Chapter One
London, Soho.
1812
The plan was madcap… but Alice Winslow had decided to follow through with it anyway; she had to, no one else was in the position to get justice for her sister.
Plucking the slip of paper from her reticule with a trembling hand, she read, “The Vipers Pit.”
It was a gambling den owned by Lord Rutledge; a tall, bright blond-haired gentleman with the face of Apollo, blessed with high cheekbones, squared jaw, full lips… and the tongue of the Serpent who had tempted Eve.
He was a known rake, but in the last few months, he had spun a spiel of love and affection for Alice’s sister, Penelope—and after two months and a day of ‘courtship’, he had seduced her into bed, taking the one thing a lady of her stature could bargain with—her innocence, before disappearing.
Alice was determined to get him to do the right thing and marry her, otherwise her sister’s spinsterhood fate was sealed.
When the hackney stopped, she paid the indifferent driver, and while her heart thumped up a storm under her breastbone, she approached the marble steps of the club. As she glanced around through the fog-shrouded night, her body felt incredibly alive, every sense feeling somehow sharper.
It was late, almost midnight, as she headed toward the large door, and knocked before she fixed her mask and the silk cowl over her head.
She had carefully chosen this night, the masquerade night, for two purposes. To blend in with the rest of the patrons, and to hide her identity should anyone familiar with her family see her.
Thank the heavens that I know how to sew.
Her mask was passable, a lace and feathered disguise large enough to cover most of her face, while the white cloak lent the image of a dove.
“Penelope, dear sister, I am doing this for you…” she whispered as the door opened and a footman looked down on her.
“Invitation?”
“I was invited by Lord Rutledge,” she said boldly.
“Everyone inside here was invited by him,” the footman said languidly. “If you cannot tell me the—”
“Scarlett parlor,” she blurted. After weeks—no, almost a month of fervent digging and speaking to people she had risked her life to converse with, she’d uncovered a code into the man’s den of vices. “T-that is what he told me to say.”
Her ploy must have succeeded for the impatient gleam left the man’s eyes and was replaced by one of… interest? “You are for that parlor, hm? Well, come in then.”
First barrier breached.
The door swung open and with relief, she stepped into a lavish front parlor that simmered with sinful decadence; it was a place any proper miss would skirt with a mile much less step inside.
She looked around as if in a daze and felt oddly off-balance, well aware she would have been wise to avoid such a wicked place. She had to find the lord, and quickly. She turned in place to see through the melee of men and women parading past.
The interior was luxurious, rich red and black carpets covered the floor, and swaths of red and golden drapes twined themselves around massive white Corinthian columns.
A scattering of tables was placed in an organized sprawl on this lower floor, and many lords and ladies sat around them, cradling drinks in their hands, some lords with cigars between their lips.
Dice clattered as they rolled on the tables while young men shuffled, flicked, and cut cards with artistic expertise.
“A thousand pounds, my lord?” one of the men asked.
The man in question rolled his drink, then looked to the lady beside him parading a fortune of jewels at her ears and throat. “Make it three.”
Abject disgust at the waste of money made her stomach roil; to her, fifty pounds was a fortune, three thousand would make someone comfortable for a year, even two.
“Where do I find you, lord snake?” she asked herself.
Looking up, she saw a jutting balcony above, and lo’ and behold, the very man she was searching for was leaning on the railing, looking down like a king over his court. Two women came to either side of him, one teasing him with a glacé cherry while the other stroked down his chest.
Glancing around for a staircase, she crossed the floor and hurried up while hoping the man would be in the same place when she got to the floor above. And she arrived there just in time to see him round a corner with the two ladies on either arm.
She made to go after him when a strong arm grabbed hers and towed her away. Her head snapped to the side, “What? Who are you! W-what are you doing to me?”
“The doorman said you were for the Scarlett Parlor,” the footman remarked, “And that is where I am taking you.”
Panic set into her heart. “No, no, you don’t understand, I must find Lord Rutledge, I- I have to—”
“You have to do as you were contracted,” he murmured. “The guests are waiting for your… expertise.”
“No, stop, please, I need to see Lord Rutledge!” She tried to yank her arm away, but his grip only tightened.
He yanked her down corridor steps and down a narrow passage, and no matter how she struggled, he dragged her down to the bottom where thick incense swirled around the room.
Giggles met her ears, and she saw women clad in gauzy nothings paraded around the room, serving men drinks. In the shadowed nooks, she saw bodies undulating, and fear rammed right into her head.
