CHAPTER ONE London, 1885

"It appears the natives are particularly restless this year." Nathanial Harrington gazed over the crowd below from his vantage point on the mezzanine balcony.

"It is spring after all," his older brother, Quinton, said, an amused note in his voice. "The mating rituals have begun."

"I daresay the cream of London society would not be at all pleased at your referring to the season's festivities as mating rituals," Nate said wryly.

"As accurate as the observation might be."

"Accuracy has never played a significant role in the activities of society." Nate glanced at his brother. "Nor, fortunately for you, has punctuality."

Quint shrugged. "I am merely fashionably late."

"You left Egypt a full fortnight before I did and yet I've been back in London for five days now." Nate eyed his brother. "What kept you? Where have you been?"

"Here and there. As for what kept me, it's remarkable the number of," Quint grinned in the wicked manner that had been the downfall of more than one unsuspecting woman, "diversions a man without the accompaniment of his conscience might encounter."

Nate raised a brow. "When you say conscience, are you referring to me?"

"Absolutely, little brother." Quint chuckled. "You are my conscience, the custodian of my morals, the guardian of my virtue, the--"

Nate laughed. "I don't seem to do a very good job of it."

"And for that I am eternally grateful."

"As am I." As much as he hated to admit it, given that trouble seemed to nip incessantly at Quint's heels, Nate's life would be extraordinarily dull were it not for his brother's penchant for adventure.

When Nate had finished his studies, it had been Quint who had suggested his younger brother join him on his travels and quests for the lost treasures of the ages. Together they had been to lands and places Nate had never dreamed he'd see with his own eyes. The day might find them in Egypt or Persia or Asia Minor, where the Nile or the Tigris or the Euphrates flowed. Wherever men had once lived ad built cities and aspired to forever.

If truth were told, he'd rather expected he'd spend his days in the dusty bowels of museum libraries or the hallowed halls of one university or another. He had anticipated his life would consist of merely searching for the knowledge of the ancients. Instead, he now studied yellowed manuscripts and carved stone fragments for clues to finding the tangibles left behind by history. For Nate, the artifacts and antiquities he and his brother found breathed life into long dead civilizations and made them real. Quint was more concerned with the fine price they would bring from museums or collectors. Yet despite their differences in philosophies, or perhaps because of them, they made an excellent and accomplished team.

"Did you..." Quint paused, the question unasked but then it didn't need to be said aloud.

Nate cast his brother a resigned look. "The fines were paid, the permits arranged for the appropriate—if fictitious—dates to avoid further fines, all necessary authorities received the usual, and in a few cases more generous than usual, bribes. And the French counsel is now certain it was not you seen leaving his wife's rooms. Attention was diverted toward one of the Americans." Nate shook his head. "It's a pity really. I rather liked them."

"I daresay their morals in matters of this nature are no better than mine. And certainly no better than the French Counsel's wife." Quint flashed him an unrepentant smile. "Your help is most appreciated, you know."

"I do." Nate sighed. "However, you should be prepared for Mother's ire. I can't help you there. She was concerned that you wouldn't make it home at all."

"Come now, I would never miss our little sister's coming out ball." Quint adjusted the cuffs at his wrists. He had the look of a man who had dressed in a hurry, as he no doubt had. "Reggie would cut my heart out as would Mother and, probably, Sterling as well."

"It does seem a requirement to have all family members present when launching a sister on the seas of society." Nate gazed over the crowd below them. "When did you finally arrive in London?"

"What time is it now?" Quint grinned. "Obviously, I haven't missed anything of importance nor does it sound as if I missed anything of interest in Alexandria."

"Not really." Nate paused. "Oh, there was someone asking about you."

Quint's grin widened. "Someone is always asking about me."

"Yes, well, this was not a suspicious husband or outraged father. Do you recall Enrico Montini?"

Quint shrugged. "Vaguely."

"Surely you remember him. He claimed to have discovered a seal, ancient, Akkadian if I remember, that made reference to the Virgin's Secret, the lost city of Ambropia. He was very cautious and wouldn't show us the seal itself only the clay impression made by the seal." Nate stared at his brother. Quint had worked with the professor who was the leading authority on Ambropia years ago. "You can't possibly have forgotten. It was a remarkable find."

"Yes, of course."

"Apparently he died rather suddenly a few months ago."

"How unfortunate," Quint murmured.

"Indeed. His brother, odd little fellow, accosted me a few days after you left. He was quite irate and accused us, really you—"

"Me?"

"Your reputation precedes you." Nate grimaced. While he worked hard to keep their activities legitimate, there had been incidents before Nate had joined Quint that had been, at the very least, questionable. "Montini's brother suspects someone substituted a seal of lesser quality and age for his which he then unknowingly presented to the Antiquities Society Validation committee. Needless to say they were not amused."

"Very little does amuse them," Quint said under his breath.

"Montini was discredited. His brother claims the shattering of his reputation somehow led to his death and he wants to find those responsible."

The Validation and Allocation Committee of the London Antiquities Society was charged with determining the significance of the finds of those of its members who hunted for artifacts in the far corners of the world as well as evaluating proposals for future work. The Society's board used the committee's decisions to determine whether or not to lend support to an expedition. Support which might be as minimal as the use of the Society's influential name or as consequential as financial backing.

"You should know I told his brother you had left Egypt for Turkey. I suspect he intended to follow you."

"Most appreciated."

"One does what one can for one's brother." Nate shook his head. "Pity about Montini though."

"No doubt he simply made a mistake," Quint said.

"Still, if I recall the impressions he showed us—"

"Such things happen all the time. You and I have on occasion believed a find to be more significant than it was." Quint paused, nodded at the gathering below them and abruptly changed the subject. Not that it really mattered. "Whose idea was it to have this ball out of doors?"

Nate chuckled. "Who do you think?"

"And Mother allowed it?"

"She fretted all week about the possibility of rain and what would we do then? But you know how Reggie is when she sets her mind on something." Nate shrugged. "And this is, after all, her party."

