“Alex? Oh, there you are! Talking to the cat again, I see.” Caroline sashayed into the study, a bundle of tied correspondences tucked into her hand. “Where on earth have you been this past week? Though I confess that it was rather wonderful not having you breathing down my neck about the Season, I still missed you all the same. So. Will you be joining Mother and me for a ride today?”
“Not likely. I have far too many important matters to tend to.”
“Ah, yes,” Caroline drawled, eyeing him. “Like talking to the cat.”
The cat snapped up her white tail, jumped off the desk, and scampered out of the room. Clearly offended.
Caroline paused at the edge of the Axminster carpet set in the middle of the room, then gracefully gathered the excess from the back of her palomino riding habit, so as not to pull up the carpet as she passed. Once fully past the carpet, she dropped her skirts behind her and continued to glide her way toward where he sat behind his desk. Her pinned and curled chestnut hair, still free of a riding hat, delicately swayed around her freckled, ivory face with each feminine step she took.
How his own sister had learned to act and walk like a woman still downright astounded him. As unruly as she’d been as a child, he would have never guessed her capable of any civil grace.
A high-pitched voice suddenly squealed from somewhere upstairs, “Alex is here! Hurry! He’s here!”
There was a slamming of various doors throughout the townhouse and an echoing stampede of numerous feet.
Alexander slapped his book shut, the book he had hoped to enjoy during their morning studies, and tossed it onto the paper-strewn desk he had yet to organize. “I was hoping for a quiet and civilized day today. I’ve had a rather long week.”
A very long week that had involved decanters of cognac at his club while waiting for a response from the notorious Madame de Maitenon with regard to his application. A response that had yet to come. A response, he was beginning to believe, that would never come unless he marched himself straight over to 11 Berwick Street and did something about it.
He had already put in a written offer to pay Madame de Maitenon as much as a hundred pounds per week if it meant being able to attend the school. Yes. He really was that desperate.
“There are no quiet, civilized days in this house. You know that and I know that.” Caroline settled before him and set the bundle of correspondences unceremoniously onto his desk. She pointed at the pile, which had been neatly tied with a pink lace ribbon. “Upon your request. Another set of invitations. I only wish everyone would up and hang themselves. By their pennants. Yourself included.”
He sighed. “Don’t you ever get tired of nagging me?”
She eyed him, a glint of angry fire appearing in those blue-green eyes. “I’ve said it before, Alex, and I’ll say it again. I hate the Season. Loathe it. Everything about it is so bloody superficial and meaningless. Lady Lansworth’s gathering last night was by far the worst example of it yet. I don’t want to attend another one of her horrid little parties. Do you understand me? Burn whatever she sends.”
A rather strong sentiment. Though knowing Caroline, it was probably well deserved.
A stampede of feet suddenly entered the study. The rustling of skirts practically deafened him as Anne, Elizabeth, and Victoria settled in one by one right behind Caroline, their freckled cheeks flushed and their matching green-blue eyes wide with vivid excitement.
“You all know I’m not supposed to run!” Mary, the youngest, exclaimed from the doorway, her hands propped on her hips. Her golden chestnut braid was frayed and coming undone, long wisps dangling every which way. “The doctor says unnecessary exertion may very well cause my lungs to swell. And the swelling of lungs, as you may or may not know, can lead to an untimely death.”
Mary demonstrated by releasing several gasping, harsh coughs that were anything but real. She tapped at her chest before heaving out an exasperated sigh. “And besides, our studies are far from done. Mrs. Peterson will be cross if she finds us down here.”
“Oh, be quiet, little Miss Morbid,” Anne, the second youngest, flung over her shoulder. “Mrs. Peterson is always cross, and I’ll have you know that opening these letters is far more important than you and your silly theatrics.”
“Anne,” Alexander snapped, glaring at her.
Anne promptly responded by folding her slender arms over the ruffled front of her cotton blue, flower-patterned dress. She puffed out an annoyed breath, deflating her freckled cheeks. “What now?”
