The Season(7)

To her surprise, she had missed him in the past few months, and the short time had changed him. She had seen him last in January, three months ago, at the funeral of his father, the late earl. The earl had died tragically from a fall from his horse on a rocky cliffside path on the Blackmoor estate in Essex. The entire ton had mourned the loss of Gavin’s father—a wonderful, intelligent man who had been liked and admired by all.

Alex could remember watching Gavin at the funeral as he stood with sadness in his eyes, strong and silent next to his devastated mother. She had wanted to go to him, to speak to him, but in the crush following the funeral and in the days thereafter, she’d been unable to find a moment to tell him how sorry she was for his loss—not that those words would have held much comfort for a son who had lost his father so unexpectedly.

Now, as she watched him speak with her brothers, she noted his thinner, more serious face, the deeper set of his tired eyes. She was happy he was out of official mourning, that he had joined them in London for the season, and that he seemed to be surviving the shift from unburdened heir to earl, complete with all the responsibilities that came with the title. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder just how much of a toll the last few months had taken.

As though he sensed her thoughts, Gavin turned and met her gaze. Several seconds passed and he winked, as if to assure her that her worries were unnecessary. One side of his mouth raised in a lopsided smile, he turned back to her brothers, and Alex refocused on Ella and Vivi’s conversation, pushing her questions to the back of her mind for the time being, and promising herself she’d find a moment alone with him later.

“I didn’t find it nearly as interesting as Pride and Prejudice,” Vivi was saying.

“Of course you didn’t! I’ve never read Pride and Prejudice’s equal,” said Ella, passionately. “But better or worse is really irrelevant, Vivi. What’s most tragic about this book is that, even now, after publishing three wonderful books—each one easily as brilliant as anything written by a man—the author cannot reveal her true identity for fear of repercussions! It’s inexcusable that, as a society, we would show such a devastating lack of progress.”

“It is disconcerting. But it cannot go on forever,” Vivi pointed out. “This particular ‘Lady’ has garnered too much celebrity to remain anonymous.”

“One can only hope that’s true,” Ella said, turning to look at Alex. “What did you think of the book, Alex?”

Before she had a chance to answer, the conversation was interrupted by Will’s loud and exaggerated groan of anguish from across the room. “We can’t go to the theater that night. It’s Scamp’s coming-out at Almack’s. Mother will have our heads if we’re not there.”

Hearing the odious nickname her brothers used for her, she stopped the girls’ talking with a raised hand and looked over at the boys. “I’m in the room, Will, in case you’d forgotten. And trust me—I don’t find the thought of an evening at Almack’s any more entertaining than you do.”

“Nonsense,” interrupted Nick. “All girls love the idea of Almack’s. They spend the majority of their early years envisioning exactly what their first evening there will be like. They go all starry-eyed about the ruddy place, imagining just who will be the first man to steal their hearts.”

“Not these girls,” piped in Ella.

“I, for one, have no interest at all in having my heart stolen,” Alex interjected, ire rising.

Gavin leaned back in his chair and studied the trio of girls, taking note of Alex’s rising temper. “To be honest, Nick, I’d be surprised to hear these three speaking of having their hearts stolen…with an attitude like this…I’m guessing this lot is much more interested in who will be the first man to have his heart stolen—they don’t seem the wall-flower type.”

Alex exploded in irritation. “Why is it that men believe that all women care to think about is the trappings of romance and love? You really don’t consider the possibility that there’s anything more to us, do you?”

The boys looked at each other and turned to the girls with expressions that clearly articulated the answer to her question—rendering words unnecessary.

“Fools,” Alex mumbled under her breath. “In actual fact, gentlemen, I think we’d all much prefer to steer clear of heart stealing of any kind, victim or perpetrator,” Alex continued. “Of course, you lot wouldn’t understand that. You’re never going to be forced into dancing with some namby-pamby so your mothers can feel better about your marriage prospects.”

Will snorted in laughter. “Spoken like someone who has never been to a ball with our mother. I promise you, Alex, as difficult as she can be with you, she’s just as impossible with us. The duchess wants a wedding…any wedding will do.”

Gavin joined in. “I second that. Last season our mothers aligned against me—I thought for sure I was done for. I danced scores of quadrilles with any number of desperate young ladies before I realized it would be smart for me to beg off attending balls altogether.” His tone turned thoughtful. “I had planned on doing the same this year…but seeing Alex take London by storm just might be entertaining enough to drag me to a society gathering or two.”

“Be careful what you ask for, Blackmoor,” Nick interjected. “It is I who has been forced to play partner to her during her dancing lessons. She’s not the most graceful of ladies.”