Alissa Baxter

by The Dashing Debutante

  “I hear, my dear, that Stanford is to return to London within the se’enight. I am sure that once he is in occupation of his enormous house opposite yours, life will become more interesting!”

  “Yes, Robert adds a certain spark to the London scene,” Lady Beauchamp said, nodding her head in agreement.

  “More than a spark, my dear. A veritable fire, I would say,” Lady Jersey said, smiling wryly. “I wonder how many hearts he will break this year,” she mused. “You know, I sometimes doubt that he will ever be caught by parson’s mousetrap.”

  “He is bound to enter the state of matrimony some day, even if is only to ensure that a son succeeds him,” Lady Sefton remarked comfortably. “Speaking of successions, my dear, did you know old Pemberbrook has finally passed away? His nephew has inherited the estate, but along with it has come a mountain of debts, poor man!”

  Alexandra sat frozen in her seat, barely listening to the rest of what Lady Sefton was saying as she assimilated the fact that the Duke of Stanford would be residing directly opposite her for the next few months. She welcomed the idea with the same degree of enthusiasm that she would a rattlesnake about to strike her. Actually with less enthusiasm, she thought, because she suspected that the Duke could be infinitely more dangerous to her peace of mind. She wondered why her grandmother had not seen fit to tell her that Stanford resided in Berkeley Square, and asked this of her on arriving back home. “I did not deem it of great importance, my dear,” Lady Beauchamp said, in some surprise. “Why should it matter where Robert lives?”

  Realising that she could give no real reason for her apprehension, Alexandra shrugged, and quickly changed the subject of conversation to the soirée that they were to attend that evening. But, within the privacy of her bedchamber later that night, she silently acknowledged what she had been reluctant to admit to herself — that Stanford held a dangerous fascination for her. For all her avowals of violent dislike, she had to admit that the Duke was a very hard man to forget. He was charming, articulate, and far too handsome for his own good, and he had a devastatingly attractive smile. Alexandra resolutely caught herself up at this point. She would not allow herself to fall into the dangerous trap of thinking about the Duke of Stanford more than she should!

  Chapter Eleven

  With her grandmother acting as chaperone, Alexandra spent nearly every evening of her first week in London attending some informal party or other. These affairs, organised by a group of society matrons, were given so that the daughters of these ladies could begin to make the acquaintance of other young people their age before the official engagements began. Alexandra, of course, was duly invited to all of these ensembles. Lady Beauchamp was an influential member of the ton whom everyone knew was on close terms with both Lady Jersey and Lady Sefton, and no one, not even the disgruntled Lady Butterworth, had any desire to offend her by failing to issue a party invitation to her granddaughter.

  At these functions Alexandra invariably found herself surrounded by numerous gentlemen, eager to be introduced to the newest London beauty. But, far from being pleased or flattered by their attentions, she found the conversation of the extremely young dandies clamouring around her skirts excruciatingly dull. Seeking to impress their newly crowned goddess, they struck poses while soulfully regarding her from under lowered brows. Little did they realise, however, that their antics, far from being appreciated by the Titian beauty they were beginning to worship, in fact afforded her considerable amusement. Alexandra considered them more ridiculous than anything else, and by the end of her first week in London she was heartily wishing that they would switch their tiresome attentions to someone else.

  It was on Friday evening at Lady Derringer’s rout, that Alexandra encountered Lady Letitia Beaumont for the first time. Alexandra had escaped onto the balcony in order to avoid the attentions of a particularly ardent young suitor who had been reciting lines of Lord Byron’s latest poem to her in a determinedly soulful voice. Unable to endure her persistent admirer’s attentions any longer, Alexandra had requested him, in some desperation, to obtain a glass of lemonade for her, and when he had left to execute her request, she had hastily exited the room. She let out a sigh of heartfelt relief now, welcoming the solitude that the dark evening invited. When her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, however, she became aware that she was not, as she had originally thought, the sole occupant of the balcony. At the far end of the balcony, a couple stood close together in what seemed like a particularly earnest conversation. Alexandra heard the gentleman say something in a low, urgent voice. The young girl to whom he was speaking, vehemently shook her head. Finally, the man clasped the girl’s hands in his and bent his head to briefly kiss her, before walking down the steps, leaving his companion staring after him, her shoulders drooping disconsolately.