“Reserve that tone for the cat.” He leaned toward the desk. “You know full well she hasn’t taken Father’s death in stride as well as we have. What is more, she’s little.”
“I am not little! Most people say I can pass for fifteen.” Mary marched over to his desk, kicking up the ends of her black dress with her quick movements. Although they were all officially done with mourning for their father, Mary refused to wear anything but black. “What I have been this past week, however, is deathly ill. But then no one really cares, do they? I could drop dead here and now and you’d all simply carry on with your day.”
“You know full well she feigns illness all the time, Alex,” Elizabeth joined in, passionately defending Anne. “She died twice this past week. And I for one am growing rather tired of it. What is worse, Mother finds it all endearing. Which, of course, only encourages Mary all the more. I say, instead of reprimanding the rest of us, you should be reprimanding her.” Elizabeth jerked her thumb in Mary’s direction.
Alexander rolled his eyes, wondering if he would ever please any of them. Though in all honesty, they, much like he, knew that at the core of his soul, he was pitifully softhearted and loved each and every one of their intolerable little ways. Including Mary, who had grown a bit too obsessed with death.
He was certain it had to do with the fact that she had been unable to attend their father’s burial. And though women and children of status were never publicly allowed to attend formal burials—something his other sisters and mother had preferred—Mary was still rather cross about the whole matter. And repeated visits to the grave site had done little to alleviate that. Fortunately, her obsession hadn’t led to poison, knives, or caskets.
Not as of yet, anyway.
“Well, don’t just sit there like an artifact in a museum.” Victoria leaned forward, her thick, blond braid swaying back and forth over her shoulder as she shoved the bundle of letters at him. “Open it. We’ve been waiting all week for you to get around to them.”
It appeared that the opening of Caroline’s invitations had turned into their favorite pastime. To the horror of Caroline, no doubt.
Alexander snatched up the bundle and slowly rose, holding it high into the air for all of them to see. He tried to remain serious as he tapped at the bundle. “Unfortunately, I am still rather preoccupied with a few matters of business, so I won’t have a chance to look at any of these anytime soon. Perhaps we can resume this sometime next week?”
“Noooo!” they all exclaimed in genuine, high-pitched horror.
Caroline laughed and stepped around the desk toward him. She reached out and grabbed the invitations from his hand, waving them about. “Can’t I just burn them? It’s not as if the man I plan to marry is going to attend any of these.”
Alexander stared at her. There was a man? Already? This could be good. Although knowing Caroline…it could also be bad. Very bad.
He yanked the invitations back out of her hands and held them away. Knowing if given the chance she would burn them. “I didn’t realize you already had affections toward a particular man.” He tried not to sound as though he was panicking, even though he was. “Who is he? Do I know him?”
Caroline froze then eyed him and feigned a small laugh. She stepped back and away. “As if I would ever tell you. You’d run him straight out of London.”
Alexander narrowed his gaze. “If you think that I would run him out of London, then there must be something terribly wrong with him.”
W
hen she didn’t respond, he pointed the letters at her head. In warning. “We may be Hawksfords, Caroline, but don’t forget that in the end we still answer to the society around us. I involved you in the Season in order to expose you to a good match. You’d best remember that. And you’d best be careful.”
Victoria leaned onto the desk toward them and tilted her dark blond head slightly. “And what exactly would she need to be careful of, Alex? Care to elaborate from an experienced male perspective?”
Anne set her hands behind her back, taking on the countenance of a professor. “Yes. Elaborate. From an experienced male perspective.”
Parrots. He was bloody surrounded by parrots.
Mary’s eyes widened as she suddenly glanced at everyone around her. “I know exactly what he’s referring to. According to Mother, a man has the ability to break a woman’s heart. And a broken heart, I’d imagine, would instantly kill a person.”
All the girls groaned.
