Heaven Sent the Wrong One (20 page)

Alexandra headed to the study as soon as they reached the Abbey. She sat behind the duke's enormous desk and shifted through the mail.

A letter bearing the distinctive crest of the Marquess of Waterford came into view. She set aside the rest of the mail and picked up the letter, cracking the seal open.

~

Dear Cousin Alex,

I am elated to hear that you are finally ready to rejoin society! My wife and I have missed your delightful company.

We would like to reque
st the honor of your presence at the Welcome Soiree we are hosting for my wife's brother, The Honourable Mr. Carlyle, who has just returned from America. Perchance you might remember having his acquaintance in Bath.

The affair will be held on the 15th of M
ay, at Waterford House in Mayfair. Cassie and I are looking forward to seeing you there.

                                               
Jeremy

Alexandra stared at the missive for a long while, with her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She debated with herself if she should go or not, fearing a scene if Mr. Carlyle recognized her.

But
, what was she supposed to do? She could not keep on hiding from society because of an old ruse that happened years ago. If she kept on avoiding crossing paths with Mr. Carlyle, her relationship with her cousin Jeremy and his family would suffer.

She deliberated on how she should approach the situation. Perhaps she should take Mr.
Carlyle aside and explain her subterfuge. If she remembered correctly, the man was soft-spoken and shy, with an agreeable disposition. He would be amenable and honor-bound to protect her reputation by keeping her affair with his valet confidential.

Besides
—Anna, her former maid, would have surely divulged their identity swap to her husband by now. There was a good probability that Mr. Carlyle was already aware of her circumstances and had predictably kept mum to please his wife. However, should a problem with his cooperation arise, Anna would most certainly be there to help. She would not relish crossing her former mistress, much less be reminded of her participation in that scheme they concocted in Bath.

Alexandra pulled a stationary embossed with the ducal
insignia from the desk drawer and dipped the quill in the pot of ink.

Dear Cousin Jeremy,

How wonderful it was to hear from you! I have likewise missed your splendid company and I am looking forward to seeing you soon. In fact, Gabriel and I will be travelling to London in three days. We are scheduled to arrive on the 14th of May.

With that said, it is with utmost delight to learn that your soiree will be held the following day. It would be a pleasure to refresh my acquaintance with The honourable Mr.
Carlyle once more. Therefore, I am happy to let you know that I gladly accept your invitation. I am counting the days until I see you and your family again.

                                                         Alex

The Earl
’s Daughter

Waterford House

Mayfair, London

8 days later

A
lexandra climbed up the steps of the grand home of her cousin, Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, Marquess of Waterford. As she approached the entrance, she was pleased to see that the formal reception line in the foyer that she had purposely skirted had already been dismantled, and only the butler and footmen were present. She breathed a sigh of relief, shrugging out of her coat with the attentive assistance of a footman.

"Your Grace." The butler swept an elegant bow.

Alexandra bestowed him a fond smile, having known the man from her past visits at Waterford Park after her marriage to the duke. Barton had been with Jeremy's family for many decades, but in spite of his advanced years, he still carried himself with deportment worthy of a cavalry officer.

"Barton," she said in a low voice, resting her gloved hand on his arm as he turned towards the guests. "Please do not announce my arrival."

Barton raised a quizzical silver eyebrow, then quickly regressed to his usual reserved demeanor. "As you wish, Your Grace." He bowed in acquiescence and resumed his post by the entrance.

Alexandra surveyed the crowd. She purposely arrived late to avoid Mr. Carlyle. He would have surely join
ed Jeremy's family in the receiving line and a surprise public encounter was the last thing she wanted. Unfortunately, the only way to sidestep such an incident was to sneak in at the height of the party. At this late hour, everyone would be engrossed with all the dancing, drinking, and socializing. She must locate Mr. Carlyle and his wife, Anna, her former maid, on her own. So that when the right opportunity presented itself, she could surreptitiously approach them and discuss her predicament in private.

H
owever, the task wouldn't be easy. Alexandra pursed her lips in a worried frown. The soiree was a crush. Obviously, Mr. Carlyle and his hosts carried great social significance. As to how she could manage to pull aside her quarry without causing unsolicited attention, she had no idea. Nonetheless, she must do what she had to do. If things went awry, (and chances were—they would) she would just have to improvise her plan and play it by ear.

She wove through the lively, bejeweled crowd, nodding here and there
at acquaintances and stopping to chat with a few old friends. All the while, she kept her eyes open for Mr. Carlyle and Anna, hoping her chance would soon arise.