  Alexandra, feeling rather uncomfortable at having witnessed such an intimate scene, was about to slip quietly back into the room when the young girl turned and saw her standing there, illuminated by the bright light streaming through the windows behind her. “Oh! You startled me!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were Amelia!”

  Seeing Alexandra’s puzzled look, she continued in a distracted voice, “She’s my chaperone — my cousin, you understand — and she would be extremely angry to discover me out here unattended. She is a stickler for propriety, you see, and she would be sure to tell my brother about it, and he would be even more angry,” she finished, shuddering at the thought.

  “Your brother sounds rather severe,” Alexandra said, somewhat surprised.

  “Actually, Robert’s a dear, but he can be quite puritanical when it comes to the female members of his family,” she replied with a grimace. “He is the strictest brother imaginable, hence Cousin Amelia,” she continued, peering behind Alexandra in search of her unwelcome duenna.

  Suddenly suspicious, Alexandra studied the girl closely, noting the somehow familiar dark hair and green eyes of her companion. The girl had distinctive features which definitely bore a resemblance to those of a certain man Alexandra had recently encountered. Consequently, in a determinedly careless voice, she enquired, “Are you by any chance related to the Duke of Stanford?”

  The girl rolled her eyes, and said crossly, “Yes, I am his sister, Letitia. Ever since I arrived in London people have been informing me that I have a likeness of Robert. And I do not view it as a compliment! Robert has a square jaw for heaven’s sake! And the most forbidding looking eyebrows! It is a great trial to me that people consider that we look alike. I, for one, cannot see the resemblance!”

  Alexandra laughed, and said kindly, “I assure you, Lady Letitia, that you do not have a square jaw, or forbidding eyebrows for that matter!”

  “Hmmm, that may well be, but it does not help the fact that I am known wherever I go — and singled out. It means that I have to exercise considerable discretion in whatever I do, especially when meeting...” Letitia broke off at this point, and looked anxiously at Alexandra.

  “The gentleman you were with, a moment ago?” Alexandra completed the sentence for her.

  “Yes. But, please assure me that you will not inform anyone of it, Miss... I am sorry, but I do not know your name?”

  “I am Alexandra Grantham, Lady Letitia. And no, of course I shan’t inform anyone of your clandestine meeting. I am no tale monger, I can assure you.”

  “I did not mean to imply that you were, Miss Grantham,” Letitia answered quickly. An apprehensive expression flitted suddenly across her face. “Are — are — you, by any chance, acquainted with my brother, Miss Grantham?” she asked.

  Deeming it wise to keep her acquaintance with the Duke of Stanford a secret, Alexandra was about to dodge this question by making some vague response, when a deep voice coming from behind her said softly, “Miss Grantham is indeed acquainted with him.”

  Alexandra gasped upon hearing the disturbingly familiar voice, and spinning around, uttered one pithy word to the dark haired man leaning nonchalantly against the balcony doors: “You!”<
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  A pair of “formidable-looking eyebrows” rose at this, and the Duke said urbanely, “Indeed, it is I, Miss Grantham, and I am delighted to see you too,” he continued dryly, noting the almost comically horrified look directed at him by Alexandra.

  Realising that she must have sounded intolerably rude, Alexandra flushed, and sank into a deep curtsey as befitted the Duke’s rank. Upon rising, she said politely, “Your grace. What a — er — pleasant surprise to meet you again.”

  The Duke straightened from his lounging position, and looked sardonically at Alexandra. “Do not attempt to deceive me, Miss Grantham. You may be surprised to see me, but you are certainly in no way pleased.”

  Alexandra lifted her chin. “My lord Duke, you presume too much! I am wholly unaffected by your presence. Indeed, one could even say indifferent.”

  “I see that your tongue has not lost its sharpness, Miss Grantham,” the Duke said, looking narrowly at her. “Are you normally so caustic or do you save your particular brand of set-downs just for me?”