Alexander chuckled at Mary’s attempt toward reason. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. Allow me to elaborate. From an experienced male perspective.”
“This ought to be educational,” Caroline drawled, leaning against the side of the desk.
He wasn’t even going to bother with a counterattack. “First”—Alexander tapped the flat edges of the invitations he held against the front of his embroidered waistcoat—“the drama commences with a glance from a man you’ve met in your dreams. What little you know of him, he is amiable, attractive, and, best of all, his glances are turning into stares. Ah, yes. He has officially noticed you and all of your glorious beauty. And that is exactly when your troubles begin. Your heart flutters every time he is in the room, and you begin to believe that everything about him is magical. What is more, he begins to go out of his way to make you feel good and wanted. He’ll even make you believe that you can leap over the moon in a single bound. Ah, yes. But then…”
He rested his hand on his chest. “That poor little heart of yours, which he claimed to have wanted all along, is not enough. He wants more. Much more. And as besotted as you are, you resort to pathetic desperation and”—he gave Caroline a pointed stare—“start handing over everything you oughtn’t.”
Caroline blinked back at him. But didn’t say a word.
Alexander turned in the direction of the other girls. “And what is it you get in return?” He smacked his hand hard against the top of the letters, sending a thwack of an echo throughout the study. “Absolutely nothing! And what is more, as women, you’ll be scorned straight into the pits of hell for it. No one will talk to you or look at you ever again. You cease to exist as an entity. You become a living ghost. Which is why, as Mary so brilliantly pointed out earlier, you might as well be dead. So that is what I meant when I told Caroline to be careful. And you’d best be sure I intend to apply that same warning to every single one of you. Because you’ll all be on the market before you know it.”
All the girls stared up at him in utter silence, their expressions ranging from complete horror to fascination.
“Oh, don’t listen to him.” Caroline shook her head, causing her thick, chestnut curls to spring about her face. “When it comes to men, women simply have to know the rules of the game. And then beat them at it.”
“The rules of the game?” He eyed her. “And exactly how do you know about these so-called rules?”
She crossed her arms over the breasts a brother was never supposed to notice and quirked a playful bronzed brow at him. “Aside from Mother and Father being generous with their experiences throughout the years, you can say that I’ve learned quite a bit from you, O Lord of Pleasure. You weren’t always this prim and proper, you know.”
The little chit! He bloody hated that name. And she knew it. “You’d best remember that no man wants to marry a tongue.” Alexander reached out and aggressively tousled her perfectly curled and bundled hair, hoping to mess it up good and well.
“Alex!” She smacked at his hands and scrambled away, trying to pat the tops and sides of her chestnut hair back into place. “Have you no decency? I’m going for a ride with Mother in less than a half hour. It’s the only social outing in London I genuinely look forward to.”
He wasn’t even going to try and reason with her. He only prayed that her manner of thinking didn’t lead her seriously astray. Because Hawksfords were notorious for that. He should know.
Striding past her and the rest of the clan, he headed to the middle of the room. He eased himself down onto his mother’s favorite Axminster carpet, propped one trouser-clad leg up and the other out, and untied the lace around the large bundle of letters. Then tossed the feminine strap aside.
Within moments he was surrounded by the clapping of hands and the rush of excited voices. His sisters plopped down around him, fanning out their colorful gowns, except for Mary’s black one, and arranging them about their legs.
The only soul who didn’t join them on the floor was Caroline, who merely peered down at them from where she stood, looking skeptical about the whole thing, as always.
One by one, Alexander tossed the letters up in the air, letting them fall like large flakes of snow. “The first one to garner ten invitations for Caroline’s coming-out wins a quid and a ride through the park. Only be sure to do your sister a favor and burn anything from Lady Lansworth.”
Alexander glanced up and winked at Caroline. She grinned down at him, causing her smooth left cheek to dimple.
The ripping and rustling of paper filled the room as everyone attempted a mad scramble toward ten invitations.
