What she hadn't inherited from Lady Grace was the cruel streak and total self-interest that had given the family a dread of the older woman. Lady Alana, though a bit tenacious, was wont to care for others. She did, however, dislike having anyone know of her sentimental side—lest she be called upon to demonstrate such at inconvenient times.
Though Allie—prone to romanticisms—thought her aunt secretly mourned the loss of the married state and had longed for children of her own, one would never know it by the lady's behavior. A close-mouthed, private woman, Lady Alana would by no means reveal her innermost feelings to the world, but Allie was a great studier of persons and fancied she'd a talent for reading people's inner thoughts.
To Allie, an admission of decrying her unmarried state would be appalling at the very least, and so she thought her aunt must feel the same.
* * * * *
Across the room, Rothburn and Sir Gordon stood together sipping their brandy. As Rothburn's eyes roamed the area they eventually fell upon the graceful figure of Lady Alana and there they stayed. "Your aunt is certainly an attractive woman—wonder she hasn't been snatched up by some besotted peer before now. Why haven't I met her before last night? Been to your country home twice this last year. Never saw her once."
Rothburn's gaze, having darted to Sir Gordon's face, returned to the lady in question, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown as he puzzled over her unmarried state. "Does she have a deformity, perhaps, that is not readily apparent?"
"Not that I am aware of." Sir Gordon gave a short laugh, "But, if you were to spend a few moments in her company you might find out that her flaw is not a physical one—"
His voice trailed off as Rothburn gave him an irritated—almost angry look. He continued on a more serious note, puzzled by his friend's reaction, "Lady Alana has spent a deal of time traveling these last few years. Hates to be home, so much conflict with Grandmamma, you know."
"Hard to think of her as your aunt," Rothburn murmured, still gazing at the beauty. "She and her momma disagree, you say?"
"Those two women are worlds apart and yet so similar. Uncanny it is. You wouldn't believe the quarrels they have. Alana is very strong-minded. Likes her own way, but then again so does Grandmamma.
"Gives Champlay a devil of a headache once Alana's been home a few days—all the snipping at one another the pair indulge in. Pity the man who marries her! Of course, some men prefer a woman who—ah, knows her own mind. Alana is rather independent. Quite set in her ways—"
"She's a bluestocking?" Rothburn's question was fraught with disbelief. How could such a lovely, feminine creature be such a thing? It was not to be borne. He shuddered to think he had actually sought her company at the ball last night, only to have her elude him. While it was true that he had approached Miss Allie for one dance, the second time he had approached, he'd meant to dance with Lady Alana. She had neatly sidestepped his advance and maneuvered him into a second dance with her niece, however, and he had been quite put out.
He was somewhat relieved at Sir Gordon's next words.
"Not exactly a bluestocking, Old Fellow. Though she is an intellectual and her interests are sought accordingly. She's quite quick-minded actually. But as I said, very independent. Has money from her grandmother, the dowager Countess of Champlay. Could probably buy or sell either of us."
"You exaggerate! Why, you alone are one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom. She might buy me, but never you." Rothburn reckoned that it would take a vast fortune to outgun the wealth of the Pendleton family.
It was a wonder they hadn't been offered a peerage before now. He knew they had done more for the economy of Britain than most merchant families over the last two centuries. They had never been close to the throne, however, and Rothburn knew that advancement into the peerage was more a matter of politics than merit.
Returning to the topic at hand, he queried his friend about the lady once more. "If she's so well setup, it's a wonder she's still single. What of her parents? Why have they not arranged a marriage for her?"
"My grandmother has tried, but Alana puts them off. There has been a devil of a row in our family because of it, actually. Between her and grandmother, that is. They hardly speak to one another. Grandmamma does not like to be thwarted, and Alana is just like her. Between them they have managed to keep us all upset these last five years.
"My father was enlisted to get her married off a few years ago. Naturally, his plans failed and now Grandmamma hardly speaks to him either. Glad to see her married, would eliminate our suffering immensely! Are you interested in bearding the lioness in her den, perhaps?"