Even at age eighteen, Regina Harrington had a strength of character that would be some poor man's undoing one day. Their sister was the youngest child and only girl and neither her mother nor her brothers had ever managed to say no to her. Reggie had gotten it into her head that it would be a grand idea to have dancing on the terrace under the stars and reserve the ballroom for tables for dinner and conversation. She had ignored Mother's concerns with the blithe confidence known only to young women in their first season. Besides it wouldn't dare rain on Lady Regina Harrington's coming out ball and it hadn't. It was a perfect spring night.

Nate leaned on the balustrade and studied the crowd. "When was the last time we were in England in the spring?"

"I'm not sure." Quint thought for a moment. "This time last year we were in Persia and the year before that Egypt, I think, or perhaps Turkey. I really can't say but it's been a long time."

It had been at least six years by Nate's estimation since he and his brother had resided for more than a handful of months at a time in England, at their family's London home or their country estate. They were more likely to be found searching for a lost city in Turkey or a pharaoh's vanished tomb in Egypt or a forgotten temple in Persia and the treasure that would surely accompany such a find. These days they were more at home sleeping under the stars than dancing under them. Nate tugged at the scratchy, starched collar imprisoning his neck. And they'd be far more comfortable as well. Still, it was good to be home.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I have rather missed the London season," Quint said thoughtfully.

Nate scoffed. "I find that hard to believe. I thought you hated all this."

"Nonsense, brother dear." Quint scanned the crowd below them. "I've never especially liked the unrelenting rules governing it all. The 'you must do this' and 'you absolutely cannot do that'. But the array of English beauty on display during the season is unmatched. It's a grand feast and well worth the effort."

Nate chuckled. "A feast?"

"Absolutely." Quint rested his forearms on the balustrade, clasped his hands together and scanned the gathering. He nodded toward a group of fresh faced, hopeful young females in white gowns. Nate followed his brother's gaze but his eye caught on a dark haired young woman. She wore a dress the deep color of ripe apricots and casually circled the terrace as if she were looking for something or someone.

"There you have the debutantes, those in their first season. They are a first course, light and teasing to the appetite. No more than a suggestion of the offerings to come."

"And the second course?" The woman carried herself with the self-assurance borne of beauty but Nate had the most absurd notion that she was somehow out of place. It was a silly thought. He didn't know half the guests in attendance and wouldn't know who belonged here and who didn't. Nor did he care.

"There." Quint indicated another group of pastel clad young ladies. "This is no doubt their second or third season or more. They are somewhat more substantial to the palate but again nothing more than a prelude. As for the main course..." He narrowed his gaze thoughtfully. "Presentation of a plate, its appeal to the eye, is as important as flavor. One wouldn't be tempted by an offering that did not whet one's appetite." Quint studied the crowd. "Those in more vibrant colors are married or widows. Here, brother, you must make your selection of which dish to sample carefully. While an unhappily married woman makes an excellent main course, an outraged husband does tend to produce unpleasant aftereffects."

"Indigestion?" Nate said absently, still watching the unknown lady meander around the perimeters of the terrace. He couldn't clearly make out her features but he had the oddest sense of familiarity. Had he met her before? Years ago perhaps? Or on one of his rare visits home? Nonsense, from the balcony he couldn't clearly see her face.

"At the very least. But a widow who is content in her widowhood and has no desire to become a wife again can be a most substantial and satisfying—" Quint grinned—"dining experience."

"Very tasty," Nate murmured.

Quint slanted him a suspicious glance. "Are you listening to me?"

"What? Yes, of course," Nate said quickly and straightened. "I am hanging on every word. I believe you have come to," he cleared his throat, "dessert."

"A most important and delightful addition to a meal." Quint shrugged. "Although dessert is entirely dependent upon one's taste. A light and frothy confection of spun sugar and air—"

"Similar to the first course?"

Quint nodded. "Quite. While tasty upon the tongue, such a sweet can lead to a permanent diet which I personally prefer to avoid. And a heavier offering, say a pudding, can be thoroughly enjoyable as long as one is careful not to develop a taste for it."

"Or one might find oneself eating pudding for the rest of one's life?"

"Exactly. And as much as I might like pudding I can't imagine having it every day until I breathe my last."

"Nor can I." Although Nate suspected he would be ready for a steady diet of pudding long before his brother was. Not that he was ready for pudding—or rather marriage—as of yet. Still, the idea was not nearly as repugnant to him as it was to Quint. Nate was confident he would know the right woman when she stepped into his life. Until then, he was more than willing to try whatever desserts were offered.

"It appears Sterling has noted my arrival," Quint said out of the corner of his mouth, directing a smile and a brief wave to their brother who stood off to one side of the terrace beside their mother. The Earl of Wyldwood's annoyed glare was as unyielding as the legendary beacon from the long vanished Pharos of Alexandria. "Shall we join the others?"

"I don't think we can avoid it." Nate chuckled.

Quint stepped through the door onto the mezzanine that overlooked the ballroom. Nate cast a last glance over the crowd below then followed his brother. He had lost the woman in the apricot dress but he had no doubt he would find her. He smiled to himself, noting the same sense of anticipation he always had at the start of any quest, be it for the lost treasures of an ancient people or an intriguing female. Would this be a find of great importance? Or like that poor wretch Montini, would it be nothing more than a dreadful mistake?

Regardless, he had always been fond of apricots.

 

 

Seduction of a Proper Gentleman

~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

August 2008

    

CHAPTER ONE

He thought she was a beggar? Kathleen MacDavid, granddaughter of the Countess of Dumleavy stared at the coins in her hand. Indignation swept through her. A beggar? The arrogance of the man. No, the stupidity!

"I beg your par–" She looked up, the words died in her throat. The earl was already climbing into his carriage.

She watched it pull away and her annoyance faded. To be fair, and Kathleen was nothing if not fair, in the deepening shadows of the approaching night and wrapped in the hooded cloak her grandmother had insisted she wear for luck–as it had been passed down from grandmother to granddaughter for generations and therefore had a certain inherent power–perhaps it might be possible, if one were paying scant attention, to mistake a lady of quality for a beggar. And perhaps, if one incorrectly assumed a woman in an overly large, faded, well-used cloak was not a lady of quality, then the apparent lack of any kind of feminine accompaniment in the form of a forbidding chaperone might confirm that mistaken impression. Very well then. Kathleen started toward her carriage a scant few yards from where the Earl of Norcroft's vehicle had been parked no more than a minute ago. Perhaps the man wasn't an idiot. Which was rather nice to know, all things considered.

