The Season(20)

“…he is an earl.” Alex was shaken from her thoughts by the end of Ella’s statement.

“I beg your pardon?” Alex fibbed, “With the chatter and the music, I didn’t hear.”

“I said, no wonder she looks so proud of herself…he is an earl after all…and two dances this soon after his exiting mourning, newly titled…” She trailed off again.

She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Alex understood perfectly. The gossips of the ton were likely already chattering about this; a newly minted earl and the daughter of a marquess dancing two dances in a row made for the most exciting kind of speculation—the kind that involved marriage.

“Of course, she is odious.” Ella added, “Blackmoor must realize that…mustn’t he?”

Alex turned away from the object of their conversation as other couples obscured her view once more, and spoke quietly, “One can only hope so.”

Ignoring the unfamiliar gnawing that had begun in the pit of her stomach, she smiled a too-bright smile at her friend. “Lemonade?”

seven

No…”

Alex whined and pulled the coverlet up over her head, burrowing deeper into the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows to escape the brilliant sunlight that streamed into her bedchamber. “Eliza…I’m sleeping. Pull the curtains and go away…please?”

“That might work were it solely Eliza, Alexandra. But she brought reinforcements…and as your mother, I insist you rise. You’re wasting the day away.”

Alex pulled the covers down and opened one eye to peer above the fabric. She could see her mother standing in the sunlight, regarding the gardens below with a critical eye. Recognizing the expression on the duchess’s face, she groaned and pushed the covers back, sitting up in bed. “Oh, no. You’re going to assign me a task.”

The duchess turned to face her daughter. “A task, indeed. But a task I think you’ll find intriguing.”

Alex cast a quizzical look at her mother and waited. A smile broke across the duchess’s face. “Dress. Then meet me to break your fast in the morning room.”

Alex watched skeptically as her mother swept gracefully from the room without offering a single hint of what she wanted. For a brief moment, Alex considered ignoring the edict and going right back to sleep, but her curiosity—and her hunger—got the best of her. With an exaggerated sigh, she rose.

By the time she entered the morning room to meet her mother three quarters of an hour later, Alex’s hunger had overcome all other emotions. She burst through the doors, already moving toward the sideboard where the morning meal had been set. She was several paces into the room before she became aware of her surroundings and slowed to a halt.

There were flowers. Everywhere. In every shade and shape imaginable, blossoms covered tabletops and bookshelves. There were posies perched on the duchess’s writing desk, vases balanced on plant stands, and even three bouquets that had been placed on the marble floor in front of the room’s fireplace. Turning in a slow circle, Alex took in the room before settling her gaze on the duchess, who, despite being seated as regally as any queen, was smiling quite foolishly.

“Good Lord,” Alex spoke in amazement.

“Language, Alexandra. Ladies do not use that phrase. Your father and brothers have had too much influence on you.”

“Mother, admit it’s appropriate in this situation. You’ve cleaned out every hothouse in Britain!”

“Not I, daughter.” The duchess did not move from her seat. “They. Every one of these blooms arrived with a card from a suitor.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “Suitors of whom?”

“You know quite well that you took London by storm last night. Just as I expected you would.”

A rumbling sound erupted from Alex’s stomach and she was reminded of her hunger. Ignoring the smug expression that had taken over her mother’s visage, she moved toward the sideboard and filled a plate with pastries and freshly sliced fruit while she took a deep breath and considered her next course of action.

“Mother, I cannot imagine what I could possibly have done to encourage the attentions of even a fraction of these ‘suitors.’ In fact, I went out of my way to avoid encouraging them.”

She picked up a calling card from the blossoms that had been precariously perched between the breakfast trays and read the message. “Viscount St. John? He’s got the intelligence of a goat. If this is an indication of the kind of suitors I’ve got simpering after me, it speaks to a significant problem with my perceived quality.”

“Alexandra, there are some forty bouquets in this room alone, and I’ve had several posies sent to the upstairs parlor because of space constraints here. I feel confident that there are several notes from gentlemen who are not dull-witted.” The duchess held up a stack of cards, which she had obviously collected prior to Alex’s arrival. When she began to read them aloud, Alex collapsed onto a chaise nearby and grazed on her breakfast while commenting on the senders in question.

“Lord Denton. He’s very well appointed, and a marquess.”

“And doesn’t fail to mention both the money and the title at any opportunity.”

“Arrogance isn’t a terrible trait in a male, Alexandra.”

“It is when the male in question is a crashing bore as well.”