"Never say so! I've been dodging the matrimonial plotting of my own mother for so long, you should know I'm not up to it."
He looked at Sir Gordon with an innocent air. "Not interested—just curious. She is quite lovely, you know. One has to be curious when such an eligible female remains on the shelf."
Rothburn was lying to himself, but he ignored it. Intrigued with the mysterious Lady Alana Fisk, already half in love with her, he continued to stare in her direction while Sir Gordon noted the fact with a wry grin.
"Well, should you change your mind, you may apply directly to Grandmamma. I'll not get involved in the plotting—as you put it—for all the tea in China!" He then leaned closer whispering, "Don't forget, Old Fellow, you are practically betrothed to another."
The comment earned him a dark look. "I need not be reminded of my mother's manipulations in regard to my future wedded state."
* * * * *
"Aunt Alana, do you notice that Lord Rothburn stares in this direction quite often?" Allie tried to gauge her relative's reaction to her question.
She looked disappointed, however, when Lady Alana only gazed at her blankly, features smooth and unaffected by the possibility of such attention. Alana was no fool, and knew her niece quite well.
Allie, whose heart appeared to be healing nicely from the blow of unrequited love, looked to have the germ of an idea blossoming in her youthful head. The wheels turning in the girl's brain could only mean one thing, as Allie kept glancing between Alana and Rothburn.
"He appears quite taken with you," Allie said brightly. "You would make such a lovely couple. Lord Rothburn is so distinguished and you are without doubt the most regal lady in the ton. You would be perfection together." Undeterred by Alana's lack of response, Allie smiled brightly. The girl was a natural match-maker.
"Who? Oh him. Well, perhaps, child, he is enamored of you. Danced with you twice last night. You should make yourself amiable to the earl. He would be a great match. You are untitled, but that could be overcome."
The words she spoke caused a small knot of pain in Alana's stomach. She had noticed him staring, but she'd done her best to ignore it. Too late for her, she surmised, to aspire to marriage. She was on the shelf and had been too much disappointed in the past to put herself in that position again. Still, he was a handsome devil, and though she would not consider him for herself, perhaps she could arrange a match between him and her niece.
Lady Alana did her best to ignore the feelings that had begun to surface for Lord Rothburn. He would be looking for a girl who was young enough to give him an heir and a spare. Something she felt she was much too old to do.
Still, she pondered, what of her mother's advanced age when she had produced the second set of her brood for the Earl of Champlay? Past thirty, she was. Well, it was a moot point, even if she was a great deal attracted to him. Lady Alana liked her independence, or so she told herself with some ferocity, and turned her mind away with resolve from such musings.
Allie studied Alana's face, and could not miss the varying range of emotions—an unusual display for Lady Alana whose privacy was paramount. Hearing the lady casually toss the Earl at her head, Allie gave an unladylike sniff of disdain. "He is not staring at me aunt, but at you."
She gave her aunt another sidelong glance. "Are you not in the least interested in being gazed at so longingly by one of the most eli
gible peers of the realm?"
"I am long past the age of romance." Alana, startled by the asperity of her words, softened her voice as she continued, "Men have found me attractive in the past, but they always withdraw when they know my true nature. I have long since grown weary of the game. I will not put myself in that position again."
"What position?" Allie queried in a most innocent, casual voice. Her curiosity working overtime as was normal for her, prevented her not asking the question.
"Rejection." Alana's tone was clipped and gave every indication that the subject was closed. She shifted the topic of conversation to something more suitable for a young lady. "If you do not find Lord Rothburn an enticing catch, perhaps we should attend Lady Beasely's intellectual soirée on the morrow. There you might find a poet or an artist."
Lady Alana grinned to show that she was teasing, then added for good measure, "One who is accepted by the ton, of course."