She instructed the driver of her carriage to return to the hotel then climbed in and settled in the seat across from her aunt and alleged chaperone Lady Hannah Fitzgivens, although, if truth were told, it was often difficult to tell just who was chaperoning whom. Not that, as widows, either really needed a chaperone. Still, Hannah had insisted on accompanying Kathleen because, as she had said before they had left Scotland, it might be an interesting adventure.

"Well?" Hannah raised a brow. "Did you see him?"

"I did," Kathleen said slowly.

"And?" An eager note sounded in Hannah's voice.

"I didn't say a word."

"Oh." Hannah's expression fell then brightened. "Are we following him then?"

"No, of course not. We're returning to the hotel. My intention was not to accost him, you know."

"Not to accost him yet, you mean."

"I don't mean that at all. I simply wanted to get a good look at the man." Kathleen shrugged as if that was truly all that she had intended. Of course, they both knew better. Indeed, when he had stopped before her, Kathleen had been perilously close to throwing caution to the winds and introducing herself. Even in that brief moment, there had been the hint of something inevitable about the man. Utter nonsense really and attributable to nothing more significant than her grandmother's never-ending pronouncements and her own newfound belief in destiny and the absurd. Regardless, such a first meeting might be awkward and would be highly improper although she had never been overly concerned with propriety unless it suited her.

But he was a British lord with a long and distinguished title and it would not do to get off on the wrong foot with him. Still, Kathleen doubted there was a right foot. She sighed and settled back in her seat. Nothing about this venture was going to be even remotely less than awkward.

"But I thought you had a photograph?"

"An image captured in that excruciatingly long time one has to remain still for the camera to do its work has always struck me as being somewhat less than lifelike. Oh certainly it is exact but it fails to capture . . ." Kathleen thought for a moment. "The humanity of a subject if you will. The subject of a photograph might as well be an apple for all the life expressed in the resulting image." She shook her head. "It is not at all like a living breathing person."

"And you found the living, breathing person . . ." Hannah paused in an annoyingly pointed manner. "Acceptable?"

"Yes, Aunt Hannah, I did." More than acceptable but she wasn't at all sure she wished to confess that yet. While his eyes had never met hers, even in the deepening twilight she had seen they were a rich blue color and she had wondered in that instant what they would look like when he laughed. Or when he was angered. Or in the throes of passion although that was not something it would be wise to dwell on at the moment and certainly not something she would tell her aunt. While the photograph allowed her to recognize his features anywhere, the lack of color coupled with the firm, unyielding expression that was mandatory for a photograph did not do justice to the Earl of Norcroft in the flesh.

His hair was not as dark as she had thought given the photograph, more a rich brown than a black. He was taller than she had expected as well, his shoulders broader, his stride determined. Oh yes, he would do.

"I assume, given your reluctance to do so before now, you were simply waiting to see the gentleman in person before proceeding with a plan. You do need a plan, my dear."

"Yes, you've mentioned that," Kathleen said under her breath.

Aunt Hannah was a firm believer in plans. She said most of the ills of the world could be laid at the foot of poor planning and claimed her first marriage to a wealthy Scottish lord was the direct result of a well laid plan. That she had loved him with a passion that had lingered far beyond his death at a tragically young age had not been part of her plan. In the nearly quarter of a century since his demise, she had had any number of lovers but not another love. Which, when pressed, she would say was part of a grander plan which was not, on a divine level, especially well thought out.

"I shall think of something," Kathleen murmured.

"I would be happy to mix up a potion," Hannah said casually. "Concoct a charm or something of that nature. It would make all this easier."

"No," Kathleen said firmly.

Hannah shrugged. "It was just a thought."

"I think this situation is best left to more ordinary methods."

"I don't see why." Hannah sniffed. "The situation is not the least bit ordinary."

"Nonetheless, I prefer to handle this in my own way."

"Humph." Hannah mumbled something else Kathleen couldn't make out and thought that was for the best. She assumed it was, as always, a comment on the sensible nature of Kathleen's long dead parents and how their daughter was just like them. Kathleen had no desire to become involved in yet another debate about magic.

Her grandmother and her aunt had dabbled in magic for as long as Kathleen could remember without any significant results as far as she could tell. Oh certainly both women claimed success with whatever potion they had concocted or spell they had cast but the results were, in Kathleen's eyes, debatable and more often than not easily explained by rational means. She had long suspected her female relatives liked the idea of magic and therefore thought they were practitioners of the mystic arts when, in fact, they weren't. Their belief was just one of the reasons why Kathleen considered herself the only practical, and therefore responsible, female member of the family.

Magic, spells, charms and curses were all utter nonsense. Although, admittedly, in recent years, Kathleen had come to accept that possibly her family might have a point at least when it came to ongoing events that had no other explanation.

"I should think, as you have finally come to your senses regarding the cu–"

"Don't say it," Kathleen said quickly. It was one thing to accept something you had never believed in and quite another it say it aloud as if its veracity was not in doubt. In that and that alone she acknowledged a certain amount of superstition on her part. Indeed, while she had not admitted it to her family (such an admission being an acknowledgement that they were right and she was wrong) she had come to believe with the fervency of a drunkard renouncing spirits or a heathen come to God. "And you're right. I can use any and all help available and it was impolite of me to refuse you."

"Then you'll allow me to–"

"No, but should it be necessary, I will reserve your offer for a later time." Acceptance of forces beyond reason and control was one thing, belief in her aunt's as yet unproven ability to influence the world through magical means quite another. "For now, however, I am open to any advice you might have for a plan."

"I'll accept that." Hannah beamed at the younger woman. "Although I know what a stickler you are for annoying things like honesty and a forthright manner and a direct approach. Very few of my plans have ever included honesty. Indeed, it seems contrary to the very nature of plans."

Kathleen laughed in spite of herself. "This is perfect for you then as I suspect a forthright, honest approach will not work at all with an arrogant British lord."