“Please let me go,” she whispered, fearing the worst. “I—I misspoke, I meant—”
Someone stepped in front of them, a tall someone, his face shrouded in shadow. “She’s coming with me.”
“I have my orders, she is—”
“Coming, with me,” the man muttered, emerging from the gloom. His sharp gray eyes behind his black demi-mask were as lethal as piercing steel; his jaw looked tougher than basalt. “Or would you deny a Duke what he desires? Is not the reason for this room to allow any man the desires he seeks?”
The tight grip around her forearm lessened. “Your Grace, I—”
“I have given you my order. Let her go,” he growled. “She is mine for the night.”
With little say in the matter, the man dropped his hand and bowed. “My apologies, Duke Valhaven.”
When the footman left, she pressed a hand to her chest, relief washing through her like a flood, but her pulse raced again when Duke Valhaven’s eyes landed on hers.
With an unsteady feeling, she watched the play of light and shadow over his chiseled features as he tilted his head. He stared at her the way an auctioneer appraised a strange ornament. The clean structure of his broad cheekbones and square jaw was offset by the tiny scar slanting through his left eyebrow.
“You are a very far way from home, little mouse,” he finally murmured. “Why are you here?”
As grateful as she was to be rescued from an unsavory fate, she could not be distracted, even by a man as devilishly handsome as this. “…I must speak to Lord Rutledge. Please, it is urgent.”
“Why?” His calmness irked her.
Every moment she stayed with him, Rutledge was slipping further and further away. She notched her head up. “He is a dastardly scoundrel who ruined a woman near and dear to my heart. I must have him marry her if she has any possible way of avoiding being cast as a fallen woman and shoved into ignominy.”
His lips twitched. “Your plan was doomed from the inception. You might have a better hope of fetching a hunk of cheese from the moon, mouse, than convincing Rutledge he must marry one of his conquests. A seducer is as liable to change his ways as a leopard is to change his spots.
“They find a woman who poses a challenge, they wheedle and cajole, and spin their web of lies to draw an innocent into their path. When he’s gotten what he wants, he moves on with nary a look over his shoulder.”
Alice’s heart fell to her feet. “No, no… surely there must be a way,” she held back an aggrieved cry. “He must pay.”
“I doubt you will sway him,” his mocking drawl exasperated her. “He’ll laugh in your face.”
“I’ll hold a pistol to his head if I must,” Alice swore. “He must do the right thing.”
“He won’t.”
“He must.” She felt flustered and spun around, as if the man in question was behind her and she could tell him her demand… or fall to his feet and beg. “I—I cannot leave here without speaking to him. Where did he go?”
“He is in a place where, if you enter, your innocence will be ripped from you and your delicate sensibilities,” the Duke replied. “I assure you, you do not want to look behind that door.”
Alice felt the need to sit, and the moment the room began to swim, and her knees buckled, a strong hand grasped her and steadied her. “Easy, mouse. You do not want to collapse here.”
She began to fear all her careful planning was now for naught, how she had followed Rutledge’s steps for weeks, how she had cajoled her aunt and her cousin to go and visit their friend in the countryside this very night—while her uncle was away at Oxford on business—just so she could be free to slip out to London.
All this work… for nothing.
***
The poor girl is about to faint.
Did she know where she was?
The moment he had seen her being dragged away, Edward had known he had to get to her, or she would not survive the night, certainly not where the footman was taking her. She could not have looked more of an outsider—even while in costume—if she tried.
Edward, as cynical, jaundiced, and disillusioned as he was, felt amused that this little Miss thought she could sway Roderick Hammond to give up his roaming ways to marry a woman—one of many he had ruined—and domesticate himself.
Holding her firm, he had to moderate his grip; she was so petite that she looked like a porcelain doll, and wrapped in all that white, more a cherubic one.
The satin mask molded to her delicate bone structure, her lips were rosy and plump, and while it was too dim for him to see the color of her eyes—the light came from behind her, not over him—he could tell they were some shade of blue.
They are fringed by the longest lashes I have ever seen.
Over her shoulder, he noticed two footmen and the club manager were on the floor searching—presumably—for this girl. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d backed her into a nook, and with one arm still locked around her waist, his free hand tilted her head so that it appeared as though they were kissing.
“Play along,” he whispered.
There was a grim warning in his tone, and Edward hoped she would get it—quickly, that she was being hunted and that she needed to be playing this part if she wished to get out of here unscathed.
