BEFORE ANY servants could arrive to help, Alexandra skidded into the great hall and dropped to her knees on the floor, scrabbling for the miniature marzipan fruits. A Lady of Distinction would surely disapprove, but she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.
"We'll have this set to rights in a minute," she announced to anyone who would listen, "and the dancing can resume. No need to panic."
Never mind that she was panicking herself. Her stomach was in a knot. Her breathing was quick and unsteady. Her pulse was racing faster than it had when she'd tried to coax Tris into kissing her.
Tris. Sweet heaven. If anyone had glanced up and seen them there together…
Rachael knelt beside her, adding a tiny apple, orange, and strawberry to the dented tray. "What happened?" she whispered.
"Later," Alexandra muttered out of the side of her mouth. She stood, holding the tray with one hand while smoothing her skirts with the other. With a deliberate smile, she addressed the little crowd that had gathered around them. "Pray, continue." She waved a hand at the musicians. "If you will?"
The music resumed, and the guests began dispersing. A few ladies whispered behind their fans, but it seemed the worst was over. Alexandra's heart began to calm; her breathing began to slow; the knot in her stomach began to unravel.
Someone tapped her on the arm with a folded fan. "Lady Alexandra."
She turned to see Lady St. Quentin. "Yes?"
"Where are your gloves?"
She forced a light laugh. "Oh, silly me. I must have left them up in the minstrel's gallery."
"Well, then," Lady St. Quentin said, a keen glitter in her eyes, "shall we go recover them?"
"I'd be pleased to do that," Rachael offered quickly.
But Lady St. Quentin was already heading for the corridor, as unstoppable as a battleship under sail. A very narrow one. Alexandra shoved the tray at her cousin and ran to follow.
"I wonder what we'll find up there?" Lady St. Quentin asked.
"Nothing much," Alexandra said, knowing exactly what the woman would find: two pairs of gloves, one of them quite obviously a man's. But she seemed helpless to stop the meddlesome harridan. "I was overly warm," she babbled at the woman's bony behind as they climbed the stairs. "I was…yes, I was overly warm, so I went up to the minstrel's gallery and removed my gloves, and I was watching the ball from up there—so beautiful, it was—just resting a bit and cooling off, when I very unfortunately dropped—"
Alexandra broke off, fearing her heart might stop as the harridan marched through the gallery's door.
But there were no gloves. None at all. The floor was as bare as when she and Tris had danced on it.
Her knees weakened with relief.
"What happened to your gloves?" Lady St. Quentin turned on her, a predatory look in her eyes. "Do you suppose your lover took them as a souvenir?"
"Wh-what?" Alexandra stammered. Her knees weakened still more, but now it was with fear. "I have no lover."
"You were up here with a man," the woman accused in a low voice. "I saw you, so don't try to deny it." She smiled, the mean smile of an undeserving victor. "You're ruined, my girl. Fortunately, my son is willing—"
"Your son is willing to do what?" Griffin interrupted from the doorway.
Alexandra turned in time to see Rachael arrive behind him; perhaps she'd alerted him to the trouble. But however he'd come to be here, Alexandra had never been happier to see him in her life.
Lady St. Quentin lifted her pointy chin. "My son is willing to marry your sister."
"Would her sizable dowry have anything to do with that?"
"Does it matter? She should consider herself lucky. She was seen up here with a man."
"Was she?" He looked to Alexandra. "Were you up here with a man?"
"No. Of course I wasn't." Alexandra gave him a grateful—if shaky—smile. "That would be very improper."
"She wasn't up here with a man," Griffin calmly told Lady St. Quentin.
Two bright pink spots appeared on the woman's cheeks. "She was."
"She was not. Now, would you care to return to the ball? Or shall I have a footman escort you to your carriage?"
"I saw them," the harridan insisted.
Griffin gave a long-suffering sigh and crossed his arms. "Let me put this another way, Lady St. Quentin. Should you spread the falsehood that my sister was seen with a man, neither you nor your son will ever receive another invitation to Cainewood…or anywhere else south of London. Do I make myself clear?"
All the color drained from her face, which looked even more pinched than usual as she sucked in her cheeks. The widow of a baronet with little land was no match for the Marquess of Cainewood. "Indeed," she said stiffly.
"Excellent." His smile failed to reach his eyes. "I trust you know your way back to the great hall?"
Alexandra hadn't known her brother had it in him to be so commanding. She supposed it could be his experience as an officer, but whatever the reason, he seemed to be growing into his role as a marquess. As she listened to Lady St. Quentin make her muttering way down the stairs, she felt like applauding.
Rachael did applaud. "Bravo!" she said softly, her eyes shining as she turned to Griffin. "You were magnificent."
Alexandra wondered if she looked at Tris like that. It really was a shame that Rachael was so opposed to marrying a cousin.
"Thank you," she said to them both. "I hope she won't spread lies."
"She won't," Griffin said, sounding very sure. "Whom were you up here with, Alexandra?"
She swallowed hard. "Tris. Juliana noticed him watching the ball, and she and Corinna suggested I come up and keep him company for a short while." That was close enough to the truth. "He's leaving tomorrow."
He gazed at her for a long moment, then nodded. "There are six more men waiting to dance with you. We'd best go downstairs." He flipped open his pocket watch, looked at it, and closed it again with a snap. "You have two hours left to see if any man catches your fancy."
"And if no one does?"
He shrugged. "We'll have to plan another ball."
A different brother might have said that in a threatening tone, Alexandra thought as she preceded him downstairs. But from Griffin, the statement had sounded good-natured and matter-of-fact. So good-natured, in fact, that she felt terrible about dallying with his best friend and thereby possibly damaging their relationship.
Many handsome, eligible gentlemen waited in the great hall. She renewed her resolve to be open-minded when meeting them.
But two hours later, when she'd said her good-byes to the guests departing for home, when she'd settled the people staying overnight in the rooms down the corridor, when she'd finally fallen exhausted into bed…she'd come no closer to finding anyone who could make her forget Tris.