The chords for the second waltz of the evening struck up, and Alexandra looked around in search of Stanford who had arrived at an unfashionably early hour in order to secure a waltz with her. Just as she was wondering whether he had decided to forego their dance and leave the ball early, the Duke made his way through her throng of admirers towards her and, bowing over her hand, said quietly, “My waltz, I think, Miss Grantham.”
Sir Richard, remembering that he had a grievance against the Duke, said accusingly, “It was devilish inconsiderate of you, your grace, to steal a march on the rest of us by claiming a waltz from Miss Grantham before we had even arrived.”
Smiling gently, the Duke replied, “A little foresight, Brampton, and it would have been you, and not I, who would have the honour of leading Miss Grantham out.”
Sir Richard, far from mollified, was about to continue his lament when his eyes came to rest on the Duke’s neck-cloth. In an awed voice, he said, “Dash it all, Stanford, how do you manage to effect such a perfectly tied Waterfall?” Shaking his head in envy, and thinking of the Duke’s sartorial elegance — which he had tried to emulate numerous times but with limited success — Sir Richard barely even noticed his rival leading the incomparable Miss Grantham away.
Alexandra, suddenly feeling rather shy, stepped silently into the Duke’s arms and began the waltz. A few moments passed before the Duke, smiling down at the young woman before him, said quietly, “My dear, you look absolutely beautiful.”
This simple compliment, combined with the Duke’s smile, which had become increasingly attractive to her, affected Alexandra in quite a different way from her other more elaborate tributes. Blushing slightly, she thanked the Duke, privately thinking that he looked rather handsome himself in his expertly tailored clothes. A coat of black superfine, owing to Weston’s genius, fitted his muscular form perfectly, and pantaloons showed his fine legs off to advantage. A fob hung to one side of a plain white waistcoat, and a single diamond winked from the intricate folds of his necktie. Sporting none of the affectations of the dandy-set, Stanford somehow contrived to make these gentlemen appear appallingly overdressed. He simply took one’s breath away, Alexandra reflected, ruefully remembering her recent dismissal of her grandmother’s comments about the Duke’s deadly effect on impressionable young ladies. Lady Beauchamp had been most correct in what she had said, but Alexandra had foolishly refused to admit the truth of them then. And she was beginning to wonder if it was now too late to put a proper guard on her fragile heart, after all.
The Duke spoke again, and Alexandra looked up at him as he said, “I am rather surprised to see your brother still in London, Miss Grantham. From what you had told me about him, I was under the impression that his frail constitution would make a visit to the Capital impossible for him. Or has he only come to London for a short while in order to lend you his support at your coming out?”
Alexandra shook her head, and said quietly, “John has decided to remain in London for an unspecified period of time, your grace. Now that he has had a taste of the pleasures that the Metropolis has to offer, he is understandably reluctant to return too soon to Grantham Place. One cannot blame him, of course, for wishing to remain here for the duration of the Season, however I must confess to feeling some concern over his well-being.” Alexandra sighed, but not wishing to burden the Duke further with her worries about John’s health, she forced a bright smile to her lips and changed the topic of conversation quickly, quizzing him gently, “My lord Duke, I admit to feeling somewhat guilty that you have been obliged to attend the débutante parties that I remember you once castigated as being “interminably dull affairs”, merely in order to keep me fashionable!”
The Duke noticed Alexandra’s abrupt change in the topic of conversation but, realising that she was obviously reluctant to discuss her brother’s situation, he decided not to press her further and responded to her last comment instead, saying with a smile, “No party with which you grace your presence, Miss Grantham, could ever be described as a “dull affair”. In any event, I can assure you that I no longer attend these functions merely to keep you launched successfully in Society. You must be aware that you are a success in your own right.” The Duke paused, then continued deliberately, “The real reason why I have been attending these affairs, my dear, is because I have become rather partial to your charming company.”
