Alissa Baxter

by The Dashing Debutante

  “I shall not be discovered, Letty. Grandmama rises late in the morning — near noon. She will not miss me if I slip out early in the morning. I can go to Ryder Street and return without her knowing anything about it!”

  Hope began to brighten Letitia’s eyes and, jumping up, she embraced her friend. “Dearest, dearest Alex, if you will do this for me, I shall be forever in your debt. Thank you. Oh, thank you!”

  “Not at all, dear Letty. I am pleased to be able to help you,” Alexandra said, smiling. “It will be a wonderful adventure! Let us only hope that I can carry off this masquerade effectively. Write the letter now, and I shall contrive to deliver it tomorrow morning.”

  Alexandra rang for Leighton, and after requesting him to bring the necessary writing materials to the Morning Room, she curled up on the chaise-longue and discussed the finer details of her daring plan with Letitia. It promised to be a most exciting escapade, but one that Alexandra knew her grandmother would condemn as being utterly foolhardy. But headstrong Alexandra, having set her mind on doing something, rarely considered any unfavourable consequences that might result from her actions. Her mind was made up, and nothing, absolutely nothing, had the power to change it.

  The next morning, Alexandra rose early. She was, as yet, still accustomed to country hours and had maintained the habit of waking early, finding the late hours kept by the ton rather difficult to adjust to. She dressed quickly, donning the boy’s raiment she had found in one of the trunks in the attics. Regarding herself in the mirror, Alexandra grinned, curtsying mockingly to the slim boy reflected there. Chuckling softly, she stuffed her hair into a cap, then crept silently out of her room, down the servant’s staircase, and left the house via the servant’s entrance.

  Digging her hands into the pockets of her britches, Alexandra gave a little skip as she headed towards St James’s Street, confident in the knowledge that no member of the beau monde would be about at such an early hour. Glancing casually across the square, however, she froze. Standing outside Stanford House was a curricle and four, the restless bays held in check by Stanford’s tiger, Jimmy — who was staring directly at her! Alexandra’s heart leapt to her throat as she hurried on. She fervently hoped the tiger had not recognized her. Jimmy had accompanied his master when the Duke had taken Alexandra driving in the park the previous week, and would therefore know his master’s companion if he saw her again. But, refusing to give way to panic, Alexandra firmly reminded herself that a servant would never even begin to equate the elegant Miss Grantham with an errand boy. Her disguise was impenetrable!

  Alexandra was unaware that the gentle sway of her hips, emphasized by the tightly fitting britches, and her graceful carriage, gave her sex away as surely as if she were attired in one of her own gowns. To the perceptive viewer, the lithe figure hurrying across the square was certainly no youth.

  Alexandra had just left the square, and was congratulating herself on her narrow escape, when she felt an iron hand clamping down on her shoulder. Spinning around in alarm, she found herself looking up into the formidably angry face of the Duke of Stanford. Paling with fright, Alexandra tried to jerk herself free, but the Duke, without a word, firmly grasped her elbow and marched her back to her grandmother’s house, through the servant’s entrance, and into the library on the ground floor. She flushed angrily as the Duke subjected her person to a scathing appraisal. The silence stretched into eternity before he demanded ominously, “What, Miss Grantham, are you doing masquerading as a boy?”

  Alexandra clenched her fingers tightly, but her nervousness did not show in her voice as she said firmly, “I do think that is my own business, your grace.”

  “It is not,” the words came like gunshot. “When I promised to bring you into fashion, it was on condition that you abandon any hoydenish behaviour that you may have indulged in, in the past. What are you doing in that ridiculous getup?”

  In the face of such controlled anger, Alexandra’s bravado began to slip a bit, but she lifted her chin and replied, albeit rather shakily, “I am not at liberty to tell you, my lord Duke. Suffice it to say that I have reasons of my own.”

  “I strongly recommend that you tell me the truth, Miss Grantham, or you will find the consequences of your refusal to comply — shall we say — undesirable.”

  Alexandra started at the unmistakable threat in the Duke’s words and, in the process of doing so, dropped Letitia’s letter which had been clasped tightly in her hands. The Duke’s eagle eyes alighted on it and, before she could retrieve it, he picked it up and broke the seal.

