What did she hope to achieve in the end? Alexa had already asked herself the question many times; and as for having something to lose, why, that could be dismissed easily enough because she felt almost like the Spanish conquistador Cortez, who set fire to his own ships so that he and his followers could only go forward and never back. She herself had nothing and nowhere to go back to either. Nothing to lose, really, as they did.
She said as much as she walked slowly away from the windows to stand by her desk, running her fingers abstractedly over its polished surface while she considered everything else. Mr. Jarvis had already pointed out the “perils and pitfalls” as he put it. Her aunt’s profession for one thing. Her husband’s far too recent death. And most of all her own indiscretion (he had been kind enough not to call it “stupidity,” she thought wryly) that fateful night in Rome. Men, after all, were usually believed; and he could very easily spread the story that she was given to frequenting brothels for entertainment. Would he actually do so? Alexa had almost to shake the thought from her mind.
“You said yourself that they are noticing me,” she said finally. “And I haven’t made any overt moves in that direction, have I? Let them come to me first, when they begin to wonder and tie little facts together and ask themselves questions. Perhaps that is all I want—to see them suffer the torture of suspense and start to be afraid of consequences for a change. Oh, I don’t know! Except that I want them all to know who I am! The Witch, my grandmother. Gavin Edward Dameron, Marquess of Newbury, and his bigamous wife and his bastard daughters. The future Marquess of Newbury. Do you think that he will be quite as anxious to marry the lovely Helen when he knows the truth? If no one else knows, let them know and try to live with the constant anticipation that I might topple them down from their high perches any time I choose to!”
“Well, love, do think everything over very carefully and do weigh every consequence, won’t you?” And then, dropping her rather solemn tone as her eyes began to twinkle irrepressibly, Lady Margery added, “But I must admit that I can hardly wait until I see their faces when you make your curtsy to the Queen. And you must promise to be the soul of discretion until then at least!”
After her friend had left, Alexa wondered rather guiltily if Mr. Jarvis, who had connections everywhere and in every walk of life, might have learned that she had called on her aunt against his express advice and that, besides communicating with her by messenger twice since then, she planned to pay her aunt Solange another visit very soon. There was so much more she had to find out! Including... Alexa picked up the scrawled note that had accompanied one of the extravagant baskets of flowers she had received during the past few days. She had not mentioned this to Mr. Jarvis either, wanting to think it over for herself first. What should she do about Lord Charles Lawrence? She felt nothing for him any longer, of course—if she ever had. But he had seen her riding, and the name Trovers had obviously touched a chord; he was almost sure she was the same Miss Alexandra Howard he had been privileged to become acquainted with in Ceylon last year. Alexa frowned again over his note.
...If I am mistaken, or presumptuous, I beg that you will forgive me. But if La Belle Inconnue and the young lady who has haunted my dreams ever since I was forcibly prevented from keeping our last appointment are one and the same...I am almost afraid to say more, except, again, I know that I know you, for there cannot be two women in this world blessed with the same expressive face and eyes and the same unique hair mat magically seems to have entrapped all the changing colors of autumn. And so I remain in suspense until I know if you choose to acknowledge our previous acquaintance or not.
Deering.
What a well-written and almost poetic note! Alexa thought a trifle cynically as she threw it down on her dressing table again. He had emphasized “‘forcibly prevented.” Had it been that way indeed, and not the way Nicholas had told it? Nicholas Dameron—a liar too many times already. But she didn’t want to think about him, especially while he was safely out of the way. Lord Charles. Her cousin, in fact sharing the same grandmother. What if she made him fall in love with her? It suddenly struck Alexa that they (as she had begun to say), even if they guessed at or knew her real identity, could not possibly know whether she was aware of her true antecedents or not, which made the whole situation even more deliciously ironic. And what if it was Lord Charles who made sure that she was properly introduced to all his relations, particularly on his mother’s
side? After that, and hearing of her name and background, there would be at least two of them who would begin to worry and wonder without being able to say anything openly.
If Lord Charles had hoped to receive some acknowledgment of his rather impetuous missive the next time he saw Lady Travers riding in the park, he was disappointed; for she rode with her friend Lady Margery again and spoke to no one except her companion and the Countess of Jersey, to whom she had just been introduced. What a magnificent horsewoman she was, as he should well remember from the many times they had ridden together in Colombo. Less than a year ago, as impossible as that seemed. And yet, in that short space of time she must have been both married and widowed! How much experience had she had? She was still as slim as a willow wand and did not look too much different, except for the way she wore her hair now and her modish, expensive clothes. And she had gained, since then, an almost indefinable air of self-assurance and poise along with the polish. Lady Travers. Was it really possible that she could have married that old man she used to refer to as her “uncle”? A Baronet—and very rich into the bargain, if he remembered correctly. And now all that wealth was hers to squander and enjoy, at least until she allowed herself to become entrapped by one of the fortune hunters the town was full of these days. Charles caught himself frowning at some of his closest friends who happened to be as impoverished as he was at the moment and feeling quite protective of her. Alexandra. “Alexa” that forbidding aunt of hers had called her. He had wanted her even then and had planned to bring her to England under his protection. Would have too, if Nicholas hadn’t seen fit to interfere, damn him! But perhaps it was just as well after all, for now—by God, she was here in London and not only wealthy but accepted by everyone!
