“Well,Isaw her the other night at the Kensington’s assembly,” the third woman said knowingly and the other two turned from the mirror to listen more closely. The woman lowered her voice confidentially. “She looks sweet enough, but she was dancing just a bit too close with Lord Slane. And later, why you could hear her laughter clear across the supper table.”
Alix finally managed to pin the rebellious strand back into place, and without looking at the women said clearly, “I’ve met Lady Elizabeth on several occasions. She’s quite charming really, quite refined—for an English girl.”
A tall slender blonde who’d been sitting in the corner of the room stitching at the hem of her sapphire gown, lifted her head. “Indeed, I know Lady Elizabeth as well. Such sweetness and beauty, I’ve no doubt she’ll be one of the great successes of the season.”
The three women drew up like a flock of startled geese. Straightening their heads, and flipping open their fans, they departed in hiss of rustling skirts and scandalized whispers.
“That should do it,” the blonde in the sapphire saidrising and shaking out her repaired hem. “I know I should have asked a maid for help, but I hate people fussing about me. Does it look straight to you?” When Alix nodded affirmatively she continued, “We may have laid it on a bit thick; Elizabeth is charming, but refined?” She wrinkled her nose. “Not the best description of the Elizabeth Harcrest I know.”
Alix smiled ruefully. “I’ve never met Elizabeth, but I couldn’t stand there and let those harpies tear her to shreds.” She shook her head. “I confess, I used to think myself an honest person, but since I’ve arrived in England the falsehoods have been tripping off my tongue in frightful quantities.”
“Those weren’t exactly falsehoods, more like lovely embellishments,” the blonde said. “Though it may have done more harm than good. The praises of a French émigré and a rustic colonial are hardly the nod from the patrons of Almack’s.”
As the woman joined her at the mirror, Alix noticed that she was very tall, very striking, and that her eyes were an amazing shade of deep blue. The blond woman laughed. “Though there’s no doubt Moreham will have his hands full this season, between Elizabeth and you.”
Only Madeleine’s training kept Alix’s jaw from dropping. Before she could think how to respond the woman extended her hand. “I am Phoebe Davenport and you are Alexandre de Rabec de La Brou.”
Alix smiled back, confused. “Alix, if you please, but how did you know my name?”
Phoebe’s smile widened. “As Jervis would say, I’ve been tracking you. I wanted to meet the woman who breached the walls of the very-self-contained, ever-so-responsible Earl of Moreham.”
“You know Rafe?”
Phoebe nodded. “He and my husband, Cole, are closefriends. We’ve been waiting patiently for an introduction, but Rafe seems to want to keep you all to himself.” She reached out a hand. “Shall we return to the ballroom and tell him the game is up?”
Alix took Phoebe’s hand, curious to get to know more about this outspoken woman and her husband, wondering too why Rafe hadn’t introduced them.
“You should know I’m terribly forward,” Phoebe said. “That’s because I’m an American. Rafe was probably worried I’d corrupt you with my wild colonial ways. He can be such a stick sometimes.” She leaned close to Alix as they made their way through the crowded salon. “Cole and I are so grateful you’ve distracted him from that awful Anne Dinsmore.”
Alix took the opportunity to ask a question that had been preying on her mind. “I’ve heard they were nearly engaged.”
Phoebe shook her blonde tresses. “She’s awful, simply awful. Rafe watched her grow up and I think he must have decided that since Elizabeth would be leaving home soon enough, it was time to start a nursery and that Anne would suit as well as any.”
“They weren’t in love?”
“Heavens no,” she gave a mock shudder. “I’m not sure she’s even capable of love, except maybe for her brother James. And Rafe certainly never looked at her the way he looks at you.”
So Rafe hadn’t been in love with Anne Dinsmore. But he had been looking for a wife. Was she simply another suitable fit? Was he one of those men who enjoyed the chase? She shivered as she thought of his hands on her body. He certainly didn’t lack for experience. Perhaps the rumors she’d heard that he spent his time in France in pursuit of sexual pleasure were true? But then why had he been posing as a cloth merchant? What, she wondered withrising frustration, was the truth about the man she had married?
“So Moreham has been looking for a wife to stock his nursery?”
Phoebe chuckled. “Not exactly. It’s just that Rafe has a way of thinking that if he plans his life carefully enough everything will fall into place.” Phoebe flashed a smile at Alix. “Thank goodness you came along to knock that nonsense out of him. I was beginning to worry I’d be spending our annual holidays with the Harcrests trying to make pleasant conversation with Lady Anne Dinsmore. The woman looks at me as though, at any moment, I might put feathers in my hair and dump her tea out the window.”
Phoebe shrugged. “Still I suppose all his planning is understandable, when you think of all the unexpected things that have tossed his life about: becoming the earl, having to take care of Elizabeth and Louisa, to rebuild the family fortune. That’s what he’s really been doing in France— working—though rumor would have it he spends so much time on the continent to enjoy the women.”
“He does seem rather experienced,” Alix said, thinking about how skillfully Rafe’s hands and lips moved on her body.
“He’s no innocent, but he’s no rake either.” Phoebe smiled. “When you meet my husband, you’ll understand that I know the difference.” She turned to Alix, her blue eyes softening. “But even rakes reform when they fall in love.”
Phoebe laughed. “Still, for all his reputation, it is amusing to think that a French lady has stolen his heart. There’s something he never planned for, I’ll wager.”
Alix followed Phoebe through the crowd, admiring the advantage her height gave her in finding her way. When at last they stopped, she saw that Rafe was talking to a tall handsome man with raven-dark hair and dark eyes. Heturned, his eyes sparkling when they rested on Phoebe, and his mouth breaking into a wicked grin. Alix had no doubt that the man was Phoebe’s husband, Cole.
“Why Rafe, look what my very clever wife has discovered, the elusive Mademoiselle de La Brou.”
Rafe murmured to his friend, “You see what I mean, Davenport, about your head being an attractive target for rocks.” Straightening he said. “Mademoiselle de La Brou, may I present Cole Ashbourne, Viscount Davenport.” As Cole stepped forward and bowed over her hand, Rafe added, “Don’t trust a word he says.”
“Ah, but you may trust me with your life,” Cole said warmly as he lifted his head, and somehow Alix knew that she could. “I think that I shall dance with your lady, Moreham. I won’t seek your permission, since you’ll only deny it. And I do think Mademoiselle de La Brou needs a chance to discover that not all Englishmen dance like great glowering giants.”