"They're all arrogant dear." Hannah patted her niece's knee. "Is he arrogant then?"

"He thought I was a beggar."

"The nerve of the man." Hannah chuckled. "I can't imagine how he might have thought that."

"I can't imagine how he would have thought otherwise," Kathleen muttered. How could she have been so stupid as to so much as consider approaching him outside his club? Especially wearing that blasted cloak. As plans went, this was not well thought out. Not that it was a true plan but she would certainly have to do better. No, this encounter was an impulse on her part and not a particularly clever one at that.

Hannah's tone was casual. "Do you think he will recognize you? When next you meet?"

Kathleen shook her head. "Between the hood and the shadows, he didn't see my face."

"Well that's something to be grateful for." Hannah shook her head. "Surprise is always an excellent element of any successful plan."

"I did however see his face." She glanced at the older woman. "He was significantly more attractive than I had expected."

"More than merely acceptable?"

Kathleen surrendered. "Yes, Aunt Hannah, definitely more than merely acceptable."

"Then this wasn't a complete waste of time." Hannah leaned toward her in a confidential fashion. "We've no time to waste you know."

"I'm well aware of that. And I did manage to learn quite a bit about the man."

"And what, pray tell, did you learn other than he is possessed of the arrogance that is the birthright of nearly every titled gentleman and that he is a fine figure of a man."

Kathleen glanced at the other woman. "I didn't say he was a fine figure of a man."

"I have eyes too, you know, and, in my opinion, he is a fine figure of a man," Hannah said in a lofty manner. "And I have always been an excellent judge of flesh be it horse or man."

"I quite agree and I suspect he is a good man as well."

"I thought he was arrogant?"

"I daresay a man can be both." Kathleen thought for a moment. "In spite of the arrogance of his attitude, even in this brief encounter, he has shown himself to be kind to strangers and generous to those less fortunate."

"My, this was a fruitful evening then." Hannah paused. "Does this alleviate your doubts, Kathleen?"

"Not entirely but it is a relief to learn the gentleman has a good heart and a generous nature." Kathleen turned her gaze back to the window and smiled wryly to herself.

In spite of the circumstances it was indeed a good thing to know about the man you intended to marry.

 

Secrets of a Proper Lady

~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

October 2007

 

 

     "Explain to me again why we are hiding in a carriage outside a park gate at what even the most stalwart of souls would consider an ungodly time of morning." Sarah stifled a yawn and glared at her friend.

     "It's part of the plan," Cordelia said absently and continued to peer out the window at one of the many streets that ended, or perhaps started depending on one's point of view and direction, at the park. "I explained the plan quite thoroughly to you last evening."

     "Apparently I was not paying the proper amount of attention."

     "Probably not, as you were writing yet another letter to that mysterious suitor of yours," Cordelia murmured.

     "He's neither a suitor nor mysterious. Simply an old friend with whom I correspond." Sarah's tone was cool as it always was when talk turned to this particular topic. Her secrecy was most annoying as it was probably the only secret she and Cordelia did not share.

     Sarah Elizabeth Palmer—was a scant year older than Cordelia and the daughter of a distant cousin by marriage of Cordelia's mother. When she was left orphaned and impoverished a dozen or so years ago, Cordelia's family had taken her in. After all, her mother had said, their three oldest daughters were wed and gone and there was a certain emptiness these days in a house so well used to girls. Besides, the sister closest to Cordelia in age was still seven years older than she and wouldn't it be lovely for Cordelia to have someone around who was closer to her own age. But when Sarah had come of age, she had stubbornly insisted on making her own way in the world as she had failed as miserably as Cordelia had to find a suitable husband. No one in the family could bear the thought of Sarah going off to work as a governess, so she had become Cordelia's paid companion. Aside from the fact that Sarah now had her own funds, her position in the family hadn't significantly changed at all.

     Except that in an official sense, Cordelia was her charge. That too was most annoying.

     "I tell you all my secrets," Cordelia said still looking out the carriage window. Where was the blasted man? Cordelia could see the door of the house where her quarry lived and was confident he had not eluded her watch. Even if he had, well, there was always tomorrow.

     "It's not a secret. It's simply personal and private and not the matter at hand," Sarah said firmly. "Now, explain to me again why we are lying in wait like common criminals."

     "Nonsense. Common criminals would scarcely lie in wait in a carriage, especially a carriage as nice as this. No, common criminals would be skulking about behind the bushes."

     "Carriage or bushes, it certainly feels as if we are skulking."

     "Well we're not. We're simply waiting." Cordelia turned from the window, settled back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. "I do so dislike a man who is not prompt."

      Sarah snorted back a laugh. "I daresay such a fault would clearly be grounds for refusal to marry. Mr. Sinclair's inability to be punctual is a serious flaw."

     "Indeed it is." Cordelia huffed. "As is the inability to pay attention to the details of a plan. We are not waiting for Mr. Sinclair we are waiting for a Mr. Lewis."

      Sarah's brows drew together. "Mr. Lewis?"

     "You weren’t listening to me at all, were you? Very well then." Cordelia heaved a long suffering sigh. "Mr. Warren Lewis is Mr. Sinclair's secretary. Every morning without fail, Mr. Lewis takes a daily constitutional through the park. On occasion, he is accompanied by Mr. Sinclair although usually he is quite alone."

      Sarah pressed her lips together. "I gather you have learned this through your usual methods?"

     "You needn't look so disapproving. How else is one to learn anything in this town?" Cordelia couldn't resist a satisfied smile. "It is the simplest matter in the world to give a few shillings to the head footman who then distributes a fraction of his newfound wealth among lesser servants, who in turn make inquiries among their acquaintances and before you know it, you have all the information you need." Cordelia's smile widened. "It was a great benefit to already know the address of the house Mr. Sinclair has leased during his stay in London and I have my mother to thank for that."

     "Did you get a description of the man as well?" Sarah asked wryly.

     "Of course." Cordelia scoffed. "It would be foolish not to. Mr. Lewis is tall, dark-haired and an American." She shrugged. "He should be easy to spot."

     "And once you have spotted him, then what?"

