by Mary Balogh
“Some people do not,” her mother said. “That does not mean that they are not perfectly civil people.”
“He does not like me,” Madeline said decisively. “He thinks me silly and frivolous and empty-headed. And the horrid thing is that I become all three when I am close to him. I don’t like him. He rode past the phaeton this afternoon, and I smiled my best smile and waved to him. I thought his neck must be broken, such an effort it cost him to incline his head ever so slightly. And not a smile or a word.”
“He will probably avoid the lot of us,” Lord Eden said. “I don’t imagine I am his favorite person at the moment either, Mad. And he probably resents even Edmund for forcing his sister into this marriage. He probably had his heart set on being brother-in-law to a duke. A mere earl must seem quite a come-down.”
“You are being spiteful, Dominic,” the countess said, handing a cup of tea to Madeline to take to her brother. “It is unfair to judge another on a very slight acquaintance or no acquaintance at all. I expect better of my children.”
“I beg your pardon, Mama,” Lord Eden said, pulling a face at Madeline as she bent to set the cup and saucer down on the small table at his elbow.
ALEXANDRA WAS NOT TO ESCAPE lightly after the Earl of Amberley had left her. She had promised that she would call on her mama to tell how the interview had gone. But she had hoped to escape to her room soon afterward to ponder the new direction her life had taken. However, when she left the salon, she found the butler bowing before her and informing her that she was to wait on Lady Beckworth in the drawing room. Her heart sank. Mama must have visitors.
She could not have been less pleased to see who the visitors were. Aunt Deirdre, Caroline, and Albert were all in attendance. They had not been near since the scandal of the ball. She had seen Albert, of course, the evening before, when he had snubbed her. Alexandra’s eyes met her brother’s across the room.
“Alexandra, my dear girl,” her aunt said, rising from her seat on a sofa and coming toward her with outstretched hands. “What very splendid news, to be sure. I was dreadfully distressed to hear of your ill fortune, as Caroline will tell you. I was so miserable with the migraines that I could not even come out to comfort you. I was never more pleased than when I heard this morning from Albert that you were to be betrothed to the Earl of Amberley. Such a very eligible gentleman, to be sure. I had to hurry over here to satisfy myself that it was indeed true. Imagine my feelings, my dear, to find that you were even then closeted with the earl. Is it true? Have you accepted his offer?”
“Yes, I have, Aunt,” Alexandra said calmly. “I thank you for your good wishes.”
Caroline shrieked and jumped to her feet. “I knew you would be respectable again, Cousin,” she said. “Did I not say so, Mama? I was never more happy in my life.”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said, removing her hands from her aunt’s and taking a seat close to her mother’s.
“Of course,” Mrs. Harding-Smythe said, “being a countess when you had expected to be a duchess is a little lowering, but you must not look at the matter that way, Alexandra. You must remember that under the circumstances you are fortunate to have found a husband at all.”
Alexandra favored her aunt with a steady look that soon had the older lady busy smoothing the silk of her dress over her knees.
“It is a great relief to know that you have accepted the earl,” Lady Beckworth said, leaning forward and patting her daughter on the arm. “You have done what is right, Alexandra, and doing what is right is its own reward. Papa will be pleased.”
Alexandra looked across the room to where her brother was standing, one elbow propped on the high marble mantelpiece, one booted leg crossed over the other. He was looking broodingly back at her. She half-smiled, feeling her customary urge to push back the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead.
“You are indeed fortunate, Cousin,” Albert said. “It pained me to see you go into company last evening when you did not realize that it was not quite proper to do so. I am afraid I was absolutely powerless to help you. Had you waited for Amberley to bring you in, of course, everything would have been different. Everyone would have divined the truth and welcomed you. However, one can hardly blame you. You have not been in town long enough to understand such niceties of polite behavior.”
“You are quite right, Albert,” Purnell said quietly, causing his cousin, whom he usually ignored, to turn toward him in some surprise. “We are bumpkins indeed. We should apply to you more often for advice. In our backward part of the country, ‘polite’ means treating other people with courtesy and consideration for their feelings. I for one had no idea that Londoners speak a different language.”
