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“Is that where we are going?” Alexandra asked in some astonishment.
“Yes. Why?”
“But it—it can’t be more than four blocks from my house.”
“Probably.” He looked at her, faintly puzzled.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to walk?” She looked at the stalled line of carriages again. “Faster, too?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then why did we take the carriage?”
He smiled. “It wouldn’t do to be seen arriving on foot, my dear Miss Ward—as if one didn’t own a carriage.”
Alexandra gazed at him for a moment, unsure whether he was joking. “That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s a balmy night, the distance is short, and in a carriage we will have to wait substantially longer. Yet we don’t walk because it would look wrong?”
His eyes danced. “I think that about sums it up.”
“I presume it would be too gauche for words to get out of the carriage now and walk the rest of the way instead of sitting inside it for twenty minutes.”
He nodded. “Decidedly déclassé.”
She shook her head. “Sometimes I think my aunt is right.”
“What? That we English are all debauched?”
“No. That the nobility are rather absurd.”
“Absurd? I have never heard that one. Arrogant, yes, prodigal, yes, impractical and even decadent. But absurd?”
“Of course. It’s too silly a concept to be taken seriously. What else would you call a system where the wealthiest and most highly regarded people have done nothing to earn their position but are there simply because they are descendants of other people?”
“Family is often considered a good indication of character, I believe. Do you have no regard for bloodlines? For what is passed from one generation to the next? Do you not believe that families instill their values in their offspring, and so on and so on, for generations?”
Alexandra felt a slight chill run down her spine at his mention of bloodlines. She wondered what he would think if he knew what sort of mother she had and what she might have passed on to her daughter.
“Family is an indication of character, yes, and certainly there are families who instill courage and honesty and all sorts of commendable traits in their children. My point, however, is that in England it doesn’t matter whether one’s family is good or bad, but simply what one’s family name is.”
“Are there no leading families in America?”
“Of course there are, but at least they have done something to earn it. They have worked hard, built up wealth, been educated or simply been honest, decent people.”
“But let us say one’s grandfather did that. His descendant today is regarded highly because of who his grandfather is. Isn’t that right?”
“Sometimes.”
“It is the same principle. It is just that with us the ancestors were farther in the past.”
“What did they do to deserve their titles to begin with?” Alexandra asked tartly. “Wage war? Take lands from others who were not as strong?”
“Service to King and country,” he countered.
“Ha! Catering to the whims of another man who is revered solely because of his ancestors!”
Thorpe let out a short bark of laughter. “I am looking forward to this evening! I can just imagine what furors your conversation will stir up.”
Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you invited me? To stir up a social tempest?”
“No. That is simply an added benefit.”
Alexandra studied him for a moment. “Why did you ask me?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Thorpe admitted. “I think because you intrigue me.” He paused, then asked, “Why did you agree to come with me?”
A smile curved Alexandra’s lips as she said, “Perhaps for the same reason.”
They inched their way along the line until their carriage was at last in front of the door. They climbed down and followed the family in front of them across the red runner laid over the front steps and through the imposing double front doors, held open by two liveried footmen.
They stepped into an entry hall that was, by any standards, grandiose. Black and white marble tiles checker-boarded the floor, and the walls rose to the second floor. It was large enough to fight a pitched battle in, Alexandra thought. At the far end a double staircase curved upward, the mahogany balustrades twined with masses of white flowers. Candles burned in a multitude of wall sconces and struck sparks off the glass drops of two enormous chandeliers, casting soft prisms of light over the people. Huge portraits of people in various styles of dress hung around the walls of the entry room. In the place of honor hung an enormous portrait of a bay horse.
“Where are we?” Alexandra asked, glancing around the room, aware of an unaccustomed feeling of awe.
“This is Carrington House, the town house of the Duke of Moncourt. That is the second Duke’s favorite mount,” he added, noticing the direction of her gaze. “It’s said that he ordered the painter to make sure that its portrait was twice as large as that of his wife.”
“What an odd man.” Alexandra’s gaze went from the surroundings to the people going in a line up the graceful staircase, to where a couple waited at the top to greet them. The woman was dressed all in black, with diamonds around her neck and arms and a diamond spray in her hair. “Obviously this Duke must value his wife more.”
She nodded toward the bejeweled woman.
“Ah, yes. The Carrington diamonds. Been in the family for centuries. This Duchess had the temerity to have the earrings reset. The Dowager Duchess hasn’t stopped talking about it yet.”
