The older man nodded brusquely.
“Well, if you tire before the night is through, we’ll leave at once. Just say the word.”
Alex wanted Rotheby to visit with his friends. He did. But wouldn’t it be easier on his health for those friends to pay a visit to Roundstone Park? Surely they must see what he recognized about the earl’s health. Alex could not be the only one aware of Gil’s decline. Later, Alex would have to broach the subject with him—perhaps after they retired for the evening. Except that would mean discussing Gil’s health, which as to that point, the man had staunchly avoided any such discussion about.
They left in Gil’s carriage and traveled the short distance to Brightstone. Lanterns lined the walkways of the drive and carriages abounded as the various guests made their entrance.
The atmosphere was more relaxed than a typical ton ball. Good thing. Alex wasn’t prepared for that sort of display. These revelers greeted each other as old friends—shaking hands, slapping each other on the back, and the like. They wore what he assumed to be their best evening wear, yet the attire worn by most of the guests would not be in quite the first stare of fashion according to Town standards. It was all far more comfortable in his estimation, and less cliquish.
Sir Augustus Wellesley, an elderly and portly gentleman with as much hair growing from his chin as from the top of his head, greeted them with a jovial smile at the front of his home. While Brightstone was not as grand in scale as Roundstone Park, it was certainly spacious and comfortable, with ample food and drink, and, of course, excellent conversation.
Alex was charmed the moment he stepped within.
He and Gil made moved inside, with the earl hailing his neighbors as they passed. Peers mingled with country gentlemen, and even with a few members of the merchant class.
The idea that they could all spend an evening together would be shunned by many of his contemporaries, but why shouldn’t they all socialize together? They lived close by and did business together. There was no reason they should operate in entirely separate circles.
Alex enjoyed country life more and more the longer he stayed. Of course, he missed his family and a few friends in London as well, particularly Sir Jonas Buchannan, a jolly good fellow, and Derek Redgrave, the fiendishly handsome rascal. And, of course, Priscilla and little Harry. But he was content with the lifestyle of the country.
He had not told Gil, or anyone for that matter, but he had begun making enquiries about properties he could purchase nearby. None yet quite suited his needs, but he would not give up until he found the perfect estate to raise a family.
Because, rather frequently, he was entertaining thoughts about working the land. The life of a country gentleman held a good deal of appeal for him. Frankly, the idea had taken him by surprise, but it seemed to be the answer to all of his problems. He had come to Somerton to discover how he wanted to spend the rest of his life, and there it lay, right before him.
Alex would still be able to travel to Town when the desire struck, but he’d prefer to stay away from the hustle and bustle of the city, in general.
He wanted to find a wife, start a family, actually have a home of his own, and not continuously hang on his brother’s sleeve. He wanted to be useful, to serve a purpose. To find life meant more than just wasting time at the gaming hells and gentlemen’s clubs and balls, all the while watching hordes of money float away.
If he found some place to suit nearby, he could be close to Gil. Not to mention he would be close to Peter’s principle seat. The possibility remained that Peter would someday take a new duchess and retire to the country—however unlikely such a possibility seemed. He wanted to be near his family. How better to arrange it than by purchasing an estate near his brother’s?
On top of all that, if he settled in the country, he could bring Priscilla and Harry out here—away from the prying eyes in the city. They could be comfortable here. He could set them up with a small home, something that they could be comfortable. Somewhere that they could be close by. He hated not having them near.
He was startled from his thoughts when Lady Grace entered the ballroom with her aunt and uncle. There was no reason he should not have expected to see them at the evening’s soiree. The Kensingtons were some of the more prominent residents of Somerton. Yet he was thoroughly unnerved by the sight of the woman he was trying his damnedest to avoid.
She looked very pretty this evening in a primrose silk with golden netting and a modest neckline that gave a hint of the bosom hidden beneath. Her black coiffure, for once, fell in loose curls about her face, beckoning him to twine one about his finger, even from a distance.