Allie's response was cut short by the butler announcing dinner was served. The assemblage repaired to the large dining room and dinner proved quiet. Rothburn's gaze did not stray to Lady Alana as often, nor did she at allow her gaze to stray in his direction, though it was difficult.
It disturbed her that she found Lord Rothburn attractive. If he had an interest in her, she thought, it would be for an illicit assignation, not matrimony. His reputation for dalliance was known far and wide. Lady Alana did not want to think further upon his penchant for wealthy, titled ladies.
Her independent nature rebelled at the idea of becoming a slave to any man's baser desires. Even were they discreet, any liaison between the pair would eventually become known—such was the grapevine among the nobility. Nothing went unnoticed forever; nothing was sacred.
She'd been the object of gossip before; she would never deliberately place herself in that position again.
Despite her best resolve, awareness of him—the very sound of his voice down the table—gave rise to some unusual feelings in various parts of her anatomy. His deep baritone resounded through her and when he laughed—which was often—he stirred her in ways no man had ever done.
Lady Alana fell under his spell, no matter her intentions not to do so. Foolishness, she told herself sternly, simply foolishness. No matter the attraction, he was not for her.
However, each time she heard his voice, Lady Alana caught herself straining to hear the anecdote with which he entertained his dinner partner. Her ears were tuned to his speech and her heart beat the faster at the sound.
So diverted was her attention, she ignored her dinner partner and Sir Gordon admonished her lightly for her lapse.
Chapter Three
~~
Lady Alana stood next to her nephew, foot tapping subtly beneath her gown in time with the lively reel. She plied her fan, a beautifully hand-painted object from the Orient, waving it back and forth in a languid motion. Her gaze followed Rothburn as he moved around the floor with Lady Eleanor. It did not seem to Lady Alana that the pair had much to say, nor were they entirely engrossed with one another, a hopeful sign.
Hopeful? Whatever was she thinking? Lady Alana admonished herself for such foolishness. She had no interest in the relationship between this man and the woman he was purported to eventually wed. Why should she care if the couple looked indifferent to one another?
This train of thought did not preclude the self-deluded lady from scheming to get a dance with the Earl. Perverse behavior for one who had schemed not to dance with him just two nights before.
"Striking pair, eh?" Sir Gordon, who also watched the couple, gazed at Lady Eleanor, unaware of the longing that lurked in his stare. Nearly sick with his pain, Sir Gordon turned away at last from the sight of the woman he loved in the arms of his best friend.
"They will most likely be wed and have an heir for Rothburn this time next year." His voice was rough with an unnamed emotion as he continued, trying for light banter, but failing completely. "Wonder if we shall be invited to stand as god parents?"
"Oh, I don't know. Rothburn does not look eager. Nor does Lady Eleanor." Alana glanced sideways at her nephew and was not fooled by his attempt at casualness. She sensed his frustration. "Why don't you ask Eleanor for a dance? Surely, if you presented an obstacle in the form of your own suit, she might just give you consideration."
"Suit? My dearest Alana, surely you are aware that it would be most inappropriate for a man of my station to pursue such as she." Dropping all pretense of indifference in the face of Alana's obvious awareness regards his feelings, Sir Gordon could not help the expectant note in his voice.
"Are you saying that my mother's marriage to your grandfather was unsuitable?" Lady Alana's voice held a hint of slyness and her straight-forward gaze disconcerted Sir Gordon.
He blanched at her words, his eyebrows rising nearly to his hair line, and parried her comment neatly. "And are you insinuating that I might undermine the marriage plans of my best friend?"
"Never say so. I was only implying that you are surely as suitable as your grandfather—in fact, more so. You have greater wealth than he had when he wed Lady Grace." She looked keenly at Sir Gordon's eyes. Eyes that spoke volumes of hope and at the same time, deep despair.
"Besides," she added for good measure," as I said, neither your friend nor his dance partner appear particularly enthralled with one another. This is an arrangement of his mother's, as everyone is aware. Why don't you talk to Rothburn? He might just be willing to step aside if you tell him how you feel."
