Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (5 page)

The girl
proceeded to stab another pin viciously at the back of her head, as if attempting
to kill something hidden there.    The Dowager coughed politely
to announce her presence.

Wide gray
eyes locked with hers in horror.  No, not gray.  The girl’s eyes
caught the shimmer of the candlelight, reminding Donata of opals.  Her
face flushed red and her mouth gaped open.   Her brow wrinkled in
concentration as she worked on a plausible excuse for her behavior. 
Donata nearly clapped in delight.  Finally!  Someone interesting to
talk to!

Cocking an
eyebrow, Donata said in her most severe tone, “Running from an amorous suitor
are you?”

The girl
sucked in her breath and flushed a deeper shade of red, which seemed to seep
down the ivory skin of her most generous bosom.   Quite well endowed
for such a small woman.  The girl’s hair was rather forcefully restrained,
but was a lovely chestnut and exceptionally curly.   Altogether
ordinary looking, attractive but certainly no competition for the beauties that
crowded Lady Dobson’s ballroom, Donata none the less sensed something
sparkling
about the girl in front of her.

“No, my
lady.”  The girl had the sense to curtsy.  “I beg your pardon. 
I didn’t see you sitting there.  Forgive my intrusion.”  Ready to run
from Donata at the slightest censure, she bit her lip and looked up at the
ceiling, unsure as how to proceed.  She reminded the Dowager of a vexed
kitten.

“Here now
miss, sit next to me and catch your breath.  I am sure your mother will
find you directly. I shan’t tell you know.” The Dowager smiled at her. 
Who was this child?  Positive she knew every dull virgin of age to marry
in London, Donata pondered who this child was. 
Perhaps that’s why I
don’t know of her, for this girl does not strike me as dull.
 

The girl sat
carefully next to Donata.  “I’m here with my uncle, Lord Burke.”

Donata hid
her distaste as the girl mentioned Lord Oliver Burke.  She did not know
the man personally, but she knew his reputation.  The man was a dull
witted glutton, known for gambling away his late wife’s substantial
fortune.  He was related, distantly, to Lady Dobson.  She did not
know Lord Burke had a niece. 

“I
see.  How are you acquainted with Lady Dobson?”

Donata
nearly laughed out loud at the expression on the girl’s face at the mention of
Agnes Dobson. The girl’s mouth curled as if she sucked on a lemon. 

“Lady Dobson
is kind enough to sponsor me for my Season.  My uncle wishes that I find a
suitable husband.”  She didn’t sound grateful, as most girls would be, at
having a sponsor who was well known in the
ton
. 

“I was not
aware Lord Burke even possessed a niece.”  

“I wish he
did not possess one as well.”  The girl clapped her hand over her mouth
and looked at Donata in horror. “My lady, I apologize.  I –“

Donata
patted her hand.  “It’s all right my child.”  Donata peered at
her.  “You do not sound happy about the prospect of a husband.  Or is
it just the sponsorship of Lady Dobson that you object to?”

The girl
took a deep breath, which sighed out of her. Clearly, the child was distressed.

 “What
is your name, my dear?”

“Alexandra
Dunforth, my lady.” 

“Well
Alexandra Dunforth, if I may ask, what has caused you to run into Lady Dobson’s
ballroom with your hair coming down?”

Miss
Dunforth reached up anxiously, tucking in several stray curls.  “Nothing
you would be interested in madam, except that my hair does not appreciate the
confinement of pins.”  She looked up and her nose wrinkled.  “Oh
dear, there’s my uncle and Lady Dobson.”   It sounded as if she were
accusing the duo of murder.

 An
obese man plodded his way across the polished parquet floor towards Miss Dunforth,
with Lady Dobson following in his wake.  Donata regarded her hostess with
a bland, superior expression.  Donata did not care for Agnes Dobson,
finding the woman to be a social climbing harpy who ruined the reputations of
those she deemed unworthy for sport.  Lady Dobson was afraid of
Donata.  Donata thought that the only bit of wisdom the woman ever
displayed.

Donata
turned her attention to Lord Burke and disliked him on sight.  The cravat
he wore was tied in a bumbling knot, his mustache much too waxed and his
waistcoat!  Donata could see a food stain, something dark, spotting the
left side.

