My Lady Rival

by Ashley March

  “Pink is fine. Let’s have the diamonds for necklace and earrings. The diamond clips when you’re done with the pins.” The rich A merican heiress had no qualms about dazzling England’s lords with the splendor of her wealth. Besides, it was easier to hide behind diamonds without revealing her secret that her father had, in order to gain her compliance in marrying Eichel, stipulated that both her dowry and her inheritance would be forfeit if she didn’t marry the groom he chose.

  Without the Madonna dye, any man who wished to marry her would do so for love alone.

  Willa lowered her gaze to the miniature near the bottom of the mirror. It was the Madonna portrait of Queen Victoria and Princess Louise. The color of the Queen’s gown in the painting was likely inaccurate; only the original was rumored to be painted with the same dye as the gown. But Willa didn’t stare at the miniature as a reminder of Woolstone and his dye; she stared because of the tenderness in the Queen’s eyes as she gazed down upon her infant daughter.

  Oh, but Willa missed her mother. Twelve years had passed since her death, yet still she could remember the way she’d stroked her hair as a child, the mischief in her smile. Willa loved her father, but how she wished his ruthlessness might still be tempered by her mother’s gentleness and good sense.

  “Your hair is complete, miss. A re you ready for the dress?” Willa blinked away the wetness from her eyes, tucked the memory of her mother away, and stood. A glance at the mirror as she turned away showed her hair drawn into a simple bun at the back, wisps pulled at her temples and ears to soften the severity of the style. It wasn’t the most elegant or flattering coiffure, but it would have to do.

  She held out her arms as Ellen wrapped the corset over her chemise and around She held out her arms as Ellen wrapped the corset over her chemise and around her chest. Ellen pulled the laces tight. Willa looked at her figure in the mirror and sucked in her stomach. “Tighter.”

  Spreading her feet for balance, she held her breath and braced for each tug. A minute later: “Looser, Ellen, looser.” Panting for breath, she sighed as the corset relaxed.

  English food. It was a crime that such decadence resulted in added inches. She’d never eaten so well, not even in Greece or Paris. Where was the bread and cheese she remembered from her childhood? The gruel and oatmeal?

  Must not indulge in biscuits when the men come. She took another breath, noting the ease with which her ribs expanded now that the laces were loosened.

  Very well, perhaps just one.

  A knock came from the sitting room, then the sound of voices. Willa squeaked.

  “Surely they’re not here yet? It’s not even ten!”

  Ellen paused to poke her head out the door and returned with the crinoline.

  “Only the tea service, miss. A nd the servant’s gone now. Lady Carlyle is arranging the cups.”

  “Oh, good. Still, let’s hurry, Ellen, as fast as your fingers will go.” Normally calling hours weren’t observed until much later in the day, but Willa had finally been forced to set ten o’clock in the morning as the earliest time she would receive her admirers. They had begun coming earlier and earlier, trying to speak with her privately before any of the others arrived. Of course, she did encourage their competition as well as their suspicions that a few favorites were allowed entrance before ten. Uxbridge, she believed, was a man who thrived on competition. A nd unless A lex led her to Woolstone first, she must continue with the earl and her hope that he would keep his promise to discover his brother’s location.

  Precisely twenty-seven minutes later, with only three minutes until ten o’clock, Ellen buttoned the last button on the pale pink morning dress. Willa jumped up and down five times, until the petticoats beneath lay flat, then rushed into the sitting room.

  A t least a dozen vases of flowers sat about the room, and two half-empty teacups and two plates had been placed to the side. Willa sat down in the chair at the head of the room—it was the chair where one could be seen best—tugged at her skirts until they lay gracefully around her hips and legs, then smiled and glanced over at Sarah.

  The widow Carlyle nodded once. “Ready?”

  Willa inhaled deeply, exhaled, then glanced toward the short, small hall which served as an antechamber to the sitting room. Ellen was now stationed at the entrance to act as the butler. “Let it begin.”

  To her left, the clock struck ten times.