Alex hardened at the sight. Fiend seize it. He needed to think of something else—anything else. He shifted to remove her from his line of vision.
Miss Wellesley, the eldest daughter of the baronet whom he had just met, slid into place where Lady Grace had been in his vision. “My lords, we’ll enjoy a game of charades in the drawing room, if you’d care to join us. And Papa has also mentioned there will be card games in the salon, if you would prefer that form of entertainment instead.” She smiled prettily at them both and executed a perfect curtsy.
“Cards!” Gil said with an eager grin. “I daresay Sir Augustus will try to beat me again at whist, though he will fail. Miss Wellesley, Alex, please excuse me.” The earl headed off toward the salon.
After watching him go, Alex turned back to Miss Wellesley. “Charades would be lovely. Please, lead the way.” He glanced over to where he last saw Lady Grace. She was gone, and he chided himself for being concerning himself with her activities. It didn’t matter one whit if she was to dance, or play charades, or gamble her entire life away on a hand of cards. He must stop thinking about her. She had made it quite clear by the river she wanted nothing to do with him. Forgetting her was his only option, however difficult the task.
Alex forced his thoughts instead to the young lady leading him to the drawing room. Miss Wellesley was the daughter of a country gentleman. Perfectly acceptable lineage. The girl had a perfect English Rose complexion, complete with the fair hair that was all the crack in Town. And unlike Lady Grace, Miss Wellesley was nearly as tall as he was, with the top of her head falling just above his eye line.
Maybe he ought to pay more attention to her tonight. If there was dancing later, he’d ask for her hand in a set. After all, what better distraction was there than another pretty young lady?
Miss Wellesley led him into the drawing room. A quick glance around had his heart thudding to a stop in his chest. Lady Grace had already joined the party. She locked eyes with his for the briefest moment and then looked away.
“Why don’t we split the room in half?” their hostess suggested. “Mr. Maxwell, you’ll join the group closest to the fire there to make the teams even.” Mumbling and movement took control of the room for a few moments while everyone resituated themselves.
Lady Grace was assigned to the team with Mr. Maxwell, a large, rather boorish looking man with a long nose that took over most of his face. Alex found it difficult to keep his eyes anywhere but on the two of them.
Miss Wellesley started the game off. She pulled a slip of paper from Mr. Someone-or-Other’s hat and stood before the group. When she held up three fingers, shouts of “Three words!” filled his side of the drawing room. Blasted games.
A movement near Lady Grace caught his eye. Maxwell inched closer to her until his arm almost touched the edge of Lady Grace’s gown. Bloody bastard. Alex quelled the growl forming low in his throat. It wouldn’t do to lose all sense of decorum in front of an entire houseful of people.
Miss Wellesley rubbed one hand against her mid-section with the other hand cupped against her ear. Another chorus of shouts rose up about him. “Sounds like stomach!”
“Stomach? A poet with a name that sounds like stomach?”
“Belly, you fools. Sounds like belly.” No one heard Alex’s mumbling, or at the very least they ignored his impertinence.
He
tried ignore them all while Miss Wellesley touched her nose and pointed like a madwoman to some young miss near the hearth. And again, Maxwell drew his attention when the tips of his fingers grazed the netting of Lady Grace’s gown. Alex’s breathing became labored and shallow.
“That is correct! Miss Corkley wins a point for our team with Percy Bysshe Shelley. Excellent, everyone. Now, who’ll go first for the other team? Any volunteers?” Miss Wellesley looked across the room with eager anticipation.
Maxwell piped up with, “I nominate Lady Grace. I believe she’ll do jolly well.”
A cacophony of encouragement sounded throughout the room as Lady Grace tried to demur with, “Oh no, I could not…”
Maxwell took her arm in an altogether-too-familiar manner and practically lifted her to her feet. Alex seethed. If the man had any idea what was best for him, he would unhand her within the instant.
“Lady Grace, we insist,” Maxwell said. “Please, do us the honor. I daresay no one will give clues as skillfully as you this evening.” The louse led her to the front of the drawing room with one hand on her arm and his other odious appendage resting at the small of her back.