He concealed her body as much as he could, knowing that after the men passed by, he had a limited time to get her out of the club and back to her home.
Her breath was coming hard and fast in his cheek now. Curious, his eyes narrowed on hers. “Why are you afraid?”
“This…” she swallowed “…is the closest I have been to a man.”
“I would wager you have never been kissed either,” he breathed, eyes gliding over her face, and when her cheeks pinked, something stirred in his chest—interest.
It had been a long time since he had felt such a visceral urge, but damn did it come at the worst moment. He cupped her soft cheek, his thumb coasting over the bridge of her nose. A tremor ran through her at the feel of his thumb so close to her lips. “Si…Sir!”
“It has been a long time since I’ve had the urge to kiss a woman,” he murmured darkly. “Especially one as untrained as you… but alas, it is not meant to be.”
His senses were turned toward the men passing by and when they did, he pulled her cowl over. “We need to leave here. Now. Keep your head down and do not make eye-contact with anyone.”
With his hand protectively on her head, he walked with her down the stairs and through the mingling masses gambling ancient fortunes away, skirting eagle-eyed footmen and ignoring lords who smirked at him, thinking, clearly, that he was going home with another conquest.
“We are almost there,” he uttered eventually, “Do you have a hackney home?”
“…No.”
Clearly, she had not thought this plan through in its entirety. Naïve little mouse.
“I’ll find you one,” he said as they passed through the brilliant circular marble foyer. He didn’t look over his shoulder to the two stories arching over them, much less the basement where the apex of depravity—gaming, drink, and whores—was in true effect.
She came here to find Rutledge but found me. What will she think knowing I partly own this club? Surely, she’ll think I am just as wicked as he.
The night sky blazed with stars as he drew her close, unwilling to let her go so soon as he guided her down the lane to the waiting hackneys. Halfway there, she paused to suck in a breath.
With her hand pressed on her breast, he cocked his head and peered at her before reaching to touch her mask. Instantly, she pulled away, “No, do not touch that; the mask stays on.”
His fingers brushed the lace longingly. “You know who I am… but what is your name?”
She seemed to think for a moment. Perhaps deciding upon whether to conjure up a lie. But then her gaze settled on his again, and she whispered, “Alice… Alice Winslow.”
“Well, my dear Alice Winslow, the Duke of Valhaven at your service. Though I’d prefer if you called me by my name, Edward.”
They headed for the line of hackney’s, and upon finding a driver who did not look a shady character, Edward called out, “You there, are you for hire?”
The driver jerked awake, and blinking fast, sat up and fixed his hat. “Y-yes, Sir. I am. What do you need?”
“I need you to take a friend of mine home.”
“And where is that, good Sir?”
“Grosvenor Square,” Alice replied.
The driver tipped his cap. “Get on in.”
Before he pressed a coin into the driver’s hand, he turned to her. “…If you must know, when I said I wanted to kiss you, I wouldn’t have pounced. I was about to ask for permission.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I will not allow my first kiss to be with a man like you.”
“A man like me?”
“Men like you who take what you want and move on,” she stated bluntly. “Rakes and seducers of innocents, who take what they want without any thoughts or consequences for the ladies they leave behind. I came here to bring a rake to task, not to fall into the bed of one. Your request would have been denied.”
“Such a pity.” He let his hand fall to the small of her back. “It would have been delightful.”
“Perhaps for yourself.”
“Before you leave, may I ask you one final question, Miss Alice?”
Her brows rose at his sudden sincerity. “I… I do owe you very much, I suppose, so, yes, you may ask me whatever you would like. I am at your disposal more than I ought to be.”
“Is your day tomorrow one where you wrap some schoolgirls’ knuckles with a ruler or is it that you lounge away the day, eating bon-bons and sipping mint juleps?”
She lifted her head, puzzled. “Neither. Tomorrow, I will return to my normal life of solitude and seclusion.”
“I… see,” he stepped back and almost merged with the darkness. “Have a safe journey home then. And who knows, we might see each other again.”
Her lips ticked down, wordlessly saying, I highly doubt it.
“Good night, Your Grace,” she smiled thinly.
The carriage rode off and soon vanished into the night but Edward knew her face would never fade from his mind.
While heading back to his carriage instead of returning to the den, he gripped the passenger door a touch more firmly than he ought, then looked over his shoulder. “Don’t fret, little mouse. We shall see each other again, very soon.”