For the past few days, she was torn between dreading and looking forward to this moment. But
avoiding it would only prolong her anxiety and she must admit—though she may have scarcely seen Mr. Carlyle during that fortnight in Bath, their common connection to Andrew was there, fueling her optimism to hear some news about him.

She desperately needed
information. Any concrete evidence that would validate—confirm—that he was indeed happy—successful—perhaps married—contentedly settled with children and the woman of his choosing. All those things she wanted for herself, but never completely had, save for the joy of having Gabriel, which she nevertheless wished for him.

She needed an ending to her fairy tale. A closure, a conclusion to the story of that period in her life. So she could move on; so she could finally stash her leather-bound memoir high up on
the bookshelf where it would always remain hidden from view, untouched—forgotten.

Her motivation for this encounter might be unorthodox, but she needed it as much as she needed air to breathe. For the sake of her son, she must strive to live her life in
the present, unencumbered from the sorrows of the past. And tonight—she fervently hoped—would be the start.

"Alex!" Jeremy waved at her from the other side of the dance floor.

Alexandra waved back and excused herself from her friends. She met him along the perimeter halfway across the room.

"What a delight to see you! How are you?" Jeremy took both her hands and kissed her fingers.

"I am well, thank you. And how is your wife?"

"Ecstatic," Jeremy laughed. "We just learned yesterday that she's expecting anoth
er child."

"That's wonderful!" Alexandra beamed, noting the subtle blush on her dear cousin's cheeks. He looked handsome as ever, dressed in an elegant black evening jacket paired with a dove gray waistcoat, meticulously tailored and buttoned over a snow-w
hite silk shirt. His longish dark hair brushed his shoulders, a stark contrast to his pristine white cravat pinned with an exquisite ruby that winked whenever he moved, as it caught the light from the chandeliers above.

Several ladies glanced in their dire
ction. Some even openly stared,—no doubt, to admire Jeremy,—something, which even his happily married state couldn't deter. Thank goodness, the man was smitten and had eyes only for his wife, Cassie.

Alexandra sighed. Ah
—wouldn't it be marvelous if she had someone who loved her like that—without a qualm, without fear or hesitation. Just a faithful kind of affection one could rely on and endure the test of time.

A modicum of sadness settled in her core. Her husband, the duke, loved her, but in the same way,
a father loved a daughter. After he passed and as soon as her mourning was over, several gentlemen requested to call on her, but she'd turned them all down. For no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't see beyond the bright green eyes and dazzling dimpled smile of the only man she ever loved—long relegated to nothing but a bittersweet memory, yet still vitally alive in her heart regardless of the years gone by.

"Alex? Are you alright?" Jeremy peered at her with dark eyes so much like her own.

"What? Oh—" Alexandra felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "I'm sorry—that was awfully rude of me. I must have been woolgathering."

"I understand," Jeremy said with concern. "It must be difficult to regain your bearings and venture back into society after
—"

Alexandra pla
ced an appeasing hand on his arm. "Don’t worry about me, dear cousin. I promise—I'm fine. What were you saying a little while ago?"

Jeremy cocked a dark brow, but otherwise appeared to accept her avowal. "Edward can't wait to see Gabriel."

"It is the same for Gabriel," Alexandra chuckled. "He was so disappointed that he could not come tonight and fell asleep complaining about the unfairness of children not being allowed to attend soirees."

Jeremy's mouth tilted into a crooked grin. "If it's alright with you
, I shall have Edward call on him the day after tomorrow. They have not seen each other in a long time."

"Yes," Alexandra nodded. "Gabriel was only two or so years old the last time he saw him."

"Lord—has it been that long?" Jeremy exclaimed.

"Yes." Alexandra hid her melancholy. "You'll be surprised to see how much he's grown."

"My wife is planning an exclusive dinner party for family and friends to welcome you back into society. Bring Gabriel. I want to judge for myself if he's showing signs of our side of the family's good looks or veering towards the fair-haired side of the late duke."

"T-that is so generous of you. Gabriel will be thrilled. Please extend my gratitude to Cassie," Alexandra replied, a little apprehensive about Jeremy's last s
tatement. She prayed that upon seeing Gabriel, Jeremy would attribute his honey-blond hair to that of her late husband. However, she might have some explaining (and a lot of lying) to do about Gabriel's striking, curly-lashed green eyes, and prominent dimples on both cheeks.

"I'm glad you're here." Jeremy squeezed her hand. "It's good to see you again."

"Me too," Alexandra replied, genuinely pleased to reconnect with her cousin and his family.

"Well, then!" Jeremy craned his neck and searched the crowd. "Le
t's go look for Cassie. She's circulating amongst the guests with Desiree, Grandstone's wife. She will be pleased to see you. Ah—there's Richard. Let's go and say hello. Are you ready to refresh your acquaintance with Allayne—er—Mister Carlyle? I thought I just saw him, too. Ah—yes—there he is! Come." He placed her hand on his arm and promptly led her in the direction of the far corner of the densely populated room.

