Page 57 of To Steal a Kiss

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she said, contrite at once and rather chagrined that the following lie fell so easily from her lips. “I have rather a headache and all those pins poking at me made it worse. This was the only way I could bear to wear my hair, or I should not have come at all.”

“Oh, my dear,” her mother said at once, reaching for her reticule. “You should have said. I’ll give you my smelling salts. You know how I suffer with my head. No doubt you have inherited my delicate constitution.”

Her mother continued to prattle on about her various ailments and her nerves as Alice breathed a sigh that the danger had passed.

She accepted the smelling salts with a pang of guilt, which she forced herself to squash at once. A dutiful daughter would not lie and dissemble, perhaps, but Alice would not end up married to Mr Bindley because she was too polite to refuse him or displease her parents. Those days were at an end. Deceiving them was wretched of her and she knew it, but she would not regret it.

The Duke of Bedwin’s magnificent London home, Beverwyck, was lit up and dressed to impress. Alice could well believe that Lady Helena had arranged every last detail of the glorious décor. She had spent little time in the young woman’s company, but she seemed to vibrate with energy and high spirits, the kind of woman who must always have a purpose in life, her every second filled with action.

Flowers graced every corner and alcove: white roses and peonies with the faintest blush to their lush petals. The perfume was heady, filling the summer evening with the promise of romance and magic.

As a footman took Alice’s cloak, her mother’s eyes widened in astonishment as she saw her daughter’s gown. With a flicker of anxiety, Alice realised how different it was from her usual pastel colours and muted tones. Before now she would have chosen anything that would allow her to blend in, not to attract attention.

Before her mother could draw her aside and take her to task, however, Alice breathed a sigh of relief as a familiar voice rang out.

“Alice!”

Turning, Alice beamed with delight as her dear friend Prue hurried to greet her.

“Alice, my word, you look… simply magnificent,” Prue said, shaking her head in wonder. “What a gorgeous gown.”

Miss Prunella Chuffington-Smythe, founding member of the Peculiar Ladies Book Club, was recently—and ecstatically—married to the Duke of Bedwin.

“Your grace,” her mother breathed in dulcet tones, sinking into a low curtsey worthy of a queen.

Prue blinked and exchanged a look with Alice, her lips twitching a little.

“Good evening, Mrs Dowding, a pleasure to see you here. I do hope you’ll forgive me if I steal your daughter away. We have so much to talk about. Bedwin will look after you.”

Prue sent her husband a mischievous look as he stared at her in outrage before hurriedly composing his features to face an ecstatic looking Mrs Dowding.

“Oh, Prue, the poor man,” Alice said, mortified as Prue hustled her away. “We must rescue him.”

“Nonsense,” Prue said briskly, taking Alice down a corridor and into a private parlour. “He’ll manage, and I must have a word alone with you before we face the world.”

Alice laughed and took a moment to look over her friend.

“Oh, my, Prue,” she said, sighing with wonder. “You do look grand. Every inch a duchess.”

It was true. Dressed in a dark plum taffeta gown and with a parure set of diamond and ruby jewels adorning her neck, wrist and ears, Prue looked splendid indeed, and remarkably beautiful. She was also quite obviously brimming with happiness.

“Piffle,” Prue said, with a snort that reminded Alice that her friend had her feet firmly on the ground. “A bit of silk and some diamonds might titivate the exterior, but I’m still the same old Prue, I assure you.”

“I was never gladder of anything,” Alice said moving closer to give her friend an impulsive hug. “Oh, Prue, I’m about to do something quite desperately scandalous. Will you still be my friend when the ton are gossiping about me over breakfast? Will Bedwin allow it?”

Prue’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, considering it was him they were discussing over breakfast a few short weeks ago, I’ll want to know the reason why if he doesn’t,” she said frankly, before her eyes crinkled with concern. “But whatever are you talking about?”

Alice bit her lip. “You’ll not tell a soul?” she asked, smiling as Prue returned an affronted scowl.

“As if you need ask,” she replied, huffing.

With a deep breath, Alice prepared to admit all. “On Monday morning at eleven a.m., I will marry the man I love,” she said, relieved to get the words off her chest. It was so good to share this with her friend. “Nathaniel Hunt,” she added with a flush of pride. “My parents don’t know and will probably disown me, but they’ll force me to marry Edgar Bindley if I don’t, and I won’t, Prue. I can’t.”

“I should think not,” Prue said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Frightful creature.” Her brow creased, though, and concern filled her eyes. “The Nathaniel Hunt?” she said, her unease quite apparent. “Matilda’s brother, the club owner?”

“Now, now, Prue,” Alice scolded her. “Don’t tell me you’ve been listening to gossip.”

Her friend flushed a startling shade of red, which rather matched her gown. “No, indeed,” she said in a rush, giving Alice a sheepish smile. “Suppose you tell me all about him then, for I’ll admit, what I’ve heard via the tattle-mongers would suggest he’s a rake and a libertine.”