Alexandra could see that she had been right when she had assumed that most of the women here would be dressed more elegantly than she. Lace, satin and velvet were everywhere, sewn in the latest styles by London’s most fashionable modistes. Jewels winked at ears and throats. Hair was curled and upswept, decorated with roses, feathers, jewels, combs. It was, Alexandra thought, the most breathtaking display of extravagant beauty that she had ever seen.
She was therefore rather surprised to realize, after they had passed through the receiving line and gone into the ballroom, that she was the woman who was the most at the center of stares. She was too busy for a few minutes looking around at the mirrored and gilt walls and the crush of people to notice the whispers and the sidelong looks. Finally, however, she did. Alexandra shifted uneasily and glanced at Thorpe. He was gazing coolly across the room, seemingly oblivious to the small ripples they created wherever they went.
“Lord Thorpe,” she whispered. “What is going on?”
“What do you mean?” He glanced at her with polite inquiry.
“Don’t tell me you don’t see it. People keep looking at us. They’re whispering.” She heard with a little chill the eerie echo of her mother’s words, but she shoved the thought aside. This was entirely different.
“I would think you would be accustomed to that. It is often the fate of beautiful young women.”
“Don’t be obtuse. I look the same as I always do, and I am not usually talked about.”
He cast her a wry look. “With your tongue? You must give me leave to doubt that.”
“Rudeness is not called for.”
He smiled. “Whatever you may think, Miss Ward, you are unusually attractive.” He cast a look at her smooth, sculptured face, the dark glowing eyes, the thick mass of dark hair that made her head look too heavy for the fragile support of her slender white neck.
“There are many women in this room just as pretty as I and doubtless others who are prettier.”
“But none as…arresting.” She was tall and statuesque among a ballroom of dainty women, vibrantly black-haired among a plethora of sweet-faced blondes. Alexandra Ward was different. Thorpe felt sure that there were as many biting comments being made about her as there were admiring. But whatever the words, they came because it was impossible not to notice her.
“Bosh,” Alexandra retorted rudely. “Actually, I think they are looking at you.”
“I am not a usual guest at such events,” Thorpe admitted. “The London social world is such a stagnant pond that even so small an event as my appearing at a party will cause a ripple. When I appear with a stunning beauty on my arm, and no one has the least idea who she is, the ripple turns into a wave.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Sebastian!” As if to prove his point, a man’s deep voice rang out, and they turned to see a large, broad-shouldered man shoving his way through the crowd toward them, a fragile-looking beauty walking with him, her hand tucked into his arm. “What the devil are you doing here? Beg pardon, ma’am, Nicola.” He nodded toward Alexandra, then glanced at his companion, who smiled with easy grace, obviously used to the man’s unbridled speech.
“Hello, Bucky,” Thorpe answered. “I had an invitation, actually, so I came.”
“Not like you, old fellow,” the man whom Thorpe had called Bucky responded cheerfully. He had an open, pleasant sort of face, with wide-set blue eyes that looked out on the world with an expression of vague bonhomie. “Everyone’s wondering what brought you out.” He smiled at Alexandra. “And who your lovely companion is.”
“It always astonishes me how interested everyone is in my comings and goings, considering that I scarcely know half the people at this gathering.”
“That’s what happens when you’re marriageable.” Bucky shrugged. “They’ve been after me for years, and I’m nothing but a Baron.”
“Ah,” the willowy blonde with him said, smiling and casting a significant look at Lord Thorpe. “But you are a man of charm, Buckminster, which gives you a certain advantage over others.”
“Nicola, you wound me,” Thorpe said, looking anything but hurt. “I’m sorry. Allow me to introduce you to Miss Alexandra Ward. Miss Ward is visiting from the United States. Miss Ward, this is Lord Buckminster and his cousin, Miss Nicola Falcourt.”
“How do you do?” Nicola said, smiling at Alexandra, and Alexandra decided that her initial impression of the woman as fragile was wrong. It was her slenderness and pale beauty that made her look deceptively frail, but in her eyes and warm smile, Alexandra sensed a definite strength.
“An American, eh?” Lord Buckminster repeated with affable astonishment, as if he had never expected to meet such a person. “Pleased to meet you. However do you know Thorpe?”
“She is a friend of the family,” Thorpe said smoothly before Alexandra could open her mouth to explain the relationship. She shot him an odd look, but said nothing.
When, after a few more pleasantries, the couple moved on, Alexandra turned to him, eyebrows soaring. “A friend of the family? Afraid everyone will shun you for associating with someone in trade?”
“Since I rarely seek out anyone’s company, the prospect of being shunned scarcely frightens me,” Thorpe retorted. “I was trying to shield you a bit from the gossip.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“An apology? I am shocked.” He held out his arm toward her, crooked at the elbow. “Shall we stroll around and let everyone look their fill at us?”
