Alissa Baxter (12 page)

“My dear, you have natural grace and style,” Lady Beauchamp reassured her. “Indeed, you will be surprised at how quickly you will adjust to being a young lady of fashion.”

Monsieur Dupont, an acclaimed Society hairdresser, descended on Berkeley Square the next day to style Alexandra’s copper tresses. Setting eyes on her Titian hair, the dapper little Frenchman’s eyes sparkled in gleeful anticipation. “Mademoiselle,
vos cheveux sont très magnifiques
!” he expounded in reverent accents. “You are worthy of my genius, Mademoiselle. You, a single English girl amongst the rest, are worthy of the efforts of the great Monsieur Dupont. The others — they are
seulement pour l’argent, vous savez
. But you — you inspire the artist within me! Compared to you, these others! Bah, they are nothing!”

Alexandra smiled, amused by the little man’s gesticulations and his excitable air, and wondered, rather sceptically, whether his genius was quite as great as he made it out to be. At the end of the morning, however, she had to admit that the Frenchman had not exaggerated his talents. He had styled her hair in the elegant
Sappho
style which emphasised her high cheekbones and expressive eyes, and complemented her beauty to the extent that when Lady Beauchamp set eyes on her granddaughter she said in an awed voice, “My child — you look exquisite!”

Alexandra, being far from vain, laughingly brushed the compliment aside, but even she noticed, and was delighted with, the difference the new hairstyle made to her appearance. It lent her an air of sophisticated elegance, which was quite at odds with the way in which she had always viewed herself. But, although filled with hopeful expectation for the future, a feeling of melancholy, hard to shake off, suddenly settled on her as she realised sadly that the time had finally come to bid farewell to her carefree, tomboyish days.

However, even if she had wished to, Alexandra had very little time to dwell on her old way of life during the next few days. They were busy, filled with dancing lessons every morning, shopping expeditions, and frequent outings to the park where she attracted no little notice. Nattily attired dandies and daring bucks alike ogled her, and she received even more attention from turbaned matrons driving along with their débutante daughters. Many of the stares of these ladies however were more hostile than admiring, to the extent that Alexandra began to wonder whether she had unwittingly offended them by making some sort of social blunder. Lady Beauchamp set her mind at rest on this score by snorting derisively and saying, “My dear girl, the only “social blunder” you have made is to cast the rest of Society’s damsels into the shade — something not easily forgiven, I’m afraid!”

Alexandra was startled at this piece of information, but Lady Beauchamp was far from surprised at the stir her granddaughter was making. Elegantly attired in Madame Fanchon’s creations, Alexandra looked breathtakingly lovely, and Lady Beauchamp knew that the Society mamas were gnashing their teeth in collective frustration and annoyance.

Indeed, furious mothers were complaining bitterly and at length to one other, most of them saying that Madame Fanchon had not deigned to clothe their daughters in the same refined style that Alexandra Grantham had been dressed in. One irate lady even went so far as to declare that she would withdraw her patronage from the French modiste. Upon hearing this, Madame Fanchon shrugged her elegant shoulders, and remarked in a languid tone to her underlings, “Me, I only exercise my real talents on those ladies truly worthy of them. Miss Grantham will be the success of the Season, which means that it will reflect well on me. So, far from repining that I have lost the custom of Lady Butterworth and her so plain daughter, I rejoice! Seeing my designs on that girl with the face of a horse surely hurt my soul. I am delighted to no longer have the dressing of her!”

Ironically enough, the creations which the Society ladies were exclaiming over were in fact only quickly made up gowns that Madame Fanchon had fashioned to tide Alexandra over until the end of the week when the rest of her wardrobe would be completed. The talented modiste had set her whole staff to work on Alexandra’s clothes, charging exorbitant fees for the extra effort being expended on her new client’s behalf; but Lady Beauchamp was of the opinion that it was worth the expense to see her granddaughter looking so well turned out in such chic looking outfits.

Driving along with Lady Beauchamp at the hour of the Grand Strut in Hyde Park a few days after her arrival in London, Alexandra was viewing with interest the fashionable throng parading on the paths when she set eyes on a young exquisite, dressed in canary yellow pantaloons and a striped waistcoat, with shirt points that were so highly starched that he could only move his head half an inch to either the left or right. She was wondering with some amusement what would occur if he should happen to sneeze, when Lady Beauchamp instructed Biddle to stop the barouche alongside a smart landau drawn up on the carriageway. In response to Alexandra’s inquiring look she whispered, “Lady Jersey, and with her Maria Sefton, my love,” before turning to greet the two Patronesses of Almack’s.

Alexandra viewed the two ladies about whom she had heard so much with some interest. Lady Jersey, a tall and angular woman dressed in the height of fashion, had rather a sharp look about her and Alexandra surmised that she did not suffer fools gladly. Lady Sefton, on the other hand, seemed of a placid and kind disposition, as was apparent in the warm welcome she accorded her friend’s granddaughter. “Welcome to the Capital, my dear,” she said, smiling benignly. “Your grandmother told me that you were lovely, and I can see that she did not exaggerate. You are certain to take the town by storm. Do you not agree, Sally?” she said, looking at Lady Jersey.

“Yes, indeed. Your granddaughter will liven up the London scene considerably, Anne,” Lady Jersey said to Lady Beauchamp. “I shall look forward to seeing you at Almack’s, my dear. Your vouchers will be forthcoming, of course,” she continued with a brief smile and nod in Alexandra’s direction, before turning back to Lady Beauchamp to give that interested lady an update on the latest London gossip.

Alexandra rapidly lost interest in the ensuing conversation, as the people of whom the older ladies were speaking, were as yet mostly unknown to her. Rather bored, she turned her attention instead to a group of fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen standing nearby. She was admiring a particularly fetching bonnet worn by one of the ladies, when her attention was quickly reclaimed and held by something Lady Jersey was saying to her grandmother.

“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!

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.”