Alexandra blinked at these words, her heart sinking at this proof that the Duke of Stanford was indeed attempting to set her up as his latest flirt. She wanted nothing, however, of that doubtful honour. It would only bring her heartache, because she knew that the Duke, once he had succeeded in his objective of winning her over and she was no longer a challenge to him, would in all probability tire of her company and focus his attentions on some other lady, and that she could not bear. It would be foolish of her to allow herself to be drawn into a light-hearted flirtation with him that would mean the world to her, but very little to him.
Therefore, it was in a very cool voice that she murmured, “Your grace, indeed you flatter me.”
“I can assure you, Miss Grantham, that I am not in the habit of flattering people,” the Duke said shortly.
Alexandra raised her brows. “My lord Duke, your astounding record of success with my sex must have something to do with the smoothness of your tongue, and an ability to turn a pretty compliment. Therefore, I am desolate to inform you that I do not believe you!”
“I never knew, until this moment, my dear, that I would come to regret my — er — shady past.”
“Poor, poor man,” Alexandra said, shaking her head.
The Duke laughed. “My dear girl, you would try the patience of a saint! And I, as you should know, am certainly no saint!”
“Rest assured, your grace, that I have never, ever since I have known you, mistaken you for one,” Alexandra said reassuringly.
The Duke chuckled, but as he looked down at her, his smile slowly faded and he said softly, “Do you have any idea, Miss Grantham, how utterly delightful you are?”
At the warm look in his eyes, Alexandra looked hastily away, suddenly aware that the defences that she was attempting to erect against the Duke of Stanford were woefully inadequate. In the face of such a concentrated onslaught from him, she knew that she was more helpless than a newborn kitten, and, she realised unhappily, infinitely more vulnerable. This was because, as she resignedly admitted to herself, she was not merely in danger of losing her heart to the man who was at present holding her so closely in his arms. She had already lost it. Alexandra only hoped that she could somehow prevent the Duke from realising this.
Looking around the overflowing ballroom, Lady Beauchamp smiled, sure in the knowledge that her party was bound to be noted as one of the major crushes of the Season. Her gaze came to rest upon her granddaughter dancing with the Duke of Stanford. What a charming couple they made, to be sure! She had, of course, long since abandoned any plan to arrange a marriage between Alexandra and Sir Charles Fotherby, as she became daily more convinced that the Duke had seriously begun to court her granddaughter. He was, she thought shrewdly, even more in love with Alexandra than he realised. Regarding the pair thoughtfully, she could swear that the expression on the Duke’s face as he laughed at something the girl in his arms said, was almost tender. In Lady Beauchamp’s sure opinion, her granddaughter was well on the way to ensnaring one of the most elusive bachelors on the London scene.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lady Beauchamp was not the only member of Polite Society to notice the Duke of Stanford’s unprecedented attentions to Miss Alexandra Grantham. Although the reasons behind the Duke’s decision to launch an unknown débutante into fashion had, of course, been endlessly debated in the various London drawing rooms, no member of the ton had at first given any serious consideration to the possibility that Miss Grantham may have captivated the acknowledged leader of Society. They had merely assumed that his grace was amusing himself in launching the Titian beauty into fashion — he was always se
tting some dazzler up as his latest flirt. But as the weeks progressed, and the Duke’s attentions towards Miss Grantham became more and more marked, even the most stalwart observers conceded that Stanford, in his obvious pursuit of the young heiress, was making his intentions towards her abundantly clear. What really set the cat amongst the pigeons was his grace’s actions at Miss Grantham’s coming-out ball — never before had the Duke of Stanford, in all his years on the town, arrived early at a débutante’s coming-out ball in order to secure a waltz with the young lady. It was unheard of for him to single out a lady in that fashion! It began to appear, as Lady Jersey remarked so succinctly to Lady Beauchamp, that the most eligible catch on the Marriage Mart had finally been landed.
