“The colors are a little too strong for you,” Alexia said.
“But I adore the trocadero, and it looks rich with the blue.” She pouted.
“Miss Welbourne’s advice is not without merit, madam. You are so fair, and those particular hues draw attention from your own beauty.” Mrs. Bramble glanced to Alexia for approval.
Alexia nodded subtly. The milliner and she had formed a truce.
Since arriving at this shop, Alexia had succeeded in discouraging Lady Wallingford from purchasing three very expensive hats. Without saying a word on the matter, she had let Mrs. Bramble know that if she wanted to write any bills of sale, she had better cooperate.
Mrs. Bramble brought over a basket of ribbon. Alexia plucked out a pure, intense yellow. She draped it in front of Henrietta’s face and the green of Hen’s eyes instantly darkened. She swathed the yellow over the flaming trocadero and pinned it expertly in place, so Hen could judge the effect for herself in the looking glass.
While Henrietta peered at her own reflection, Mrs. Bramble peered at Alexia. “You have an eye for it, I will not deny that,” she said quietly. “Your own bonnet is very handsome and superbly crafted. May I ask where you bought it?”
“From a small shop in the City. Most of the wares are very ordinary, but there is one woman there whose artistry surpasses the others.”
“Should you ever hear that this woman seeks another situation, I hope that you will send her to me.”
Henrietta decreed that the yellow, while not nearly as dramatic as the trocadero, would be the better choice. She gave Mrs. Bramble an order for the hat and several caps for herself and Caroline. Alexia accompanied her out to the carriage, hoping Lord Hayden would appreciate that this visit had been a mere fraction as expensive as his aunt had intended.
The footman handed Henrietta into the carriage, but Alexia declined his help. “I should have ordered a cornette for myself,” she said. “May I go back, madam? I will not be long.”
“You may tend to it. Since Hayden will be bringing Caroline to meet us, Madame Tissot can begin taking measurements if they arrive there first.”
The impending presence of Lord Hayden was one reason Alexia wanted to return to the shop. There was no generous way to view those kisses in the library. He had been a scoundrel and she had been wanton. It was as simple as that.
If she could believe that such a lapse would never happen again, she might try to pretend it had never occurred. Unfortunately, nothing was settled that neatly. He had visited twice in the last few days, and his awareness of what she had permitted affected the air between them. He did not say anything about it, however. He certainly had not apologized.
His expressions and gazes might not reveal the shocking truth, but his mere presence made the atmosphere turn so thick that breathing normally became a chore. Worse, a foolish excitement would pulse silently in her head and blood no matter how much she tried to scold it into disappearing.
“Did Lady Wallingford forget something?” Mrs. Bramble asked when Alexia reentered the shop. The milliner glanced around for a neglected shawl or reticule.
“I wanted to speak with you about the woman who made my bonnet. I have cause to believe that she fashions hats on her own, aside from the work she does for her employer. Her best designs are available privately because the owner of the shop has taste that is too inferior to appreciate them.”
“It is all too common,” Mrs. Bramble said. “I would not want my own people to do this, of course. However, if the shop owner does not want the hats…well, that is different.”
“I expect that your shop would do much better for her than any in the City and far better than she could do on her own.”
Mrs. Bramble’s lids lowered while she considered the overture. “Would this woman bring these hats to me personally?”
“I would be happy to do so for her.”
“If I use the hat you bring as a model, would she complete orders in a timely way? Execute the alterations requested?”
“I am very sure she would.”
Mrs. Bramble’s eyes turned shrewd. “You appear to know her well.”
“We have had some conversation, and I know her to be honest and diligent.”
“Then I encourage you to tell her to send me one or two, if they are the quality of the one you now wear.”
Alexia hurried out to join Henrietta. Mrs. Bramble suspected there was no woman in the City. It had been kind of her to allow the deception for the sake of pride.
She had returned to the shop on an impulse, but it was also a decision born of years of debate about her future. Her first plan for her new employment had not developed quite as she had intended. If she remained Caroline’s governess, she would be vulnerable to Hayden Rothwell’s inexplicable, dishonorable attentions.
She could not lie to herself about that attention either. Those kisses had not been at all like Ben’s. She could not pretend that love had inspired them. They had shared a raw passion that did not even need the slightest affection. The excitement he offered contained too much dominance, too much danger, and no romance.
Now, however, she might have found a way to be a milliner without ever working in a shop. That was far preferable to being a servant, no matter what name the position was given. It was also much better than becoming a soiled dove, no matter how pleasurable the seduction that led to it.
She would make those hats and see what she received from Mrs. Bramble for them. It might be enough to allow her to begin forging an independent life where she would never be vulnerable to Rothwell’s dangerous addresses.
Hayden cursed himself. He would curse Alexia Welbourne too, but that would not be fair.
It wasn’t really her fault that he was in this feminine cave, being shown colored plates and listening to Henrietta’s incessant critiques. God help him, he had offered to bring Caroline here to meet her mother and governess.