     "Then, his acquaintance needs to be made, in as natural a manner as possible, and conversation attempted in an effort to learn everything possible about Mr. Sinclair." Cordelia shook her head. "When preparing for warfare, one must know all one can about one's enemy."

     "And Mr. Sinclair is the enemy?"

     " I don't know. I don’t know anything about him." Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "But I do intend to find out. I'll not be thrown into a marriage with a man I know nothing about."

     "Isn't that why your mother suggested you and Mr. Sinclair correspond?" Sarah said slowly. "So that you may ascertain his character for yourself?"

     "That's especially ridiculous and you well know it." Cordelia waved away Sarah's comment. "I can be anything I wish to be on paper. Witty, clever and altogether fascinating. As can he. Of course . . ."

     "Oh, I don’t like that look." Sarah shook her head. "What are you thinking?"

     "If one can be far better on paper, far more than who one is in truth, one can be substantially less as well."

     "Less?"

     "Disagreeable, unpleasant." Cordelia widened her eyes in an innocent manner. "Not at all the type of woman a man would want to marry."
Sarah groaned. "Dear Lord, you don’t intend to—"

     "I don't intend to do anything until I know more about Mr. Sinclair. It was just a thought. It's entirely possible he is my one true love, the man I have always dreamed about and fate has at last thrown us together." Cordelia leaned forward and peered out the window. "It is every bit as likely that he is not." A tall, dark-haired gentleman was descending the steps in front of the house. "There is Mr. Lewis now. We'll wait until he passes the carriage; we don't want him to see you getting out—"

     "Me?" Sarah bolted upright. "What do you mean me? I thought this was a we sort of thing."

     "Don’t be silly. I can't possibly be involved with this."

     "Why not?" Sarah's voice rose.

     "It would be most improper. What if I were to be found out? Father would—well, I shudder to think of the consequences." Cordelia placed her hand on her friend's and met her gaze. "You, however, can always claim that you were only doing it to save me from myself which is very nearly the truth."

     Sarah stared at her.

     "Come now, Sarah, please." Cordelia adopted her most persuasive tone. "I need your assistance now more than ever before. You are the sister I never had."

     "You have three sisters!"

     "Exactly and you're the one I never had." Cordelia glanced out the window. Mr. Lewis was passing by on the far side of the street. "And my favorite as well."

     "But I have no idea what to do or say or . . ." Sarah sighed and reached for the door. "But I'll do it of course, as you knew I would. On occasions such as this I rather miss being a poor relation instead a paid companion, responsible for keeping you out of mischief. But mind you I don't have the least expectation of success."

     "You'll be grand. I'm confident of it." Cordelia beamed. Why some of Cordelia's best plans in the past had been refined and improved thanks to Sarah's suggestions. Cordelia's smile faltered. Still, while Sarah was clever and resourceful she did have a tendency to be reserved, even hesitant, and always tried to follow the rules of propriety. Beyond that, Sarah really didn’t have the heart for deception.

      What was Cordelia thinking to send her on such a mission? It was like sending a lamb to confront a lion and the height of cowardice on Cordelia's part besides. Cordelia had never considered herself the least bit cowardly.

     Sarah pushed open the door.

     "Wait." Cordelia grimaced. "I have changed my mind. I can't allow you to do this. I am sorry I even asked."

     "Thank goodness you've come to your senses," Sarah said with a sigh of relief. "It was an insane idea in the first place."

     "Perhaps, but brilliant nonetheless. There is a fine line between brilliance and insanity and this was one of my most brilliant I think."

     "Or most insane."

     "We shall see." Cordelia pushed open the door and stepped out of the carriage.

      Sarah's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

     "I'm doing exactly what I had planned for you to do." Cordelia caught sight of Mr. Lewis. The man certainly set a brisk pace. She'd have to hurry.

     "But you said—"

     "I said I couldn't allow you to do it. And I can't. I shall do this myself. However." She flashed her cousin a wicked grin. "I shall tell him I'm you."

      Cordelia closed the carriage door and hurried off before Sarah could say another word. Lord knew Sarah took this whole idea of being responsible for Cordelia entirely too seriously. Regardless of Sarah's desire to provide for herself, the situation really wasn't fair to her. From the moment she had joined their family, she and Cordelia had been the closest of friends. But despite Sarah being slightly older, Cordelia had always been the one to lead and Sarah to follow.

      Mr. Lewis was still ahead of her and Cordelia picked up her pace. And what would happen to Sarah once Cordelia married? Regardless of whether she wed Mr. Sinclair or someone she'd yet to meet, Cordelia was confident she would indeed marry someday. Although she would be the first to admit there might well be wagers to the contrary among more than a few gentlemen in London. Cordelia wasn't entirely sure herself why she had not yet married other than that annoying fact of not having found a man who was, well, right. A man with whom life would be more interesting than the life she now led. While Cordelia had no desire to spend the rest of her days alone, she had no doubt she could if necessary.

      But Sarah needed someone to care of her. Preferably a husband. Cordelia vowed to find a suitable match for her cousin as soon as her own marital status was resolved.

     Mr. Lewis had either slowed his steps or Cordelia had been walking far quicker than she had realized. Without warning she was nearly upon him. He was taller than she had anticipated, with impressively broad shoulders. Although tall and broad shouldered was precisely what she did expect in an American. No doubt he would have a somewhat rugged face as well, as befit the resident of a part of the world still relatively uncivilized and wild. It was time to find out.

     She drew a deep breath. "Mr. Lewis?"

      He kept walking.

      She tried again. "Mr. Lewis? Mr. Warren Lewis?"

      He paused and turned toward her. "I beg your pardon. Are you speaking to me?"

     "Yes, well, yes, I was." She stared up at him. He had the darkest eyes she had ever seen. "You are Mr. Warren Lewis, aren't you? Secretary to Mr. Daniel Sinclair?"

      He studied her for a moment. "And if I am?"

      His gaze skimmed over her in an assessing and altogether impertinent manner. She ignored it. Impertinence was to be expected from an American. "Then I have a matter of great importance to discuss."

     "A matter of great importance?" His brow rose and she noticed a scar directly above his eyebrow. Oddly, it wasn't the least bit disfiguring but rather gave him a rakish and even dangerous air.

     "Great importance," she said firmly.