Chapter Two
Arriving home, Alice slipped inside the dark, silent foyer of the townhouse, relieved that she was back safe, but aggrieved that she had lost her one chance to find Rutledge.
Pulling her cloak from her shoulders, she draped it over her arm and looked at the grandfather clock in the foyer; it read two in the morning. There was little chance her sister Penelope would be awake.
Maybe he is right. Maybe my plan was doomed from the start.
Disillusioned, she ascended the steps to her rooms, plucked the mask from her flushed face, and tucked both it and the cloak deep into a trunk, knowing her aunt would be far from pleased should she discover them.
Slipping into a nightgown, she unlatched the window, inviting the cool night air to drift in before sinking between the chilled sheets. Dropping her head on the pillow, her thoughts tangled with the weight of how she was going to tell her sister she had failed her in the morning.
She shifted onto her side. Then the other. Eyes falling shut, her fingertips brushed her lips as a whisper of doubt stirred within her. Should I have let him kiss me?
The answer came in the next breath. No, she should not have. As tempting as the idea was, she did not desire to have her name or reputation attached to a rakehell.
I cannot lie, he does interest me. Hypothetically.
Sighing, she closed her eyes again and let the tension of the night fade away, and eventually, slipped into a deep slumber, her dreams haunted by mystic gray eyes.
The weak rays of dawn light came earlier than she wanted them, but Alice forced herself to wake to make sure the house was ready for her aunt and cousin’s arrival.
When her aunt had taken her and Penelope in after their parents had passed, Alice had decided a fitting way to repay her aunt for kindness was to help around the house. As the eldest of the girls, she made sure the menu for each week was set and attuned to her cousin, Eliza’s picky taste, and her aunt’s persnickety demands.
She also made sure the servant girls laundered her cousin’s dresses properly, that Eliza had her breakfasts at precisely nine-fifteen in the morning, and that her aunt was not disturbed between the hours of one and three in the afternoon.
After washing and dressing, she slipped inside her sister’s room and found Penelope just sitting up.
“Good morning,” she whispered to her sister while sitting on the edge. “How are you feeling?”
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Penelope mumbled, “I feel well. How—” her eyes shifted from Alice to the doors as if someone would suddenly barge in on them. “How did last night go? Did you find him? Did you find Rutledge?”
Alice hated admitting failure, but this time she had no choice. “I came close, Elly, I came really close, but I didn’t get to him in time. I promise you though, I will find him again and convince him.”
Her sister swayed, lifting a hand to her mouth, her eyes pooling with unshed tears. “I—I don’t know why I allowed him to… to seduce me, Alice. I swear, I thought—I thought he loved me.”
“I know, Elly,” Alice whispered sympathetically, her heart hardening with contempt for the man. “He is a vile, dishonorable seducer and if he does not do the right thing, one day he will face his comeuppance.”
Resting her cheek on Alice’s shoulder, Penelope asked morosely, “What if he refuses to marry me, Alice?”
A seducer is as liable to change his ways as a leopard is to change his spots.
“I’ll shoot him,” she said plainly, while forcing the Duke’s words away. “Not somewhere he might die from but somewhere he might really feel it.”
Her dry comment eked a laugh from Penelope as she made to get out of bed. “I need to wash and get ready for today. We have a luncheon at Lady Westley’s home tomorrow, remember.”
“I do,” Alice sighed. “I anticipate it will be a long dreary day with women tittering about this handsome lord or which lady is likely to marry him. That is if they are not debating which French fashion is the best and the older women trading advice on how to combat colic.”
Giggling, Penelope vanished into her bathing chamber. Alice left the room and descended the stairs to the main room and after briefly speaking with the staff, returned to the level above to make sure the breakfast room was in order for her aunt and cousin’s luncheon later that day.
Returning to her rooms, she picked out the dress she was to wear for the luncheon and laid the gown; a light ivory tight-waist gown with puff sleeves and a modestly revealing décolletage on the bed. She lined up her half-boots with it and then went to assist Penelope.
“What gown are you thinking?” she asked while rifling through the dresses.
“A muslin,” Penelope took a gown out and pressed it to her front while swirling in place. “It is the newest one I had made from the modiste.”
“It is very flattering,” Alice smiled. “I like the bodice trimmed with white lace.”
“So do I,” Penelope nodded while turning to the floor-length brass-gilded mirror. “I hope it will be a good day for me to see my old friends. The last few days were hardly nice ones.”
