It was damned inconvenient.
“No, he doesn’t know I’m a woman. I did not think it relevant to my work. He is interested in me for my mind, not my breasts. And besides—” She was cut off by everyone’s shrieking and squabbling. Philippa and Gertie were laughing again, no doubt at her. Harriet bit her lip in embarrassment. How did her sisters seem to know so much about men? How could they anticipate what men thought? What they liked? What lesson had Harriet missed?
“Well, tonight we are going to change that,” Philippa announced, and when Harriet looked up, she noticed that her sister was looking quite shrewdly at her.
“Philippa,” Harriet warned, knowing that an idea was taking root in her sister’s mind. Ideas were a dangerous thing for Philippato be in possession of. The only person more dangerous with an idea was Frances.
“A splendid idea,” said Caroline, in full agreement with Philippa. Heavens, the ideas were spreading across the room. Frances looked back and forth between Caroline and Philippa, and Harriet fought the urge to stand and block her view, as if perhaps that would keep Frances from joining in.
“Oh,yes!” Frances’s eyes gleamed, which was the most dangerous portent of all. Everything—everyone—started moving at once, and all the activity seemed to coalesce around Harriet herself.
“You’ll wear this,” Philippa insisted, sorting through a haphazard pile of dresses that lay on the bed. She pulled out a low-cut white gown, not dissimilar to Philippa’s own, save for the detailing. It was, if you had to choose one word,exquisite. And if you had to choose another,wanton. “You can borrow stays.”
“And Clothilde can do your hair too. She’s almost finished with mine,” Caroline insisted, referring to Philippa’s French and rather rude lady’s maid, who, it must be said, did a lovely job with hair if you could put up with her vexing attitude. Caroline could put up with anyone. Harriet wondered if Caroline even knew Clothilde was mean.
“Wear some of Philippa’s rouge! And the perfume she has, the one that smells of lilies!” Everyone turned to Frances. Frances, who wore trousers as often as skirts; who usually tracked dirt to the dinner table; who thought women who rode sidesaddle were cowards.
“What? Just because I can’t go to balls yet doesn’t mean I don’t understand all this frippery. I’m not an idiot, you know. I read all the same issues ofLa Belle Assembléeas you do. I daresay I dance better than the lot of you, as well.” This reveal stunned Harriet, conveniently giving Philippa enough time to pull Harriet up from her chair. Just as quickly, Gertie started flicking open the buttons running down the back of Harriet’s admittedly plain gown.
Caroline sprang into action next and after that, there was really nothing to be done. For as much responsibility as Harriet had when it came to her sisters, she had little control, which is precisely how she ended up in a corset instead of her normal unrestricted short stays, and slippers not a little too small for her, with rouged cheeks and her hair actually styled, smelling of lilies. Despite the discomfort and her better judgment, when Philippa’s carriage arrived at Lady Dunley’s ball, she had to admit to feeling at least a little bit beautiful.
And worse: a little bit hopeful.
Alexander loved dancing. He had discovered a natural talent for it early on and his skill only improved with practice. Besides, it gave one something to do at parties that wasn’t so dull as talking about pheasant hunting.
Alexander had found himself genuinely enjoying dancing after a few balls his first season; his lack of reluctance—indeed his apparent pleasure in the activity—endeared him to women of all stations.
Above all else, Alexander loved dancing because ladies loved dancing and Alexander loved ladies. What was there not to like about a physical activity that brought another person gratification? Alexander happened to adore activities that fell into that category, of which there were quite a few.
He was rarely without a partner, despite being a second son, and a rumored bastard at that. Although one didn’t need rumors to tell them what their eyes could plainly see: Lord Alexander Stirling was not the product of marital relations between his mother and the Duke of Belhaven any more than a lion could be the product of a chicken and a rooster.
Alexander’s jet-black hair and substantial height would have been enough to convince anyone that a minor Venetian prince was his true father, but it was his languid confidence and easy charm that separated him the most from his parents. Not that anyone remembered much about his mother, who was rumored to be in the Americas now, or India, or even Cornwall, depending on whom you went to for gossip.
All anyone really remembered was that a flighty blonde had been the catch of the season some thirty years past, and that the ill-tempered Duke of Belhaven had been friendly enough with her money-chasing father to ensure a match. She’d given him a natural heir and a bastard spare, whom he’d been forced to claim as his own. What people didn’t remember, or more precisely didn’t know, was that at the sight of the bastard’s ink-black hair, the duke had sent his wife—the mother of his children—away.
Thus, as a child, Alexander knew few women outside of his household staff, all of whom were far too afraid of the duke’s wrath to coddle or comfort the young bastard. At sixteen, he’d sneaked out of Harrow School over Christmas holiday with a few mates and found his way into the arms of a young gap-toothed woman who charged him a shilling for an hour, then let him have a second hour for free when he didn’t try anything. After his fourth visit, she explained the purpose of women in her profession. Then she demonstrated. After that, he visited her thrice more, paid her a pound each time, asked her to teach him everything he needed to know, and then made up his mind never to go too long without female company again.
And he hadn’t.
Tonight, like many nights before, he found himself preparing for yet another ball. What many of his male peers overlooked was that balls were a fabulous arena at which to meet female company, even if one did not intend to offer marriage. One could tease a spinster, enchant a dowager, captivate a debutante, provoke a chaperone, embrace a widow, and tempt a hostess, only to end the evening in bed with a Cyprian who wouldn’t have been let in the doors.
While his male peers often spent balls comparing livestock and complaining about Parliament, Alexander forwent such topics. For him, economic matters were reserved for clubs and coffeehouses. Balls were for dancing and drinking. And above all else: women.
This evening he was forced, unfortunately, to break his personal rule. He planned to use Lady Dunley’s ball to meet with the heavenly—and widowed—Philippa Fanshawe, Baroness Ellerton, holder of vastswaths of land in the Lake District. Land he intended to purchase. It did chafe him a bit to sully such an evening with talk of money, but he hoped to balance the faux pas with the promise of pleasure.
Alexander wasn’t actively in the market for a new paramour, having a quite expensive and experienced mistress currently perched in a townhome in St. John’s Wood. His and Giuliana’s agreement was not explicitly exclusive; she often sported jewels Alexander was most certain he hadn’t purchased for her. He liked that she was not overly reliant upon him, or interested in his general whereabouts. While her indifference wasn’t false, he suspected she played it up a bit, correctly sensing that he was the sort to be alarmed rather than aroused by displays of devotion.
While discreet, Alexander had never been one to limit himself. That way lay stagnation and dissatisfaction. He wasn’t the sort to grow lovesick or possessive over his partners, and he never, ever offered promises of fidelity. He might meet with an opera singer on Thursday and an unhappily married marchioness on Friday.
And one would be a fool to turn down Lady Ellerton’s company in any form; she was one of the most beautiful women of theton, and one of the few who could match his seductive capabilities. While he did not feel desperate for her affection, he was undeniably interested.
Tonight, if Lady Ellerton found herself inclined to join him in bed, after they discussed the land she held in Applethwaite, Alexander would count himself all the luckier. They’d been circling each other for months now; it was only a matter of time.
Chapter Two
LADYDUNLEY WAS UNDULY PROUD OF HAVING STAIRS DOWN TO HERballroom, a feature she claimed put every entrance on display.
It was at the top of those very stairs that Harriet discovered an unfortunate truth. Not only had she expected tonight to be different, she’d expectedherselfto be different. And for others to take note. Until she experienced the distinct lack of reaction, she didn’t realize she’d been anticipating one.