  A t five past ten, Willa glanced over at Sarah. “Lovely flowers, by the way. Where did you get them?”

  Sarah waved her hand. “Crutcher’s hothouse. The hotel recommended them Sarah waved her hand. “Crutcher’s hothouse. The hotel recommended them because they’re very close. We didn’t have much time for today to get out an order. I’ll make sure that tomorrow’s flowers are from Bellson’s again.” Willa regarded three vases set on a table nearest her seat. One was a bouquet of red roses, the second white, and the third a dark pink. “Nevertheless, they’re beautiful.”

  Sarah inclined her head. “Thank you. Did the Braithwaite dinner go well last—” A knock came at the door.

  Ellen disappeared into the antechamber, and Willa let out a peal of laughter. “It was quite remarkable, Lady Carlyle.”

  A murmur of male voices came from the antechamber.

  Willa spied the teacup set before her and quickly reached forward and gulped half of its contents down. “I believe I’ve never seen anything quite like Lady Braithwaite’s— Oh, good morning, my lords.”

  Willa and Sarah rose to their feet and curtsied as three men she recognized from the evening before entered the room: the Earl of A llesbury, Baron Spencer, and Viscount Lytton, heir to the Earl of Polwarth. The men returned their greeting with bows. “I was just telling Lady Carlyle—she had an awful megrim last night, unfortunately—about Lady Braithwaite’s dinner party.”

  Baron Spencer stepped forward. “It was a splendid time, Lady Carlyle. I’m sorry you had to miss it and am glad to see you feeling well this morning. I must confess that my favorite moment of the evening was meeting Miss Stratton.” Willa laughed. “I shall never forget when Lady A rabella realized you were the same man who wore the bull’s mask at the Winstead masquerade. Please, my lords, make yourselves comfortable. Tea?”

  A fter they sat down and as Willa leaned forward to pour the tea, Lord Lytton gestured to the roses around the room and the two discarded sets of teacups and plates on the side table. “I see we aren’t the first visitors this morning, Miss Stratton.”

  Willa sent him a flirtatious glance as she passed the first teacup to Lord A llesbury. “I find England to be a very welcoming place, my lord.” A lex tucked Lady Marianna’s letter in his pocket once again and stared at the grand multistoried establishment on the corner of Brook and Davies and cursed.

  Mivart’s Hotel.

  Willa bloody Stratton was staying at bloody Mivart’s Hotel.

  It wasn’t enough that she came to England to pursue the Madonna dye. It wasn’t enough that she had managed to capture the Earl of Uxbridge’s favor and subsequently the entire ton’s attentions. She had to stay at Mivart’s Hotel, the bloody best of the best.

  She’d said she had no interest in marrying among the aristocracy, but either she’d been lying before or she’d changed her mind for the sake of the dye.

  Fortunately, if the lack of her gloating was any indication, it seemed Uxbridge hadn’t confided Woolstone’s location to her just yet. A nd once A lex called on Lady hadn’t confided Woolstone’s location to her just yet. A nd once A lex called on Lady Marianna this afternoon to hear the news she had for him—there was no doubt in his mind her letter referred to Woolstone’s location—then he’d have no need to worry about Willa finding the Madonna dye ever again.

  Still, he was here now. A lex had never dreamed he would go to such lengths to best Willa Stratton, but he found as he climbed the steps to Mivart’s Hotel that the idea of sabotage fit him rather well. A t last he could understand Willa’s actions in Italy; there was almost a heady sort of rush in pl
anning the demise of one’s rival.

  Or perhaps the excitement came only because his rival was Willa Stratton.

  No matter. A lthough he doubted his actions today would result in Willa’s immediate departure to A merica, he anticipated her realization that soon she would have no reason at all to remain in England. Indeed, it would be difficult for her to marry the earl or charm any investors if something should happen to make her appear less than desirable. . . .

  Two of the hotel staff opened the double doors for him as he approached.

  “Good morning, my lord,” they said in unison.

  A s if a man wearing fine clothes and entering such an establishment must be aristocratic in order to be deemed worthy of such entailments.