  “That is a private letter, your grace,” Alexandra said in a panic-stricken voice, but the Duke paid no heed to her, and proceeded to peruse the sentimental words of love that Letitia had written to her swain. Raising his head, he looked directly at Alexandra, saying in a decidedly sardonic voice, “It seems as if I have mistakenly accredited you with sense, Miss Grantham. I am aware of my sister’s shortcomings in that area, but I had thought that you, at least, had a modicum of intelligence.”

  Alexandra flushed angrily. “Perhaps you, my lord Duke, would define helping a friend as “senseless”, but I certainly do not!”

  “I define “helping a friend” to ruin, Miss Grantham, as not only senseless, but extremely irresponsible,” the Duke said shortly. “George Winters is no more than a cad — a fortune hunter who exists on the fringes of society. No doubt his exclusion from Polite Society has made my impressionable sister see him in a romantic light — but he is nothing more than a reprobate.”

  “How can you be so sure that Mr Winters is no more than a fortune hunter, your grace?” Alexandra challenged. “From what Letty has told me, he seems to be a most admirable man.”

  The Duke regarded Alexandra steadily. “It is common knowledge that George Winters has, in the past, attempted to elope with at least three other young heiresses. His attempts came to naught — but not through lack of trying. He is a scoundrel, and certainly not a fit suitor for my sister.”

  “Oh,” Alexandra said, in a very small voice. “I...I... did not realise...”

  “No, you did not realise anything, Miss Grantham,” the Duke cut in icily. “You are so caught up in proclaiming your so-called independence, that you pay no heed to the consequences of your actions. No matter what you may believe, you are not up to snuff — you are no more than a green girl, foolhardy in the extreme. As I have told you before, you cannot go on in London as has been your wont previously. The ton sets certain levels of conduct which a young lady must adhere to, to be socially accepted. Neither your grandmother’s consequence, nor mine, could save you from social disgrace if it became known that you dressed up in a boy’s clothes to deliver an illicit letter to a bachelor’s lodgings.”

  Alexandra’s eyes sparkled militantly, but she knew deep down inside that what Stanford had said was true. Despondently, she said, “I only wanted to help a dear friend. Poor, poor Letty — she truly seems to love this man...”

  “Like many girls her age, Letty is not very wise,” the Duke said, looking pointedly at her. Alexandra barely refrained from grinding her teeth.

  His grace continued, “Letty needs a man who will keep a firm hand on the reins.”

  “Next you will be referring to your sister as a highly strung filly, or something of that sort. Women are not horses, your grace!” Alexandra burst out indignantly.

  “On the contrary, Miss Grantham, I would say that women have many characteristics in common with horses — thoroughbreds, of course,” the Duke said, ignoring Alexandra’s glare. “Once they have got the bit firmly between their teeth, there is virtually no stopping them. It needs an excellent pair of hands to bring them to a halt.”

  “Which you, of course, profess to have,” Alexandra said, sarcastically.

  “Which I know I have,” the Duke corrected smoothly.

  “Sir, your conceit is outweighed only by your arrogance!”

  “And your foolishness, my dear, only by your naiveté,” the Duke said softly.


  Alexandra’s eyes flashed, but she did not reply. Turning away from Stanford, she stared out of the window at the empty square, silently berating herself. Her actions, she had to admit, had been foolish and irresponsible — and the worst thing of all was that she could not defend them either to herself, or to the Duke for that matter. Impetuosity, she knew, had always been her besetting sin, and it seemed as if she had still not learned to think of adverse consequences that may result from a course of action that she embarked upon. Alexandra sighed, suddenly desperate that the Duke should not think too badly of her. For some reason that she could not fathom, she had begun to care rather deeply about the Duke of Stanford’s opinion of her — a state of affairs that she found both absurd and rather alarming at the same time. To think in that vein, she knew, was to begin to think of the Duke as someone rather more than a casual acquaintance — and that was something that she was simply not prepared to do.