“I am sure everyone present in Lady Sharp’s drawing room appreciated your predicament, James,” Albert said, “and honored you for the way you stood by Alexandra. You will find, I believe, that no one will hold your loyalty against you.”
Purnell inclined his head. “I will be forever grateful to the members of polite society,” he said.
Albert seemed to suspect that he was being mocked. He turned back to the ladies. “You will be happy to know that you will be received by the ton again, Alexandra,” he said. “That will perhaps make up somewhat for the unfortunate marriage you are forced to contract.”
“Unfortunate?” said Lady Beckworth as her daughter’s chin came up.
“They have the rank and the wealth, of course,” Albert said, “if that is all that concerns you, Aunt. But I know that Uncle puts great emphasis on moral and religious virtue, and I must say I honor him for doing so. He could not have been pleased at having to accept the offer of such a man as Amberley.”
“I do not know that any of the Raines are very bad, Albert, dear,” his mother said, frowning, “except that Lady Madeline likes to flirt quite outrageously at a time when she should be thinking of donning a spinster’s cap. She has not been able to trap a husband in four years for all her wealth and loose ways.”
“I heard that she was going to elope with Fairhaven,” Albert said. “It was to stop her from doing so that Eden tried to have her confined and taken home. Unfortunately, he took Alexandra instead. But Eden is even more wild than his sister. He is always fighting and provoking quarrels, I have heard. And no lady is safe with him, apparently. He thinks himself irresistible to the fair sex.”
“It comes of the unfortunate fact that the old earl died ten years ago,” Mrs. Harding-Smythe said. “The present earl was very young to take over all the responsibilities of his new position and the upbringing of two such ebullient children. The countess, poor lady, is placid and overindulgent. She has not been able to control them at all. The earl, unfortunately, takes after her. His is not a firm character. Not at all like Beckworth’s.”
“I will be marrying Lord Amberley, not his brother and sister or his mother,” Alexandra said quietly. “I am sure that Papa would not have approved his suit if he felt him to be an unsuitable match for me.”
“Oh, of course not, dear,” her aunt hastened to assure her. “It is just unfortunate that having had such a father, you will find it quite impossible to find a husband worthy of him. My brother is quite without equal.”
“My uncle probably does not know about Amberley’s mistress,” Albert said. “He has had her for a year or more, though I have never been able to see the attraction. Mrs. Borden looks and behaves altogether too much like a man for my tastes. However, perhaps it is that very fact that attracts Amberley. My uncle, of course, is too unworldly to have heard of such sordid matters. And under the circumstances, I suppose it does not signify a great deal. The important thing is that you are respectably betrothed, Alexandra. I am happy for you.”
“Now, there is another word,” James Purnell said, pushing himself to a standing position before the fireplace. “‘Happy.’ In the country it means joyous, contented, pleased. What does it mean in town, pray, Albert? No, don’t answer now. I would like to hear a full explanation. Shall we leave the ladies to
their tea while you show me your team? You are always assuring me that you have an eye for good cattle. I would like to learn from you.”
Albert found himself looking up into his cousin’s direct dark gaze and not particularly liking what he saw. He rose to his feet so that he was not at quite such a disadvantage, although he was still more than four inches the shorter of the two. He bowed when Purnell gestured toward the door, bowed again to the ladies, and accepted the invitation with as good a grace as he could muster.
“I am so gratified to see that dear James is willing to learn from Albert,” Mrs. Harding-Smythe said. “He will be able to benefit such a great deal, you know, and Albert will be only too pleased to share his experience. Now, Alexandra, my love, do tell us all about your interview with Lord Amberley.”
Caroline giggled. “Did he go down on his knees, Alexandra?” she asked, clasping her hands to her bosom. “Oh, I shall positively die if my future husband does not do so. I shall feel absolutely cheated.”
Alexandra folded her hands in her lap and looked up at her aunt. “His lordship said all that was proper,” she said. “And I accepted him.”