  Sod off, he replied. In his thoughts, of course. On the outside he passed by with a short nod—which was much more than a real aristocrat would have given them.

  A s he climbed the steps to the second floor, A lex fully embraced the foul mood which had been lurking, ever present, since discovering Willa Stratton at the Winstead masquerade.

  He despised the stair he ascended, with its plush, foot-sinking rug. He despised the walls on either side for their ornate panels and detailed moldings. He despised the chandeliers which greeted his sight at the turn of the landing from the first floor and then again when he reached the corridor on the second.

  He despised the morning sun which streamed through the window behind him, blinding him as his head turned from side to side in search of the appropriate room number. It was too bloody early; his eyes ached for sleep—the same sleep which eluded him by necessity as he worked on the details of his invention every night—the same sleep that eluded him until after dawn every morning now, because memories of the kiss that he’d shared with Willa bloody Stratton in Italy assaulted his mind.

  A lex glared at the numbers 215 as he stood outside her door. It galled him that her room number should be a nice, round number set in an increment of 5. If it had been 214 or 216, he might have felt a little better. She shouldn’t have had a perfect, balanced number for her luxurious suite past sunlight, chandeliers, ornate molding, foot-sinking carpets, and staff who assumed everyone was nobility at bloody Mivart’s Hotel.

  A lex knocked.

  He waited.

  A nd waited.

  A nd waited.

  A nd waited.

  He knocked again—more forcefully this time. Very well, one might have described it as more of a bang.

  There were voices inside. Many voices. A nd laughter. A ll ignoring him.

  A lex took a step back, then two. He measured the distance to the door and squared his shoulders. If he ran—

  The door opened to reveal a female servant, her demeanor as open and friendly as Willa bloody Stratton’s had been when speaking to him at Jo’s dinner party—in great contrast to the way she’d spoken to the Earl of Uxbridge, with her seductive smile and knowing gaze.

  “My lord,” the servant greeted.

  “A lex Laurie,” he corrected through clenched teeth. “Mr. A lex Laurie. I’m here to see Miss Stratton.”

  Her eyebrows rose a fraction before her expression smoothed once again—as though men without titles never called on her mistress—and she bobbed a curtsy.

  “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Laurie . . .”

  He entered a small antechamber choked with flowers and frowned. He thought flowers made her ill. The maid paused and glanced down at his hands. A lex gave her a small, tight smile. “Unfortunately, I didn’t bring anything for Miss Stratton.

  I’ll try to remember next time.” The cacophony of noise coming from the next room nearly drowned out his words. He imagined he could hear Willa’s voice over all the others—the sound of her laughter, mocking, the arrogance in her tone as she spoke. His anticipation at her downfall grew to much grander proportions.

  The maid considered him for a moment, then turned aside to pluck a red rose out of one of the vases. She offered it to him. “If you do remember, sir, bring only roses.”

  One of the most expensive flowers—of course Willa would want only roses.

  A lex’s smile narrowed even further as he took the rose, his fingers pinching the stem. “If I remember.” He hoped to never have another reason to return.

  She nodded again. “This way, please, sir.”

  A lex followed, holding the rose before him like a weapon. The antechamber led to a sitting room larger than the house of his childhood. A pianoforte occupied one entire corner of the room, a corner which by itself would have held all of the Laurie personal belongings from twenty years ago. More chandeliers, more ornate moldings, more foot-sinking carpet. A lex glanced up at the ceiling. No banknotes drifting down? No fur insulating those inside from the poor dirty bastards in the London streets?

  “Why, Mr. Laurie! What a pleasant surprise!”

  A lex slowly shifted his gaze to the hostess seated at the front of the room, first scanning past all of the men lounging in half a dozen chairs and at least ten more who stood around the room. A s expected, he found Uxbridge already present, although the earl seemed to possess an expansive amount of generosity in allowing other suitors to occupy the chairs on either side of Willa, while he spoke among another group of callers. Generous—or cocky, perhaps, to not feel among another group of callers. Generous—or cocky, perhaps, to not feel threatened by any others. For some reason, Uxbridge’s carelessness made A lex’s mood blacken around the edges.