  Alexandra turned back to the Duke. “Please don’t be too harsh on Letty, your grace. The whole thing was really my idea... I realise now that I was in the wrong — and I ask you to accept my sincere apology.”

  The Duke gave a brief nod, and smiled slightly. “You are forgiven, Miss Grantham — but next time you take one of your hare-brained notions into your head, think before you act.”

  Alexandra grinned. “Do you not mean er...“horse-brained” notions, your grace?”

  “Brat,” he said severely. “Were you never taught to respect your elders?”

  Alexandra shook her head remorsefully — but the Duke saw the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and he chuckled. Looking at her, attired in male clothes, he wondered why she had ever thought she could disguise herself as a boy. It was true that she had managed to successfully hide her gender when she had been involved in her highway activities, but then she had been seated on a horse. When he had seen her walking across the square in those clothes earlier, he had immediately known who she was. They managed to emphasize rather than conceal her femininity and only an innocent like Alexandra would think otherwise, he reflected ruefully.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I suggest, Miss Grantham, that you sneak upstairs before the servants start stirring. I shall leave the way we came in.”

  Alexandra nodded her head. Crossing the room, she opened the door, and after making sure that nobody was about, turned to wave at the Duke of Stanford, laughing impenitently as she ran up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alexandra stared unseeingly out of her bedchamber window, her mind occupied with the events of that morning. Earlier, a rather subdued Letitia had paid her a visit — the Duke had told his sister of George Winters’ previous attempts to elope with other heiresses, something that Letitia had had no previous knowledge of, and the information had severely cast down her spirits. It was most unfortunate, Alexandra pondered, that the Duke of Stanford had decided that morning, of all mornings, to depart early from London in order to make a flying visit to one of his estates. Although, Alexandra had to admit to herself, it was probably all for the best that Stanford had discovered what was in the wind, and had effectively put an end to Letitia’s love affair — George Winters seemed a wholly disreputable kind of man and would have only made her unhappy.

  A knock on the door interrupted Alexandra’s reverie. A young maid entered the room. Dropping a curtsey, she said quickly, “Begging your pardon, Miss, but her ladyship desires your presence in the Drawing Room.”

  “Thank you Gladys,” Alexandra said absently, and proceeded to make her way downstairs. Entering the well appointed room, she saw a familiar red-headed young man in conversation with her grandmother.

  “John!” she exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise! I thought that you were coming up to London only much later in the Season.”

  “When I heard that my one and only sister had made such an impression in London, how could I stay away?” John said, grinning. “How do you go on, Alex?”

  “Very well thank you, John. London is everything — and more than I expected it to be. I am courted and flattered at every turn, and laid siege to by strategists who rival Boney in their campaigns to conquer that most desirable of prizes — the latest London heiress,” Alexandra said, smiling wryly.

  “Well, I hope that you will be able to spare some time from beating off your lovelorn swains, Alex, to accompany me on a tour of the Metropolis. Or have you already visited all the sights?”

  “No, as yet, I have not, John. To do so with you will be wonderful! Although I promised myself before arriving here that I would take in the aesthetic delights of London, I have simply not found the time. I especially wish to pay a visit to the British Museum.”

  Lady Beauchamp raised her eyes heavenwards, and uttered in a longsuffering voice, “May God spare me from my bookish grandchildren.” Regarding Alexandra and John sternly, she said, “My dears, do you not realise that it is quite unfashionable to visit fusty old museums?”

  Alexandra smiled wickedly. “Grandmama, the Duke of Stanford assures me that in my current position in Society, I have it in my power to set trends, and have no need to follow the dictates of fashion. Therefore, I proclaim that it is now fashionable to visit not only museums, but cathedrals, art galleries, churches as well as other buildings of historical and architectural interest!”

  Lady Beauchamp sighed. “I can see that your mind is firmly made up, you obstinate child.” Hearing John chuckling, her ladyship rounded on her grandson, saying in a severe tone of voice, “Do not think, young man, that you will be able to merely indulge your passion for cultural and sporting pursuits whilst in Town. I insist that you act as our escort to Lady Rigby’s ball tomorrow evening.”