“I have one for tea!” Mary cried out first, setting it hurriedly aside and grabbing hold of another one.
“And I have one for dinner!” Elizabeth, though newly fifteen and therefore typically calmer and refined, dove rather viciously for another letter and tore into it.
“Look! Look! A ball!” Anne scrambled to turn toward Caroline and waved the invitation for her to see. “Do you see? A ball!”
Caroline leaned closer to the invitation and squinted down at it. “Yes. And it’s from Lady Lansworth. You’d best toss it.”
Anne glared at it and tossed it over her shoulder.
“Alex?” Victoria held up a letter into the air, giving him an odd look while crinkling her freckled nose. “What is this? It says something about you being accepted into some school.”
Alexander snapped straight up, his heart nearly leaping out of his nose. Mostly because his sister was holding on to a letter not meant for her innocent eyes. He scrambled toward her through the sea of letters and snatched the parchment out of her hand.
Jumping up to his feet, he moved far back out of their circle. Impossible. Bloody impossible. Madame de Maitenon hadn’t even responded to any of his letters. And yet there it was addressed: To the Right Honorable, the Earl of Hawksford.
He snapped the parchment open and stared at the neatly scribed words he quickly recognized to be none other than Miss Charlotte’s. And sure enough, just as his sister had said, it read:
My Lord,
Many congratulations. Your application has been formally accepted and selected by Madame Thérèse’s School of Gallantry. Your studies shall commence within the week. Payment is yet to be agreed upon. Do prepare to set aside early Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and occasional Friday mornings during the remainder of the Season. Hours of instruction will begin at seven in the morning and end at approximately ten. These hours will permit you the freedom to return to your daily activities with little or no interruption. An introductory letter along with detailed instructions will follow quite shortly.
Most sincerely,
Lady Chartwell
Conductor of Admissions
Alexander blinked in disbelief at not only having been accepted into the school, but at what it actually meant. He grinned at the unexpected turn of events. Imagine. Lady Charlotte was officially his. Perhaps there was such a thing as luck after all.
Lesson Nine
Gentlemen.
Never give up your God-given right to pleasure. For it will only lead you astray. Aside from that, I seriously doubt that you’d even last for more than a day.
—The School of Gallantry
Someone within the study cleared her throat.
Alexander looked up from his letter, still delightfully dazed. But his grin faded at the sight of his sisters intently staring up at him from the floor. Even Caroline was suspiciously eyeing him.
“A joke.” He folded the parchment, stuffed it into his inner waistcoat pocket, and forced out a laugh, hoping it sounded genuine. “Probably Caldwell.” He laughed again, knowing he wasn’t entirely misleading them.
Caroline suspiciously eyed him again but eventually returned to her pacing. The rest of the girls must have found him convincing enough, as well, for they all returned to their frantic hunt.
How the hell was he going to keep this all a secret? He was supposed to be setting a good example for his sisters. Not to mention his mother.
Rules. He needed to establish some rules with Charlotte. It was the only way it was going to work. That is, if she would even follow them.
He lowered himself down again onto the carpet, watching his sisters as they continued to tear into invitation after invitation. He really didn’t know if being admitted into the school was a blessing or a curse.
“Are we having a picnic?” their mother cheerfully chimed from the doorway. “And why in heavens wasn’t I invited?”
Alexander glanced up and waved his mother into the study. “We’re going through Caroline’s latest set of invitations.”
“How splendid! Are there any good ones?” Lady Hawksford swept into the room, dressed in a stiff, cornflower-hued riding habit.
Her golden brown hair, which showed vast gray, was neatly tucked up into a top hat that had been fashionably wrapped with a long, white silk veil that trailed behind her. Her full skirts rustled as she moved toward them, her riding boots clicking rhythmically against the wood floor. Though a widow of one and fifty, as of late she was beginning to dress and act like a woman of twenty.
Lord of Pleasure Page 10