Whether Miss Grantham would accept the Duke’s suit was never a question — no girl fortunate enough to receive the Duke of Stanford’s attentions would be fool enough to reject him! And, although the ton remembered that Miss Grantham had appeared to favour Sir Charles at first, no one was surprised that she now smiled on Stanford who was, of course, one of the wealthiest and most respected peers in the realm. Although a few high sticklers complained about the unsuitability of the match — his grace could surely look much higher for his bride than to a young country miss who, although of respectable birth, was certainly no match for the Duke of Stanford in either status or consequence, these dissenting voices were in the minority — the general consensus amongst the ton being that Miss Grantham would make Stanford a charming Duchess. The girl had style, wit and grace and was, as Lady Sefton assured his grace’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Stanford, in one of her numerous letters to her lifelong friend — “every inch a Lady of Quality, my dear.”
In White’s the odds were very much in favour of his grace proposing to Miss Grantham — wagers being placed on the exact date when the announcement of their betrothal was likely to appear in the newspapers. It seemed that the only person unsure as to whether Miss Grantham would accept his suit was the Duke of Stanford himself. Never having fallen in love before, the Duke had been totally unfamiliar with the emotion that he had always associated with sentimental young fools. But, gradually, as he began to see more and more of Alexandra during the Season, the realisation had slowly dawned on him that he had begun to care rather a lot for this audacious young lady who crossed swords with him at every opportunity, and was completely unaffected by his title and consequence. She delighted him with her unconventional remarks and sparkling wit and humour and, in a society where position and wealth often seemed to take precedence over human warmth, Alexandra personified gentleness and kindness, thereby disdaining the airs and graces adopted by so many débutantes on the lookout for wealthy husbands. After ten years on the town, and having had more handkerchiefs thrown in his direction by scheming young ladies than he cared to remember, the Duke knew that he had finally found the one woman with whom he desired to spend the rest of his days — if only that one woman could be brought to take his attentions seriously!
Knowing full well that his rakish reputation put him at a decided disadvantage in Alexandra’s eyes, the Duke had set about courting the object of his affection with circumspection — proceeding with decided caution in his attempt to woo and win her. But, although Alexandra certainly appeared to enjoy his company, the moment the Duke overstepped the invisible line that she had drawn in their relationship, the delightfully engaging companion whose company he so much enjoyed withdrew from him completely to become a wary, guarded stranger.
Perhaps Alexandra simply had no desire to ever enter the married state, the Duke thought, frowning slightly as he stared absently out of the window of his library one morning. He had not failed to notice the pains she went to, to discourage her numerous suitors from believing that she may be open to receiving their addresses. Remembering her pert assertion that she had “no desire to be saddled with a husband”, a slight smile curled his lips. His beloved appeared to be uncommonly fond of the spinster state and disinclined to depart from it willingly! And yet, the Duke’s frown deepened, at times he was almost certain that the beautiful girl he had fallen in love with, looked at him with an expression in her eyes that could not be ascribed to mere friendship. With chagrin, he reflected that although she appeared to enjoy his attentions more than those of her other suitors, the annoying fact remained that for the first time in his life the Duke was unsure of a woman’s regard for him. This was a novel experience which he found to be most frustrating! Perhaps he had become spoilt, he thought rather grimly, having grown so accustomed to women throwing out unmistakable lures to him that he had — God forbid! — almost come to expect this from every member of the fairer sex that he encountered, like some contemptible coxcomb.
The only thing that he could really do, he realised, was bide his time and continue to play upon Alexandra’s defences. However, for a man accustomed to being in total control of every aspect of his life, this was a state of affairs of a most unsatisfactory nature. Being a patient man, though, the Duke was prepared to go the long way in winning Alexandra over. At present, he admitted wryly, it appeared to be the only way.
Coming out of Jackson’s Boxing Saloon one morning after an enjoyable bout of sparring, the Duke made his way towards his curricle which was standing a little way up the street. About to take the reins from his tiger, Jimmy, he was fortunate enough to see the object of his thoughts coming out of Hookham’s Library. Hailing Alexandra, he offered to drive her home and, after she had succeeded in convincing the country-born Hobbes that it was perfectly proper for a young lady to drive unaccompanied with a gentleman in London — it was an open carriage after all! — he helped her into the curricle.
