Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (26 page)

“Tsk.  Obtuse as always.  I was
speaking of Miss Dunforth.”  The Dowager pointed with the end of her cane
as Alexandra dipped low to pay homage to Jeanette.

“Why would I stare at Archie’s
betrothed?  I’ve no interest in the girl other than she is a friend of
Miranda’s and should know better than to marry Archie Runyon.”

“Posh!  You are deliberately trying
to irritate me, Sutton.  Your interest in her is marked and remarked upon,”
the Dowager stated mysteriously.

“Really?  She is a spinster from
Hampshire and a bit long in the tooth.  She is engaged to a man I consider
the vilest human being in the world.  Why would I give a fig for Miss
Dunforth?”

“I should hit you with my cane.  It
may knock some sense into you.  I have paraded every eligible virgin of
the
ton
before you.  I have looked the other way at your scandalous
behavior with the multitude of women who seem to be enamored of your
looks.”  The Dowager pointed her cane at Jeanette Reynolds.  “I have
tolerated your lack of ability to dispose of her out of some misbegotten sense
of responsibility and duty to your sisters and the reputation of Cambourne. Or
perhaps you still seek her love.”

Sutton shot his grandmother a disgusted
look.  “That boy is dead.”

“I miss him.  He was sweet and
scholarly.  I failed him.”  Her gray head dipped.

Exasperated, Sutton touched her hand. “
Rainha
,
please.”  He gave her an imploring look.  “Get to the point.”

“The point?  You want Miss Dunforth.”  

Sutton sucked in his breath.  “She
is betrothed to Archie.  Nothing short of ruination can break a
betrothal.  Whether I want Miss Dunforth or not is inconsequential.” 

The Dowager peered at him in a
calculating manner.  “Just so.”

What was his grandmother up to?

 “I will see you in a bit,
Rainha
. 
I need something stronger if I am to tolerate this evening.”  He kissed
her withered cheek and passed the wine glass to a servant collecting empty
glasses.  Sutton turned and headed into the depths of Gray Covington in
search of some good French brandy.  Anything to ease the sight of the
Badger on Archie’s arm.

******

Mr. Runyon erupted into shrill gales of
laughter as Lady Reynolds whispered into his ear.  Two identical stares of
icy blue pierced Alexandra and she had the distinct impression the laughter was
at her expense.  She didn’t care.   She wanted nothing more than
to drink a cup of Tilda’s tea, get away from this teeming mass of people, and
sit in the dark and quiet.  Odious Oliver disappeared immediately after
greeting Lady Reynolds, no doubt en route to the gaming tables.  Alexandra
wondered if her uncle would return without his cufflinks.  She wondered if
any Dunforth money still existed. 

“Sit here, dear one.  I am going to
play cards.”  Mr. Runyon’s silken words interrupted her thoughts.  He
firmly deposited her on a divan situated in a dim alcove. 

Two giant potted ferns flanked the divan,
no doubt her only companions for this evening. 

“Alexandra?”  Mr. Runyon snapped her
fingers before her nose.

Why didn’t he just go away?  She
performed to his expectations. He’d paraded her about the room and she’d
curtsied to his beloved cousin.   She wanted to be left alone, to
nurse her wounds and perhaps get a glance of Sutton.

“Yes.  I shall sit just here.” 
Alexandra nodded as crowd swirled about her. 

He frowned, putting deep creases in his
forehead.  Did her obedience delight or irritate him? She thought it the
latter.  She didn’t care.

“Hmm.” He stroked the ends of his
mustache. Alexandra noted that his hair curled a bit farther on the right side.
.  Why had she never noticed the bald spot?

“See that you
do
.  Sit
here.  I shall return in time for our announcement. After we enjoy
everyone’s good wishes, you and I will be the first into the midnight buffet,
directly behind Lady Reynolds.  We are to be seated next to her.  I
hope you appreciate the honor my cousin bestows upon us.”

Yes, the great honor being given to poor,
spinsterish Alexandra Dunforth. Mutiny flared briefly, but faded just as quickly.
What did it matter?

“Yes, of course,” she
murmured.  

