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“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.
As Alexa took yet another turn about the room Lady Margery said mildly: “I am sure it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience for you, my dear, but you must get used to the thought that more than likely you will start to run into them everywhere, especially after the Sutherlands’ ball, where you will meet everybody, including the Queen and Prince Albert. There is no use in making yourself upset, you know. I’m sure we could think of better ways in which to occupy your time, such as a visit to the theater at Drury Lane if you care for Shakespeare or the Royal Opera House in the Haymarket, although I am afraid that area is rapidly becoming quite notorious!”
Had it been those innocently uttered words of Lady Margery’s that had spurred her into an act of foolish defiance that might well cost her her entrée into polite society? Or was it merely a sense of boredom and her impatient nature combined that prompted Alexa to embark the very next day on a venture that both her new friends would have strongly disapproved of, had they only known of it?
In the end it had not been at all easy to accomplish her plan, which involved not only her faithful Bridget’s unquestioning aid but a ride on one of the famous omnibuses every visitor to London talked about. In fact, since it had recently become quite fashionable, if a trifle “Bohemian,” for almost everyone to be able to talk to their friends about having taken a ride on an omnibus, Alexa was provided with her excuse for leaving her house on foot with a drab brown pelisse that belonged to Bridget disguising her afternoon dress of dark green damasked cotton trimmed with bronze lace and green velvet ribbon; and wearing a bonnet that looked remarkably plain once she had ruthlessly cut off all of its expensive trimmings.
Although no longer easily shocked by any of her mistress’s impulsive whims to do something quite out of the ordinary, even Bridget was driven to protest once they had been dropped off not far from the Haymarket and Alexa, acting as bold as brass, had actually hailed a hansom cab as if she was quite used to doing so. And when the driver had given them a very peculiar look upon being informed of the address he was to take them to, before venturing to suggest that perhaps they could have been given the wrong directions and would never want to go there—not two respectable-looking young women, surely—by then Bridget felt like wringing her hands fearfully, especially when Alexa said in her firm, crisp voice that she did indeed have the right address and would be pleased to be taken there as soon as possible.
“Please, ma’am, don’t you think we should go back now? It certainly doesn’t look like a very nice neighborhood for you to be in, and the way that man started looking us over really funny like...”
“Well, he stopped grumbling when he saw his tip, didn’t he?” Alexa said in the same crisp voice she’d used before, adding almost consolingly when she saw Bridget’s wan expression, “You have to admit it looks like quite a nice, smartly kept-up house from outside here, doesn’t it? And for heaven’s sake do try to stop looking like a lamb on its way to the slaughter house! We shall both be perfectly safe, I assure you!” Ignoring a few curious loafers who stared too boldly, Alexa used the heavy brass knocker with force and was soon rewarded by the sound of footsteps just before the door was opened by an impassive looking butler, of all things!