“You are driving your bays today, I see,” Alexandra remarked, looking in admiration at the pair of high-steppers held so firmly under control by the man at her side. Glancing at him sideways, she continued, “I do not suppose you might allow me to handle the ribbons one day, your grace?”
“You drive, Miss Grantham?”
“Hmmm,” Alexandra murmured, a reflective smile playing about her mouth. “I plagued my poor father to give me lessons until he finally consented to do so.”
“I shall allow you to try their paces one day then,” the Duke promised, ignoring the disgusted snort Jimmy gave upon hearing this assurance.
“Thank you, sir!” Alexandra exclaimed in delight. “I was not certain whether you would approve of the fact that I drive.”
“I am sure that you drive with the same skill that you demonstrate in every activity that you undertake,” the Duke replied urbanely.
“I am much obliged to you, your grace,” Alexandra said, smiling. Remembering something that she had meant to inquire of Stanford, she said after a moment’s pause, “Will you be attending the Dress Ball at Carlton House tomorrow evening, your grace? I have heard so many stories about the Prince Regent’s peculiar taste in interior decorating that I confess that I am agog with curiosity to visit his place of residence.”
“I depart London for Stanford Court tomorrow morning, Miss Grantham, so I shall not be in attendance,” the Duke replied. He refrained from telling Alexandra that he generally gave Prinny’s rather vulgar parties an extremely wide berth.
“Oh!” Alexandra said abruptly, disappointed at this news. Pretending to admire a hideous purple and orange bonnet displayed in a shop window, Alexandra asked nonchalantly, “Will your visit be a protracted one, your grace?”
“Five or six days at the most, my dear. There are certain matters in connection with the running of my estates to which I must attend.” Smiling somewhat enigmatically at her, the Duke said, “You must assure me, Miss Grantham, that while I am away you will not fall into any scrapes from which I shall, naturally, be unable to extricate you.”
“I am not in the habit of falling into scrapes, your grace,” Alexandra said with dignity. Seeing the Duke’s decidedly sceptical expression, she revised, with a somewhat rueful laugh, “Well, not many, at any rate!”
At this moment the Duke drew up outsid
e Beauchamp House. Handing the reins over to his visibly disgruntled tiger, he descended from the curricle in order to help Alexandra alight. He escorted her to the front door where he stood looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, he said quietly, “Do try to behave yourself while I am away, Miss Grantham.” Raising her hand to his lips, he bowed, before taking his leave of her, and driving away — leaving Alexandra staring in a decidedly perplexed fashion after him.
The next morning, the Duke made an early start for Stanford Court. He drove himself, spending most of the journey lost in thought, barely aware of the passing countryside, or the fact that his injured henchman was intent on maintaining a stoic silence. In reality he welcomed the silence, and the solitude of his thoughts — the problem of his relationship with Alexandra weighing heavily on his mind. Twilight was falling as he finally entered the entrance archway of The Court and, as he looked around the familiar grounds of his ancestral home, bathed in the soft evening light, the Duke felt the tension that he had not even realised was holding him in its grip, slowly begin to drain away. Returning to his childhood home had never failed to lift his spirits — his love for the magnificent lands that he had inherited upon the death of his father ten years previously, deeply ingrained in him. Contrary to what the gossip mongers implied, the Duke had always intended to eventually enter the wedded state to ensure that his son would one day inherit these lands. The only reason that he had put it off for so long was that he had two brothers — one having sired a son — which meant that the impressive Stanford holdings were in no danger of passing out of the family. And frankly, he admitted to himself, before recently, the very idea of becoming leg-shackled to some clinging female had filled him with acute distaste — until he met Alexandra... Alexandra. A smile played about his mouth as he thought of the fiery young beauty with whom he had fallen in love. Marriage to her would be neither a duty nor a chore — only, the Duke was convinced, a delight.
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