HOLD STILL, LOVEY. I HAVE ALMOST FINISHED.” Nanny Rey was coaxing strands of Alexandra’s dark hair into ringlets at the sides of her face.
“But I cannot wear it like that, Nanny,” Alexandra said, “pretty as you have made it look. It just does not seem right.”
“Such pretty wavy hair you have,” Nanny Rey said with a cluck of the tongue. “Much prettier than that of any of the other misses I have seen since we have been here. And they all have curls and ringlets and the Lord knows what. None of them have their hair all confined as you do.”
“I don’t know,” Alexandra said doubtfully, examining the results of Nanny’s artistry in the mirror. “Papa has always said that a girl’s hair should be down until she is sixteen and then up. He says that only vanity makes a lady want to show off her hair. I have never seen Mama’s brushed out more than two or three times in my life.”
Nanny Rey compressed her lips and viewed her charge’s mirrored image over the tops of her gold-rimmed spectacles. “Your Papa also brought you to town so that you might learn how to live as the upper classes live,” she said. “Ladies here try to look pretty, lovey. They don’t go out of their way to hide their beauty.”
“Oh, dear,” Alexandra said. “Is that what I am trying to do, Nanny? But I don’t have any great beauty to hide, do I?”
Nanny Rey sniffed. “Not much,” she said. “You could only be the most-sought-after young lady of the Season if you wanted to be, that’s all.”
“Oh, come now.” Alexandra laughed. “You must own that you are somewhat biased. Though I do love you for saying so. Have I done the right thing, Nanny? But what does it matter whether it is right or not when it is the only thing I can do? Oh, but it feels so strange to be betrothed to a stranger. My life feels as if it has been turned quite topsy-turvy.”
“I can’t say either way,” Mrs. Rey said, rummaging in a box in a drawer of the dressing table and coming out with a string of pearls. “I don’t know his lordship. Perhaps you have been saved from the frying pan only to be cast into the fire, but I can’t see that it makes any difference if that is so. You know how I felt about the duke.”
“Yes,” Alexandra said, bending her head forward so that the pearls could be clasped at the back of her neck. “And it seems that you were right all along. I was enraged by his snubbing me last evening. I suppose everyone else thinks he acted with perfect propriety, but I just cannot accept it. I don’t like town ways, Nanny.”
“There,” the older woman said, patting Alexandra on the shoulder. “Perhaps this earl will marry you and take you away from this house, lovey. And perhaps he will teach you something about real life. Perhaps my girl will be happy after all.”
Alexandra smiled and turned on the stool. “You are always telling me how unhappy I am, Nanny,” she said. “You are absurd. I have never felt particularly so. Only a little restless perhaps, and eager to begin my own adult life.”
She stood before the pier glass and surveyed herself from head to toe. She was wearing a new gown, a royal-blue silk, high-waisted, simple in design, perhaps a little lower at shoulders and bosom than she was accustomed to. The feathery ringlets at either side of her face touched her shoulders.
“Papa will not like it,” she said. “He will say I look like a coquette.”
“You look like a very pretty young lady about to meet her betrothed for dinner and the theater,” Nanny Rey said firmly from behind her.
“I think I do like this gown,” Alexandra said, “though I have been afraid to wear it until tonight. My hair feels strange. Well, Nanny, perhaps it is as well to begin a new life with a new look. I don’t know.”
“Are you ready to go down yet, lovey?” Mrs. Rey asked. “If not, I must leave you. I have a hundred and one things to do. I cannot stand around here all night long gossiping and admiring pretty young ladies.”
Alexandra smiled and turned around. “I am going to stay here for a while,” she said. “I do not need to go downstairs just yet. You go on, Nanny. Far be it from me to keep anyone from work.”
She was afraid to go down. She acknowledged the fact quite freely to herself when she was alone. She was afraid to step out into the unknown as she would be doing when she left her room and went downstairs to join her parents and the Earl of Amberley in the drawing room. Her life would be forever changed, and she was bewildered by the speed with which it had all happened.