Deciding to be patient, Lord Charles made a point of riding in the Row every day at about the same time that she usually did. He told himself that she had doubtless become wary of fortune hunters already, which would account for her aloofness and reserve in public. Even the die-hard old dowagers were beginning to unbend enough to admit grudgingly that in spite of her obvious youth Lady Travers seemed to be a quiet and serious-minded young woman with both the knowledge and proper regard for the conventions; although he could not help smiling to himself when he suddenly thought of his grandmother the Dowager Marchioness of Newbury and what her reactions might be. Perhaps, since she had moved into what was referred to as “Old Newbury House” in Belgrave Square for the rest of the season, he should find out by calling and paying his dutiful respects. Such a coincidence that Lady Travers lived just opposite!
Since the Dowager insisted on strict observance of the formalities, Lord Charles decided to leave his card with her butler on his way to the park the next day. He found himself quite nonplussed when he was requested to wait in the library for a few minutes and relieved the next moment when his Uncle Newbury’s third daughter, Philippa, came running down the stairs to announce gleefully that Belle-Mere had decided he could just as well escort them to watch the riders in the park, since their uncles were so late they had probably forgotten their promise, as usual. “And I am really quite glad, because I had much rather go with you!” Philippa added breathlessly before Helen could come downstairs and show her annoyance at having to be burdened with the presence of her younger sisters.
Lady Helen, however, had surprisingly been all smiles and sweetness when she joined them with her other sister in a surprisingly short time, explaining to her dearest and most obliging cousin that she and her sisters had been invited to spend a few days with Belle-Mere, wh
o actually planned to give a ball for her. Wasn’t it sweet and thoughtful? “And I am to help with the guest list and all the plans, of course; for after all, as Belle-Mere reminded me, it will not be long before I will be giving my own balls!” She gave one of her rather tinkling laughs before saying archly, with a sideways glance at her preoccupied-seeming cousin, “That is, of course, if I can hope to drag Embry up to London for the season!” She added with another small laugh: “I must admit though that for the moment I cannot help feeling quite relieved that Embry is busy with purchasing horses instead of watching them and their female riders like the rest of you besotted gentlemen, or becoming another adoring follower of this mystery lady! Has anyone learned anything more about her background yet?”
“Her background is quite respectable, I’m sure, sweet coz,” Charles responded automatically as he scanned the crowd of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen who had arrived earlier to promenade up and down or ride or watch everyone else. “Will you not ride today?” he added almost maliciously, knowing how Helen hated to be outshone in anything. “I see several of your friends are here already and are waving at you. You are not nervous about riding that new Arab mare of Grandmother’s, are you? Perhaps I should try her out first, unless Ianthe is ready to take the challenge?”
That was enough for Helen, whose archness dropped away for a few moments as she snapped: “I think that I am a good enough rider to handle almost any horse fit for riding, although I’m grateful for your concern. But is your mount too fresh and likely to be troublesome? Because in that case, of course I would be more than glad to forgo the pleasure of riding in Rotten Row to allow you to do so.”
Instead of replying in kind as he was tempted to do, Lord Charles took a glance at the watch he had drawn from his vest pocket and shrugged instead as he advised his cousin to mount and be quick about it, before they were too late to see anyone.
Determined not to be observed losing her temper, Lady Helen followed his example in mounting one of the horses that had been brought along in the wake of their large open carriage, quite aware, as they cantered forward to join a group of acquaintances, that the silver-grey coat and darker mane of her mare formed a perfect complement to her charcoal-colored riding habit and her blonde and gold coloring. In fact, she received so many compliments from everyone they encountered that her smile became quite genuine and her cheeks a rose-pink that enhanced her beauty even more. Everything should have and would have gone off quite perfectly if they had not happened to meet with Lady Travers, who was riding a white-stockinged bay with a matching star on his forehead and was accompanied, for a change, by only her groom riding behind her. This time she was wearing a severely cut black cloth riding habit that was trimmed with black velvet, its severity relieved by white satin and silk and occasional intriguing glimpses of the white muslin trousers she had actually dared to wear beneath her skirts. Helen had heard that it was now considered quite the thing to do so, but it seemed to her that they could easily appear quite vulgar worn by certain persons—Lady Travers providing the perfect example.
It was on the tip of Helen’s tongue to observe as much when a rather flashily dressed woman almost flew past them on a huge black brute of a horse that seemed not only wild but completely unmanageable as well, in spite of the fact that its rider was foolhardy enough to keep only one gloved hand on her reins while she lifted the other as she passed in an openly challenging salute.
