Alex was going to cast up her accounts tonight. She was certain of it. Hannah had dressed her with painstaking care. She wore a shell pink gown of satin with tiny embroidered flowers around the high waist, capped sleeves, and embedded pearls along the bodice. Her hair was caught up in a chignon with a few tendrils curled around her cheeks. A pearl necklace and a delicate matching bracelet completed the ensemble. The young woman who stared back at her in the looking glass, however, appeared more anxious than beautiful, as far as she was concerned.
She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could. She could dance with Owen Monroe tonight and become the belle of the ball. They’d been practicing, hadn’t they? She was prepared. So why did she feel ill?
A knock sounded at the door. Alex whirled toward it. “It’s me, Thomas,” her brother’s voice rang out. She pressed a hand against her pounding chest. Good heavens, she needed to calm her nerves. She hurried to the door and opened it.
“Thomas?”
Her handsome brother grinned at her and bowed. “I’ve come to escort you to the ball.”
“What are you doing here? I thought you were at school.”
“I came back for a bit. With Father’s permission, of course. Lord Owen wrote to me. He said tonight would be special for you. He sent the note to Windsor via private messenger.”
Owen had written to her brother? Alex swallowed. How absolutely lovely of him. And private messenger? Why, that must have cost a fortune.
Alex eyed her brother up and down. He was dressed in formal black evening attire and looked altogether debonair. Her brother was already good-looking and dashing at the age of sixteen with his dark brown hair that was slicked back and bright blue eyes that sparkled with mischief.
“You look beautiful, Al.”
She curtsied to him. “Thank you, my lord,” she added with a giggle.
He tucked her arm under his and led her downstairs to the foyer, where she gathered her wrap. Mother and Father and Lavinia were already waiting in the coach. Thank heavens Father’s coach was large enough to accommodate all five of them.
“I’m still not entirely certain why you wanted to come to the ball this evening,” Mother said to Thomas as the coach took off into the night toward the Rutherfords’ house.
“The lad is growing up, Lillian,” Father said.
“I’ve come to escort my sisters. Need I explain myself any further?” Thomas replied. He turned to wink at Alex where only she could see. They both knew no good could come of it if Lavinia thought for a moment that Alex was getting preferential treatment from their brother.
“Besides, school’s quite dull this time of year. It’s hardly off to a start yet.”
“The little Season is dull as well,” Lavinia said in a huff. “I daresay it’s even more dull than the spring Season, and that is a complete bore.”
“Lavinia, please,” their mother said.
Thankfully, the Rutherfords’ house was nearby and the ride was not long. The footman helped Father and Mother out of the coach, Father assisted Lavinia, and then Thomas sprang forward to help Alex. She took his hand eagerly and alighted.
Thomas offered his arm again and escorted her through the receiving line, the corridor, and finally down the sweeping staircase to the Rutherfords’ elegant ballroom.
When the butler announced them, Alex was again certain she would cast up her accounts. It felt as if all eyes in the ballroom turned to stare at her. Why?
She concentrated on looking above all the feathers in the ladies’ hair and allowed her brother to lead her about the room. Alex glanced around. Why was everyone watching her?
“I should very much like a glass of champagne,” she whispered to her brother.
“I’ll get you one,” he replied, squeezing her hand.
Thomas was off in a flash, and Alex was left alone. She scanned the ballroom for a glimpse of either Owen or Lavinia. She turned in a wide circle and caught her breath when Owen materialized from the crowd. He wore his finest black evening attire with a sapphire waistcoat and blinding white cravat and shirttails. He was so handsome, her chest felt tight.
He bowed to her. “My lady.”
She offered him her hand. “My lord.”
“May I have this dance?”
“Of course you may.”
And then they were off. Flying about the floor as if they had invented the steps to the waltz. After their lessons together, Alex was altogether relaxed in his arms. Though she did still wish for that glass of champagne. And when she ventured a glance at the guests, she noted with no small amount of pride that they were all watching her again. She was with the notorious Lord Owen Monroe for the second time in as many balls. This time she was laughing at his jests, playfully slapping at his arm with her fan, and looking deeply into his eyes. If the assembly had been feeling a bit sorry for her having to begin the ball on the arm of her younger brother, they were no longer feeling sorry.