  “But Grandmama! I can think of nothing more dull than an evening spent trying to remember the steps of those infernal country dances and quadrilles. I had planned to visit Cribb’s Parlour tomorrow night!” John said, dismayed.

  “Cribb’s Parlour!” Lady Beauchamp said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “That place is frequented by all sorts of lowly people. I cannot see why any gentleman should wish to visit it!”

  “My dear ma’am!” John looked at his grandmother in mock horror. “Thomas Cribb is the champion heavyweight of England. Only the privileged few are allowed entrance to Cribb’s Parlour. Luckily for me Peter Denville, with whom I am staying, is personally acquainted with him and thus can guarantee my entrance there — he said that I may even be fortunate enough to handle Cribb’s famous silver cup!”

  “I did not know that Peter Denville was in Town, John,” Alexandra said, rather surprised that their neighbour was in London, not having seen him at any functions. Lord Denville owned a large estate, bordering Grantham Place, and he and John, having grown up together, were as close as brothers.

  “Peter, like me,” John said, looking balefully at Lady Beauchamp, “dislikes social gatherings of any sort. I doubt that he has set foot in a London ballroom since his arrival in Town. Grandmama, you cannot expect me to dance attendance on you tomorrow!”

  “I can and I do, John,” Lady Beauchamp said firmly. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

  John sighed in resignation. “Well, if you insist, Grandmama, I shall, of course, bow to your wishes — even if it means postponing my visit to another evening.”

  “Poor John,” Alexandra said sympathetically. “Life is full of various hardships which one must bear with fortitude.”

  Ignoring his glower, Alexandra linked her arm through her brother’s and smiled sunnily up at him. “Never mind, dearest. London balls can be quite entertaining affairs — quite different from those dull country Assemblies you dislike so much. If you set your mind to it you may even find that you begin to enjoy them!”

  Alexandra looked around Lady Rigby’s glittering ballroom, and smiled as she caught sight of her brother in earnest conversation with Miss Elizabeth Fenworth. Far from appearing at all bored, John seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his companion’s company — no doubt owing to the fact that Mi
ss Fenworth’s large brown eyes were focussed with unconcealed admiration on his face. Smothering a yawn, Alexandra waited rather impatiently for Sir Charles Fotherby to return with the glass of lemonade he had left her side to procure for her. All that she really wanted to do was return home, climb into bed, and fall fast asleep. A day spent exploring London had left Alexandra with very little desire to attend a ball, but Lady Beauchamp, most unsympathetically, had insisted upon it: “It promises to be one of the crushes of the Season, my love. And, if you insist on tiring yourself out by traipsing all over London, you must bear the consequences of your folly.”

  Alexandra, however, did not regret her excursion in the least. Armed with The Picture of London: A Guidebook to all the Monuments and Other Places of Interest, purchased from Hatchards, she and John had spent a thoroughly enjoyable day seeing the sights of London. Brother and sister had spent three fascinating hours in the British Museum visiting the three Departments of Manuscripts and Medals, Natural and Artificial Products, and Printed Books. However, both of them had admitted that this length of time could not do full justice to the Museum, and they had resolved to visit it again. Their next port of call had been Westminster Abbey where they had taken in everything, including the twelve chapels, and Shakespeare’s memorial.

  They had managed to squeeze in a visit to St Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower, and the New Mint, before an afternoon shower had forced them to return to Beauchamp House somewhat earlier than planned. Now, viewing the well-lit ballroom through sleepy eyes, Alexandra thought longingly of the hour when Lady Beauchamp would call for their carriage, and she could return home and take the weight off her aching feet. Looking around in search of Sir Charles, Alexandra stiffened when she saw Edward Ponsonby approaching her, obviously with the express intention of foisting his unwelcome presence on her. The rotund little man had been introduced to Alexandra at a rout the previous week, and she had taken an immediate dislike to him — this largely due to the fact that he combined a conceited and pompous manner with a distinctly roving eye, an unfavourable combination bound to set up the back of any discerning young lady. Unfortunately though, Alexandra could see no possible way of avoiding the man without appearing blatantly rude.