Appeased, he squeezed her hands and
strode in the direction of the gaming tables.   She folded her hands
into her lap and decided to spend the entire evening watching the colorfully
clad ladies of the
ton
and their doting escorts.  Now that she had
been properly introduced, not one person expressed an inclination to speak to
her.  She stared into the crowd, the incessant chatter and music soothing
her nerves.

“Alexandra?” 

Alexandra jolted upright.  Had she
dozed? Miranda appeared, a fairy princess dressed in light green silk that
matched her eyes.  Miranda was so beautiful, just like her brother. 
Alexandra’s heart hurt.  Now that having him was out of the question, she
missed Lord Reynolds.  Dreadfully.

“Alexandra?  What is wrong with
you?”  Dark curls dangled at Miranda’s temple as she tilted her head to
peer at Alexandra.  She waved her fingers in front of Alexandra’s
face.  “Are you – foxed?” 

“No.  I’m fine.  My head aches
a bit from the excitement.  I just need some of my special tea.” She had
in fact, drunk an entire flask of tea on the way to the ball.  But she
wanted more.  “I am nervous about the announcement of my betrothal. 
It’s to be tonight.”  Silently Alexandra wished Sutton to appear. 
She smiled to herself, imagining the earring swinging jauntily from his
ear.  He would lean in and -

“Alexandra?” Miranda moved her face
inches from Alexandra’s nose. 

“Miranda!  Whatever are you doing?”
Alexandra giggled.

Miranda sat back.  Her lovely face
bore an odd look.  “The betrothal is to be announced tonight? 
Here?  Damn!” 

Alexandra giggled again. 
“Miranda!  Such unladylike language.  This is not a Lord Thurston
novel.” 

Miranda stood and clasped her hand.
“Alexandra, I have to go speak to my grandmother.  I will return to
collect you promptly.  Do not move from this spot.”

Alexandra nodded dully. “Everyone wishes
me to stay
just here
.”  She patted the cushions of the divan.

****

Miranda Reynolds pushed through the crowd
of toadying sycophants that filled the ballroom of Gray Covington.  All
here to pay glory to the Marchioness of Cambourne.  Her mother.  Her
lying, deceitful mother.

Miranda thought carefully.  While
she didn’t know the exact details of Archie Runyon’s banishment to the Continent,
she knew it involved her younger sister, Elizabeth.  Her parents had argued
that night.  A terrible argument.  She’d watched in horror as her
father hit Jeanette so hard Miranda had heard the sound of her mother’s head
hitting the dark paneling of the downstairs salon.  Her father raced out
the door, calling for his coach. 

Miranda scanned the crowd for either her
grandmother or Sutton.  The pure fright of that horrible evening washed
over her.  She remembered seeing the blood on her father’s hands after
he’d beaten Archie Runyon nearly to death.  She recalled her father’s
collapse on the stairs later that evening.  But most of all, she
remembered her mother’s smug, self-satisfied smile while Robert Reynolds lay
dying. 

“Lady Miranda!  How lovely you look,
why -”

Miranda brushed by Lord Jocobi without a
second glance. 

She wished with all her heart that her
father was still alive.  How was it that her father died, yet the viper
known to the
ton
as Jeanette Reynolds still lived? And now Archie was
back.  And he was betrothed to Miss Dunforth.

The Dowager warned Miranda to watch
Alexandra closely, confiding her suspicions to her granddaughter. Miranda
relentlessly searched the ballroom for Alexandra, only to find her dozing on a
divan in an unlit corner.  Alexandra’s movements were slow, her speech
stilted.  Laudanum.  Grandmother, as usual, was correct. 

Miranda saw Zander, the head butler of
Gray Covington, bustling about in the shadows.  She must find her
grandmother.  The Dowager concocted a scheme, which Miranda realized as
she looked over her shoulder to see Alexandra wilting against the couch, should
be implemented immediately.  Miranda waved a gloved hand at Zander to get
his attention and marched forward. He would know where to find her grandmother.

Bored, Alexandra dozed against the
cushions of the divan.  How long since the visit from Miranda?  It
felt like ages.  Likely her friend had forgotten all about her and even
now wove across the dance floor with a handsome beau.  