     "As that is the case—"a slow, wicked grin spread across an undeniably handsome face. Good Lord, the man looked like a pirate! American or not, what kind of gentleman had a pirate in his employ?—"I am at your service."

 

©2007 Victoria Alexander

 

 

What A Lady Wants

~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

February 2007

     Lady Felicity Melville has discovered a young man in her garden in the middle of the night fleeing from the arms of the Lady Pomfrey and the pistol of Lord Pomfrey.

 

     Felicity stared down at him. "Have you no shame? No morals whatsoever?"

     "What do you mean?" he said cautiously.

     "I mean—" She thought for a moment. "I suppose before I make any accusations regarding your morals I should determine if you are or are not a burglar."

     "Fair enough." She could hear the grin in his voice. "I can assure you I am most certainly not a burglar."

     "Are you sure?"

     "Absolutely."

     "Why should I believe you?"

     "Good point. I have no idea." He thought for a moment. "I would think, if I were a burglar, I probably wouldn’t be taking the time to chat with you. Furthermore, if I were a burglar I certainly wouldn’t be plying my trade with the lady of the house present. It’s obviously a sure way to get caught."

     "That would depend on whether you were a good burglar."

     "Oh, I would be a very good burglar. However, I am not."

     She sighed. "No, I don’t suppose you are."

     "You sound disappointed," he said slowly.

     "Not precisely. One should never be disappointed to learn one’s home and family are safe."

     He stepped nearer and stared up at her. He was almost directly beneath the balcony now. She couldn’t make out his features but his voice was surprisingly nice. "And yet you definitely sound disappointed."

     "Well, if you’re not a burglar then you . . . It scarcely matters."

     "I should be happy to rob your house if you wish."

     She scoffed. "Don’t be absurd. I have no desire for you or anyone to rob my house."

     "That is a relief. I haven’t the faintest idea how to properly rob a house and I should hate to be found out." He chuckled. "A man could get shot that way."

     "A distinct possibility." Indeed, there was an antique dueling pistol in the top drawer of her nightstand at this very moment. She had purchased it after a nasty incident in Venice and had kept it beside her bed ever since. It was of sentimental value more than true protection really although a pistol close at hand made her feel a little adventurous. Odd that she hadn’t remembered it before now. Of course, the weight of the spyglass still in her hand was reassuring.

     "Now then, as we have resolved that question I should like—"

     "As we have established that you probably are not a burglar I assume you were," Felicity wrinkled her nose, "dallying with Lady Pomfrey?"

     Silence greeted her question then a resigned sigh drifted upward. "Dallying is as good a word as any."

     "That’s rather reprehensible of you isn’t it?"

     He paused. "Is it?"

     "Absolutely." She collapsed the spyglass in a measured, methodical manner and searched for the right words. It wasn’t every day she chastised a man for scandalous behavior. "Lady Pomfrey is a married woman. Therefore your actions were indeed reprehensible. Morally that is."

     "Do you think so?"

     She nodded. "I do."

     "I see." He paused for a long moment. "I, however, do not."

     She snorted in disbelief. "You can’t possibly disagree. Your behavior is improper and immoral and—"

     "Ah ha. That’s where you’re wrong."

     "I most certainly am not."

     "Oh but you are." An annoying note of triumph rang in his voice. "You see, I am not married."

     She furrowed her brow in confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

     "I am not married which means I have not broken any sort of vow of fidelity or loyalty or whatever else one promises when shackling one’s life forever to a spouse." He shrugged. "My morals therefore are not in question."

     She gasped. "Surely you don’t believe that?"

     "Surely I do. I take my word, and any promises I might make, up to and including marriage vows which I have never taken nor do I have any intention of taking in the foreseeable future, quite seriously. Honoring my word is my responsibility, my solemn duty as it were. However, the actions others take in regard to whatever promises they might make are not my responsibility."

     "Come now. You bear some culpability. Lady Pomfrey couldn’t dally by herself."

     "I wouldn’t wager on—never mind." He choked back a laugh. "Now then if there’s nothing else-"

     "You are a man of questionable morals aren’t you?"

     "I suppose that depends on your point of view. I have no question at all about my morals. And while I would love to continue to debate my behavior and the ethical considerations regarding that behavior, I should take my leave."

     "Indeed you should," she murmured, struck by a vague sense of disappointment. It was ridiculous even if this—or rather he—was the most interesting thing to happen in her life in some time. Or ever.

     "Unless you plan to summon the authorities and have me arrested?"

     "Don’t be absurd. If I had wanted to summon the authorities I would have done so by now." While it was highly improper for a man who had just escaped the justifiable wrath of an irate husband to be under her balcony in the middle of the night, it was probably not worthy of arrest. Apparently though this adventure had come to an end. Pity. She gestured at the far side of the garden. "If you head toward the break in the top of the wall, you’ll find a gate a few feet away. It leads to the mews and the passage to the street."

     "What break?"

     "There." She waved again. "You can see it from here, edged against the night sky. It’s just above the border of tall hedges over there."

     "I can’t see it, it’s dark. And I daresay I wouldn’t be able to see it from down here anyway." He blew a frustrated breath and moved to the trellis. "Damnation, it’s been a hell of a night."

     "Indeed it has." She peered over the side of the balcony. "What are you doing?"

     "I’m climbing up your trellis."

     Felicity ignored the thrill that ran up her spine, whether of fear or excitement she wasn’t entirely certain. Probably a bit of both. "Is that wise?"

     "It is if I’m to see where this blasted gate of yours is and get out of here."

     "Perhaps if you looked a bit harder." She backed away from the balcony struck by the realization that she could indeed be in danger. She gripped the spyglass tighter and clutched it to her chest, its weight a comfort and reassurance. It could indeed serve as a more than adequate weapon and put a nasty dent in a man’s skull. Beyond that, she had no doubt as to her abilities to scream if necessary. "I really don’t think you should come—"

     "If you’re fearing for your virtue, you needn’t." An arm appeared over the balustrade and her breath caught. Dear Lord he was far faster than she’d expected. Although she shouldn’t have been surprised. The man had already climbed down one building, sprinted across a lawn and scaled a wall not to mention whatever other activities he might have engaged in previously, and he hadn’t seemed the least bit out of breath.