She then added the final argument, doing so with a relish that spoke volumes regarding her own sentiments, "Nothing official has been set in their arrangement as yet. Until Rothburn actually asks and she accepts, the field is open, I should think."
"Yes, well, perhaps you are right. Goodness knows I've been trying to hide my feelings for some time, but if you can see through me, perhaps others can. Wouldn't do to become a laughingstock. Surprised Rothburn hasn't seen it. What do you think I should do?"
Sir Gordon looked with expectancy to his aunt, knowing her alliance and compliance would be forthcoming.
"Start by asking the lady to dance. Make yourself charming. Do the pretty, as any smitten man should do." There was a hint of amusement in Lady Alana's voice, yet she gazed wistfully at the dancers whirling about the room.
"Should I not have a word first with Rothburn?" He spoke with little conviction, his voice smooth, his eyes upon the dancers, speculation suddenly in his gaze.
"I think not. You must first determine if she has an interest. Wouldn't do for you to cause a scene if there were no purpose in it." Her logic was not misplaced but Gordon suspected her motive. He watched the play of emotions cross her features, remembering her behavior at dinner.
"And just why should you evince such interest in my love life, Dearest Aunt? I'm not ungrateful for your concern," he added, watching her features go carefully blank—a habit of long-standing when the lady wanted to appear disinterested.
It fooled most, but he knew her too well to be misled by the attempt.
"I wish only the best for you, dearest Gordon." She smiled shyly, and her defenses fell before his frank look. "Truth be known, I would not find it amiss should their marriage never take place."
"I see. Are you then, perhaps besotted of my friend, Rothburn? How interesting. Always thought you had no interest in marriage."
Sir Gordon was indeed surprised. It had been his understanding that Alana was just too independent to marry, evidenced by her refusal of all suitors. As he awaited her answer, he noticed a slight exasperation in the look she leveled on him.
"I am not interested in anything to do with Lord Rothburn. Do not be foolish enough to think that just because I wish to aid you in seeking the bride of your choice, I have an ulterior motive."
There was no conviction in her words and though Alana could not bring herself to openly admit her smitten state, she was sure her nephew perceived it. She could no longer conceal her desire for Rothburn, at least from the astute Si
r Gordon.
Though she did try to remedy his judicious impression. "I really don't know why I said that. I really do not care whom he marries."
* * * * *
The potted palm stirred as Allie maneuvered behind Gordon and Alana, eavesdropping. What she'd heard—so deliciously eventful and fraught with tragic romance—stirred Allie's youthful senses.
She did so love a good plot. Her penchant for romance novels had never given her this much pleasure. Satisfied her first notion had been correct—regarding her Aunt Alana's feelings for Rothburn, at least—she vowed to aid her brother and her aunt as much as possible.
The girl continued to lean into the foliage, awaiting further developments. She did not have to wait long, for her brother was soon threading his way through the crowd and tapping Rothburn on the shoulder. She watched as Rothburn bowed and stepped back.
Her heart raced with her romantic imaginings as Rothburn then made a direct advance to where Lady Alana stood fanning herself.
Withdrawing slightly—lest she be discovered—Allie continued to spy. Gathering information—as she preferred to call it.
* * * * *
"Lady Alana. How nice to see you again. Where is your charge? I do not see her dancing." The Sixth Earl of Rothburn could think of nothing else to open the conversation. His inclination to sweep the lady before him into the night, where he could have her alone muddled his thoughts. Quelling his lust with difficulty, he smiled in an innocent way.
"She is about somewhere. Should I seek her out? Perhaps you wish to dance with her?" Alana, not a little annoyed that he should ask after Allie, tried to quell the petulance in her voice and only just managed to keep her face a level mask of indifference.
She was astounded at the dip of disappointment his words had brought to her heart but her spirit soared at his next speech, and with such speed that she was nearly dizzy.
A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) Page 2