Alex could have forgotten all of Penelope’s youthful transgressions if the other girl hadn’t grown into a stunningly beautiful and spoiled woman, who never saw fit to alter her nasty habits. Alex sighed and exchanged a look with Vivi, who offered a generous smile in Penelope’s direction. “Penelope! How lovely to see you.”

Lady Penelope didn’t spare a glance in Vivi’s direction. She knew what, or rather whom, she was after, and she didn’t waste time.

“Lord Blackmoor.” Her voice was rich and smooth like caramel syrup. “I was afraid I might miss you in the crush, and I would have been devastated to miss our dance.”

One of Alex’s eyebrows kicked up at Penelope’s blatant forwardness. She met Ella’s eyes with surprise before returning her attention to the scene unfolding before them.

Blackmoor had taken Penelope’s boldness in stride and, as the orchestra was beginning a new song, he extended his arm to his partner. “Lady Penelope, it would be my pleasure to partner you through the next quadrille. Shall we?”

And with that, they were off, into the throngs of revelers, leaving Alex speechless, staring after them. Almost speechless, that is. “Did you see that?!”

Vivi looked after Blackmoor and Penelope. “I will confess, she did seem a trifle presumptuous. And rather rude also. Was it me? Or did she completely ignore us?”

Ella spoke up: “‘Twasn’t you. She did, indeed, ignore us. But, in all honesty, Penelope has never cared much for us. I like to believe it’s because our conversation is much too intellectual for her taste.”

Alex snorted in a truly unladylike manner. “That’s definitely it. But she’s found her match in Blackmoor! Look at him! He’s positively thrilled that she threw herself at him!” She watched as the couple in question spun away into the crowd, Blackmoor smiling down at some quip from Penelope. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she turned back to her friends.

“I really don’t think anyone can blame us for wanting no part of the marriage mart if she is already the belle of the ball,” Ella said. “My mother even had the audacity to ask me earlier if I didn’t think I should have a gown made like hers! Lord deliver me from the London season!”

Vivi smiled. “It is enough to make one wish one could hide behind a potted fern for the entire evening, isn’t it?”

Will cut in here, reminding the girls that he was with them. “I suppose I could deign to save at least one of you from another tedious dance partner. Lady Vivian? Shall we?” He held out a gloved hand to Vivi.

Smiling up at him in surprise at his use of her formal title, Vivi took his hand, teasing, “With pleasure, my lord. You will endeavor to keep me from dozing off, won’t you?”

Will feigned solemnity. “I will try my hardest, my lady. Should you slumber, it shall be entirely my fault.”

Ella and Alex laughed as the two disappeared into the dance. The girls chatted happily as they took a turn around the room, until they stumbled upon their fathers, deep in conversation with a man whom they had never met.

The Duke of Worthington noticed the girls weaving toward them and made the introductions. “My daughter, Alexandra, and Lady Eleanor Redburn, Lady Eleanor, may I introduce the Baron Montgrave?”

Alex followed Ella into a deep curtsy as the Frenchman bowed to them both with a charming, “Enchantée. It is always a treat for an old man to meet such beautiful young ladies.”

Ella spoke first to the charismatic older man as he placed a kiss on her knuckles. “I am honored to meet you, my lord. May I ask how you came to be with us in London this season?”

“A stroke of very good luck, of course,” the baron replied with a twinkle in his warm brown eyes. He continued in the glow of the girls’ encouraging smiles, “The London season is as close as I dare get to Paris and its grandeur, my ladies. It has been many years since I have had a chance to enjoy myself at leisure. It is time for me to reemerge into the world I have so long missed.”

Alex and Ella shared a knowing glance. It was clear that the baron was one of the many French nobles who had escaped France years earlier during the Revolution. With Napoleon imprisoned one year earlier on the island of Elba, off the coast of Italy, those escapees who had dispersed throughout England had begun reemerging in London, attempting to rebuild their lives in their new country as part of the ton. The baron, Alex and Ella had silently concluded, was one of these displaced nobles—an important one as well, if Alex’s father was publicly chaperoning him into society.