She had been contented with her life. Oh, not happy. Nanny Rey was quite right about that. For years she had fretted against the restrictions of her home life. She had longed for the freedom she should have had when she left the schoolroom—the freedom to think and speak and do what she wished and what she thought right. The lifetime necessity of thinking twice about every impulse lest it offend some notion of propriety had become more and more irksome. The corrections—Lord Amberley had been quite correct to call them punishments—to which she was constantly subjected and which she could in no way fight had become an increasing humiliation.
Yet she had been content. With a life so restricted in its freedom and with her only real friend—her brother—from home so frequently, it was almost inevitable that she had developed a rich and intense inner life. Very little of her living was done outside herself, she often thought. Almost all was done inside.
She played the pianoforte, often for hours at a time, if she was not engaged in some other, imposed task and if she was not confined to her room as she so frequently was. If Mama came to the music room, she played music from the sheets kept in the stool. And indeed she loved all music. But if she were alone, she often closed her eyes, forgot her surroundings, and played from her heart. She should write down some of her compositions, James had told her more than once. But how can one write down the fleeting impulses of the moment? A butterfly is ruined if killed and spread out to be admired. A butterfly must be free. The music in her must be free.
She sketched and painted, sometimes outdoors, though she was rarely allowed to go far from the house, but more often indoors. She liked painting portraits, though there was a limit of subjects at home. And most of the people who sat for her—some of the servants, James, once Mama—were not happy with the finished paintings. She was not content to paint only what she saw with her eyes. She wanted to paint what she felt. She wanted to reveal the person as she knew him or her. And so colors and lines and textures were sometimes changed from the strictly realistic.
The last painting she had done of James—a year before—had shown him with his head thrown back, his hair windblown, his face lit by a warm smile. It was ridiculous, Mama had said. James never looked like that, and he was older than the very young man of the portrait. James himself had made no comment. He had merely squeezed her shoulder until it hurt and taken the portrait away. She did not know if he had kept it or destroyed it.
And she wrote endlessly—stories, r
eflections, poems. All the thoughts and feelings that might have been confided to a sympathetic mother or to a sister or friend were poured out on paper. It was mainly poetry that she wrote. The discipline of having to express herself through meter and rhyme helped her to formulate and organize her thoughts and sometimes to calm her feelings. She had never shown her writings to anyone. Only Nanny Rey and James even knew they existed.
And so she was not an actively unhappy person, she reflected, despite what Nanny and her brother believed. It was true that the older she got, the more irksome became the restraints on her freedom. And yet the certain knowledge she had always had that one day she would marry the Duke of Peterleigh had buoyed up her spirits. She had never known more of him than a brief and formal meeting every year or two could reveal, and had occasionally been chilled by his advanced age and distant hauteur. But she had always reminded herself that she would be a duchess and that she would spend most of her days in London.
During her month in London she had met the duke a little more frequently than ever before. But she had ignored any unease she had felt. The duke was not a warm or a charming man. He was not well-liked. Her flesh had secretly crept when she had thought that she must become this man’s property to be used as he would. But there were compensations to outweigh these misgivings. When she married, she would finally pass beyond her childhood. Surely the duke would not dictate her every action as Papa had done.
And now all was changed. Alexandra sat down at one end of her high bed and clasped the fluted bedpost. She was to marry the Earl of Amberley. She was to be the Countess of Amberley. She still could not quite grasp the reality of all that had happened to her in the past few days. She had been so totally out of control of her own destiny. She always had been, of course, but she had never realized it as she did now.
She had been rather proud of herself at first. Apart from the terror she had felt during that night at the earl’s town house and the dreadful embarrassment she had felt at being found by him in quite the state she had been in, she felt she had handled herself well. She had not given in to either hysteria or the vapors. And she was very satisfied with the firm, though polite, refusals she had made to both Lord Amberley’s and Lord Eden’s offers. For once she had had important decisions to make, and she had made them herself, according to her own wishes. She had felt her age for the first time in her life.