by Yasmine Nash
“My word, Alexa, have you been lazing about up here all day? You’d better get ready; we’ll be leaving in an hour. I’ll send my maid in to dress your hair as soon as she’s finished with mine.”
“No need,” Alexandra said, putting her papers away and smiling at Mariah. “I’ve become quite proficient in dressing my own hair.
“If you say so,” her cousin replied skeptically.
* * *
Alexa’s handiwork must have been passable, however. When Mariah glanced at Alexa’s curls when she joined her near the front door a short while later, all the blond woman said was, “We’re ready to go.” The pair arrived at the theater along with the rest of their party: two forgettable young women, a dull man named Mr. Peters she suspected her cousin had her eyes on, and Sir Neville, a very genial sort of man. Alexa had already become acquainted with each of them during her cousin’s many outings since she’d come to visit. Sir Neville was the only one she found remotely interesting. The two young ladies, his sisters, had never offered a stimulating addition to any conversation in Alexandra’s hearing. Instead of bearing opinions of their own, they parroted the sentiments of others.
“It’s just the right night to be at the theater,” Mariah said gaily as the group made their way to their box.
“The perfect night for the theater,” agreed the elder of the two forgettable women.
“Just right indeed,” her younger sister chirped in.
Sir Neville sat next to Alexandra during the performance. He was taller than average, so she was rather glad he had sat beside her rather than in front of her. During the first half, he entertained her by whispering translations of the operatic singer’s Italian.
Their group rose from their seats during the intermission. “And how do you like it so far?” Mariah asked her.
“It’s simply marvelous!” Alexa’s mind was still whirling from the performance. The colors, the costumes, the singing, the story. It was all enough to make her head spin.
Or maybe that was from dehydration. Now that she thought of it, her throat was positively parched. She excused herself momentarily, seeking a glass of water or wine. It was on Alexa’s way back to her seat, with a glass of cool water in her hand, that she saw him.
Henry Northam was laughing with a group of gentlemen roughly his own age. He seemed to see her at the same time she did him, the smile freezing on his face as he recognized her. It had been several months since she’d last seen or spoken to Henry, and now here he was. He was as handsome as ever. A deep green waistcoat that brought out the green in his hazel eyes, the same tousled dark brown hair, that familiar angled chin.
She was about to turn away, but to her surprise, he said something to his companions to extricate himself and came forward to her.
“Miss Morland,” he said coolly, by way of greeting. Then his eyes seemed to register the gown she was wearing. It was deep blue flowing organza with a high, cinched waist and puffed sleeves. The same gown she had worn when they had danced together at the public assembly rooms, which seemed like ages ago. She wondered if he was remembering that night as well.
Henry recovered himself quickly. “I see you’re back where you belong,” he said scornfully. “I must admit, I had not expected to see you here tonight.”
She was taken aback by the venom in his tone. “What do you mean ‘back where I belong’?”
“And where is Mr. Morland?” he asked looking around, ignoring her question. This rudeness was uncharacteristic of the Henry she had known. His attitude pained her, but she could not fault him for it. He still blames me for deceiving him.
“My cousin Edmund is kept away on business.” She chose not to elaborate that she would very much rather he stayed away.
“You must feel his loss keenly,” Henry said with a curt bow before he walked off.
Whatever was that about? And how had they gone from two people so in love to this acrimony?
Her heart ached at the hatred he still felt for her, but she was growing angry as well. He had already broken her heart. Did he need to be rude to her as well? Couldn’t he just let her be so she could heal? Alexa savored the feeling of growing anger, because it blocked out some of the pain. Not enough, but some.
She returned to her party after he left her, still shaken by her encounter. Sir Neville resumed his spot next to her in their box after the intermission. “I saw you speaking to Henry Northam earlier. Are you acquainted with that family?”
“A little,” she admitted. Sir Neville said something else, but Alexandra didn’t pay attention. Her eyes were too busy roaming the others in the audience, trying to determine where Henry was sitting. She couldn’t make him out, however, and eventually gave up, attempting to refocus her attention on the stage before her.
She didn’t enjoy the second half nearly as much as she had the first, although it really had been a wonderful show. Too bad her mind had been set so abuzz by running into Henry that she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the performance afterward. She still wasn’t quite sure how the character Susana had wound up married to Figaro, although her poor Italian might also be to blame for that. Her head full of thoughts, Alexa barely heard Mariah’s prattling about Mr. Peters during the carriage ride home.
Chapter 15
Henry was late for a dinner meeting with Mr. Jameson and his associates. He had spent the afternoon at the fencing club, sparring with anyone he could find in an attempt at distraction. By the time he had finished, he was soaking in sweat, so he’d had to return home to bathe and dress. And now he was half an hour late and rushing along the streets to Mr. Jameson’s home, hoping this tardiness wouldn’t reflect too negatively on him.
If only he hadn’t run into Alexa at the theater last night, then he wouldn’t have felt a need to release his frustrations by fencing today. The shock of seeing her in the flesh had spurred him to go speak to her last night and he had been ungentlemanly. He’d regretted the action even as he’d done it, but the words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself nonetheless. If anything, she had looked even more beautiful than he had remembered, especially in that blue gown, which hugged all her curves just right. He shook his head to force away the reminiscences of times they had previously spent together.