Ella spoke again. “Certainly, my lord, we are happy that you have joined us…even more so in light of Bonaparte’s recent escape and his deposition of King Louis.”

Alex chimed in, “Absolutely. The knave may be rallying support across France, but he must not be allowed to continue to influence the lives of those he has already so terribly impacted.”

Ella added, “Though I’m not certain that support is what he’s rallying, what with instituting a draft and calling two million Frenchmen to war.”

Alex nodded in agreement. “True. But with Wellington in charge, and so many nations banding together against Bonaparte’s army, I feel confident that the rogue will meet his match soon enough.” Turning back to the baron, she continued seamlessly, “Suffice to say that you are well met, my lord.”

The frank political speech left the baron unable to conceal his surprise at the girls’ impassioned patriotism and impressive knowledge of current events.

The Duke of Worthington, accustomed to his daughter, her friends, and their intellectual pursuits, interjected, “As you can see, Baron Montgrave, these particular young ladies tend toward an uncommonly more expansive view of the world than one might imagine at first glance.” His words were laced with pride, and Alex gave thanks that it was one of their fathers who overheard the conversation—which would have sent either of their mothers into a swoon.

“A remarkable quality, to be sure,” spoke the baron. “More young ladies could take their cues from you both!”

Alex said under her breath to her friend, “Perhaps the baron would consider providing lessons to the other gentlemen of the ton?”

The comment, followed by an irrepressible chuckle from Ella, was less private than Alex had intended, and the duke’s eyes narrowed at his youngest child. “Alexandra, I feel certain that I don’t need to speak with your mother about your candidness. Endeavor to keep me certain.”

“Yes, Father.” Alex recognized the gleam of pride deep in her father’s green gaze and, despite his stern demeanor, knew she wasn’t in too much trouble. She did know, however, that she should attempt to keep herself out of trouble with the duke and passed a quick glance to Ella, letting her friend know they should remove themselves from this particular conversation.

In unison, the girls dropped into deep curtsies and wished the baron adieu. The two clasped arms and skirted the edge of the packed ballroom, deciding to try to find Vivi again in the crush.

“What a fascinating character the baron is,” Ella spoke hurriedly, in a distracted manner that Alex knew all too well.

“You’re already putting him in your book, aren’t you?” Alex teased. “Desperate for one of your journals?”

“Oh,” Ella scoffed, “and you would rather be here, searching the crowd for someone…anyone…you enjoy the company of, rather than being at home doing something you love?”

Alex cocked her head and smiled at her friend. “Point taken.” She scanned the crowd again. “I don’t see Vivi anywhere…nor Will…there are too many people in this room to make anyone out in the crush.” She turned toward the dance floor and strained to find Will’s dark head over the tops of the now waltzing revelers. “You don’t think they danced two in a row, do you?”

Ella shook her head. “No…Vivi wouldn’t risk gossip like that, what with it being our first time out…” She trailed off and Alex turned to her, curious to see what had stopped her train of thought. Ella’s eyes were on a particular couple in the crowd, it seemed.

“What are you looking at? Or, rather, whom are you looking at?” She followed Ella’s gaze, but twirling bodies blocked her view.

“It seems that Penelope doesn’t consider two in a row a problem,” Ella spoke so only Alex could hear. “She and Blackmoor are still dancing…and she looks like the cat that got the cream.”

As if on cue, Alex’s line of vision cleared, and she saw the couple in question. There was Gavin, holding the gorgeous Penelope in his arms. Their graceful movements only enhanced their image as a stunning couple: he, tall and golden-haired, she, petite and fair. Watching them, she could almost forget that Penelope was supremely unpleasant. Could Gavin forget that, too? Alex’s brow creased as she considered that Penelope was likely an expert at Proper Conversation and Subtlety of the Dance. He couldn’t possibly think her a worthy candidate for courting, could he?

“…he is an earl.” Alex was shaken from her thoughts by the end of Ella’s statement.

“I beg your pardon?” Alex fibbed, “With the chatter and the music, I didn’t hear.”