Alice’s tempered smile hid the grief in her chest; the last few weeks had been rough for Penelope, especially the night when she allowed Rutledge to tempt her into his bed.
“Do you think he will be there?” Her sister asked while rifling through her jewelry box.
‘He’ being Rutledge.
“I don’t know, Elly. I do not think he will be there,” Alice replied thinking, dully, that the man was probably still in the gambling house in the bed of his nightly companions. “If he is, I will find him and confront him.”
The clatter of boots down the hallway drew their attention and from the voices coming from down below the floor they were on, it was clear that their aunt and cousin had returned.
“We should leave it at that for now. We’ll continue this discussion later on,” Alice said while rising from the bed and leaving the room.
She could not dare let Eliza, a ribald gossip and embellisher, to even get a hint of the position Penelope was in. If she did, her sister’s reputation would be ruined in a matter of days. Closing the door behind her, she spotted a grouchy Eliza, clad in a dove grey coat, entering her rooms with two maids behind her.
Alice knew she would not see her cousin again until noon, so she went to her aunt’s room to greet her before her noontime rest.
“Aunt Agatha,” Alice smiled warmly. “How was your trip?”
Her aunt peeled her coat away and plucked her pins from her greying hair. “It went well. I must say though, Lady Oglerthorne is not the lady I thought her to be. Her daughter looked at poor Eliza as if she were a fisherman’s daughter, not that of a respected solicitor.”
To the ton, anything less than generations of money and titles means you are automatically labeled as from Shop. Gentry is nothing less than dirt in their eyes.
“I am sorry to hear that,” Alice replied, refraining from mentioning that she, as the daughter of a merchant, knew all too well how ladies of the ton shied away from being in the company of those lesser than them.
Her aunt, a little taller than the average woman, patted her silvering hair. At fifty-six, and with a daughter conceived later in life than she would have wanted, her aunt was incessantly trying to ingratiate herself with those of the ton to make sure her daughter had better connections and marriage prospects.
“Well, she will see when my precious Eliza marries one of the most eligible bachelors this Season,” her aunt scoffed. “Matter of fact, the engagement at Lady Westley’s home will be the catalyst for Eliza to make her match.”
“I will alert the staff to send up tea at midday,” Alice replied as she stepped out of the room and returned to Penelope.
Her sister had finished bathing and was dressed in a periwinkle blue day frock and sat while Alice began to braid her hair.
“You did not tell me where you had to go last night to find him,” Penelope asked with a pitch in her tone.
“Oh, just one of his usual haunts,” Alice answered evasively. “Luckily, it was in a place where I could hide my identity and leave unscathed.”
She deliberately kept her words vague so her sister did not realize the danger she had placed herself in. Alice could not put into words the air of wickedness and debauchery at this club and despite her steeling herself, she had felt the decadent ambiance seep into her skin.
“He slipped away before I could get to him,” Alice added while sliding a pin into her sister’s hair. “But never fear, I will not stop until I corner that scoundrel.”
Twisting to look over her shoulder, Penelope smiled. “Thank you, sister.”
“No need to thank me,” Alice replied, knowing that there was no one else to help her sister, and that, in itself, made her understand, there was no margin to fail.
She had to come out the victor here, her sister depended on it.
***
The continued knocks on Edward’s door had begun as faint raps on wood, but they grew, and grew, until Edward could not take the strident noise anymore. He flung the sheets away and strode to the door, clad in only his underclothes—he had an idea who today’s offender was anyway.
“Benedict,” he grumbled to the early morning sight of his half-brother. “What do you want?”
At two-and-twenty years, his younger brother, now a newly minted Marquess, strode decisively into the room, not caring that Edward clearly intended to resume his sleep.
“How was last night?” Benedict chimed, practically tipping on his toes. “Did you meet any ladies?”
Edward refrained from rolling his eyes, “It was a gambling parlor, Benedict, not a soiree.”
“Surely you would have met someone though?” Benedict smoothed his copper hair away from his face.
Cocking a dark brow, Edward flatly muttered, “If I did, do you honestly think I would be here?”
“Touché,” Benedict grinned. “Are you attending tomorrow’s luncheon at Lady Westley’s home?”
“Is that why you’re here?” Edward did roll his eyes this time as he slid between the sheets again. “I would rather have my back teeth kicked out by a horse’s hoof than willingly mingle with marriage-minded ladies and their mamas.”
“I still do not understand why you strike out against marriage so much. I’d imagine a wife certainly can provide balance to a man’s life,” Benedict added.