     He hauled himself on to the balcony, planted his feet on the floor and straightened. She was right, he was tall. Nearly a head taller than she and she was of above average height. It was far too dark to see his features well but what she could make out was quite nice. Of course in the light of day he could well be hideous although she doubted Lady Pomfrey would ever be involved with an unattractive man. Regardless, his smile would be wicked and no doubt, irresistible. If she knew nothing else about him she knew that.

     "I am far too tired to engage in anything other than sleep which I intend to do the moment I am in my own bed."

     "I wasn’t the least bit worried," she said in a lofty manner.

     "Then why are you armed?" He nodded at the spyglass in her hands.

     "This?" She shifted the spyglass from one hand to the other. "This is simply an old spyglass that once belonged to a seafaring relative."

     "A spyglass?" He glanced from the instrument in her hands to her telescope. "And I see you have a larger telescope as well."

     "I study the stars. I find them fascinating."

     He laughed. "As fascinating as your neighbors?"

     Heat flashed up her face. "I am an astronomer. Amateur admittedly but an astronomer nonetheless. I do not study my neighbors!"

     "No?"

     "I will admit that once I heard shouting and shots I did wish to see what was happening but I do not make a habit of peeking in other people’s houses."

     He snorted in obvious disbelief and turned away to study the garden wall. At this particular moment she regretted that she hadn’t bashed him with the spyglass and noted that it was not too late to do so. Of course, if she rendered him unconscious he would probably be discovered and her reputation would be shattered as he was obviously a man of disrepute and—

     "You’re foolish not to be worried you know. Speaking to a stranger of questionable morals in the middle of the night and allowing him to enter your bed chamber—"

     "I allowed nothing of the sort." Indignation sounded in her voice. "You took liberties that were not granted to you. You climbed into my garden uninvited and now, again uninvited, you appear in my room and—"

     "Yes, well, that is just the kind of thing a man of questionable morals does." He nodded. "I see the break in the wall now and how to get to it so I shall bid you good night."

     She huffed. "Go on, then."

     "Before I once again take to the trellis I should like to thank you for your assistance."

     She shrugged. "I really didn’t do anything."

     A grin sounded in his voice. "Precisely. And it is most appreciated." Without warning he stepped closer, took her free hand in his and raised it to his lips. "My dear girl, if you were my younger sister I would make certain you were locked up for the better part of the next year to ensure there would be no repetition of tonight’s incident."

     "Would you?" She raised a brow. "If it were my younger sister I would make certain she was armed with something other than a spyglass should there be a repetition of tonight’s incident."

     "Well said." He laughed, released her hand and stepped to the balcony. He swung a leg over the side and reached for the trellis. "Oh, and one more thing. Do try to keep men of questionable morals from climbing into your bed chamber in the future."

©2007 Victoria Alexander

 

A Little Bit Wicked

~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

January 2007

     He wondered what she would do if he were to pull her into his arms. It would be highly improper. They were indeed very much strangers at the moment.

     "Is it?" she said thoughtfully. "I wonder."

     "What? He couldn’t recall ever having kissed a stranger before. It held a great deal of appeal. Especially in regards to this particular stranger.

     "If it is dependent on me." She pulled her hand from his. "Or on something else. Forces already set in motion."

     He raised a brow. "You mean fate, destiny, the ordination of the stars, something like that?"

     "Actually I was thinking more in terms of desire, need, unadulterated lust." A grin sounded in her voice.

     "Lust?" He nodded slowly, ignoring a moment of surprise at her words. He had flirted with any number of women in his life, often with the explicit goal of eventually sharing their beds, yet he wasn’t certain he had ever met a woman whose nature was quite as direct as Lady Chester’s. It was most intriguing. "Lust can indeed be a powerful influence."

     "And dangerous as well."

     "I would certainly never force my attentions upon you."

     "That is not the danger that concerns me."

     "Or call on you if my presence was not wanted."

     "I never thought—"

     He leaned close and lowered his voice. "Or drag you into you my arms and kiss you until you begged for more unless I was confident you wished to be kissed."

     "A wish prompted, no doubt, by lust." She heaved a heartfelt sigh and trailed her fingers lightly over the lapels of his coat. "As I said, a very dangerous emotion."

     "And yet," he caught her hand, "not especially unwelcome."

     "No, my dear Lord Warton," she reached upward and brushed her lips across his so lightly he wasn’t sure they had touched at all, then stepped away before he could react. "Not at all unwelcome. Besides, it is the element of danger that makes it all so much fun. Don’t you agree?"

     "I do." He resisted the urge to make good on his threat to kiss her. He wanted nothing more than to feel her lips pressed against his and was confident she wanted the same. But there was something altogether too exciting about this game played between them on a darkened terrace in the cold of a winter night to allow it to end too soon. It was a tantalizing first course, an enticing prologue, a promise. And as such far too tasty to rush. "In that case," he chose his words with care, "if indeed you and I choose to fall prey to the demands of lust or fate or whatever else we wish to call it, do I have your permission to call on you? Would you do me the honor of joining me for supper? The day after tomorrow perhaps?"

     "I fear I am otherwise engaged the day after tomorrow."

     "The day following that then?"

     She shook her head. "I have a previous commitment."

     "Fours days from now then. Or five. Or next week if it suits you better."

     "Is this the persistence you mentioned earlier?"

     He flashed her a grin. "Do you like it?"

     "It is most impressive. Very well then, shall we say five days from now?"

     "Excellent. I shall send a carriage—"

     "Oh, no. You shall join me for supper. At my home."

     "Your home?"

     "On the field of play of any sport is it always best to have the home court advantage."

     He laughed. "And I have always relished a good game. I shall count the days. Now," he offered his arm, "it is entirely too cold for us to linger here any longer. I fear we shall soon loose all feeling in various appendages."

     "Odd, I had not noticed the cold until now."

     "You were no doubt basking in the warmth of my presence," he said, a feigned note of humility in his voice.

     "Yes, I’m certain that was it," she said lightly then paused. "You’re not at all as I expected."

     "Is that good?"