  “Set-downs, your grace?” Alexandra said blandly. “I was not aware that to be unaffected by someone was to insult them. Pray accept my heartfelt apologies.”

  His eyes silently acknowledged the hit, but Alexandra had the uneasy feeling that she was taking on more than she could manage by engaging the Duke of Stanford in verbal swordplay. If she was not mistaken, Stanford was a master at that particular game, and she suspected that, once challenged, he would be a formidable adversary.

  Consequently, looking rather apprehensively at him, Alexandra wondered what he would say in response to her audacious comment, but the Duke, deciding to ignore provocation, at least for the present, turned his attention instead to his errant sister. This young lady had listened with considerable glee, and with no little awe, to Alexandra’s deliberate attempts to deflate her masterful brother’s ego, and in the process had quite forgotten her previous nervousness at being discovered by Robert, unattended by her cousin, out on the dark balcony. Now however, as his disapproving countenance came to rest on her, it quickly returned.

  “And may I enquire, Letty, as to what you are doing out here — alone?” he asked coldly.

  Searching her mind frantically for an explanation that her perspicacious brother would accept, Letitia weighed up all her options. Knowing him as she did, she was certain he would see through any attempt by her to dissimulate. Thus, looking rather desperately at Alexandra, she said, “But, I am not alone, Robert. I am accompanied by Miss Grantham!”

  Unable to resist the pleading look directed at her, Alexandra came obligingly to the rescue of her new young friend, saying, “Yes, indeed, your grace. It was so stuffy indoors that Lady Letitia and I decided to come outside for a breath of fresh air.”

  The Duke looked mockingly at Alexandra. “As a respectable companion for my sister, my dear, you would be the last person I would choose. If I accurately recall, when I last encountered you it was precisely because you were unaccompanied that I took you to task.”

  Alexandra was about to make an extremely unwise retort to this remark, when the doors of the balcony opened, and her grandmother appeared. Lady Beauchamp looked around, and seeing Alexandra, said in an exasperated tone of voice, “Oh, there you are, child! I have been searching all over for you. There is someone in particular to whom I wish to introduce you.” Upon seeing the Duke and his sister standing nearby, she continued, “Good evening Robert, Letty. I trust that you are well?” Not waiting for a reply, Lady Beauchamp carried on, “I am rather surprised to see you at a gathering of this sort, Robert. Débutante parties are not quite your style, I would have supposed.”

  “You suppose correctly, ma’am. They are interminably dull affairs. I am on my way to White’s, and only stopped here to see whether Gerard wishes to accompany me there.”

  “He will be most thankful that you have come to his rescue, Robert,” Letitia said, smiling ruefully. “He was extremely put out when Cousin Amelia insisted that he accompany us here. He said that he had no wish, as he phrased it “to do the pretty to a bunch of females”, but Cousin Amelia said that it was his fraternal duty to escort us here. So, he agreed — albeit very ungraciously. I think you will find him in the card room, Robert.”

  “He has more than likely escaped into the garden to blow a cloud, Letty. Somehow, I do not see Gerard playing whist for six-penny points,” the Duke commented dryly, before proceeding to enquire after Lady Beauchamp’s well-being, and in turn answering her queries as to the state of his own mother’s health.

  The Dowager Duchess of Stanford had suffered from a severe arthritic complaint for many years, which prevented her from coming to London for the Season. However, her close friends — Lady Beauchamp being one of their number — kept her well informed about the goings-on of Society, and also, at her request, of the activities of her various offspring. The Duke, who was aware of this fact, and had no desire to be cross examined by his mother’s steadfast friend on his recent escapades, excused himself from Lady Beauchamp and Alexandra after a short while and, bestowing a glinting smile on them both, escorted his sister back inside.

  Lady Beauchamp turned to Alexandra, and said, “So you have made the acquaintance of Letty Beaumont, my dear. She is a charming girl, but far too headstrong. Robert keeps a close eye on her for she is apt to fall into the most unfortunate scrapes.”

  “If that is so, Grandmama, I suppose the Duke’s attention will be diverted away from bringing me into fashion,” Alexandra said thoughtfully.

