Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom: Her Cinderella Season / Tall, Dark and Disreputable

The why of it eluded her. Perhaps because she had spoken truly last night—they were alike in some deeply elemental way. They both stood slightly apart from the rest of the world. The difference between them was that he seemed perfectly content with his situation. But her reaction made not a whit of sense. She both wished to achieve such serenity and, for some reason, wished whole-heartedly to shake him from his.

She sighed. She very much feared that it was for an altogether more common reason that she found herself fixating on him. He had been on the verge of kissing her last night. She’d guessed his intent and her heart had soared, her pulse had ratcheted and she had waited, breathless, for the touch of his mouth on hers. When they had been interrupted she had been frightened, and wildly disappointed.

Later, though, in the privacy of her own room, she had been appalled at her own behaviour and angry at his. Was he so far removed from the world that kissing a young woman in a public venue meant nothing? But, no, then she had remembered how brilliantly—and smoothly—he had covered their almost-transgression. And when she thought further on it, she realised that in actuality she had goaded him into it. He wore his cynicism and reserve like a protective shell and she had not been able to curb her desire to pierce it. She knew she should have shown more restraint, but she’d been left vulnerable by Mrs Bartleigh’s news. When he’d shown a bit of his own vulnerability she had overreacted. She’d taken the conversation to too intimate a level, pushed too far, got too close.

And he’d pushed back, struck out with his heated gaze and warm, wandering hands. Even now she couldn’t help wishing she had discovered a few more of the weapons in his sensual arsenal.

‘Good morning, cousin!’ a voice rang out.

Lily started nearly out of her chair, an instant flush rising. She turned to find Miss Dawson advancing across the room towards her.

‘Oh, goodness! Good morning, Minerva.’ She took up her still-blank sheet of paper and began to fan herself with it. ‘You look lovely today!’

Minerva Dawson laughed, her eyebrow cocked as she clasped Lily’s hand in her own. ‘As do you, my dear. Something has put a beautiful hue to your cheeks. Do tell!’

‘Oh, no, I am merely writing a note for my land steward.’

‘So I see,’ her friend said, glancing at the empty sheets in her hand and in front of her. ‘Well, are you ready to shop? Mother gave me firm instructions. I am to find the perfect pair of gloves to wear to my engagement ball—elbow length and ivory. Not white, not ecru, but ivory.’

‘I shall be ready to go in just a moment—if you would wait while I finish?’

Minerva rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, if I must.’

Lily laughed. ‘You know, Minerva, that I am thrilled that you found a familial connection between us, even if it is a distant relationship through marriage and largely born of your imagination—’ she grinned to take the sting from her words ‘—but I do not think everyone in your family is as well pleased with such a link.’ She gestured for her friend to sit and joined her in the comfortable grouping of chairs near the window. ‘In fact, I think your aunt disapproves of me.’

‘Oh, yes, she does,’ Minerva returned cheerily. ‘But Aunt Lucinda disapproves of nearly everyone without a title—including her husband.’

‘Well, that does make me feel a little more sympathetic towards your uncle.’

‘Don’t let it,’ her friend said flatly. She began to remove her gloves in a brisk manner. Leaning towards Lily, she lowered her voice. ‘The man gives me chills. I don’t care if he is my uncle.’

‘I know just what you mean.’ Lily shuddered.

‘Well, you don’t have to worry about them. I told dear Aunt Lucinda all about your vast lands in Dorset and the vaster amount of money you stand to inherit and that went a long way towards reconciling her to our friendship.’

‘You are incorrigible.’ Lily laughed.

‘It is true.’ Minerva sighed. ‘But a little incorrigibility makes life ever so much more fun!’ She waggled a stern finger in Lily’s direction. ‘And happily, there’s a bit of it in you, too. Now don’t try to bam me—you were mooning over some young man when I came in. Which one? That Mr Brookins, who waxed eloquent over your skills on the pianoforte?’

‘No.’ Lily abruptly decided to tell the truth. ‘Actually, I was trying to decipher Mr Alden’s puzzling behaviour.’

Minerva stilled. Much of the light faded from her smiling face. ‘Oh? Do your thoughts lean in that direction, then?’

‘No,’ Lily said with a grimace. ‘In fact, they travel in another direction entirely. I’m afraid Mr Alden does not like me much, and I was merely trying to work out why that is.’

