Alissa Baxter (27 page)

Viewing her son thoughtfully, she said, “I received a most interesting letter from Anne Beauchamp the other day, my dear.”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing — merely waited patiently for his mother to continue.

The Duchess folded her hands in her lap. “I have always considered Anne to be as shrewd as she can hold together — and she is of the decided opinion, my dear, that her granddaughter is head over ears in love with you.”

With an arrested expression on his face, the Duke said slowly, “Is she indeed?” A warm smile lit his green eyes as he stood up and pressed a kiss onto his mother’s cheek, “Mama — you are a jewel,” he said softly, before taking his leave of her, so that she could, in his words, “rest a little while before dinner.” Needless to say, the Dowager Duchess of Stanford closed her eyes not at all in the hour preceding dinner — she was far too busy planning the details of what was sure to be the most important Society wedding of the decade.

Alexandra sighed disconsolately as she watched fat raindrops chase one another down the bay windows of the Morning Room. Sighing again, she placed her embroidery aside, thinking that the dismal weather perfectly suited her downcast mood. She glanced up as the door opened, and her grandmother bustled into the room. Lady Beauchamp beamed cheerfully in response to her granddaughter’s greeting, but her smile faded quickly as she noted Alexandra’s wan face.

Regarding her thoughtfully, Lady Beauchamp settled herself comfortably on the chaise-longue across the room. Arranging her skirts about her, she said directly, “I would advise you, my love,
not
to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Alexandra’s eyes flew to her grandmother’s face, a startled question in them. Her ladyship nodded her head, and remarked gently, “Last night at your Court presentation, my dear, it was obvious to all who cared to look, that you were not in spirits. People are not blind, Alexandra. They are bound to notice your downcast attitude and correctly attribute it to the fact that the Duke of Stanford is absent from town.”

Alexandra lowered her head, dismayed. “I did not know that it — that it is apparent to everyone that I am enamoured of the Duke of Stanford, Grandmama.” Raising her eyes to Lady Beauchamp’s concerned face, she continued haltingly, “Before I came to London, I vowed that I would not allow myself to fall in love with any man — least of all the infamous Duke of Stanford. Yet, here I am at present, in a total quandary, in love with a man who does not care for me at all! I am at my wits’ end, Grandmama!”

Lady Beauchamp’s mouth dropped open. Then she began to chuckle. Alexandra, rather hurt at her grandmother’s apparent insensitivity, said in a confused little voice, “But, Grandmama, how can you laugh at this? I am in utter despair!”

Choking back her laughter, Lady Beauchamp replied, “My dear girl, I find it marvellously diverting that Robert has managed to convince the whole of Polite Society of his intentions towards you, and yet has, ostensibly, failed to convince you! Alexandra — you must surely be the very last person in London not to know that the Duke of Stanford has fallen in love with you!”

Alexandra stared in amazement at Lady Beauchamp, her thoughts in turmoil. The Duke of Stanford in love with her! It was beyond belief! Yet, as her grandmother’s words slowly sank in, Alexandra could not quite curb tendrils of hope from unfurling in her heart. She glanced in an abstracted fashion at Lady Beauchamp, as that lady continued briskly, “Alexandra, you must have been blind not to have noticed that Stanford has been seriously courting you!”

“Courting me?” Alexandra echoed, “No...no — I believed that the Duke was merely attempting to set me up as his latest flirt — that he saw me only as a challenge.”

“Stanford has regarded you in a far more serious light than that for some time, my dear. I can assure you that you have him well and truly in your clutches!”

“Do not speak thus, Grandmama, Alexandra said, grimacing. “You make me sound like one of those designing creatures, only intent on securing an eligible match.”

“Forgive me, my love —
that
you most certainly are not.” Lady Beauchamp smiled apologetically. She paused a moment, before continuing, “My dear girl, your London Season has proved to be most entertaining. I cannot remember when I last enjoyed myself so much. You are a fortunate young lady, indeed, Alexandra, to have snared Robert. He is sure to set aside his rakish ways once you are married. As it has often been said — reformed rakes
do
make the best of husbands!”

Alexandra blushed a little at these words, and smiled. A sudden thought entered her head and she chuckled, saying lightly, “John will be most pleased to hear that his spinster sister is finally to be married! Only yesterday, he told me that I was most foolish to have refused every offer of marriage that I have received thus far. I think he is afraid that I will be embarrassed if he gets married before I do.”