  Lady Beauchamp snorted, and said in her forthright way, “Do not count on it, my dear! Once Robert has made up his mind to do something, he invariably does it. And, he has promised to make you the talk of the town.”

  Alexandra shrugged her shoulders, and said in a dismal voice, “I am not at all sure that I would like that to happen, Grandmama, if it means that at every function I attend, I have to endure the attentions of a set of veritable mooncalves. That is why I escaped out here.”

  “You should not have come out here unattended, my dear. I was looking all over for you, and could not find you,” Lady Beauchamp chided.

  “I am sorry, Grandmama. I did not realise that.”

  “Never mind, my dear,” Lady Beauchamp said, with a smile. “I can quite see why you are frustrated with having to endure the conversation of a set of callow youths who are only a few years your senior. That is why I particularly wish to introduce you to my godson, Sir Charles Fotherby. He is all that a gentleman should be, and is of an entirely different stamp from the type of young gentleman with whom you have come into contact since your arrival in London. I am sure that you will get along famously with him.” On this optimistic note Lady Beauchamp, ignoring Alexandra’s doubtful expression, shepherded her charge back inside.

  Later that evening Alexandra smothered a yawn as Hobbes helped her undress. She reflected, once she had climbed thankfully into bed, that the remainder of the evening had been of a far more enjoyable nature than the first part. This was largely due to the fact that Sir Charles Fotherby had turned out to be as charming as her grandmother had suggested he would be. Alexandra had spent some few minutes conversing with the engaging baronet on a range of interesting topics, from her love of horses, which he shared, to the intricacies involved in successful fly-fishing. He appeared everything that a gentleman should be — kind, solicitous and pleasant company. Unlike a certain other man who was nothing of the sort, Alexandra thought bitterly, scowling into the darkness. She had come to the conclusion that the Duke of Stanford could only be described as insufferable! He was far too sure of himself, to the extent that she longed to put him properly in his place. Alexandra was pleasurably conjuring up wonderful situations where the Duke, for some obscure and utterly improbable reason, was under her power and begging her for mercy, when tiredness overtook her and her heavy eyelids closed in sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  After breakfast the next morning, Sir Charles Fotherby called at Beauchamp House. Alexandra l
ooked up when the handsome baronet was admitted to the Morning Parlour, and rising gracefully from her chair, said with her charming smile, “Sir Charles! What a pleasant surprise.”

  Sir Charles moved forward, and bowed over Alexandra’s outstretched hand. “I wish you good morning, my dear Miss Grantham. I hope that you feel as refreshed after a good night’s rest as you look? I have called with the hope of inviting you for a drive in the Park. My curricle is waiting outside...”

  “Then we must not keep your horses standing, Sir Charles. If you will grant me a few minutes, I shall join you directly.”

  Alexandra hurried upstairs to put on one of her fashionable new bonnets, a charming pale yellow affair with an upstanding poke, and a high crown that framed its wearer’s face exquisitely. No curled plumes adorned this artful confection, but the matching yellow satin ribbons, tied into a bow under one ear, set the hat above the ordinary. Alexandra, after informing a secretly delighted Lady Beauchamp of her godson’s invitation, met this gentleman in the Hall. Sir Charles handed her into the curricle, and, after nodding to his groom, set the restless horses in motion.

  Alexandra looked admiringly at the pair of perfectly matched chestnuts harnessed to the curricle, but sat quietly by as Sir Charles manoeuvred the curricle into the busy London traffic. The chestnuts were spirited animals, and Sir Charles needed all his attention to keep his horses in check. When they turned into the gates of Hyde Park, however, Alexandra looked up at him and said appreciatively, “I must compliment you on your splendid horses, Sir Charles. They are fine-steppers, indeed.”

  “Yes, they are something out of the ordinary way. Prime bits of blood and bone. I have received numerous offers for them from hopeful buyers, but will never part with them.” He paused briefly, then continued with a rueful smile, “I fear I may sound odiously sentimental, Miss Grantham, but my horses, to me, are like old friends.”