“That Skittles!” an admiring masculine voice commented laughingly at about the same time that Helen’s nervous grey mare reared up, almost unseating her rider, and decided to bolt in the opposite direction from that taken by the black. For some terror-filled, almost timeless moments, while she clung on with all her strength to reins and mane, Helen felt as if everything was whirling past her. Trees and shrubs and other horses and riders. Faces with open mouths and cries of alarm that were drowned out by the sound of the wind whistling in her ears and the pounding of hooves. And then, just as suddenly as it had all begun it was over, and Helen realized that she was actually alive and had been spared even the humiliation of being thrown in front of everyone. But she might have been killed! Helen had to force herself to sit erect again and wished she could stop her hands from shaking for long enough so that she could straighten her hat, with its ostrich plume that now covered her eyes and most of her face instead of curling jauntily about its brim. “Here, let me do that for you,” a competent feminine voice offered, and before Helen had time to protest she found the offending feather no longer obscuring her vision as her silk hat was adjusted over the golden mass of curls it had taken her maid over two hours to arrange. The same matter-of-fact feminine voice said it was a very pretty hat indeed before adding that any horse might decide to run away at any time and they were hard to control if one was taken completely unawares as she had obviously been. “It has even happened to me on several occasions, and sometimes I have ended up taking the most ungraceful spills!”
As Helen’s vision returned and she saw who had been speaking to her, she could gladly have cried with vexation or...
“How can we ever thank you enough?” Lord Charles said fervently at that moment. “I suppose all the rest of us, even I, must have been paralyzed with shock for those few crucial moments during which only you were quick-witted enough to act! I...”
“ I had almost decided far too rashly to take up the gauntlet that had just been thrown, I’m afraid!” Alexa said in a dry voice as she released her firm hold on the Arab mare’s reins. “In fact, I had already started off, and that was why I was able to catch up so easily.” She shrugged lightly. “There is really no need for thanks, you know. I’m sure someone else would have done the same if I had not got there first.”
Helen, very much aware of all the curiously watching eyes that surrounded them and her own unfortunate obligation to the woman who had obviously managed to halt her runaway mount, had almost managed to force out her grudging little speech of thanks when she heard her cousin say in a suppressed kind of voice: “But you were the first to act! You were always such an excellent horsewoman, as I remember so clearly. Will you at least do me the honor of accepting my profound gratitude, even if you do not choose to accept my apologies for—certain things I had no control over?”
Only Alexa was aware of Lady Helen’s icy blue gaze that went from one of them to the other, prompting her to give the bemused Lord Charles a smile that showed off her dimple before she said kindly: “I think I did have enough sense even then to guess at what might have happened. But as it turned out I did not stay in Colombo for much longer.” She did not say more, but turned to her golden half sister with a commendably pleasant smile and a nod that seemed to dismiss Lord Charles politely.
“I do hope that the rest of your ride will be a much more pleasant experience for you. And now I really think that I should be...”
“Please! I am sorry if I seemed quite speechless earlier, but I suppose I was taken quite unawares. However, I do thank you very much indeed for—your help.” Helen’s halfhearted attempt at a speech of thanks made Alexa shrug lightly as she said, “Por nada, as a Spaniard would say. Do have a pleasant day!” Before Lord Charles could think of anything else to say she had whirled her horse about and was gone, leaving him staring after her in a bemused fashion while his cousin raged inside herself; her mind suddenly filled with all kinds of questions and suspicions.
Chapter 32
“Oh, my lady, I’m quite sure there won’t be another ball gown there tonight as beautiful as yours! It takes my breath away, it does!”
In spite of Bridget’s raptures, Alexa continued to study herself critically in the mirrors that reflected her image from all angles. Her colors tonight were green and gold. Dark green velvet caught up in flounces by gold rosettes, revealing layers of green silk and gauze shot through with gold thread that created a shimmering effect whenever she moved. For jewels she had chosen emeralds set in gold. Around her throat, circling one wrist, dropping from her ears. And i
n her elaborately coiffed hair she wore delicately wrought gold “roses” with jade leaves. Real rose petals had provided the color that touched her cheekbones and her lips; every tiny detail helping to make her reflected image a stranger to herself. Was she beautiful? What would they think? Did she really care after all?
No matter how severe she was with herself and how coolly composed she managed to appear outwardly, Alexa could not help either the shortness of her breath or the racing of her pulses once they had actually arrived at Stafford House. In fact, she had to fight off the impulse to clutch tightly to Mr. Jarvis’s arm for support, even after Lady Margery had begun to introduce her friend Lady Travers to all of her friends and acquaintances.
Names and faces—some friendly and some more curious than anything else. Eyes took in every detail of her ball gown, her magnificent jewels, and her hair....
“Ah, that hair! Know why you seemed familiar from a distance now. Adelina, of course. No one else in our day had hair quite the same shade, you know, and she made the most of it. Hah! Sure you do too. Related, are you?”
An embarrassed daughter-in-law whispered into the ancient Dowager’s ear-trumpet, causing her to raise both her eyebrows and her lorgnette to study Alexa more closely before she pronounced irritably that no one could mistake that hair—and the young woman had Adelina’s stubborn chin as well. “You never knew Adelina, did you? Well then, you couldn’t know!” She gave a triumphant cackle. “Only reason you were born, my girl, is because Adelina tired of her flirtation with your papa and sent him back home. Didn’t know that either, did you?”
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