‘Hmm.’ Her ‘cousin’ examined her closely. ‘Lily, I am a very observant person, have I told you that?’

‘Not that I’ve observed.’ Lily smiled to defuse the serious tone Minerva had adopted.

‘Ha. Well, I observed something interesting last night.’

‘A sudden gust of wind?’ asked Lily facetiously.

‘No.’ Her friend’s brow furrowed. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Nothing. Is this a game? Let me guess again. You observed … the immense number of prawns devoured by the bishop during the intermission?’

‘Well, I did notice that. Shocking, wasn’t it? I’d wager that he’s not feeling quite the thing today.’ The stern finger appeared again. ‘But that was not what I meant. I observed Mr Alden and he was watching you very closely last night.’

‘Probably because we quarrelled and I got the best of him,’ Lily said sourly.

Minerva drew back, surprised. ‘You bested him in an argument? Well, I dare say that was a first for him. No wonder he looked so torn.’

‘Torn?’

‘Definitely torn. I swear, he alternately looked as he meant to devour you, or perhaps to bash you over the head.’

‘No doubt he would prefer the latter.’ She sighed, then got to her feet and wandered over to gaze out of the window.

Minerva pursed her lips. She sat back, levelling a stare in Lily’s direction and drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. ‘Lily,’ she began at last, ‘you know that I only want what is best for you.’

Lily had to suppress an ironic chuckle. Minerva could have no notion how many times she’d heard that particular phrase in her life.

‘Jack Alden is a very handsome man, in an intense and yet disarmingly rumpled way.’

‘I know,’ agreed Lily. ‘Don’t you have to stop yourself from straightening his cravat and smoothing out the line of his coat every time you meet him?’

Her friend stared at her. ‘Well, no. But it is rather speaking that you do, my dear.’ A gentle smile belied the slight crease in her brow. ‘Just be careful,’ she pleaded, her tone low and serious. ‘Some men are amenable to having their neckcloths straightened and some are in no way ready to contemplate such a thing.’

‘I understand what you are saying, Minerva, and I appreciate your concern beyond words.’ Lily focused on the traffic outside in the street for a long moment. ‘He’s hiding,’ she said abruptly.

Minerva heaved a great sigh. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘You do?’ She spun around in surprise.

The corner of her friend’s mouth twitched. ‘I recognised the symptoms from personal experience.’ She raised a questioning brow. ‘As do you, I assume.’

Lily nodded.

‘Well, then we both know that you cannot force him to stop. He will battle his own demons in his own time—just as everyone else must, sooner or later.’

Lily met her friend’s gaze squarely. ‘Would you consider me insane if I told you that I have been wondering … if perhaps I am meant to help Mr Alden?’

‘No,’ Minerva replied promptly. ‘I would consider you the most generous girl with the grandest heart in all of England. But I would also warn you that Jack Alden is a man grown. He can help himself. You can go on enjoying your all-too-brief stay in London—as you were meant to do.’

Lily regarded her with affection. ‘You are a very dear friend.’

‘I know,’ Minerva responded comfortably, ‘but you deserve me.’

For several long moments Lily sat, silent. Her thoughts swirled while her conscience struggled to find a balance between her wants and her needs. At last she sighed. She knew what she wanted, but she also knew what she must do.

‘Minerva,’ she said slowly, ‘we will likely be seeing much of Mr Alden over the next weeks.’ She grimaced. ‘Tomorrow, for instance, Lady Dayle and I are to accompany him on a day trip to a friend’s country villa.’ She gestured helplessly about them, at his family’s house which sheltered them. ‘But I think it is best that I keep my distance—for all of our sakes.’ Lily reached for her friend’s hand and clasped it tightly when it came. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Yes,’ Minerva responded slowly. ‘I rather think I will.’

Whistling, Jack swept a brush down the muscled flank of one of his sturdy greys. ‘Now this is a job for a one-handed man,’ he said aloud. The doctor had agreed to let him leave off with the splint, but his arm still felt a long way from fully recovered. ‘Let’s finish it up, boys!’ he called to the men polishing his brother’s landau. ‘Our ladies will be ready shortly. Let’s be sure to give them a beautiful ride!’

He could see the vehicle, shining already in the early morning sun, and the grooms scrambling over the cobbled yard of the mews. His brother’s voice rang out just then and Jack turned as Charles entered the stable.