A pang of panic churned her insides. "Wait. Jeremy
—" Alexandra said, but her protest was drowned out by the noise of the bustling crowd. This could not be happening! She could not face Mr. Carlyle with Jeremy—or with anyone for that matter! If Mr. Carlyle slipped and mentioned her affair with Andrew—even in passing—it could instigate further questioning and gossip—the prime recipe for a scandal.

"Jeremy!" she rasped, over the laughter of a group of gentlemen standing up ahead, but Jeremy had come to a halt to join them.

"Richard," Jeremy beckoned to one of the men, "do you remember my cousin, the Duchess of Redfellow?"

"Of course." The tall, blond, well-dressed, and extremely attractive gentleman, whom Alexandra recognized as the Duke of Grandstone, broke from the group and strolled towards her. She met him and his wife, Desiree, one summer at Wate
rford Park. They came with their children, a set of blond, blue-eyed twins who were as excited as Edward to play with little Gabriel.

"Your Grace." Alexandra curtsied.

"Duchess." He took her hand and bowed over it, then scrutinized her with piercing sapphire-blue eyes.

Alexandra wanted to shrink from his assessing gaze. The Duke of Grandstone possessed a sharp wit and could be unnerving
—especially if one was trying to hide something.

Alexandra suppressed her unease and averted her eyes, only to see Jeremy a
pproach another gentleman who had his back to them, chatting with the other guests.

"Hey there, old chap." Jeremy slapped the man's shoulder. "Look who's here."

Alexandra's heart plummeted to her belly and her mouth went dry as her senses converged on the man before her. Even from where she stood rooted to the spot, staring at his back as he begged off from his companions, she recognized the deep rumble of his baritone. She knew every line of his body, the powerful breadth of his shoulders, the softness of his long honey-blond hair as it cascaded in thick layered waves, several inches below the collar of his charcoal evening jacket.

"You are well acquainted with my friend," the Duke of Grandstone declared in a conclusive manner that permitted no dispute, fli
cking his chin at their subject and pinning her with a knowing blue gaze.

Alexandra gasped at his alarming degree of acumen. She felt cornered
—exposed—her feelings read like an open book. Heat spread from her neck to her cheekbones as she realized—she still had the duke's fingers in her white-knuckled grip.

"Pardon me, Your Grace
—" she stammered, quickly releasing him. Swiftly, her gaze swiveled back to the man standing not two yards away from her. Her mind raced in endless circles. Could it really be Andrew—or was she hallucinating? Why would he be here—of all places—and what could he be doing—mingling with aristocrats?

Just then, the man who had precipitated her folly
—the same one she constantly dreamt of, pined for, terribly missed and loved so well—chose that moment to turn around and face her.

Alexandra thought her heart would explode out of her chest. It beat so vigorously against her ribcage that every thump began to hurt. The air around her must have grown scant, for Dear God
—she could not breathe, nor form a single coherent thought—nor utter even a single word.

He looked more handsome than she remembered. An archangel with a beautiful dimpled smile, impeccably groomed, and elegantly dressed in the height of fashion. His eyes, framed with long lashes t
hat curled outwards, perfectly matched the large emerald that twinkled playfully on his cravat. He smelled heavenly—of the fresh, familiar scent of cedar, sage and mint that reminded her of brilliant sunshine and glorious springtime, and precious moments in the gazebo by the pond, spent in each other's arms.

His dimpled smile faded and his eyes widened, as his gaze connected with hers.

"I suppose no introductions are in order," Jeremy said. "I believe you two met years ago in Bath."

Neither of them acknowl
edged what he had said. They stood staring at each other—both of them speechless. To Alexandra, Andrew appeared as stunned as she was upon seeing her.

"Ahem." Jeremy elbowed Andrew quite forcefully. "You do remember Lady Alexandra Davenport, don't you?"

"Lady Alexandra?" Andrew switched his flummoxed gaze to Jeremy, then back to Alexandra.

Holy Mother of God.
Alexandra momentarily closed her eyes at the impending disaster. Her brain must have curdled in her skull, for seeing Andrew made her lapse and overlook one very important detail—that Jeremy would inevitably reveal her true identity to him.

"Yes,
—well, she goes by a different name now," Jeremy replied, sending her an apologetic look. "Lord—this is embarrassing. Pray, forgive my friend's poor memory. I suppose it has been too long and Allayne—" he glared sideways at Andrew, "Mister Carlyle—can no longer remember."