Frederika, Duchess of Winsome, held the arms of her daughters, Bridget and Caroline, for their stroll down Bond Street.
Dinah, the oldest of all her children, walked alongside Bridget, and said, “Mother, why on earth are we having Sophia’s come-out in the middle of winter? Most of the beau monde is out of town.”
“Who gives a care?” Bridget retorted. “I’m thrilled to be in London. “Truly, there is nothing worse than the Scotland border this time of year.” Bridget and her spouse lived at the Winsome dwelling in Northumberland and oversaw the lands there.
“Yes, well, you are not in the early stages of gestation,” Caroline grumbled.
They all ignored her. Frederika knew the family adored coming to London this time of year when it wasn’t so crowded. It was almost as if they had the city to themselves. “This is the only way I can spend Christmastide with all my children,” Frederika said. “It’s always lovely having everyone home.”
“Where is Alex?” Dinah asked.
Frederika tsked. “She is staying with her friend Lady Ranstruther for a few days. And your father prefers Alexandra. Something you would do well to remember.”
“Father must be beside himself. He is certainly on edge,” Caroline said.
Frederika smiled. “He is missing his worthiest chess partner, is all.”
“Hmm.” This from Bridget. “Wait.” She pulled up and pointed down the street. “Isn’t that Alex?” She called out. “Alex”—she stopped, looked at Frederika—“andra…” she finished on a whispered trail.
The woman ahead of them paused and glanced about.
“That’s not Alex,” Bridget whispered. “But, oh my, she looks just like her.”
Frederika sucked in a sharp gasp and hurried her daughters into the closest shop, the milliner’s, thankfully. She knew exactly who that woman on the street was. By association. Olivia Marchand was a woman with whom no gently bred female should recognize or associate. But Frederika would know that face anywhere. It was perfect match for her stepdaughter’s.
“Good morning, ladies, your grace. What may I assist you with this afternoon?”
“Gloves, please. Seven pairs of your finest,” Frederika said absently.
Alex walked into her father’s house, surprised at the ensuing chaos.
“Oh, Alex, you’re home,” Sophia cried. “Please hurry. The seamstress is here, and she is adamant my gown show pink flowers. I hate pink.”
“Finally!” Callie dashed by. “You simply must do something about Sophia. She is being completely unreasonable about her dress.”
Bernard flew down the hall and threw his arms around Alex, sobbing. “F-father hates me. He’s a-angry because you weren’t t-there to play c-chess with him.”
“Oh, darling, he doesn’t hate you. I’ll speak to him. And then I’ll teach you how to beat him at his own game.”
He cried harder. “He’ll h-hate me e-even more.”
“Come along. We must save the seamstress from Sophia’s sharp tongue.” She took Bernard by the hand and led him to her sister’s chamber where pastel fabrics in a rainbow of colors covered every available space.
“I may have to sleep in your bed tonight, Alex,” Callie said. “This mess can’t possibly be cleared by tonight.”
“It will be cleaned up, if I have to do it myself,” Alex said under her breath. “Where is the duchess? The house is an uproar.”
“She and the others are shopping,” Callie said. Her bottom lip poked out. “They wouldn’t let me go.”
Alex didn’t bother responding to that. “Are you telling me that Bridget, Caroline, and Dinah have arrived?”
Callie sniffed her disdain as only a fifteen-year-old could. “Along with their husbands, children, lady’s maids, etcetera, etcetera.”
Alex swallowed a groan, wishing she’d had the sense to check for incoming guests before leaving Belle’s.
“Alexandra!” The duke’s bellow rattled the windows. “Where the devil are you?”
Bernard backed away. “I-I don’t w-want to go, Alex.”
“Of course not, darling. Why don’t you go up to your chamber and read a while? I’ll come see you after I speak with the duke.”
“He only wants to play his stupid game,” Callie said.
Alex sent Bernard on his way and made her way down the stairs. “You are liable to break the windows with all your howling, Father.”
“Where have you been?”
“At Lady Ranstruther’s. Surely the duchess told you.”
He waved out a hand. “Yes. Yes. I’d temporarily forgotten. Set up the board. I have something I wish to speak to you about. Would you care for a brandy?”
“That would be nice.” Alex did as he asked and set the pieces on the board. She waited until he brought over the glasses before making her first move.
Winsome sat down across and opened his mouth to say something, but snapped his mouth shut.
“What is it, Duke? We’ve no cats in the house to get your tongue—has Callie—”
“Enough with your jesting, Alexandra.”