Lord Burke
stopped directly in front of Miss Dunforth. “Alexandra!  Where have you
been?  Lady Dobson told me you disappeared.   You are so dull
you fade right into the woodwork.  It’s likely she just didn’t notice
you.”  The beady eyes bored down on Miss Dunforth.

Donata
wanted to swat the man with her cane.  What a rude and vulgar man! 
Lord Burke was a brilliant example of overbreeding in the ton.

Lady Dobson
winced as she noticed Donata and nudged Lord Burke. 

He nudged
her back with an irritated look on his face.

Lady Dobson
thrust her chin, so pointed it could likely cut glass, in the direction of
Donata.  “Lord Burke, may I present the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne,
Lady Reynolds.”  Lady Dobson curtsied.

Lord Burke
gave a perplexed look as the words took their time filtering through what
Donata assumed was a brain the size of a pea-hen’s.  Remembering his
manners at last, Burke bowed deeply to her, stretching his waistcoat to its
limits.  Donata thought for a moment his enormous girth would split the
fabric, sending the brass buttons flying into her face.  She sighed with
relief when he straightened.

Lord Burke
lurched forward, grabbing Miss Dunforth’s arm, pulling her from the
couch.    Clearly, Miss Dunforth needed a friend and Donata was
ever taking in strays.

“Lord
Burke.”  Donata inclined her regal head and used her most coldly superior
tone, “I was just telling the
delightful
Miss Dunforth that she must come
for tea. 

Miss
Dunforth gave a surprised look.  

Lady Dobson
cleared her throat.

“My
granddaughter is of the same age and I feel certain they have much in
common.  I also find Miss Dunforth exceedingly entertaining.  She is
a treasure.”

Lord Burke gave
Donata an interested look.  Lady Dobson elbowed him.  Apparently,
Lord Burke did not find his niece charming.  The dumbfounded look on his
face reflected his surprise that anyone did. All the more reason for Donata to
champion Miss Dunforth.

“She would
be most happy to!”  Lady Dobson answered before Lord Burke opened his
mouth.  She grinned like an idiot at Donata.

Donata
wanted to swat the turban off of Lady Dobson’s head with her cane.  She
didn’t think she could reach it though.  Lord, but she hated getting old.

Without
waiting for Lord Burke to agree, since she would over rule him at any rate
Donata said, “Wonderful.  I will send my coach for her.  Tomorrow
perhaps?”

Lord Burke
seemed about to say something, thought better of it and bowed formally.  Miss
Dunforth murmured her goodbye, surprise clearly written on her face.  The
girl had no idea, thought Donata, of the powerful ally she had just
made.   

Lord Burke
grabbed Miss Dunforth by the arm and dragged her across the ballroom.  As
Donata watched them, a man darted from an alcove and followed.  He was
slender and impeccably dressed.  His hair was light wheat in color. 
Donata blinked, shocked by a face she hadn’t seen in years.  When she
opened her eyes, the man had disappeared.

She must be
mistaken or possibly her eyes were playing tricks on her.  A trickle of
anxiety ran down her spine.  There was no mistaking the hair.  It was
the same color as her daughter-in-law’s.   

***

Odious
Oliver pinched Alexandra’s arm and shook her slightly. 

“Stop it
uncle!  You are hurting me.”  She tried to pull her arm out of his
grasp.

“Look at
you!  What have you been doing?”  His tone was accusatory as he took
in her flushed features and her hair. Sweat dripped from her uncle’s broad brow
and down his puffed, reddened cheeks.   Spittle sat in the corner of
his mouth.  A vision of a rabid dog she had seen once ran through
Alexandra’s mind.

“Nothing,
Uncle.  I lost a pin from my hair, then, another fell out.  I went to
the Ladies Necessary Room to fix it, but I fear I didn’t do a very good job.”

Her uncle
snorted. “That’s an understatement.  You look like you have a rat’s nest
on your head.”  He chuckled at his joke.  “No matter.  Your
suitor has arrived.  Finally.  He wishes to meet you.”

Lady Dobson
and her purple turban swayed.  She clucked her tongue and gave Alexandra a
look of disapproval. 