She stood, feeling the pinpricks as her
legs woke up, and smoothed down the gray silk ball gown she wore.  It was
really very pretty, she thought, as she admired the sheer silver
underskirt.  Pity she couldn’t enjoy wearing it.  If Sutton saw her
would he find her beautiful in the gown?

A fist hit her stomach.  At least it
felt as such.  Thinking about Sutton caused the most painful agony. 
Not even the tea completely dulled it.   As she relaxed on the divan,
she searched the crowd endlessly for his dark visage and finally gave up. 
It was terrible disappointment.  She just wanted to look at him.  She
didn’t dare approach him.  She just wished for a glance.  To see him
and remember having him call her “Badger”.   Alexandra wanted just a
bit of him to remember, especially tonight.  The most horrible night of
her life.  The betrothal, already signed, would become public and official
tonight.

Alexandra put a gloved hand to her
stomach.  Truthfully, she felt a bit ill.  The air in the ballroom
was heavy with the smell of roses and too many bodies.  A brief respite
would refresh her.  Unsteadily, she made her way to a short gray-haired
man introduced to her earlier as Zander, the head butler.

Zander, a slightly built man of small
stature possessed the fullest white beard Alexandra had ever
seen.    Gold-rimmed glasses perched atop a button nose, while
one hand clutched a sheaf of papers dense with notes.  He looked up from
the list he perused, saw Alexandra and bowed.  He broke away from the small
army he was directing and approached Alexandra with a helpful
smile.  

“Miss Dunforth.  Is there something
I may assist you with?”

Alexandra pursed her lips to stifle the
words her mind screamed her lips to utter.
Yes! You can assist me by packing
me back off to Hampshire immediately!  Tell Mr. Runyon I have expired of
nerves!
 

“Miss?”

“Yes, Zander isn’t it?”  At his nod
she continued.  “I feel the need for some air.”

“Oh miss, you cannot go around the
terrace and gardens without an escort.  It isn’t proper.” He frowned, making
him look like a harried elf.  “Shall I see if I can find Mr.
Runyon?”  Zander’s tone, coolly polite, held a note of dislike.

“No. No, that won’t be necessary.  I
simply wish to sit in the quiet for a moment.  I find the celebration
overwhelms me.”

Zander gave a knowing nod.  “Just
so.  Miss Miranda told me you are from Hampshire.”

Alexandra nodded in reply.

“My mother was a good Hampshire lass as
well.”  He winked.  “I know a place where you can collect yourself,
safe from prying eyes. Let me direct you to the orangery.”

“The orangery?” She really needed some
air.  Pain twisted between her eyes. 

“Many estates have them.  Lord
Robert, the previous Marquess, installed it after acquiring a preference for
the rare fruit. The orangery is quite safe and no one will bother you. 
Besides, the smell of the orange blossoms is quite soothing for nerves, I’m
told.”

“Thank you, Zander.  You are so
thoughtful.” 

Zander led her down the hall to stone
steps leading to a paved walkway.  The walkway led to a small, gated
door.  Zander turned the large brass handle carved in the shape of a tree
and swung open the door.  “Just through there, Miss.  Stay on the
path.  Come back up the steps, and I shall see you to the ballroom when
you are recovered.” He turned and strode back to his army, already pointing at
a lax serving boy.

Alexandra walked through the doorway,
sighing as the smell of oranges filled her nostrils.  Zander was
right.  The smell of oranges soothed her.  She tilted her head
back.  The ceiling of the orangery was glass.  Horribly
expensive.  Hundreds of stars, real stars, twinkled merrily.  The
moon, pale and full, hung heavy in the sky, seeming so close Alexandra wondered
if she could touch it.  Her relief at escaping the excess and false
scenery of the ballroom washed through her.

The smell of orange blossoms lured her
deeper into the orangery.  Alexandra read about orange trees, but had
never actually seen one.  Oranges did not often grace the table of Helmsby
Abbey.  The ache in her head and heart eased a bit.   The
outline of a bench was before her and Alexandra walked towards it, marveling at
the sky above her.

“Bitch!”

Alexandra froze, her slippered toe
connected with the hard wood of the bench.