She cowed before the room. She might actually be shaking as she moved to stand before the hearth. It took every ounce of Alex’s self control to refrain from ripping the bloody fool’s head off. Maxwell removed his hands from her person at the exact moment Alex thought he would lose his hold over himself and remove the blackguard’s hands from his arms.
Lady Grace cautiously pulled a strip from the beaver hat held out before her and read its contents. She spent several moments without moving whatsoever.
He ached for her. She must be in agony in front of this gathering. Her demeanor was always so quiet and reserved, she must despise having the attention being focused on her.
But then she moved. Lady Grace held up three fingers.
Maxwell called out louder than anyone else in the room, “Three words.”
Alex fought the urge to wring the man’s neck.
She walked about the front of the room, marking off paces and indicating something on either side falling from the ceiling to the floor with her hands.
“What is that?”
“I can’t tell, can you? I’m uncertain what she is trying to show us.”
Lady Grace chopped with her arms against the imaginary objects, and swooshed to the center of the room again.
“Why, they are curtains,” said some unknown gentleman. “Is it a play, Lady Grace?”
She touched the tip of her nose and nodded at him with a broad smile brightening her face. Pride beamed from every pore of Alex’s being.
Then she sat on the floor before the hearth, cupping her hands and raising them to her lips, pretending to drink. After the counterfeit liquid passed through her lips, she fell to the floor in a heap. A few moments later, she roused herself and pushed an imaginary dagger through her chest, falling again to the floor.
Her portrayal of the death scene in Romeo and Juliet was exquisite. He waited for someone from her team to call out the answer. No one could mistake her intentions.
“Death? Dying? What on earth was that?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I believe she might have been acting out She Stoops to Conquer. Why else would she be on the floor?”
“That has four words, not three.”
Lady Grace’s visage looked strained. Alex stared, dumbfounded. How could no one have guessed correctly yet?
“Well, what about Oedipus the King? That has three words. Surely someone was stabbed in it.”
Alex couldn’t stand it any longer. “Oh good heavens, that was Romeo and Juliet!” He immediately regretted his outburst, especially upon the look of mortification on Lady Grace’s face. But his patience had run clear to Rome and back in the last few moments. He needed to do something. He needed to pace. He needed to get Lady Grace away from all the stares or he would end up in Bedlam.
“Lord Alexander, you are quite right. Bravo.” Maxwell passed a faux smile in his direction. “However, you’re on the wrong team. I believe it only fair that is a point for us.”
Lady Grace didn’t look at Alex but returned to Maxwell’s side. She kept her eyes on the ground through the rest of the game. He knew, because his eyes never left her.
Again, Maxwell moved closer than he should and his fingers dusted against her arm.
Almost of their own volition, Alex’s fingers curled into fists at his side. Blast it all, was he jealous? It couldn’t be jealousy. It had to be something more like protectiveness, like he would feel if a man was manhandling Sophie or Char like that.
Alex wanted her to be safe, that was all—and this Maxwell was surely trouble.
The game came to a close with Alex having virtually not even participated, other than his outburst earning a point for the other team. Maxwell called out to the group, “Dancing! Let us all dance. Miss Wellesley, is there a young lady present who might play the pianoforte for us?”
Miss Ellen SomeSuchThing, a girl far too green to be out yet, spoke up. “Oh, do allow me. Mama and Papa allowed me to come this evening, and I should very much like to participate in some way.” She blushed and lowered her voice. “I play the pianoforte tolerably well, my governess tells me.”
“Then dancing there shall be.” Miss Wellesley led the party into the main ballroom and seated Miss Ellen behind the pianoforte.
Couples paired off and situated themselves into lines for country dances. Maxwell asked Lady Grace for her hand and led her to the floor.
Fuming, but with no real idea why he should be, Alex forced his features to remain placid and turned to Miss Wellesley. “Might I have the honor?” Only a moment passed before she nodded in agreement. Alex made certain they were only one position down the line from Maxwell and Lady Grace. He wanted to keep an eye on them—in particular, on him.
