Impatiently, Alexa felt the key turn silently in the lock before she pushed the door open, sighing with relief once she was through it and at the foot of the winding stone stairway that would take her to her chambers. The last person she had expected to find sitting there with her apron held up to her face was Bridget, who should have been waiting in her room instead.
“Oh...my lady, if you could only know how hard I’ve been praying and how many Rosaries I’ve said already! Ah, thank God you’re here at last before the rest of them have had the time to start wondering. It was the Duchess herself who told me I’d best wait here for you and...and...be the first one to tell you.”
Alexa did not need the evidence of Bridget’s swollen eyes and blotched face nor the renewed sobbing she broke into now to tell her what had happened, and she need not have said aloud what her mind already knew. “It’s... Sir John, isn’t it? When?” Alexa heard her own voice, and it sounded flatly devoid of feeling; but she had reached out blindly for the support that the roughly mortared wall afforded her as she leaned against it.
Words. “Oh, ma’am, it was in his sleep and God’s mercy to take him that way without any pain. It was Mr. Bowles who noticed first, when it was time for his medicine...”
More words, but they barely glanced off the surface of Alexa’s mind, already beginning to spin in an inescapable vortex of grief and guilt and self-hate. “Alexa, darling, you must think only of his release. It would have made no difference, you know, whether you had been here or not.”
“Ah yes, and you must also think that he would not have wanted you to grieve or to feel this... Ah, this quite ridiculous state of blaming one’s self—and for why? It is not what your husband he try to teach you, eh?”
They were all so kind to her! Bridget, Perdita, Giusto. And even Orlanda, when she heard. Business matters, they all reminded her. She must not forget that she was now in total control of an enormous fortune and would be one of the richest women in England when she finally arrived there. “Ah, my love, think how you are going to take all of London by storm! Once you are discovered by society you will find yourself positively deluged by invitations to every fashionable gathering.” Perdita gave a nostalgic sigh before she brightened up enough to begin describing the London of her day, before everyone had become so stuffy and conventional; when the threat of Boney across the channel had only heightened one’s pleasure in living each day to the fullest possible extent. “Oh yes, you will love London once you’ve grown used to the weather. It is the greatest city in the whole world now, as everyone agrees.”
The London that was eulogized by all its foreign visitors as being the greatest city in the whole world was indeed filled with all kinds of wonders and opportunities for those who had enough money to spend. There were the fashionable shops of Regent Street, Burlington Arcade and Bond Street to tempt even those with the most fastidious tastes, and the magnificently laid out parks where even citizens of modest means could stroll about and watch the beau monde as they rode by on their blooded thoroughbreds or their carriages with gold-crested doors. All the major thoroughfares were illuminated by gaslight after dark; and from the great houses of Belgravia and St. James’s crystal chandeliers spilled their brilliance through open windows and doorways as carriage after carriage drew up before them to discharge fashionably dressed gentlemen, wearing dashing velvet-collared capes and silk top hats, and elegantly gowned and bejeweled ladies wearing gold and silver ornaments in their hair.
This was London during the season, where those fortunate enough to possess titles in addition to wealth could keep themselves occupied both day and night with the pursuit of any kind of pleasure or excitement they might desire; and to young men fortunate enough to have large allowances to spend, such as the twin Viscounts Selby and Rowell, nothing could be more enjoyable than a London season, with so many entertainments to choose from. When one grew tired of the endless balls and receptions there was always the theater or the opera house, where all the Cyprians were to be observed, after which they could always visit Madame Olivier’s or Mott’s or Kate Hamilton’s for what they always referred to laughingly as a “nightcap.” But on this particularly warm and sunny afternoon, when they had already visited their hatter and their tailor before going to Hyde Park to watch the pretty horsebreakers show their mettle along Rotten Row, they had decided that nothing would taste better than the cream fruit ices sold at Gunter’s, in Berkeley Square, where they were always certain to encounter several friends and acquaintances, not to mention relatives.
“Trouble with being related to half of London is meeting them everywhere,” Selby said rather gloomily when he recognized the occupants of one of the open carriages stopped under the shade of some trees on the opposite side of the square.
“Worse when they happen to be sister Iris and her brood and you know they’ll expect us to escort them back,” his brother said just as gloomily as they rode over to join the ladies, who had seen them and waved. “Know too that Helen isn’t finished questioning us about Rome and about Embry. Pity him in a way if the match does come off. Cold as a cucumber, our little niece!”
Cold or not, there was no question but that Lady Helen Dameron was indeed a beauty. Her hair was not merely blonde but gold, and her eyes were a pansy-blue. Her nose was straight, her mouth the perfect cupid’s bow, her features cameo-perfect, as if they had been carved by a master sculptor from white and rose marble. And in addition to being a beauty at barely sixteen years of age, Lady Helen possessed the poise and self-possession of a mature woman, sometimes succeeding in rather overawing even her uncles.
