexa forced air into her lungs. Stay calm. Mayhap he referred to her first abduction as a child.
Heartbreak and Honor Page 10