“I said, no wonder she looks so proud of herself…he is an earl after all…and two dances this soon after his exiting mourning, newly titled…” She trailed off again.

She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Alex understood perfectly. The gossips of the ton were likely already chattering about this; a newly minted earl and the daughter of a marquess dancing two dances in a row made for the most exciting kind of speculation—the kind that involved marriage.

“Of course, she is odious.” Ella added, “Blackmoor must realize that…mustn’t he?”

Alex turned away from the object of their conversation as other couples obscured her view once more, and spoke quietly, “One can only hope so.”

Ignoring the unfamiliar gnawing that had begun in the pit of her stomach, she smiled a too-bright smile at her friend. “Lemonade?”

seven

No…”

Alex whined and pulled the coverlet up over her head, burrowing deeper into the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows to escape the brilliant sunlight that streamed into her bedchamber. “Eliza…I’m sleeping. Pull the curtains and go away…please?”

“That might work were it solely Eliza, Alexandra. But she brought reinforcements…and as your mother, I insist you rise. You’re wasting the day away.”

Alex pulled the covers down and opened one eye to peer above the fabric. She could see her mother standing in the sunlight, regarding the gardens below with a critical eye. Recognizing the expression on the duchess’s face, she groaned and pushed the covers back, sitting up in bed. “Oh, no. You’re going to assign me a task.”

The duchess turned to face her daughter. “A task, indeed. But a task I think you’ll find intriguing.”

Alex cast a quizzical look at her mother and waited. A smile broke across the duchess’s face. “Dress. Then meet me to break your fast in the morning room.”

Alex watched skeptically as her mother swept gracefully from the room without offering a single hint of what she wanted. For a brief moment, Alex considered ignoring the edict and going right back to sleep, but her curiosity—and her hunger—got the best of her. With an exaggerated sigh, she rose.

By the time she entered the morning room to meet her mother three quarters of an hour later, Alex’s hunger had overcome all other emotions. She burst through the doors, already moving toward the sideboard where the morning meal had been set. She was several paces into the room before she became aware of her surroundings and slowed to a halt.

There were flowers. Everywhere. In every shade and shape imaginable, blossoms covered tabletops and bookshelves. There were posies perched on the duchess’s writing desk, vases balanced on plant stands, and even three bouquets that had been placed on the marble floor in front of the room’s fireplace. Turning in a slow circle, Alex took in the room before settling her gaze on the duchess, who, despite being seated as regally as any queen, was smiling quite foolishly.

“Good Lord,” Alex spoke in amazement.

“Language, Alexandra. Ladies do not use that phrase. Your father and brothers have had too much influence on you.”

“Mother, admit it’s appropriate in this situation. You’ve cleaned out every hothouse in Britain!”

“Not I, daughter.” The duchess did not move from her seat. “They. Every one of these blooms arrived with a card from a suitor.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “Suitors of whom?”

“You know quite well that you took London by storm last night. Just as I expected you would.”

A rumbling sound erupted from Alex’s stomach and she was reminded of her hunger. Ignoring the smug expression that had taken over her mother’s visage, she moved toward the sideboard and filled a plate with pastries and freshly sliced fruit while she took a deep breath and considered her next course of action.

“Mother, I cannot imagine what I could possibly have done to encourage the attentions of even a fraction of these ‘suitors.’ In fact, I went out of my way to avoid encouraging them.”

She picked up a calling card from the blossoms that had been precariously perched between the breakfast trays and read the message. “Viscount St. John? He’s got the intelligence of a goat. If this is an indication of the kind of suitors I’ve got simpering after me, it speaks to a significant problem with my perceived quality.”

“Alexandra, there are some forty bouquets in this room alone, and I’ve had several posies sent to the upstairs parlor because of space constraints here. I feel confident that there are several notes from gentlemen who are not dull-witted.” The duchess held up a stack of cards, which she had obviously collected prior to Alex’s arrival. When she began to read them aloud, Alex collapsed onto a chaise nearby and grazed on her breakfast while commenting on the senders in question.