A shadow crossed Lady Beauchamp’s face at the mention of her grandson’s name. She had not failed to notice the rapid deterioration in John’s state of health since his arrival in London, and the fact that he had decided to extend his visit to the Capital indefinitely worried her greatly. What a pity, she mused, that John was no longer a young child whom she could tell what to do! A frown creased her brow as she said in a concerned voice, “I am sure that you have not failed to notice that your brother does not look in prime form, Alexandra. I have not voiced my concern to him, because I know how much he dislikes to be fussed over. Perhaps, he would listen to you if you advised him to return home?”

Alexandra shook her head, her newfound joy dimmed somewhat at the reminder of her brother’s continued ill health. In an exasperated voice, she said, “The only time that I tentatively suggested to John that the London air might not agree with his constitution, he almost snapped my head off!” Shrugging her shoulders, Alexandra continued, “John is usually the most sensible of people — but when it comes to matters of his health he can become infuriatingly obstinate. He resents the fact that he has a frail constitution, and prefers to ignore his condition in the hope that it will disappear of its own accord. It appears that he has no intention of departing London in the near future.”

“But John has always professed that he far prefers living in the country!” Lady Beachamp said, puzzled.

“That may be so, Grandmama — but for the first time in his life John has been able to enjoy the association of acquaintances of his own age, and obviously he is loath to give up his newfound friends — including Emily, of course — in order to return to Grantham Place.”

“Yes, and well do I know that stubbornness is a characteristic that both my grandchildren share,” Lady Beauchamp said acerbically. “Anyway, my dear,” she continued, as Alexandra merely smiled at this, “If you will excuse me, there are a few matters to which I must attend.” Her ladyship stood up, shook out her skirts, and with a fond look at her granddaughter, left the room.

Alexandra barely noticed her grandmother’s departure, her mind a hive of activity as the significance of what Lady Beauchamp had revealed to her slowly sank into her consciousness. She had little experience of men, and in truth she felt rather alarmed at how swiftly and completely the Duke of Stanford had come to occupy her heart and mind. She cringed with embarrassment as an image of a younger and somewhat less experienced Alexandra crossed her mind. How dearly she wished the disparaging comments she had made about the state of matrimony unsaid! Thankfully, her grandmother would not tease her about her foolish comments — but John! He, in all likelihood, would enjoy reminding her of how she had once scoffed at men and marriage! That is, if her brother recovered his health. Alexandra frowned unseeingly out of the window. Of late, John’s ill-health had had a decidedly poor effect on his usually sunny temper, and their easy friendship had become rather strained.

The door of the Morning Room opened, and Alexandra glanced up as Leighton entered the room. Surprised that someone had decided to venture out on this miserably cold day to pay a morning call, she smiled in welcome. Her smile quickly faded, however, when her visitor came into view. Edward Ponsonby walked into the room, clutching a bunch of daisies in his hands. Espying her, he idled forward, thrust the flowers at her, and bowed awkwardly over her hand. “My dear Miss Grantham,” he said ponderously, “You look as bright and lovely as these blooms that I present to you.”

Alexandra accepted his token of appreciation with a rather strained smile, thinking that she must look a very sorry sight to be compared to the most bedraggled bunch of flowers she had ever seen. Looking meaningfully at Leighton, she murmured, “Mr Ponsonby, it is indeed kind of you to call on us. My grandmother...”

Before she could complete her sentence, Mr Ponsonby interrupted her, saying with a leer, “Miss Grantham, we have no need of a chaperone. Indeed, what I am desirous of saying to you does not require the presence of a third party.” Alexandra looked desperately at Leighton, who bowed impassively, and exited the room — hopefully, she thought, with the intention of informing Lady Beauchamp of the presence of their unwelcome guest.

“Please be seated, Mr Ponsonby,” Alexandra murmured coolly. Mr Ponsonby contemplated sitting beside his hostess on the chaise-longue, but something in that lady’s steely blue eyes decided him against the prudence of this course of action, and he took the chair across from her.

Clearing his throat, he said onerously, “Miss Grantham, I come to you, a man bewitched by your beauty. Indeed I cannot sleep or eat for thinking of you.” With great restraint Alexandra refrained from glancing at Mr Ponsonby’s paunch which hung over his tightly fitting pantaloons. Mr Ponsonby continued, “Indeed, I will not rest until I can call you mine. My dear Miss Grantham, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” Before Alexandra could open her mouth to politely refuse him, Mr Ponsonby added, condescendingly, “You and I both know, Miss Grantham, that at your age — it has come to my knowledge that you are nearly twenty years old! — you cannot pick and choose. I would not say that you are on the shelf as it is, but you are not the youngest of débutantes, and you cannot be unaware of the danger or indignity of becoming an old maid.”

