Alissa Baxter (21 page)

“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 Miss 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.

Idling up to her, Mr Ponsonby said unctuously, “My dear Miss Grantham. How lovely, indeed how beautiful you are looking this evening. Your creamy skin, your strawberry lips, and the peaches of your cheeks, overwhelm my senses.” His avid gaze dipped offensively to Alexandra’s cleavage.

Glaring at him, Alexandra remarked icily, “My dear sir, you must be extraordinarily hungry to liken my face to a fruit platter. If I am not mistaken, the buffet is next door, not in here.”

Mr Ponsonby’s jowly face became a dull brick red, and he turned peevishly away from her, looking apprehensively at the stern face of the tall dark man who had come up behind Alexandra, before scuttling away.

A quiet, amused voice said in Alexandra’s ear, “My dear girl, you
are
developing the art of delivering a good set-down. You will soon begin to rival me in depressing the pretensions of toad-eating mushrooms.”

Alexandra turned, and smiling up at the Duke, said, “I do not think anyone could quite do
that
, your grace. I quell with mere words — all you need do is raise a lordly brow, and your assailant cowers in fear before you!”

“Baggage!” the Duke said, chuckling. “You make me seem a veritable ogre.”

“Oh, not an ogre, your grace,” Alexandra said, eyeing him consideringly. “Merely an imperious nobleman far too used to getting his own way.”

Smiling lazily, the Duke murmured, “You would do well to remember that in your dealings with me, my dear.”

Before Alexandra could respond, Sir Charles appeared with her promised drink. Handing it over to her with a smile and a bow, he said with mock severity, “I do hope, Miss Grantham, that you are not allowing Robert to turn your head with his compliments. His devastating effect on impressionable young ladies, you know, is legendary.”

Alexandra raised her brows in surprise. “Really, Sir Charles? I have failed to notice that — thank you for the warning, though.”

Crowing with laughter, Sir Charles said in delight, “Miss Grantham, I congratulate you!
That
comment is bound to render our noted Corinthian here speechless with shock.”

“Hardly speechless, Charles — merely a trifle put down,” the Duke said mildly, although with an unreadable expression in his eyes that made Alexandra wonder rather nervously about the prudence of her provocative remark. The Duke of Stanford was
not
a man to take a challenge of that nature lying down. Before she could wisely temper her comment, an acquaintance of Stanford’s hailed him, and with a glinting smile and a bow, he moved away.

“Cool devil, ain’t he?” Sir Charles said, looking at the Duke’s retreating back.

“Hmmm,” Alexandra murmured distractedly, her mind occupied with thoughts of Stanford. She was becoming more and more confused about her feelings for this enigmatic man. At one moment she could swear that the Duke was flirting with her; the next he was playing the role of dictatorial older brother. Alexandra could simply not figure him out, and she was becoming more and more at a loss as to how to treat him. What she did know, and resolved to remember on all occasions, was that it would be to her peril to take Stanford at all seriously. If she started to do so, she knew that she would be like a drowning woman grasping at straws and Alexandra, more than anything, desired to stay afloat.

A few minutes later, Letty and Amelia joined them, and the conversation turned to more general topics. Glancing across the room a while later, Alexandra saw that her brother was no longer conversing with Miss Fenworth, and looking around, she realised that he was nowhere to be seen. He had probably tired of the party after all, she reflected, and escaped to the library.

However, contrary to Alexandra’s expectations, John was not in Lord Rigby’s library at that moment, but had retired instead to a small antechamber to escape the crush. He was standing at a window, breathing in the cool night air, when he heard the door open behind him. Not welcoming this interruption to his solitude, he turned reluctantly around to face the intruder.

“Oh, I was not aware that this room was occupied. I — I shall leave,” Emily Hadley said from the doorway.

John frowned as he observed the girl in front of him. She seemed vaguely familiar, and then he remembered who she was. “Good evening, Miss Hadley, is it not?”

“Yes,” Emily said, looking down at her hands.

John studied her closely, noticing her red-rimmed eyes, and pale cheeks. “May I help you in any way, Miss Hadley?” he asked diffidently.

Emily continued to look at her hands. “No — I just wanted to be alone. I shall leave...”

“You cannot return to the ball, looking like you do, Miss Hadley, if you do not wish to draw attention to yourself,” John said, frowning. “Would you like me to call your stepmother for you?”

Emily looked at him in horror. “Oh no! Please do not do that, Sir John. She... she — I cannot speak of it,” she mumbled, trailing off into tears.

Seeing that the situation was beyond his control, John decided that it would probably be best to leave Miss Hadley alone. But something of the naked desolation he saw in her face, touched a compassionate chord in him, and he hesitated. Finally, feeling a trifle uncomfortable, he said, “My sister has always spoken of you as a friend, Miss Hadley. Would you perhaps like to talk to her?”

Emily gulped on her tears, then nodded her head. “Please,” she whispered, advancing a few steps into the room.

John patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, then left the antechamber. Entering the ballroom, he saw Alexandra on the far side of the room conversing with a group of people. Walking over to her, he tapped her on the arm, and when she looked up at him with a smile of greeting, he drew her aside, and explained the situation. When he had finished speaking, Alexandra frowned. “Poor Emily! I must go to her. Where is this antechamber, John?”

“I shall lead you to it.”

Alexandra nodded, and after making her excuses to the group, followed her brother out of the ballroom.

When they entered the antechamber, Emily was standing in the centre of the room, clutching a lacy handkerchief in one hand. She turned around when the door opened, and smiled tremulously at Alexandra. “I — I am sorry to bother you, Alexandra,” she said in a small voice.

Alexandra walked quickly over to her, and taking her arm, led her to a couch that was situated near the window. “You are not bothering me at all, dear Emily. Now, how may I help you?”

Emily sat down, and when Alexandra had taken a seat beside her, she murmured. “This is to be my last ball, and next week I am returning home with Stepmama and Jane.”

Alexandra looked at her friend sympathetically. “I heard from my grandmother that you had failed to obtain vouchers for Almack’s, Emily. I am sorry.”

Emily shook her head. “But, that isn’t correct, Alexandra. It is true that Lady Jersey refused to grant me vouchers initially, but when Lady Sefton heard of Lady Jersey’s decision, she asked her to change her mind. You see, Lady Sefton and my Mama were bosom bows at school, and Lady Sefton feels some kind of responsibility towards me. So she and Lady Jersey have agreed to grant me vouchers after all.”

“How wonderful, Emily!” Alexandra smiled, but after a moment her brow creased, and she continued in a puzzled voice, “But why then are you leaving London?”

Emily sighed. “Lady Jersey dislikes my Stepmama intensely and she is adamant in her refusal to grant vouchers to her and Jane. Stepmama is so angry... and — and I am afraid to return home with her and Jane, Alexandra. They — they feel as if they have been doubly slighted and I’m afraid that I shall be the target of their wrath.”

Alexandra’s eyes widened in comprehension. Mrs Hadley had always treated Emily as a poor relation, accepted in her household only on sufferance. Nothing would be more guaranteed to incite her fury than the knowledge that her stepdaughter had been admitted to the highest circles of Society while she and her daughter had not. Putting an arm around her friend’s shoulders, Alexandra said in a gentle voice, “You cannot return home with them, Emily. They will make your life intolerable. Is there no one else here — a cousin or an aunt perhaps — with whom you could stay?”