Alexandra smiled. “All right.”
She tucked her hand in his arm. They had taken only a few steps when a man turned away from a knot of people, almost running into them. He stopped abruptly and stared at Alexandra. It seemed to her as if for an instant he turned deathly pale. He looked at her for a full beat, then drew in a breath, the color returning to his face.
“Lord Thorpe,” the man said stiffly. “I’m sorry. I was—a trifle startled to see you.”
“Lord Exmoor.” Thorpe nodded briefly at the man, his face carefully devoid of expression. Alexandra, feeling the tensing of his muscle beneath her hand, glanced at him. He did not like this man, Alexandra thought, though she was not sure how she knew.
Intrigued by the change in attitude that she felt in Lord Thorpe, Alexandra looked with interest at the stranger. He was tall and slender, with light brown hair and eyes a hazel color. Wings of silver ran from his temples. Everything about him was long and angular, from his hands to his narrow nose to the careful eyes beneath his straight eyebrows.
Lord Exmoor returned her gaze inquiringly, and Thorpe, with a sigh, went on. “Miss Ward, allow me to introduce you to the Earl of Exmoor. Lord Exmoor, Alexandra Ward.”
“How do you do?” Alexandra nodded politely toward him.
“Are you an American?” Exmoor asked.
“Yes.”
“How interesting. I thought I detected it in your speech. You are here visiting relatives?”
“No. I have no relatives in England,” Alexandra replied, finding that she had little desire to tell the man anything about herself. “I am traveling with my mother and my aunt.”
“Ah. I see. I hope you are enjoying your visit.”
“Very much, thank you.”
“I had no idea you knew anyone from the United States, Thorpe,” Exmoor went on.
“I am sure that I have many acquaintances about which you know nothing, Lord Exmoor.”
“Yes. No doubt.” He sketched a bow toward them. “Good evening. It was nice to meet you, Miss Ward. I look forward to running into you again.”
He turned and walked away. Alexandra glanced at her companion. “Why don’t you like him?”
Thorpe looked at her coolly. “Exmoor? What makes you say that?”
Alexandra raised a sardonic brow. “I was standing right here. Even one as ignorant as I of the behavior of the English nobility could tell that you were nothing more than polite to him.”
Thorpe shrugged. “We are not friends,” he said carefully. “We are not enemies, either. Merely two people who are not interested in extending our acquaintanceship. Now…would you care to dance?”
It was hardly a subtle change of subject. Alexandra felt that there must be more to the story, but she let him lead her onto the dance floor without protest. The waltz began, and they swept around the ballroom with the other dancers in time to the music. Alexandra’s hand rested lightly in Thorpe’s; his other hand was at her waist. It was quite proper, yet a little titillating, too, to be standing so close to him, gazing into his eyes only inches from hers, feeling the heat of his hand at her waist, as if at any moment he might pull her tightly against him.
Alexandra wondered how he felt about her. It was not a question that normally concerned her. She was sure of her own worth, and while men usually were attracted by her beauty, it did not worry her if they were equally dismayed by her brains or bluntness. But this time, it did matter, just as this time she found his nearness, his touch, his smile, all disconcerting.
After the waltz, Alexandra danced with several other men, but she found them dull compared to Thorpe. She was relieved when Thorpe reclaimed her after the cotillion and escorted her to the informal supper on the floor below. Alexandra sat in a chair against the wall while Thorpe went to get plates of food for them. She started to protest that she was quite capable of getting her own food, but she saw that most of the other couples were doing the same thing, and she decided to say nothing. It seemed remarkably silly to her, but the English were attached to their customs.
As she sat, idly watching the other people in the large room, she noticed that a woman across the room was watching her. She was a small woman, even delicate, and that image was amplified by the gauzy, floating dress she wore. She was quite beautiful, with fair skin and golden hair. Alexandra wondered who she was and what she found so interesting about her.
The woman cast a quick look at the buffet tables, where Thorpe stood, then floated—there was no other word for the graceful, dainty way she walked—over to where Alexandra sat. Alexandra watched her approach with interest. As she drew nearer, Alexandra could see that the woman was older than she had initially thought, with fine lines around her eyes and mouth and a certain brassiness to the gold in her hair that Alexandra thought betokened the touch of something other than Nature. Still, she was lovely in a cool, elegant way.
“I see Thorpe has taken you up,” she said without preamble.
“I beg your pardon?” Alexandra looked at her in surprise. Did the woman not realize how rude she sounded?
“They say you are an American,” the woman went on, ignoring Alexandra’s comment.
“Yes, I am. What does—”
“Then you obviously don’t know about his reputation.”