Alexandra stared at Mr Ponsonby, quite at a loss for words. But, before she could regain the use of her tongue and utter the stinging set-down that she felt he deserved, Mr Ponsonby carried inexorably on, “Miss Grantham, it has not failed to escape my notice that you have shown a decided partiality for the company of the Duke of Stanford in the past few weeks. Of course, as we both know, young ladies are always most affable when an eligible member of the opposite sex pays attention to them — but, be warned, my dear. The Duke of Stanford will never marry a lady of little or no consequence. You have beauty and fortune, of course, but Stanford will never marry below himself. You would do far better to favour me with your hand in marriage. I have estates in Surrey, and I can offer you a most respectable position in Society as my wife. It would be foolish of you indeed, my dear, to refuse my offer of marriage.”

Alexandra looked haughtily across at Mr Ponsonby. “Sir, I find your comments not only in bad taste, but insulting.” Remembering Sir Charles’s remarks about Ponsonby’s encumbered estates and the dubious state of his finances — it was well known in Polite Circles that Mr Ponsonby was on the lookout for a wealthy bride — Alexandra felt the heat of anger rising within her. The impertinence of the man! Taking a deep breath to contain her ire — she would not allow Mr Ponsonby to provoke her into the unladylike action of losing her temper, Alexandra said shortly, “I thank you for your offer of marriage, Mr Ponsonby, but I cannot accept it.”

Mr Ponsonby frowned in disbelief, no longer looking quite so self-satisfied as he stared at Alexandra. He could not understand why she had refused his offer. The frown on his forehead quickly lifted, however, when he suddenly realised her game. “Ah, my dear young lady,” he said smugly. “I see everything clearly, now.” Alexandra raised her brows disdainfully. “Yes, yes, so I do! It is in the nature of a young woman to make a gentleman wait a little while before accepting his offer of marriage. I will, therefore, not give up my pursuit of you, Miss Grantham.”

Alexandra’s stomach turned over as Mr Ponsonby winked conspiratorially at her. She looked up in relief as the door opened, once again, and Lady Beauchamp entered the room, “Grandmama!” she said thankfully. “Mr Ponsonby was about to take his leave of us.”

“Indeed!” Lady Beauchamp said shortly, her gimlet eye making Mr Ponsonby feel decidedly uncomfortable. He stood up, and bowed awkwardly to Lady Beauchamp and Alexandra. “Your servant, ladies,” he muttered, before being promptly escorted out of the room by Leighton.

Alexandra did not utter a word until the door had closed behind her unwelcome guest. Then she turned towards her grandmother, and said in a choked voice, “He... he said that I was in danger of becoming an Old Maid if I did not accept his offer of marriage — Oh!” Alexandra succumbed to laughter as she recalled Mr Ponsonby’s words. What a despicable little man he was, to be sure!

Lady Beauchamp looked in concern at her nearly hysterical granddaughter. If the weather was not so dismal she would swear that Alexandra had a touch of the sun! In response to her carefully worded question as to her granddaughter’s well-being, however, Alexandra shook her head, and said in a strangled voice, “If I did not laugh, Grandmama, I would cry! Because, the only illness that I am suffering from at present is a touch of the odious Mr Edward Ponsonby!”

Alexandra wandered down the stairs to the hall, lost in thought. The gloomy weather of the last few days had given way to a bright, clear day, and she was looking forward to the shopping expedition that she had planned with Letitia. Although neither of them had anything in particular that they wished to purchase, Letitia had intimated last night at the Hamilton’s Ball that she had something of a significant nature that she wished to reveal to her friend, without her strict chaperone being present. She had not revealed what this significant “something” was, but Alexandra guessed that a betrothal announcement was in the air. Over the last few weeks, Sir Charles’s attentions to Letitia had become decidedly marked, and Letitia seemed to return his affections wholeheartedly. It was to be hoped that her two dearest friends in London would make a match of it before the end of the Season. And, of course, the Duke did not object to his sister’s suitor in this instance, Alexandra thought. Sir Charles, with his easy address and charming manners, was considered a veritable Tulip of the
ton
— a matrimonial prize.