Propping the pillows up behind him, Edward squinted in the dimness provided by the thick brocade curtains. “Are you off to the marriage mart now? I thought you were set on sowing your royal oats first. After all, you are in your second year at Oxford, that is what your age does.”
His brother’s face grew sly. “I’d imagine you were the best of them all.”
“You ought to quantify what best of them means,” Edward’s chuckle preceded him closing his eyes. “Now, go away, I need to sleep. Oh, and Benedict, if you do find a woman there, be careful. When most women look at us, they see money, luxury, and a way to elevate their family. Not the men we are.
“Try to keep your ardor behind your trouser’s placket, will you, and if you do—” Edward leaned over to his bedside table and plucked a white box out from it, then tossed it to his brother. “—use these. They call them French Letters. Don’t ask me to show you how to use them.”
Examining the box, Benedict nodded sagely. “I think it will be easy to figure out.”
“And there’s that Oxford intellect on display,” Edward muttered wryly, turning away. “Close the door on your way out and tell the staff not to interrupt me.”
“Wait,” Benedict asked at the doorway. “Won’t you need some of these back for yourself?”
“Like any worthy Hell Born Babe, I have more than enough.”
Chapter Three
Arm in arm with Penelope, Alice held her parasol at her side, admiring the sprawling expanse of Lady Westley’s palatial gardens.
Amid the winding pathways, trimmed hedges, and flowery bushes, she drew in a breath of fresh air. The countryside idyllic home was a valuable escape from the bustling, smoke-choked bosom of London.
Here, surrounded by towering oaks, she appreciated the myriad dragonflies with their mosaic wings and chirping birds, over the clattering carriage wheels and raucous road mongers of the London Street.
“What a lovely place,” Penelope sighed, her gloved hand brushing down her middle. “It is unfortunate we do not see such open spaces in the Square.”
Though listening, Alice’s eyes were on the lords passing by, most of them matching the floral ambiance with colorful jackets and waistcoats, some even adorned in orange and pink cravats. Truthfully, she was looking for any sign of Rutledge, though she knew there was a slim chance he would be present.
The nodcock is probably still in the bed of one of the women he sauntered past me with.
“Girls,” Aunt Agatha chirped, her fan fluttering while she inched her way with her green gown. “Keep an eye on dear Eliza, will you? Make sure she does not fall in with the wrong ones, yes.”
“Who does she think are the wrong ones?” Penelope whispered. “These are all vetted members of the ton, aren’t they? Are scapegraces and blackguards about to come over the wall and through the shrubbery?”
Alice didn’t reply but she would tell Penelope what she thought her aunt meant when they had a moment of privacy.
Holding back a grimace—or was it a sigh of relief—at realizing Rutledge was not there, she trained her attention to the flocks of ladies around them.
She knew what her aunt meant; make sure Eliza found the girls that came from the crème-de-la-crème of the ton, daughters of Dukes or Marquesses; who her aunt considered good company. What her aunt meant was that she had to make sure such a girl was a wallflower or a spinster, where Eliza would enjoy the company and take the shine.
As unassuming as her aunt was, Agatha was cutthroat when it came to her daughter and making sure Eliza climbed the social ladder.
Alice’s mind flittered to Duke Valhaven, his haunting grey eyes—and she held back a shiver.
Put him out of your mind. You will never cross paths again.
“I’ll take care of what Aunt asked us to do,” Alice assured Penelope. “Do you want something to drink? The buffet gazebo is over there.”
“I would like a glass of lemonade,” Penelope said as she nodded to a seat under an elm. “I’ll be over there.”
While her sister went off to sit, Alice went to the gazebo, its wide lattice barriers light and cheerful. Some ladies and gentlemen were mingling there first so Alice waited her turn.
In between times, she made sure to keep an eye on Penelope, but it seemed she was doing just fine. Her sister had the same coloring their mother had; her hair golden with a tint of red to it, pale skin, and bright blue eyes she had inherited from their father.
I need to fix this situation for her. It is what mother and father mandated me to do.
Upon reaching the refreshment table, she was promptly asked for her order. “Two glasses of lemonade, please,” she requested with a polite smile.
Turning to leave with cups in hand, she very nearly collided with a gentleman standing close behind her. She gasped in horror, the drinks almost sloshing over the rims. “Heavens! I am so sorry. Did—did I spill some on you?”