When Lady Grace looked at him, tension crackled in the air between them. She turned away from him with some measure of force as the music began. She and Maxwell commenced the steps, and Alex was a few beats behind already.
During one figure of the dance, he passed next to Lady Grace, only a breath apart from her. The scent of roses and woman wafted over him. He was intoxicated.
Alex tried to concentrate on Miss Wellesley, but it was useless. She was perfectly lovely, a good dancer. She made proper and polite conversation. But Alex only had eyes for Lady Grace.
Maxwell brushed against her and ruffled the silk and netting of her gown. Alex fumed, then forced his eyes away. Then, in completing another figure of the dance, Maxwell held onto Lady Grace’s hand longer than was necessary (far longer, if one were to ask for Alex’s opinion on the matter). Alex clenched his jaw and returned his gaze to his own partner.
“Why, have I done something to anger you, sir?” Miss Wellesley asked, staring up at him in confusion.
“What? No. You haven’t.” Christ, he needed to soften his glare or risk sending his partner a thoroughly unintended message. Nothing to be done about it, though, until Maxwell’s body was writing under his hands for daring to move into the presence of perfection.
Good Lord, he was becoming a madman.
Alex tried to take a cleansing breath with no luck. He refocused his efforts on calming his thoughts. He was being ridiculous about all of this. He was grown man, for Christ’s sake.
And then Maxwell moved in too close to Lady Grace, brushing his chest against her bosom. Alex’s hands turned to fists at his sides.
Finally, the music came to an end and the set was over. Lady Grace would find another partner with whom to dance. Alex could breathe again. Half an hour of holding his breath had proved far too long.
Another gentleman, someone Alex recognized but couldn’t be bothered with remembering his name, walked over and asked for her hand. He wasn’t nearly as objectionable as Maxwell. Whoever her current partner was, he refrained from leering, so he stood a rung higher on the ladder in Alex’s estimation of his character.
/> Several ladies stood about the edges of the floor, watching and waiting for partners, so propriety dictated that he must dance again—but Alex couldn’t suffer propriety at the moment. He had danced the first deuced set. That would have to be enough for now.
He watched Lady Grace’s every move through the entire dance.
Before the next set started, Maxwell returned to her side.
Alex couldn’t stand for this. He marched across the ballroom, intent to ask for her hand before she could accept Maxwell, but he arrived just a hair too late. Maxwell led her to the dance floor, glancing over his shoulder at Alex with a look of triumph.
The set was a waltz. Bloody hell.
The air in the Wellesley ballroom suddenly turned stifling.
Maxwell pulled her too close to his body, leaned too near to her face, touched her in ways that caused Alex’s eyes to pulse in his head.
And she recoiled from his advances, placing a respectable amount of distance between them.
Good girl.
It took every ounce of his will to stay put and not pluck the slimy lout from the dance floor, haul him outside, and engage him in a bout of fisticuffs or ten.
When the waltz finished, Alex pulled Lady Grace from Maxwell’s arms and led her away. “My lord,” she said in some alarm. “Unhand me this instant.” She struggled against him, until he passed her a glass of lemonade upon their arrival in the refreshment room. She took it and sipped, eyeing him over the top of her glass.
Another waltz was forming. He had vowed to stay away from her, but he could no longer keep such a promise to himself. It was, in a word, impossible. “Lady Grace, might I have the honor of your hand for this set?” he asked.
She had better not refuse him. He might become murderous if he had to watch another set with Maxwell’s hands on her and was uncertain how much longer, if any, he could control himself.
Her eyes widened. She looked around, seeming to search for an escape, but then she demurely nodded her head in acceptance. Alex led her to the dance floor and took her in his arms. Her scent drew him closer. He took one of her hands in his own and placed her other on his shoulder, their bodies touching lightly through superfine, silk, and netting as they swayed to the music.
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