“Agnes, I
thank you for your assistance tonight, as you can see I am overburdened with
the girl.”  Her uncle mopped his brow with his free hand, wiping it on his
trousers.

“How she
attracted the interest of the Dowager Marchioness I will never know.  What
could they possibly have to talk about?”  Lady Dobson shook her head in
disgust and wandered towards a group of women who were gesturing to her.

Uncle Oliver
looked at Alexandra with skepticism.  “How did you insinuate yourself with
such a woman?  What have you said to her?”

Alexandra
pulled her arm from his grasp. “Whatever would I tell her?  That my uncle
is forcing me to marry?”

Her uncle
snorted and eyed her with avid dislike.  “Don’t get lippy with me
girl.  I am merely doing my duty as your guardian.  You should be
lucky I don’t throw you into the streets to beg for food.  Besides, I
doubt that wrinkled aristocrat could care less who you married.”  

Alexandra
swallowed the panic that rose at the truth in his words.   She lifted
her chin. 

“And you
will marry.  If you wish to show your love for that ancient group of
retainers you so adore. If you want to save that pile of manure you call a farm
in Hampshire.”

Fear welled
in her throat.  Possibly this mysterious suitor would find her wanting and
decide to call off the arrangement.    Alexandra was halfway
across the floor, towed by her uncle like a tiny boat being pulled along in a
frigate’s wake when the connection hit her and stopped her cold in her
tracks.  The Dowager Marchioness was the
grandmother
of Satan
Reynolds!

“Come along,
Alexandra!  Don’t dawdle.  What’s wrong with you?  Have you been
drinking?”

“No! I’m
just a little tired.”  Her uncle had certainly been drinking though. 
The fat man smelled of wine and she saw a purple line just underneath his
mustache.

They wove
through Lady Dobson’s guests who chattered like magpies as they dissected
dresses, escorts, and marriages.  The ladies gowns were bright spots of
color, lovely yellows, subdued rosy pinks, dark blues and greens. 
Alexandra looked down at her blue gray gown.  Her gown contrasted sharply
with the hues floating through the room and she suddenly felt like the drab
country mouse Lady Dobson had called her.  Casually, she looked through
the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lord Reynolds, but his dark visage was
no where to be found.

Her uncle
brought her alongside a tall, slender, blonde gentleman who stood against a far
wall.  Apart from the other groups dotting the ballroom, his form lay
partially hidden in the shadows of a far corner.  His eyes, an icy, pale
blue, immediately ran over her form in appraisal. 

The color
rose in Alexandra’s cheeks along with anger at being inspected in such a
way.  But her ire dissipated as the man gave her a warm, kind
smile.   His evening clothes, a formal black, fit him to
perfection.    His cravat was expertly tied and in such a
complicated knot that Alexandra marveled at his valet’s talent.  Hair,
which reminded her of ripened wheat, toppled over his forehead.  One pale
hand rested on a fashionable walking stick.  A wolf’s head, the eyes
glittering rubies, graced the top.   Good breeding emanated from him
and Alexandra wondered how in the world he knew Oliver Burke.

“Mr. Runyon,
my niece.” Her uncle practically pushed her into Mr. Runyon’s arms.  “Miss
Alexandra Dunforth.”

Alexandra
stumbled a bit as Mr. Runyon took her arm.  Her uncle discarded her none
too gently.  Humiliation made her face burn.

Mr. Runyon
wrinkled his perfect nose at her uncle’s manner, but said nothing.  His
touch was light and polite, the elegant fingers warm on her arm.  He was
not as tall as Lord Reynolds, but still much taller than Alexandra.  

“Miss
Dunforth.” His voice was smooth and melodic.   He took Alexandra’s
gloved hand and brushed it with his lips.  The pale blue eyes looked at
her with curiosity. 

Odious
Oliver pinched the back of her arm, reminding her to dip into a small curtsy.
“Mr. Runyon,” she tilted her head, “it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Lord Burke
rubbed his ham-like hands together.  “Well?  We can sign the papers
this evening.”  The ballroom wasn’t overly warm, but beads of sweat
clustered on her uncle’s forehead. One of his eyes twitched.