For the past five minutes, however, Lady Helen had felt her poise slipping as her annoying twin uncles had neglected her completely to engage in some silly mumbled argument that took up so much of their concentration that they seemed not to hear any of the questions she asked them. She was not used to being ignored by any man, even if they happened to be relatives, and her cheeks became quite flushed with anger, causing her mother to ask anxiously if she was sure she was feeling quite well. “You cannot miss the grand ball at Stafford House, my love, for it is to be the social event of the season. And even your father has promised to attend with us.” Lady Iris ended on a distracted note as she wondered if her formidable mother-in-law might decide to go too, which would mean having to take a second carriage, unless Newbury decided, as he sometimes did, to drive himself, so that he could go out afterwards with some of his political acquaintances; and in that case of course he would sleep at his club and...
“Mama! Here’s the waiter we sent for. May I have a strawberry-flavored ice this time, please?”
“Oh of course, dear, of course!” Thankfully brought back to reality, Lady Iris beamed at her second daughter Ianthe, who took after her in personality as well as looks; whereas Helen was growing to be more and more like her grandmother the Dowager Marchioness and was just as determined to have her way. Sometimes Helen’s hardness worried Lady Iris a little, but she had long ago given up trying to change anything about her oldest daughter.
“I have only asked you the same question four times already!”
Since no one, not even her mother, had ever heard such a shrill note in Lady Helen’s usually soft and well modulated voice, it was no wonder that they all looked at her in surprise, even the two Viscounts who had caused such loss of self-control.
“I only asked,” Helen said in a softer and more controlled voice, “whether Embry is back from the country yet?” Her exquisite nose actually wrinkled slightly when she made a small moue of distaste. “I really cannot understand why he was not told by any of his friends that no one goes down to their country houses until it is past August and the season is over.”
The twins exchanged meaningful glances before the Viscount Selby, who was usually their spokesman, said rather stiffly: “Think we didn’t tell him? Deering too. Even Papa! Only raised that infernal eyebrow and told us he was going to look at horses. Didn’t say exactly when he’d be back, I’m afraid.”<
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“But if it was only for horses... Why, they have the best blooded stock at the Baker Street Bazaar in Marylebone, I’ve heard—even from you!”
“No need to nag at us, dear niece,” the Viscount Rowell said bluntly with all the annoyingly privileged familiarity of an uncle, making Helen’s color rise angrily even though she contrived to keep an otherwise placid look on her face. “Ought to know by now that Embry will always do exactly as he pleases! You might be sensible to remember that too. Doesn’t nice to be questioned, either. Found that out in Rome...eh, Roger old boy?”
Although Myles hastily changed his chuckle into a cough while his brother tried to change the subject by asking his older sister if they had gone shopping this morning—and where had they gone—Lady Helen at least had not failed to draw her own conclusions from that last sentence; and her feeling of angry frustration grew when it suddenly struck her to wonder for the first time if Nicholas Dameron, Viscount Embry and her future husband, might actually decide to stay in the country for the rest of the season? Surely not! Why, he had almost promised her that he would be at the Sutherlands’ ball at Stafford Hall, and her humiliation before the whole of society would be unendurable if at the last minute he did not appear. She must speak again to her grandmother, and perhaps even her usually remote father might be persuaded to use his influence. Why, that was the night on which she had planned he would propose to her at last! He had to be back in time, whatever she had to do to insure it.
It was unusual for Helen to remain silent for so long a time, and especially when the discussion had become centered on the ball at Stafford House and what everyone would be wearing there; and Myles could not help glancing at her rather uneasily while he hoped she would soon forget all about that infernally stupid remark of his about Rome. Women and their damned questions and curiosity!
Almost on the very heels of her uncle’s rueful thought, Lady Helen asked an idle question of her mother that was meant to show them all how little interested she was in their conversation or the ball itself, for that matter.
“Is not that lady in the carriage that has just drawn up next to ours an acquaintance of yours, Mama? She seems to know everyone else.”
Lady Iris, having turned her head, now smiled and bowed graciously in the direction of the lady her daughter had indicated before turning back to explain that it was Lady Margery, of course. She had never been able to recollect the name of the man the poor thing had married— eloped with, if the story was to be believed—although her husband did happen to be the younger son of some impoverished country baronet and a bit of a black sheep to boot. “But she of course was one of the Earl of Weymouth’s daughters—the last Earl, I meant, of course. Impeccable background, and of course dear Margery is still received everywhere, even if I have not seen her out in society for at least five or six years, I’m sure.”
“Such a pleasant-looking woman, for all that her gown is hardly quite stylish,” Helen murmured in a rather bored and condescending tone before adding in a positively syrupy voice: “And I see that my dear uncles seem to recognize Lady Margery’s female companion as well, although it is certainly hard to make out her features because of her bonnet. Do you think she might be someone we should know, perhaps?” Her sharp eyes had not missed the fact that her uncles had exchanged almost incredulous glances before they had begun to clear their throats and begin low-voiced sentences they did not finish. Was it possible that the fashionably gowned young woman (at least she seemed to be quite young) was one of those adventuresses who lived on the fringes of society and were better known to young men than their mothers? What a scandal that could cause if poor Lady Margery was either duped or induced into introducing some upstart to her friends!
