Winsome was having serious reservations regarding this year’s annual fête. He couldn’t banish the troubling misgivings that had plagued him for years. In the last few days, though, they had disrupted his sleep. His wife strolled in dressed to the nines in a lovely shade of cerulean that brought out the blue in her eyes. The streaks of silver in her hair were obscured by powder. She wore very little on her face, for which he was profoundly grateful. “The girls are dressed, I take it?”
“They are no longer girls, my darling. You must remember to think of them as young women,” she said smiling.
He scowled. “It’s very difficult to think of Sophia as a young woman when she is still so prone to temper tantrums. Would that she were more like Alexandra.”
“Sophia is overly set. She’ll calm once she has been introduced and things are under way. She’s like you in that way, snapping at others when she is upset or nervous.”
One could only hope. “What of Alexandra? How is she faring?”
“I thought you spoke with her. Is she angry?” the duchess said.
“It’s difficult to tell with her,” the duke said glumly.
Frederika patted him on the shoulder. “I wouldn't fret so, darling. Alexandra is a sensible young woman. Even if she’s angry, she is also a pragmatist.”
“And unmarried. I’m a selfish man, keeping her to myself, waylaying my own guilt for snatching her from Olivia.”
“Perhaps a little, darling. But it was only because she’s your first born and you love her so. You didn’t wish her to be treated any differently than the other children. And, under the circumstances, it couldn’t be helped.” She tapped her chin, whilst studying him. “You are not completely to blame, regardless.”
He bristled under her tone and opened his mouth to refute what he’d heard a thousand times over.
But she stayed him with a hand. “Let me finish. As I said, we have done our utmost to treat Alexandra no different than our other children. I daresay, she’s placed most of the burden upon herself. Except for those early rebellious years, she has strived for utmost perfection, and I fear for the toll it takes.”
Again, he scowled. “What a lot of nonsense,” he muttered, but he had no time to argue the point because the butler tapped at the door.
“A Mrs. Marchand to see you, your graces.”
Winsome met Frederika’s surprised eyes.
“Shall I show her in?”
His voice jarred the duchess. “Certainly,” Frederika said with her customary grace. “Some sherry would be appreciated as well.”
Olivia walked in. “Please forgive my coming early. I thought to speak with you before the festivities.”
“Of course,” Winsome said. “Mrs. Olivia Marchand, my wife, the Duchess of Winsome. Madam wife, Alexandra’s mother, Olivia Marchand.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Marchand?” Frederika waved out her hand to a footman and he responded immediately with a tray of three small glasses. “Sherry?”
“Thank you.” Olivia accepted the glass. “I should apologize, but—” The pink in her cheeks was almost indiscernible for the powder.
Frederika said, “You have nothing to fear from us, Mrs. Marchand. My husband informed me of your invite. And I quite agreed.”
She let out a breath she appeared to have been holding. “Yes,” she said softly. “I can see that now.”
“What is this about, Olivia?” Winsome said gently.
“I was led to believe that you would try to keep me from seeing Alexandra. Truly, I have no wish to interfere or disrupt your lives… It’s just, I’ve missed her so much.”
“Please, sit down, Mrs. Marchand.” Frederika led her to the settee.
Olivia’s legs did not seem to be able to hold her up. “Yes. Thank you.” Her eyes shimmered. “I hadn’t planned to attend this evening, you see. It’s unseemly, is it not? But, well, I couldn’t bear the thought of… of not seeing her. Once I see her, I shall make myself scarce.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mrs. Marchand. As I said, my husband invited you and that makes you welcome in our home,” Frederika said.
Winsome glanced at Frederika and caught a sheen in her eyes as well. He was truly blessed, he decided. Truly.
“If there is anyone who can understand, my dear, I believe it is I.” Frederika reached over and clasped Olivia’s gloved hand. “I have five daughters of my own. You made a great sacrifice, and I must admit, I’m not sure I could have managed the same.”
“You are very kind to say so, your grace.”
“Now, drink up, my dear. You are staying, and we shall hear no more on the subject. We have a ball to attend and an haute ton to set on its ear.”
Winsome let out a breath. Frederika was in a class of her own.
“What is the meaning of this?” Alex demanded. “I’m here to see my mother.” Alex had stepped out of the hack and started for the door, but this buffoon waylaid her and ushered her handily back into the carriage, and followed her inside.
“I’m afraid you just missed her,” the intruder said, pleasantly.
“I don’t understand, sir, what is this all about?” Alex kept her tone modulated.
“It is about a heartless duke killing an innocent young woman without a thought.”