  Either at the sound of Willa’s raised voice or the call of a name which didn’t begin with “Lord,” all of the conversation in the room halted. Every head turned in his direction, and he could feel all eyes staring at him.

  But A lex focused now on Willa—on her blue eyes and friendly, smiling mouth; on her pale pink dress and her darker pink lips; on the diamonds around her throat and the diamonds dangling from her ears.

  She was beautiful—more beautiful than he remembered from their time together in Italy, more so even than the last time he’d seen her—and she wore her smile like a damned crown.

  A lex felt his lips move. Slowly, wickedly, into a little smile of his own. He strolled forward, meandering past the other men, until he stood before her. He extended his arm. “I brought you a rose.”

  She looked at the rose suspiciously, as though if she tried to accept the gift, he would attack her with it. A lex bobbed his hand. “It’s a rose, not a wild creature with fangs to bite you.”

  A few of the men nearby chuckled.

  “Of course not.” She reached out and took the flower. “Thank you, Mr. Laurie.”

  “My pleasure.” Bowing, he moved to the side of the room.

  Soon, conversation began again. The man to Willa’s right leaned forward to speak to her and she echoed his movement. A lex watched, studying her as she interacted with her suitor. When the man laughed, she laughed. When he selected another biscuit from the tray, she did, too. She mimicked his motions and his gestures—from the way he leaned against his chair to the hand he laid on his knee. With dark amusement, A lex wondered whether she would continue the imitation if the man decided to belch.

  A fter a moment he moved from his place near the wall to stand at the back of her chair. Leaning forward, he murmured near her ear, “You watched me.” She jerked, her hair brushing against his cheek as she turned toward the sound of his voice. “What are you doing?”

  A lex smiled and winked over her head at the man who now stared at them.

  “You watched me in Italy. That’s how you know to mimic the way he moves. You saw it work for me, and you—”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her chin lifted as she angled her head, trying to see him.

  “Miss Stratton?” her suitor said, sounding concerned or confused—probably both, though A lex didn’t particularly care which.

  He shifted to the side, still out of her line of vision, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear. “When he drinks, you drink. When he laughs, you laugh. I even saw
your skirts shift when he crossed his ankles. I assume your ankles crossed, too.”

  “I would prefer for you not to think about my ankles, Mr. Laurie,” she said drily,

  “I would prefer for you not to think about my ankles, Mr. Laurie,” she said drily, then turned back to the man.

  A lex moved to stand in front of their chairs. He might not win any investors today, but that wasn’t the goal he intended to achieve. “Good morning,” he said to the man. “I’m A lex Laurie, owner of Laurie and Sons.”

  The man paused, glanced at Willa, then looked at A lex. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he replied, then returned to speaking to Willa.

  A lex glared at the top of his head. It was a reasonable response, as A lex had interrupted them more than once, but he didn’t care. Though the suitor appeared to be in his early thirties—a few more years than A lex’s own thirty—he could see from this position that the man was going bald toward the back of his head. A lex smiled.

  Then he decided to begin listening to their conversation.

  “—lives in Charleston. I’ve never met him, but we correspond regularly,” the man was saying. “Have you visited Charleston, Miss Stratton?” A lex bent at the waist and leaned in closer, looking at Willa. His nose was about a foot from her face.

  She slid him a glance from the corner of her eye, then lifted her hand to block him from view, as if resting her head. “I haven’t had the opportunity to visit Charleston yet, but I have—”

  A lex tapped her shoulder.

  She stilled, lowered her hand, and glared at him. “Yes?”

  “I’ve been to Charleston.”

  “You have?” asked the man. “I say, do you know my cousin Mr. Reginald A rcher?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. How long has he lived there?”

  “Since ’thirty-nine, I believe.”

  “Well, there you have it. Last I was in Charleston was in ’thirty-seven. You should visit. It’s a beautiful city. Not like England at all, of course, but—”

  “A hem.” A voice. Soft. Ladylike.