He had waited until the ladies arrived, even though he could have left his cousin in Madame Tissot’s capable hands. Now he was being punished for the sly desire that kept him attending on Hen too much in order to see Miss Welbourne.
The woman he pursued tried to act as if he were not in the room. The seducer in him noted every little flush and stammer, however. And the gentleman—well, he continued weighing honor against desire, and agreed to boring afternoons like this so he could enjoy the latter while pretending to practice the former.
He welcomed the insidious stimulation of the silent battles taking place in his head and in this chamber. For one thing, it obscured his relentless questions regarding Benjamin Longworth.
They occupied his mind, demanding attention. He wanted to know why Ben had stolen all that money and whether those crimes were connected to his death.
Alexia Welbourne might know the answer to some of his questions. When he was with her he managed to forget all about them, however. He told himself he sought her company so he could pry a few facts out of her, only to neglect even trying. None of that was good news for the honorable side of his internal argument.
“What do you think, Hayden?” Aunt Henrietta held up two plates of potential presentation gowns. “Which should we choose?”
“I am too ignorant to give advice. What does Miss Welbourne say?”
Alexia had retreated to a chair as far from him as possible. Henrietta called her over. Expression passive, posture dignified, she joined them. Her gaze did not light on him for even an instant. She possessed an uncanny ability to ignore him without appearing rudely deliberate in the cut.
The seducer did not mind that at all. She might avert her gaze, but her awareness could not be hidden. A velvet rope of sensuality bound them together now. He could not resist exerting little tugs through mere force of will.
She examined the two plates, then critically assessed young Caroline. She glanced at the hovering modiste. “Madame, we need a few minutes of privacy to make our choice.”
Madame Tissot did not care for having her influence excl
uded, but she retreated.
Alexia held up one plate, angled so he could see it too. “This would be the most becoming gown. However, it will be the more expensive one. Its impression of restraint must not fool us. The embellishments include hundreds of pearls and yards of venetian lace. It will cost a good deal more than this other one and leave too little for the rest of the wardrobe.”
It was an admirably practical speech, well-reasoned and compelling. Before the last words were spoken, he could see Caroline regretfully accept that the other gown would have to do.
Alexia did not look in his direction, but she kept the plate in his view.
“Aunt Hen, perhaps Caroline should choose some of her ball gowns before a decision is made on this one,” he said.
Aunt Hen thought that a splendid idea. She and her daughter embarked on the long process of scrutinizing plates again.
He took the opportunity to address Miss Welbourne privately, something that had been denied since he kissed her.
“You favor that one, don’t you?” He gestured to the plate still held by her fingers. Long, elegant fingers, perfectly tapered. He saw the gown with its thick border of pearl-studded rosettes on a woman. Not pale little Caroline but another woman, mature and confident, with chestnut hair and violet eyes.
“It is far more distinctive. It is a design that everyone will notice. It is too expensive for your aunt, however.”
“You want Caroline to have this gown, don’t you?”
“She will feel very special, very beautiful. Like a princess. It will affect how she bears herself. How she smiles and laughs.” She glanced to where Caroline pored over pictures with her mother, then back to the plate. Not at him, however. Never at him now. “She is much cowed by your aunt. She is also very aware of their limited income. Unlike her mother, she has become quite practical as a result. Sometimes, however…”
“Sometimes one can be too practical?”
“She is very young. It is a virtue better worn in maturity.”
He looked at the plate showing a gown that would make a girl feel like a princess. The woman holding it had never experienced that, but she evidently understood girlish dreams and insecurities very well. She took pride in her own good sense but did not want young Caroline to be imprisoned too soon by the same pragmatic considerations.
It mattered to her that Caroline have the gown. Enough that she had allowed this conversation when she would rather pretend he did not exist.
“My cousin will wear the gown you prefer, Miss Welbourne. I will tell Aunt Hen that it is a gift from Easterbrook, so she does not attribute it to intentions that I do not have.”
He went to Hen and explained Easterbrook’s generosity. Caroline’s face lit with delight. She jumped up and ran to snatch the plate from Alexia’s fingers. She giggled and danced around Alexia’s chair and peppered Alexia with requests for advice on colors. Alexia laughed and joined in the celebration.
While he watched their excitement, he explained a few other things to Henrietta.
Hen called for her daughter’s attention. “We should choose at least one of the ball gowns today, before other girls make claims on the best designs. You will have to come over here and attend to that. You too, Miss Welbourne.”
“I daresay you do not need my advice on them,” Alexia said.
“I do not require your advice but your own choice. As my companion you will attend some parties and diversions and need the appropriate wardrobe.”
Alexia’s expression fell with astonishment. “I cannot afford such things, nor will you require my attendance.”
“I believe it is my decision what I require. Hayden’s brother agrees that you will be needed and that you must be well turned out. Easterbrook has offered to provide the wardrobe.” Hen turned her best adoring expression on Hayden. “You must tell him we are all grateful. I will express my thanks when I next see him, but he is so elusive that—”
“I will convey your appreciation.”