His solace was that this had been their first meeting since their estrangement several months earlier. If they were forced together in company again, the awkwardness would be eased. London was an interconnected city for those in the upper classes, and they were bound to meet again.
But not tonight. The dinner tonight would feature only men of the law. Henry had arrived at Mr. Jameson’s door. After handing over his gray wool coat to the doorman, he was assured that the meal had only just begun. And so it was that the men were still working their way through the soup course when Henry took his seat at the table. “Apologies for my tardiness,” Henry said by way of introduction to the gathered men.
“Northam, you’ve finally made it,” Mr. Jameson said. “I was just telling the other men that my good lady wife is under the weather tonight.” Henry made the appropriate response, then he turned his attention to his food. He was starving.
As he ate, Henry glanced around at those seated near him. He already knew all the guests but two. Henry was the youngest by far, as was often the case at gatherings such as these. The other men were all senior members of the court, barristers or lords with extensive influence. In order to become a barrister himself, Henry needed to be accepted by powerful men like these.
To someone else, the dinners, with their extensive discussion of the intricacies of British law, might have felt dull, but Henry felt revitalized every time he attended one. And if the senior members themselves suffered from somewhat dry personalities, well, by this point Henry was experienced in deriving humor from the most mundane sources.
For instance, the gentleman to his left was a shriveled prune of a man named Mr. Weston. Weston had spent the past 15 minutes explaining to Henry why he despised France and the French
culture. The food was too heavy. The fashions were far too revealing. And the accents were atrocious! Those who spoke the language sounded like they were gurgling and spitting at each other.
And yet Henry knew for a fact that Weston’s first wife had been born in Marseille. Perhaps his disgust of all things French didn’t extend to their women. Henry smiled to himself, but he didn’t point this out to Mr. Weston. Instead, Henry let himself be drawn into a spirited discussion of the applicability of British law in the new colonies and territories.
After the meal was over, the men remained in the dining room, smoking cigars and drinking. Mr. Jameson drew Henry off to the side of the room to speak to him in semi-privacy.
“The men like you, Henry,” Mr. Jameson said in between puffs of his cigar. “You’re insightful, you’re clever, and you’ve probably read more than all the rest of us about the law. I think it won’t be too long now before you join our ranks. Just keep impressing this crowd with that brain of yours and you’re assured acceptance.”
Henry grinned. “I’m glad to hear that. And I hope you know how grateful I am for the help you’ve provided me these past few years. And the delicious meals,” he added, which made Mr. Jameson chuckle. Before they could continue their conversation any further, Mr. Jameson was called away by one of the other men.
Henry stood on his own a moment, heart racing in anticipation as he replayed what Mr. Jameson had said. This was what he had been working so hard for all these years, and now it was nearly within his reach. He didn’t need Alexandra Morland or any other woman to be satisfied in life; he’d make his own happiness instead. Squaring his shoulders, Henry rejoined the men’s conversations with renewed fervor the rest of the evening.
Chapter 16
The days at Grosvenor Street rushed by in a blur and before she realized it, a month had passed by in Alexandra’s stay. Most days, Mariah devised new entertainment to keep the two of them occupied in the evenings. But ever since she had decided to throw an evening party to be held at their residence next week, she had spent all her time planning for it. Sir Neville and several of Mariah’s other close friends would be invited to supper and cards, and she wanted to impress all those who attended.
Mariah had been keeping house for her brother for years, but this was the first large event she had planned in London and she was beset by nerves over it. She called the cook into the drawing room 12 different times a day to discuss the menu or make alterations to it. She gave the maids very stern instructions on cleaning and gave herself a headache planning out her guest list. The rest of the time Mariah spent asking Alexa’s advice on which gown she should wear.
All in all, Alexandra thought she would be very glad to have the party over and done with. There was only one thing holding her back. For a while now, she had been wanting to invite Charlotte over for an evening without running afoul of Mrs. Godersham’s strict protocols. She had been struggling to think of a way to do so ever since she’d come to Mariah’s, but Alexa finally came up with the most brilliant solution while she was listening to her cousin drone on about the guestlist again for the umpteenth time.
Alexandra wouldn’t just invite Charlotte. She’d also invite Mr. Cogsworth. She would then send additional invitations to Charlotte and Mrs. Godersham, being sure to mention that Mr. Cogsworth, among others, was to be in attendance. Alexa did just that, and as she had hoped, Mrs. Godersham sent a very speedy reply in the affirmative that she and Charlotte would attend.
In the end, all of Mariah’s attention paid off. On the day of the party, the supper went splendidly. The conversation was lively, the food was perfectly cooked, and all the guests seemed eager to be pleased. Alexandra had been seated next to Sir Neville again during the meal, and she had found him just as gentlemanly and kind as she had on the previous occasions they’d spoken. They spent the entire second course discussing the other performances they’d seen since attending the opera together.
Even Mariah was looking much calmer than she had in a week by the time the party retired to the drawing room. She allowed herself to relax and be flirted with by Mr. Peters.