“Why is everyone watching us?”
Owen chuckled. “This is what you wanted, is it not?”
“Yes, but I feel as if they were staring even before we danced.”
Owen tilted his head to the side. “I may have started a rumor that I was taken with you.”
Alex gasped a little. “You didn’t!”
“Yes, I did. Though I do hope it doesn’t make its way round to Lavinia, or all our teaching sessions will have been for naught. However, I thought your reputation could use a boost.”
“I doubt Lavinia would believe it even if she does hear it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “And thank you for the … boost. And for writing to Thomas.”
“You’re welcome, my lady,” Owen said with his infamous grin.
By the time the waltz ended, Alex had a bevy of admirers lined up to ask for the next dance. Owen released her hand. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Alexandra,” he said, and Alex was swept into a throng of young gentlemen, all of whom were either asking their female relatives for introductions or were asking Alex for a dance. And just like that, Owen had launched her fabulously into Society. Exactly as Alex had wished. So why did she feel a little like crying as she watched him turn away and head toward Lavinia?
Alex blinked away the tears quickly. Lord Matthew Beckett was standing at her elbow, waiting for her attention. Lord Beckett was one of the most sought-after bachelors of the Season. It wouldn’t do for him to see her crying like a ninny. She pasted a bright smile on her face and turned to him. They’d already been introduced. In fact, as she glanced at the group of gentlemen vying for her attention, she realized she’d been introduced to most of them. They simply hadn’t been interested in her … until tonight. Until Owen.
Alex didn’t remember a word Lord Beckett said during their dance. Nor did she recall her conversations with Lord Sheffield, Sir Montague, or Mr. Hanson after that. All she could concentrate upon was keeping her gaze focused on Owen. First he’d spoken to Lavinia. Apparently, that hadn’t gone well, because minutes later, she’d stomped off, refusing a glass of champagne he’d offered her. But now, he was back at Lavinia’s side, speaking to her again. Alex desperately tried to get her latest dancing partner, Lord Gillicuttie, to move closer to where Owen and Lavinia were speaking, in the hopes that she might have the chance to overhear a bit of it. Unfortunately, not only was Lord Gillicuttie an awful dancer, but the man was a complete bore as well, and he positively refused to be led by a lady. Finally the song came to an end, and Alex hastily excused herself, dashing across the floor in the opposite direction of the steadily growing group of gentlemen who wanted to dance with her.
She glanced back at her group of admirers. Men were such silly creatures. They took no notice of a thing until one of them showed interest, and then suddenly they all had to have it. In this case, the “it” just so happened to be her.
Owen had apparently received another crushing setdown from Lavinia. He was far across the room, a scowl deeply etched on his face, his neck reddening. Mother had rushed over to see to Lavinia while Owen headed back toward the refreshment table with Lavinia’s untouched glass of champagne clutched in one fist. Alex scurried past the crowd to hide behind a potted palm that was on his route.
“Owen,” she called when he passed by.
He stopped and glanced around. “Alexandra? Is that you?” he whispered.
“Yes. Over here.”
He turned around fully and must have guessed her hiding spot because the next thing she knew, he slid behind the palm with her.
His scowl transformed into a wide grin as soon as he saw her standing there. “I never noticed how deuced convenient palms are till I met you.”
Alex could help but smile back. “They are convenient, aren’t they?”
“Exceedingly so.” He held out the glass to her. “Care for some champagne?”
“Yes, please.” She grabbed the flute and downed half its contents in one gulp.
“Despite your insistence that your sister adores champagne, she just informed me in no uncertain terms that champagne makes her ill and she was aghast that I offered it to her.”
Alex pressed her lips together to keep from wincing. “That’s odd,” she offered. A change of subject was in order. Immediately. Alex blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Will you please take me out on the terrace? Alone.”