While her mind raced, Lady Helen managed to fix her uncles with a wide-eyed, guileless-seeming look that did not deceive them in the least despite their discomfort under it.
“Well it is a closed carriage, my love, and you’re right about the newest style in bonnets, of course. I shudder to think of the day when I might cut one of my closest friends by mistake.” Lady Iris played directly into Helen’s hands by turning questioningly to her younger brothers. “Do you know the other occupant of Lady Margery’s carriage?”
“Ah—er—were never officially introduced, you know! One of those things that can happen abroad—large crowds and all that—difficult sometimes to meet people. Not many people over there who know what we consider the correct thing. Hmm!” Viscount Selby found that he was sweating under his starched collar at the end of his speech.
“Abroad, you said? ”But what a coincidence this is, then. Don’t you think so, Mama? Why, it had to be Rome, then, for that is the last place you visited, is it not? And has Embry met your distant acquaintance, Uncle Myles?“ As Helen turned the battery of her blue-eyed stare on the Viscount Rowell, he reddened before almost rapping out, ”Don’t think so. Wasn’t there when we were. Anyway, no need to make mountains out of molehills, is there?“
“But, surely, if she moves in the same circles that we do you can at least tell us who she is?” Helen persisted. “Unless she is a foreigner?”
“Oh, do have the goodness to enlighten us all before you drive my poor girls quite mad with curiosity!” Lady Iris joined in impatiently, and gave one of her commanding stares at her brothers, who seemed to find it necessary to exchange those telling looks again before Selby spoke up in a resigned sort of voice.
“Um—believe the name was Travers. Wasn’t that it, Myles? Friends of our friend Damiano. Husband a Baronet or something of the sort, I believe—really a friend of Damiano’s father. And that’s all we know. Had no idea they were planning to visit London.”
“Oh, is she married? Well, I suppose that it is hardly likely we shall encounter each other at all, is it, Mama?” Suddenly indifferent, Helen was able to settle back more comfortably against the cushions and look about again to see if any more of their friends had arrived. Even if she had been aware that she was being studied by at least one of the occupants of the carriage that had first attracted her curiosity, she would have taken it as a tribute to her beauty—something she had become quite accustomed to by now.
PART IV
Chapter 30
During the past two months Alexa had developed more than a passing fondness for both Mr. Edwin Jarvis, her solicitor, and his wife, who had been born Lady Margery Davenish and still considered everything she had given up when she eloped with her husband well lost for love’s sake. “A coup defoudre, my dear!” she had confided with a twinkle. “The magic thunderclap. And it was exactly like that for us both, you know. All I have to do is see my dearest love across a room filled with people and I feel quite weak at the knees, as I did that very first time I set eyes on him. I’m so very lucky!‘”
Lady Margery (as everyone called her) had accompanied her husband on his hurried journey to Rome and had immediately volunteered to take charge of Alexa and make sure she had entree into London society. And it was she— rather than poor Perdita, who was too grief-stricken herself to be of much help or comfort—who had almost forced Alexa out of her daze of grief and self-recrimination, reminding her sternly that it was precisely what Sir John would not want her to feel and that only by giving in would she betray the confidence he had placed in her.
“But I feel as if I could have spent more time with him,” Alexa had whispered with her throat raw from weeping. “Instead, I spent too much time selfishly, and even when he was dying and might have needed me I was...”
“What utter nonsense!” Lady Margery had said strongly. “You know very well indeed that your husband was so heavily drugged to keep him from feeling too much pain at the last that he would not even have known you. And my husband, who has known Sir John for over thirty years, says that he would have preferred it this way. What good does it do to surround a deathbed with loudly weeping friends or family who can only deprive one of the privilege of dying in peace, and with some dignity? Come, my dear child. Where is your backbone?
After all, you are not quite alone, you know. My dear Edwin is one of the cleverest, most intelligent men alive, and I either know or am related to almost everyone mentioned in Debrett’s Peerage or Burke’s Peerage. Between the three of us I am sure that we shall contrive to manage very well.”
Since then...Alexa looked around herself and could hardly believe that she was where she was. In London, of all places, which had sounded to her only a year ago as distant as the stars she used to watch at night. And in none of her wildest flights of imagination could she have imagined then that she would ever be the mistress of an imposing house in Belgrave Square that she actually owned, in addition to owning a country manor in Yorkshire in the heart of the hunting district and her own horses and carriages and heaven knew what else, for her mind had not yet quite grasped the enormous extent of the wealth that she alone had full control over. It was almost frightening to think of sometimes, until she remembered a line in the letter that Sir John had left for her, reminding her that wealth represented power when it was used correctly.
Alexa had been pacing the newly and expensively carpeted floor of her book-lined library ever since she and Lady Margery had returned from their impulsive excursion to Gunter’s to try their famous ices. She had not been expecting to catch her first glimpse of two of her half sisters and her father’s second “wife” there, although she had always known that it would be only a matter of time until that very thing happened. And soon she would probably see her father for the first time since she had been an infant, perhaps her wicked grandmother as well. At least she was prepared and had made her plans in advance, giving herself the advantage over them.
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