Blue-grey eyes gleamed under coiffed russet hair. “Never fear, my lady, you have not doused me with lemonade,” a youthful voice chimed back.
Relieved, she examined his bronze waistcoat and blue cravat to make sure. “I am glad. Will you please excuse me, my lord?”
“No,” he said, and she was at a loss of what he meant, when he added, “Please, let me carry those for you. Any half-decent gentleman would not allow a lady to carry these on her own. Please.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Are… are you sure?”
“Benedict Landon, Marquess of Brampton, at your service,” he replied, while gently prying the glasses from her, “Please, lead the way.”
As she headed to the seat where Penelope had indicated, she found that her aunt and Eliza had joined them and realized her grave mistake of taking only two cups.
Her aunt perked up at seeing the lord behind her, her stern expression suddenly as bright and sweet as a summer’s day. “We were wondering where you had gone off to, dear.”
Stepping aside, Alice began, “Aunt Agatha, may I introduce his lordship, Marquess Brampton. He graciously offered to bring the drinks for Penelope and Eliza.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Penelope said curtsying.
Eliza was a touch slower, but she followed as well, and when he handed both their glasses, he added, “I am remiss. It is not fair for two to drink when they can be four. Please, excuse me.”
“My lord, you don’t—” Alice lifted her hand to stop him, but he caught it and kissed the back of it instead.
“‘Tis my pleasure, my lady,” he replied.
Alice could feel her aunt’s glare singe the side of her neck and knew she had to tell the lord the truth about her station when he returned. She had to make sure he knew she was not a lady, which would possibly turn his eye to Eliza—even though she was not a lady either.
In the few minutes he was gone, questions flew from all sides.
“Where did you meet him?” Penelope asked.
“Why didn’t you tell us about him?” Her aunt demanded.
“Were you thinking about keeping him to yourself?” Eliza muttered.
“I just met him.” Alice kept her tone civil, though she almost made to scoff at that last remark. “I very nearly spilled those drinks on him, and he decided to do the gentlemanly thing and carry them for me.”
“Oh.” Eliza blinked, her blue eyes clearing, before she sipped her own drink.
“He’s coming, he’s coming,” Aunt Agatha murmured quietly.
The Marquess returned to a wide-eyed entrance, holding two glasses in hand, before handing one to Alice and one to her aunt.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, heart hammering. “But you should know, I haven’t a title. I am Miss Alice Winslow. My father was a merchant.”
He cocked his head, a brow arching. “I apologize, Miss Winslow, if I accidentally made you feel the need to declare such a thing.”
“It only felt fair to state it,” Alice smiled thinly. “I would hate to appear to be something that I am not.”
Marquess Brampton’s grin was slanted, very boyish but still handsome. “I assure you; I am unbothered. If your aunt would be inclined to chaperon, would you walk with me for a spell, after you finish your drink of course?”
Aunt Agatha nearly fell over her feet agreeing and when the Marquess bowed away, she wanted to walk away because she knew that her aunt would capitalize on the unexpected meeting and near mishap.
“Do everything in your power to charm him,” her aunt ordered. “Do not, and I mean do not regale him with whatever nonsense of the last book you have read. Listen to him, be submissive, do not give him any reason to walk away.”
When Benedict did return, Alice, like many other times, squashed her irritation, forced a smile on her face, and took his offered arm.
“Truly, you hadn’t needed to clarify your origins,” Benedict grinned, keeping his face forward.
“I did not want to give you a false impression,” she began, gently twisting her head to look at him. “I do detest generalizations, but it is very plain how the ton sees those who are Gentry.”
“I hate to tell you that the divisions in the Upper Ten are as bad as the prejudice you face,” Benedict shrugged. “They are not as visible, but they are there.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The lords have to be sure the women they meet are not only there for gain and the ladies have to be absolutely sure the lords nipping at their heels are not fortune hunters in disguise,” he said. “The open secret of the ton is that matches and marriages are made on the consideration of power and fortune.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. “Do you… follow that philosophy?”
He paused in the middle of the path and turned to her, his expression understanding as he clearly had deduced the words she hadn’t said. “No, I do not.”
For once, Alice allowed herself to smile. Sincerely. “Thank you.”
“Now,” he began, spinning and leading the way once more. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Only if you will do the same,” she said. “In plain words, my lord, I am a simple country Miss with a practical mindset. I read very much but not so much as of late.”
“And why is that?”