“You delightfully clever creature!” Charlotte exclaimed as soon as the two friends had a moment alone together after supper. They had been seated on opposite sides of the table during the meal, which had prevented them from doing much more than sharing amused glances. “What a brilliantly simple solution to our problem.” The two glanced over at the other side of the room, where Mr. Cogsworth and Mrs. Godersham were sitting side by side on one of the sofas near the fire.
“Do you know we’ve had a new lady join us at the boardinghouse?” Charlotte asked. “A Miss Pointe. She’s very pretty and seems sweet enough, although I think she isn’t very bright, poor thing. She believes Napoleon is a kind of fine French soup. I don’t think she even realizes there’s a war going on.”
They were still smiling at this when someone approached them. “Miss Morland,” a handsome gentleman with sultry good looks addressed her. “Charles Camden,” he said by way of introduction. “Finally we meet.”
“How do you do, sir?” she said sweetly. “Pardon me, but are we supposed to be acquainted?” They must be acquainted. Otherwise why did he look so familiar?
“I only mean we share some mutual friends,” Mr. Camden said. His dark blond hair, disheveled as it was, gave him a handsomely roguish look.
By mutual friends, she supposed he meant Mariah. Alexandra realized he hadn’t been among the guests dining with them earlier. “I think we missed you at supper?”
“Indeed you did. My apologies for my tardiness.” He inclined his head just slightly. “I had urgent business that required my attention elsewhere earlier this evening.”
“Well you are very welcome. Mr. Camden, this is my very good friend Charlotte Gray,” Alexandra said, indicating Charlotte, who sat on the other side of her and had watched the interactions between Mrs. Godersham and Mr. Cogsworth across the room. She turned her head as Alexa spoke her name though.
“Mr. Camden?” Charlotte asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Could you be of the Thornwood Camdens?”
“Indeed I am. Sir John Camden of Thornwood is my father,” Charles responded, though he seemed quite disinterested in talking to Charlotte. He turned back to Alexa, ignoring her friend again. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to speak again some other time.” With a nod, he walked away, heading in the direction of the card table.
“What a strange man,” Alexa said.
“Abominable manners,” Charlotte agreed. “But rather dashing, don’t you think?”
Alexandra, who felt she would rather not think of anything romantic, changed the subject.
“So tell me truly,” Charlotte said seriously a few moments later, “how are you faring here? I see your cousin has outfitted you in beautiful gowns like you’re a doll, but is she treating you properly?”
Alexandra assured her that all had been fine so far, although not without a little awkwardness at times. “She’s careless,” Alexandra admitted of Mariah. “And sometimes she’ll say things that are hurtful, but I don’t think she means them. I think sometimes she even forgets that I’m no longer in the same station of life as her.” Mariah’s rise in situation had come at the direct price of Alexa’s comforts, and it was sometimes difficult to forget that, though Alexandra endeavored to as best as she could—if only for her own peace of mind, if nothing else.
“A month has passed by so quickly though,” Alexa went on. “It won’t be long before I’m sent off back to Mrs. Godersham’s.”
“A moment I long for,” Charlotte interrupted. “The quality of conversation within those walls has seen a marked decline since you left.”
“I feel the same,” Alexandra admitted. “But there has been a worry sitting on the back of my mind.” Alexandra paused for a moment to choose her words correctly. Charlotte didn’t know anything about her true parentage and it was difficult to relay the particular stressors of her situation without that. “My cousin Edmund holds fa
r too great a power over my life, a power he’s proven happy to wield at his whims. I have next to no fortune of my own. If he decides to cut off payments to Mrs. Godersham, I’ll be kicked out on the streets.”
Charlotte covered Alexandra’s hands with her own. “Try not to worry. I would find a way to help you,” she said warmly.
Alexa smiled. “I know you would, and I’m grateful. But I feel a need to have some independence of my own. I’ve been thinking on the subject more and more and becoming a governess is starting to appeal to me.”
“Oh Alexa!” Charlotte said. “Please say you’re not serious.”
Alexandra smiled a little, but before they could continue their conversation, her cousin Mariah demanded her attentions. “Alexa, come here!” Mariah said loudly, motioning to where she stood in a semi-circle next to Sir Neville and his two sisters who had accompanied them to the opera. Alexandra smiled apologetically at her friend, promising they would resume their discussion another time, then rose and joined Mariah.
“Well guess what, Alexa?” Mariah demanded, grabbing her cousin’s arm as soon as she was near. “Sir Neville is going to plan a weekend escape to his country house and invite us both. Isn’t that the most exciting thing?” Her pale blue eyes were sparkling at the thought.
Sir Neville smiled obligingly. “We were all discussing how spending a winter in London makes one feel cooped up and claustrophobic. I think we could do with a bit of fresh air and greenery. The weather has been remarkably fine the past few days. According to the almanac, it’s supposed to be mild the rest of the month.”
“The perfect time to go!” Mariah put in excitedly. Alexandra doubted that. Most people came to London in wintertime in order to escape the country. However, Sir Neville and Mariah were too far gone in their schemes.