Charles called for his mount and joined his brother, running a critical eye over the horse he laboured over. ‘Morning, Jack. Your greys look to be in fine fettle today.’

‘Perhaps not so flashy as Pettigrew’s bays,’ Jack answered, grinning, ‘but they suit me well. Thank you again,’ he added, ‘for the loan of your landau. It looks to be a good day for our drive. I’m sure Mother and Miss Beecham will prefer the open air to a carriage and none of us would be comfortable squeezing into my cabriolet.’

‘Remind me again where you are all off to?’

‘Chester House. Lord Bradington has invited a select group to view his Anglo-Saxon collection and he’s invited some scholars interested in the period to speak. I’m to read my paper on King Alfred’s system of justice.’ He shrugged. ‘I had originally declined, but the day is fine and I thought the ladies might enjoy it. Miss Beecham seems to go in for that sort of thing.’

Jack grinned as his brother gave him the same sort of once over he’d just given his horse.

‘You do seem to be in remarkably good spirits,’ said Charles. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you looking so relaxed in weeks.’

‘Remarkable what a good night’s sleep will do for a man,’ said Jack, continuing on with his brushing. He was in good spirits. In fact, he was vastly relieved and gloriously happy. ‘It’s all due to a grand bit of news, Charles. Do you recall Benjamin Racci, the fellow who had the apartments next to me at All Souls?’

He watched Charles grimace and search his memory. ‘Vaguely. His area of interest had something to do with Muslims, yes?’

‘Oh, you are good,’ Jack said admiringly. ‘No wonder you do so well in the Lords. Yes, in any case, Racci’s obsession is Muslim influence on Western development. He’s currently in Gibraltar, going over Moorish structures and mosques.’ He paused, leaned on the back of his grey and smirked at his brother. ‘And guess what he caught sight of in Catelan Bay?’

Charles’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Jack a moment, then realisation dawned. ‘Not Batiste?’

‘Batiste, big brother!’ Jack crowed. ‘Racci got my letter, asking that he keep an eye and ear out, and then, wham! One morning he spots the Lady Vengeance riding at anchor in the bay. Racci sent a message off to the British Naval Commander, but she was gone before they got there.’

‘So he’s not been caught?’ asked Charles.

‘No, but neither did he re-supply. He’s on the run, Charles, and for the first time I feel as if we truly might catch up with the bastard.’

His brother grinned. ‘So that’s why you are in such a good mood. Triumph of logic and reason over tyranny and villainy?’

‘Perhaps not triumph, yet, but definitely a step in the right direction. And it was due to sound thinking and determination,’ Jack corrected. ‘As well as good contacts, of course.’

‘Nice job, little brother.’ Charles stepped back as his groom led his mount forwards. Another man came to take the grey and Jack savoured the feeling of his brother’s approbation as he handed him over to be harnessed with his mate.

‘I’m surprised you are bothering with poor Miss Beecham now that you’ve got Batiste on the run,’ Charles teased as he swung up. ‘Why bother taking her and Mother out if you no longer need to pursue her connection with Matthew Beecham?’

A small, cowardly piece of his soul had already whispered the same message in Jack’s ear. He rebuffed his brother in the same way he had sternly talked to himself.

‘The girl is Mother’s guest, Charles, not a pawn in some game I’m playing,’ Jack said reproachfully. He waved the groom away and checked his brother’s girth strap himself.

‘I know, I know, it was just a brotherly jibe.’ Charles did not sound in the least repentant. ‘I can’t help thinking of what happened to me, though, last time Mother adopted a protégée.’

Jack froze. ‘The situations are not at all similar.’

Charles laughed. ‘I know. Just watch yourself.’

‘Don’t even joke about such things,’ Jack said with shudder. ‘What a wretched husband I should make, holed up in my rooms, losing myself for days on end in my papers and books.’ He eyed Charles soberly. ‘And we both know what a wretched husband does to a family. I have no plans to inflict such a fate on anyone.’

‘You never know, Jack. Some day you might just meet a young lady who interests you more than your stale ancients.’

‘Miss Beecham does interest me. She’s a lovely girl, but I have no intention of making her miserable for the rest of her life. I give her the respect she is due as a friend of the family, but I’m not about to give up any other possible leads to Batiste.’