“Apologies,” she said stiffly.
“I’m blustering again, aren’t I?”
“A bit,” she returned softly.
“’Tis just that I don’t know how to say this. I, er, checked on No. 19 Thornton Place.”
Alex’s hand suspended midair, holding her bishop. “What?”
“The thing is, the place had already been let.”
Alex sat there stunned, staring at this sweet, brusque, adorable man she’d hated from the time he’d stolen her from her mother at the age of nine until she was twelve and overheard him telling the duchess he didn’t believe her attending Miss Greensley’s was in her best interest. Miss Greensley’s had been awful in the beginning. Over time, it had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. Still, this was the first time Alex realized how much he truly loved her.
Her father’s words came out of the blue. “Y-you checked?”
“Of course, I checked. But as I said it is no longer available. If you absolutely insist on having your own residence, we shall have to find another. But I have requirements of my own.”
She cast him a wary glance. “Like what?” Alex set her bishop down on the first available square and picked up her brandy.
The duke stopped and looked at her with his brows furrowed in concern. “That was a most asinine move. Are you all right?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“I insist on your retaining a full staff. You will keep a carriage and horses at the nearest stable, er, whenever we find the right place.”
The glass trembled in Alex’s hand. “The next thing I know, you’ll be referring to me as Alex.”
“Never!” He knocked back the entire contents of his brandy and slammed his glass down on the table. “Now, are you going to make the next move or sit there all day?”
“What are you going to do with me not here?” She carelessly moved a rook.
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“The game, Father.”
“You shall just have to visit me every day.” He tugged on his pointed beard, contemplating the board. “Or, I shall just have to stop by to see you.” He slid a pawn into place, looked up at her, grinning.
“Absolutely, not. That will not work.”
“Why not?”
“Papa.” She struggled for her normal reserve, but she seemed to have left it at Mr. Millburn’s along with her innocence. She took in a deep breath. “I’m going to teach Bernard how to play, Father.”
“Bernard is a… a child!”
“Be that as it may, we must do something,” she said on a frustrated huff. “What if I’m in a carriage accident?”
“I’ve changed my mind. You may not have your own carriage.”
“Father—”
The duchess opened the door and glided in. “Alexandra, dear, would you please excuse your father and me? I have something I to discuss with him.”
“Of course.”
“Frederika, please, we’ve only just begun.”
“Alex,” the duchess said. She was not taking no for an answer.
Alex, familiar with that implacability, stood. “Of course.” She looked at her father. “I’ll return soon, Father. With Bernard.”
The door shut softly behind Frederika’s stepdaughter. She really was a lovely young woman.
“What is so all-fired important that you had to interrupt the decent first game I’ve played in a week?” the duke demanded.
“That’s enough out of you, Gareth. You know very well it’s only been two days.” She strolled over to the liquor cabinet and poured out a small sherry for herself. “I was on Bond Street with Caroline, Dinah and Bridget, and who did we happen to see?”
“I’ve no idea, my dear. Might we please move this conversation along?”
“Did you happen to know Alexandra’s mother was in town?” She stalked over and pushed her finger in his chest. “I will not be humiliated, Gareth. I will take my children and retire to the country for the rest our natural lives, I promise you.” It was times like these Frederika envied her stepdaughter’s ability to remain so stoically calm. How in Saint’s heavens did she do it?
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Your mistress from years ago. I know it was her I saw. She and Alex are identical for one another from the shade of their hair to their statuesque height.”
“Olivia? Is here? In London?” Genuine surprise covered his features.
“Don’t you dare expect me to believe you didn’t know.” Frederika pounded the costly carpet beneath her feet from the hearth to the French windows and back.
“Good heavens, Frederika.” He snagged her arm and pulled her over, trapping her on his lap. “Of course I didn’t know. I haven’t seen that woman since the day I saved Alexandra from that slum they called a home in Paris twenty years ago.” He kissed her nose. “There hasn’t been another woman since the day I married you, my love.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. I would never have slept at night, fearing I would be murdered, or worse, castrated in my sleep.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. But what is she doing in London?”
“I have no idea.”
She stood up. “Well, I insist you go to your club and find out. I don’t want anything ruining Sophia’s come-out.”
He let out a pained sigh. “Might it wait until after my game with Alexandra?”
“Certainly not. What if Alexandra learns she is in town?”
“I suppose you have a point.” He stood and shrugged into his coat.
“And no private audiences or tête-à-têtes.”
“Yes, dear.”