Despite the nonsense he was spilling, she stilled. “Are you saying the Duke of Winsome killed someone?”
“I am indeed.”
“Oh, for the saints in heaven, this is outrageous.” For once in Alex’s life, she didn’t the need to hold back her irritation. “My—the duke hasn’t a violent bone in his body.”
“You’ve ruined everything, my dear. You and that blasted nephew of mine. I swear, I shall take a whip to him.”
The man was bound for Bedlam, no question. All Alex had to do was keep her head, but quelling her panic seemed the most prudent thing to do in the present situation. The carriage rolled to a stop, and she glanced out the window. “La Sous Rose? What are we doing here?” She would say anything to keep him talking. Dear heavens, she couldn’t walk in with a man she didn’t even know. She would be completely ruined.
He kicked the carriage door back, grabbing her arm, and unceremoniously pulling her out.
On the walk, Alex jerked her arm away and tugged the hood of her father’s greatcoat over her head, praying for a miracle.
“Not a peep out of you, Miss Blessing,” he said softly. He tossed a coin up to the driver. The youngster—presumably the driver’s son—who sat huddled atop, next to the driver, snatched the coin out of the air and handed it over to the older man.
To Alex’s relief, the man urged her through the door she and Theo had escaped through,—had it only been a week ago?—and was now dragging her up those same stairs. Rather than stopping at the gambling floor, she was yanked past, her arm squeezed so firmly she would surely sport a bruise later. They ascended another two levels, passing no one along the way.
He walked quickly to the end of a long corridor. At the last door, he shoved a key in the lock and pushed her into a room that was a sitting area with a small round table that would seat six or eight people. The room didn’t match anything she envisioned this reprobate in with its elegant furnishings. The chamber looked as if it was fit for private cards games of whist or vingt et un or baccarat.
Alex moved to the window and looked out over the night sky.
“Come away from the window, my dear, lest I feel inclined to yank you away by the hair on your head.
The key twisting in the lock sounded behind her. Inside, her entire body flinched but she dare not show an inkling of apprehension. Slowly, she turned facing her abductor. “I take it you know I am the Duke of Winsome’s eldest daughter?”
A flash of teeth showed in his grin. “That you are his misbegotten child? Yes, I’ve known for quite some time.”
Alex’s abdomen clenched with her efforts in keeping her fears banked. “And my mother? Will she be meeting me here?”
“I should say not. Your mother is, ironically, attending the duke’s annual Christmastide ball.
She hugged the greatcoat tightly about her and waited.
“My plan was a simple one, my dear. Since my nephew has proven so derelict in his duties toward your sister Sophia.”
“Your nephew,” she repeated, flabbergasted by his nonsensical and meandering explanations. “What is this to do with my sister?”
“She was to be compromised, and thus her engagement announced this evening.”
Alex rubbed her forehead confused. “I don’t understand, sir? What is that to do with me?”
“I require an heir. You and I shall leave for Scotland at first light.”
Bernard huddled within his coat, one he had purloined from one of the stable lads. St. James Place wasn’t all that far away from home, but the biting cold cut sharp, causing his nose to run. What was Alex so up in arms about that she had to leave home just before the ball?
The hack stopped in front of a townhouse. She didn’t wait for someone to open the door. Just did it herself. His mum would have chastised Alex for her impatience. Alex was never impatient.
A man Bernard didn’t recognize stepped out of number 25 and yelled, “Hold.”
Uneasiness crept over Bernard. Alex was the most proper girl he knew. Certainly, more so than Callie. Bernard was always having to bail her out of scrapes. Sophia used to be as bad, but the minute plans were under way for her silly come-out, she’d turned into the stuffiest of all his sisters.
“Good evening, Miss Blessing. How lovely to see you.” The man oozed like the slimy worms Bernard used to catch fish in their summers at Northumberland.
“I’m here to see Olivia Marchand,” Alex said.
“Yes. I know.” He glanced up at the driver’s perch and rattled something off in French that had Bernard vowing to pay closer attention to his French lessons when his studies resumed next term.
“Right-o, guv.” The man assisted Alex back inside the hack and the driver shot Bernard a toothless grin and flicked the reins.
This drive was even shorter, as they drew before a well-lit building, some four stories high. Bernard committed the sign to memory: la Sous Rose.
Once Alex disappeared inside a back door with the man, the driver turned to Bernard. “Well, scamp? Unless ye’ve more blunt, this is where ye get off.”
“I have blunt,” he said. “Take me back to Grosvenor Square. Hurry.”