‘Do you think the girl will co-operate, then?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I won’t know until I ask.’

‘Best of luck to you.’ Charles nudged his mount forwards. ‘The vote on this bill comes soon, and then I’ll be back to Sevenoaks for a few days.’

‘I’m sure I’ll see you before then.’ Jack waved his brother off.

The landau stood ready, polished surfaces gleaming, the horses prancing in anticipation. Dissatisfied, Jack climbed in. He much preferred to do his own driving. But he gave a nod of readiness to the groom and the team went wheeling after his brother. As the man eased them into the flow of traffic in the street, Jack steeled his nerves against the coming confrontation.

Despite his fine words to Charles, he knew his last encounter with Miss Beecham had been a disaster, start to finish. His shoulders hunched involuntarily. Especially the finish. He’d been sick at the thought of what he’d almost done and horrified at his own complete loss of control.

So close. His hand had buried itself in the glowing softness of her hair. Her breath had mingled, hot and sweet, with his. He’d stood mere seconds away from locking her within his embrace and ending her disturbingly empathetic conversation with a searing kiss.

After his escape he had waged a silent war with himself, wavering between his wish to stay as far away as possible from the dangerous chit and his need to ask for her co-operation in finding her cousin. She had every right to refuse him—to slap his face and order him to keep his distance. But he hoped fervently that she would not.

He felt better, more like himself, now. His success in finding a first trace of Batiste’s whereabouts had taken the edge off of his desperation. He’d slept at last without being haunted by taunting visions of the captain and his father. He’d clamped down hard on his wayward emotions and taken a step back towards the equilibrium he craved.

This exhibition should be the perfect venue to help him get back in Miss Beecham’s good graces. A gorgeous house, intellectual stimulation, fascinating antiquities, beautiful gardens—what more could he ask for? He could deal with her in his own milieu, impress her, charm her and get her alone where he could offer up his proposition and in no way act again like a weak-willed fool.

She was just a woman. One endowed with wit and beauty and a good deal of spirit, to be sure, but no longer a match for his discipline and determination. He could do this. If only she gave him the chance.

Traffic quieted as they made the turn on to Bruton Street. Jack stared as the landau slowed, approaching his brother’s house. What was this? At first he tried mightily to hide his dismay. Then he gave up, gave in and simply laughed out loud. He had not granted the wily Miss Beecham enough credit. Give him the chance? Clearly she meant to leave nothing to chance.

Instead of a pair of ladies waiting patiently inside, a large group of people milled on the steps and on the pavement in front of the town house. Several vehicles waited empty in the street. He spotted Minerva Dawson and her betrothed, Lord Lindley. There stood Mrs Montague and—Lord, was that Sally Jersey? In the midst of them stood Miss Beecham. He caught sight of her as she gave a little jump and a wave.

‘Good morning, Mr Alden!’ she called. ‘I hope you won’t mind a few additions to your party!’

Chapter Six

Lily had succeeded in her ploy. She’d been unable to deny the twinge of satisfaction she’d felt when she’d glimpsed the surprise on Jack Alden’s face this morning, but, she had to admit, he’d succeeded in surprising her, too.

A country villa? She turned round and round inside the incredible central hall of Chester House. Awestruck, she let her eye rove from the stone floor, over the magnificent plaster ornamentation and on to the high windows and the lofty dome overheard. Her jaw had dropped when they had pulled up to this gleaming neo-Palladian villa, but with her first step inside she’d fallen instantly in love.

Oh, how her mother would despise the place. A wealthy gentleman’s playhouse. A hedonist’s dream, replete with everything fanciful, ornate and overblown.

But so much more, as well. Like a light and airy treasure box, it showcased art and antiquities flanked by and contained within the most exquisite architecture. It stood testimony to man’s capability for beauty, celebrated his sense of ingenuity and wonder. It spoke directly to Lily’s soul.

Guests, laughing and boisterous, began to spill in behind her. Lily was swept along to an elaborate, tripartite gallery where, en masse, they were met by their host. In the midst of all the splendour, Lord Bradington looked short and somewhat ordinary, yet he stepped up to a lavishly inlaid marble podium and welcomed them with generous and open arms.