“Please do not convey mine,” Alexia said. “I look forward to doing so myself. I will express my thanks in my own way to the man responsible for this unexpected generosity.”
She glared at him, the first direct look in days. Her eyes spoke the furious words she dare not say in front of Henrietta and Caroline.
She suspected the wardrobe would come from him and not Easterbrook. She did not like that he had found a way to bestow expensive gifts without her agreeing to accept the arrangement.
The gentleman was losing the debate on what to do about Alexia Welbourne.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Hayden passed over the documents for signing. Suttonly scribbled his name.
“You should read them,” Hayden said.
“Does your brother read them?” Suttonly spoke in his typical bored tone. He handed the pages back to Hayden and lounged back in his chair.
“Easterbrook reads every one.”
“My solicitor will see to it when the final papers are prepared. You have never steered me wrong thus far. My worth has doubled since I began riding your coattails.”
“A less honorable man could have relieved you of more than you have gained these last years.”
“If we faced each other in a gaming hell, I would have long ago left the table, Rothwell. In these chambers, however, you have proven less bloodthirsty.”
Suttonly alluded to a past that, as Hayden’s old friend, he knew too well. When he first stepped into manhood, Hayden’s success at the gaming tables had been notorious. The thrill of victory drove him like a madness. It had all been part of his attempts to be a different man than breeding dictated.
He kept risking ruin at the tables, and instead became rich. It took a long time to realize that he played with an unfair advantage. Where other men saw random cards, he saw patterns. Even games of chance were governed by systems of likelihoods dependent upon recent cards played.
Then he discovered the work of Bayes and Lagrange and others. He read LaPlace’s book on probabilities. The study of those likelihoods was becoming a science, one that fascinated him.
However, realizing the truth had taken the fun out of the games. He restricted himself to a fairer sort of gambling now. He still saw patterns, he still calculated the odds with instincts most did not possess, but the unknown variables leveled the field somewhat. Even better, there could be victories sometimes in which no one lost.
Suttonly rose and strolled around the City chambers where Hayden conducted his business affairs. It was part of a suite that contained both an office and a bedroom. He rarely used the latter but on occasion stayed late enough that it proved convenient.
“Still at it, I see.” Suttonly poked at some die on a little table and scrutinized the ledger beside them. “Any luck?”
“I am making progress.” The table contained the makings of an ongoing experiment. Laws governed the likelihoods behind what others considered chance and luck. Scientists thought the world worked like a well-designed clock, but he thought it might actually be ruled by fairly simple mathematical equations.
Suttonly kept moving, poking his nose into private things the way old friends tend to do. He focused his attention on a thick stack of pages lying atop a standing desk. “What is this?”
“A new mathematical proof recently presented at the Royal Society. I am seeing if it holds.”
“You must be careful, Rothwell. Such interests have not made you boring yet, but ten years hence, if you are not vigilant, no one will want to know you except the dullards who frequent Somerset House.”
“I restrict my play with abstract numbers to several hours a day,” Hayden said. “As it happens, they are the hours passing now.”
“I will leave you to it, then. By the way, that business with Longworth—I trust it was not a latent taste for blood on your part that caused his ruin. The rumors that you were behind it are still flying.”
“I have not been at the tables in years.”
“What an interesting re
sponse. It is ambiguous enough to raise my eyebrows, if I were the sort to care. Longworth is best gone, I say. Ben could be fun if one overlooked his exhausting enthusiasm, but Timothy proved too tediously grasping.”
When Suttonly had gone, Hayden tucked the documents into a drawer. He then approached the standing desk.
Within minutes his mind traveled paths of formulas, winding through the awesome, wordless poetry symbolized by his notations. As a student he had considered mathematics a vaguely interesting chore at which he unaccountably excelled. Finally one master had introduced him to the profound beauty hidden in the more sophisticated calculations.
It was an abstract beauty, one present in nature but not physically visible. It had nothing to do with the world in which most people lived. There were no emotions or hungers or weaknesses in these numbers. No pain or guilt, no passions or impulses. This beauty was pure rationality, the most fundamental kind, and his visits to its power could be escapes, he knew. On those occasions when his soul was in turmoil for the most human of reasons, he always found peace here.
“Sir.”
The voice jolted him back into the world. His clerk stood by his side. The man had instructions to interrupt at a specific hour so that the entire day did not get lost in these abstractions. Hayden could not say how long he had been at it, but he knew this day’s intrusion had arrived too soon.
“A messenger came,” his clerk explained. “He brought this and the instruction that you had said to see you received it at once. If I should have waited—”
“No, you acted correctly.” He slid the seal while the clerk returned to the anteroom. He read the one sentence, written by an accommodating footman in Henrietta’s household.
Miss Welbourne had a free day today and had gone to the shops on Albemarle Street.
If Phaedra Blair did not possess both style and beauty, the world would consider her merely strange. Since nature had blessed her with both qualities, society thought her almost interesting.
The Rules of Seduction Page 9