“I suppose I have been caught up in… other things,” Alice said, knowing her tone was vague. She couldn’t dare tell him that she felt too old, too self-sufficient, and too unsophisticated to attract a husband because while she felt so, she knew it was the only way to save her sister.
“When our parents passed—that is to say, myself and my younger sister, Penelope, the young lady with blond hair—my aunt graciously took us in, and she was more than happy to use her position to give her rustic nieces a way to find decent prospects for marriage, and with that, a better life.”
“Sometimes I realize that I am out of touch with the hardships ladies face in our society,” Benedict admitted. “I am still at Oxford, you see, where we men are cloistered in study halls and in the classrooms.”
“In the daytime, I assume, but what happens away from the halls?” she asked, cringing at her failing attempt to sound coy.
His warm laugh made her feel that she was on the right track with him. “Touché, Miss Alice. At night, we are another sort of cloister. The mischievous ones.”
There was no question mischievous was a euphemism for something else entirely; something risqué. “I cannot recall a time I have been mischievous,” she murmured.
“You should try it sometime,” Benedict’s grin was nothing less than charming and tempting. “It’s fun.”
Giggling, she asked, “What do you consider fun?”
“Croquet,” Benedict replied dryly.
Again, she knew he did not mean that. “I enjoy our repartee.”
As they rounded a corner, she found themselves surrounded by a gaggle of giggling debutantes. Holding back a grimace, she allowed Benedict to lead them over and they entered the fray.
Razor-sharp smiles greeted Alice as she curtsied to the titled ladies. She could feel their derision; how was it that a second-class girl like her was on the arm of a titled lord, second perhaps to a Dukedom.
“Miss Alice, is it?” Miranda Valentine, the daughter of an Earl—a tall, slender woman long considered firmly on the shelf—stood encircled by her usual companions. “I am surprised to see you here; aren’t Saturdays for restocking days at merchandisers? Not that I should know of course.”
“My uncle is a lawyer,” Alice said evenly. “My late father was with the East Indian Traders.”
“Oh,” Miranda fluttered her fan. “Merchandiser, lawyer, much of the same.”
Flustered, Alice had the suffocating feeling that she should tell them that she only wanted to borrow the Marquess for a few minutes and would send him right back.
“Are you attending this Season?” Petunia, a pug-faced debutante who wore more rouge than the fashionable rule allowed, asked.
“My cousin, my sister, and I will be attending, yes,” she replied.
Lady Tabitha, the third of the threesome blinked her wide vapid blue eyes. “But who will mind the shop with you gone?”
She ground her teeth but forced a smile. “There is no shop, my lady.”
“Lord Brampton,” Miranda simpered, gaze falling back on the Marquess smoothly. “I heard your trip to the Far East changed your life. Could you give listening ears a tidbit of the journey?”
Alice was willing to stay in the company of the ladies as long as the Marquess wanted; she would take the snipes and un-subtle jabs because this was temporary; her and Penelope’s future was on the line.
“I would,” Benedict muttered. His stiff tone made Alice’s chest tighten. “But not now, my ladies. If you will excuse us.”
Without any preamble or by your leave, Benedict steered her away and they walked into silence until they came to the edge of a manmade pond. Alice sighed and gazed at the ducks gliding on the surface with not a care in the world.
“They do not like me that much,” she said quietly.
“I can see that…” he replied in thought. “Aside from the clear biases they have against you, I am not sure I understand why.”
“That is all that’s needed, I’m afraid,” she sighed. “It is a stigma I’ve borne half of my life, from the schoolroom to the ballroom. I’ve heard all the slights they could levy against me. Most of the time I have turned a blind eye and ear to the she smells like shop witticism, or the one I hear most; she’s no less common this Season than she was the last.”
He shook his head slowly, left to right. “I am… sorry to hear that.”
She jumped when a pair of squirrels burst from the bushes and darted across her boots, their bushy brown tails swishing as their game of chase took them up a tree and high into the leafy boughs.
“Dear lord,” she breathed, her hands pressed to her pounding heart.
Fortunately, Benedict did not let her tip over but held on as she was practically plastered against his side. “My, my, Miss Alice, are you that willing to jump into my arms already?”
Blushing profusely, she pulled away from him and brushed her skirts down, not entirely enthused about the dryness of his tone. “I apologize.”
“No, no, do not,” Benedict snorted. “I appreciate a lovely woman close to me. Well, Miss Alice, I may have to rethink my ideas about you.”
Wait, what did that mean?
Look out for its full release on Amazon on the 24th of January