‘The best way to properly see the collection is in small groups,’ he announced. ‘We will split up. Besides myself, we are fortunate to have several experts among us. They will be happy, I am sure, to share their knowledge and thus enhance your own enjoyment of the treasures on display. There will be plenty of time to see everything before we gather back here …’ he gestured ‘… in the gallery, to hear our notable speakers and enjoy a light repast.’

Good-natured chaos ensued as people began to separate into groups. Lily took advantage of the confusion. She slipped behind a gilded pillar, anxious for a quiet moment to recover and take it all in.

This was it—what she had been anticipating, hoping for, when she came to London. Not the riches that surrounded her, but the happy exuberance and simple joy to be found in sharing them, their history and the grand idea that they somehow connected every single person here.

Heart pounding, she leaned against the cool marble and peeked out into the crowd. Her eye unerringly went to Jack Alden, as it had done foolishly, repeatedly, all morning.

Why now? she wanted to cry at him. Why now, when she had reached her decision to stay away, made her resolution to avoid him, did he abruptly turn himself into the exact thing she hadn’t acknowledged that she was looking for?

He’d had every right to be angry at her perfidy in inviting along Minerva and her fiancé, the Bartleighs, and a few others besides, to his outing. But he’d acted quite the opposite. He had taken off his hat, thrown back his head and laughed heartily at the sight of her entourage and she had been captivated by the sight of the breeze wafting through his dark hair and the green sparkle of amusement in his eyes. Even as she’d stared, he’d replaced his hat, and given her a jaunty salute, making her wonder if he’d guessed at the reason behind her strategy.

Nor had he objected when she had climbed up with Minerva to ride in Mr Brookin’s flashy demi-landau. Instead, he had welcomed the Bartleighs into his own vehicle and, from what she could see, had spent the drive out chatting and charming them completely.

Now he gathered her friends into a group and then he raised his head and ran a searching gaze about the room.

‘Lily Beecham?’ he called. ‘Miss Beecham must join us as well.’

The others echoed his cry. Lily breathed deep. There was no help for it. All she could do was join the group and avoid Jack Alden as best she could.

This, it turned out, was no easy task. In fact, she thought at one point that it just might be the hardest thing she had ever tried to do.

Gone was Jack Alden’s veneer of cool reserve. Not once did she catch even a hint of worldly cynicism. Instead, he led their group on a private, informative, highly entertaining tour. The Anglo-Saxon antiquities on display throughout the house were fascinating and it seemed he knew something about every piece. He explained the incised decorations on a disc brooch, and pointed out the faint remains of tinning on a Saxon wrist clasp. He spoke at length and with enthusiasm about the theories regarding the Alfred jewel and the possibility that more might exist. He showed himself to be knowledgeable and passionate.

And nigh irresistible.

Lily was unceasingly aware of him all day. She felt attuned to his every clever remark and deep, husky laugh. She grew warmer every time she noticed that his relaxed manner only emphasised the strength of his form and his long-limbed grace. All day she watched him and her body hummed, head to toe, with a heated, shivering awareness.

And yet she forced herself to behave with complete indifference. She did not meet his eye, kept at least two others between them at all times, permitted herself only a distant smile so many times when what she really wished was to laugh out loud.

It was torture.

By the time the papers were read, the speeches given and the lavish spread of food consumed, Lily’s head was aching. She was tired of fighting to keep her gaze from straying to wherever Jack Alden stood. When Mr Keller, another of the scholars invited to speak today, asked her to stroll with him through the famous gardens, she allowed herself one last fleeting glimpse, and then she took the other man’s arm and allowed him to lead her away.

Jack Alden stood poised on the brink of madness. Ahead loomed naught but the chaotic pit and behind him lurked Lily Beecham, one tiny hand placed squarely at his back, urging him forwards to his doom.

He could not believe that it had happened again. He’d come with a plan and a purpose. He’d visualised how he would proceed. He’d anticipated and prepared for her every response. Except, it appeared, for this one.

She blended right in to the atmosphere of Chester House, as if she was meant to stroll amongst the beauties of the ages and enrich them with her own special appeal. He’d half-expected that. He’d expected her to be lively and vivacious. He’d hoped she’d be caught up in his own attempt at charm and charisma.

He’d been at least partly right. Good God—her allure was a nearly palpable thing. She had every man here in her thrall. But something had gone missing. She seemed interested, happy—and utterly indifferent to him.