     "I haven’t decided. Besides, if I said yes it would go straight to your head and I fear that would only exacerbate an already serious flaw in your character."

     "We can’t have that." He chuckled. "May I escort you back to the festivities now before we both freeze to death?"

     "Festivities might not be quite as appropriate a word as sentence although bearing up under the offerings of Susanna's—Lady Dinsmore’s—assorted nieces and nephews is a small enough price to pay for the privilege of her friendship. She entertains a great deal and the diverse nature of the company she gathers is always interesting even if the entertainment itself leaves something to be desired. I would never tell her that, of course. However," she shook her head, "I think it’s best if we each returned as we left. Alone that is."

     "Surely you are not afraid of what people might say if we appeared together?"

     She laughed. "I am not the least bit afraid of what people might say. Goodness, I am often disappointed that they do not say nearly enough although admittedly the tales of my exploits are somewhat exaggerated."

     "And that does not bother you?"

     "Not at all." She waved off his question. "If one is going to have a reputation it might as well be as interesting as possible. Besides, I have not completely fallen off the edge of respectability."

     "Ah yes, you are discreet."

     "Indeed, I am. I enjoy my position in society and I should hate to forfeit it with unduly scandalous behavior."

     "Unduly scandalous?" He laughed. "As opposed to simply scandalous? Or ordinarily scandalous? Or merely scandalous?"

     "Precisely. It’s remarkable how forgiving society can be when one has a tidy fortune as long as one is not too outrageous." Her voice carried an almost prim note but he suspected she was holding back a laugh. "I have the wealth left to me by my parents and my husband. I have as well the freedom to do exactly as I please and the intelligence to understand what will be overlooked and what will not." She paused. "I freely confess there are certain boundaries I have never, nor will I ever, cross."

     "Ah-ha! At last. Confession." He chuckled in a conspiratorial manner. "It feels good doesn’t it? The unburdening that is."

     "A great weight has been lifted from my shoulders," she said wryly. "As I was saying, I am not afraid of the talk that will ensue if we are seen in one another’s company but rather the commitment such an appearance would imply."

     "Commitment?"

     She shrugged. "The moment we are linked together by gossip, well, we are linked together. There is an implied commitment of sorts in our appearing together that I am not yet prepared to make."

     "I see," he said even though he wasn’t sure he saw at all. "Then you do not wish to . . . that is to say . . . I had the impression—"

     "I shall look forward to our evening together, my lord," she said brightly in a manner that made him wonder if she would now pat his head as one did to appease an annoying child. "Now, if you will excuse me." Lady Chester turned and started toward the door.

     "One moment if you please," he said quickly.

     She paused and glanced at him over her shoulder.

     "You do understand, I fully intend to seduce you."

     "Do you?" Her laugh was rich with delight and anticipation.

     "Indeed I do. Furthermore I suspect, no, I am confident, that thought does not displease you."

     "Are you certain your confidence is not misplaced?"

     He flashed her a wicked grin. "My confidence is never misplaced."

     "Still, if I were to confirm your suspicion it would take away any sense of challenge you might feel and it is my suspicion that you are a man who quite likes a challenge. No," she paused to emphasize the word, "mystery."

     "Challenges perhaps but I’ve never been overly fond of mysteries."

     "Then I shall take some of it away for you. Consider it, oh, say, a gift of sorts." She opened the door then looked back at him. "The appropriate word is not if, my lord, but when."

 

  ©2007 Victoria Alexander

 

Let It Be Love

~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

October 2005

PROLOGUE

December 1853

 

     "We are a rather grim group today," Oliver Leighton, the Earl of Norcroft, noted to no one in particular and gazed idly at the usual gathering of his closest friends in the lounge of their favorite club.

     "What's not to be grim about?" Nigel Cavendish, son of Viscount Cavendish, stared at the brandy in his glass. "Life is moving at a remarkably fast clip. Yet another year is drawing to an end. We are all another year older and another step closer to the inevitable doom that lies in wait for us all."

     "I hate arriving in the middle of a conversation." Jonathon Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley and heir to the Duke of Roxborough sank down in the lone unoccupied chair and grinned at his friends. Today, as always, Helmsley exuded jovial good spirits and an unrelentingly cheerful nature that charmed men and women alike. It could be most annoying. "Yet the expressions on all your faces are as easy to read as the Morning Times. I gather doom is in reference to the prospect of marriage?"

     "What else would make grown men cower in such a fashion?" Gideon Pearsall, Viscount Warton, drawled in the cynical manner he had honed to a fine art.

     "What else indeed," Cavendish muttered.

     Helmsley raised an amused brow.

     "Certainly, we have all accepted that is it our duty to marry and provide an heir to our titles, estates, fortunes, to carry on the family name and so forth but acceptance and eagerness are two entirely different matters. Marriage is a daunting prospect relished by no sane member of the masculine gender." Warton signaled to an ever vigilant waiter for another round of refreshment. "And a prospect none of us will be able to avoid much longer."

     Warton alone among them had not avoided it entirely but that was a subject that by unspoken agreement was not—was never—to be discussed.

     "I don't know that I still wish to avoid marriage," Helmsley said mildly.

     "Of course not." Oliver snorted. "Precisely why we have noted you loping down the aisle at breakneck speed."

     Helmsley accepted a glass from the waiter. "I simply haven't found the right woman yet."

     "The right woman?" Warton rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. "You mean the woman who will set your heart aflame?"

     "Not to mention your loins," Cavendish said.

     "A woman who will challenge your mind," Oliver added with an overly dramatic flourish. "As well as the rest of you."

     Helmsley's amused gaze slid around the circle. "Have I mentioned this before then?"

     "Each and every time the topic turns to potential brides." Warton sighed. "Let us see if we can remember all the requirements for the future Lady Helmsley. There are a fair number if I recall."

     "As well there should be," Helmsley said, his voice firm. "My wife shall one day be the Duchess of Roxborough. Such a position is not easy to fill."

     "Nor is the position of perfect wife," Oliver said.

     "Perfect is relative," Warton said, "the perception of which is highly individual. I, for one, do not find his qualifications culminate in perfection at all."

     Helmsley raised his glass in a toast. "To whatever passes for perfect then."

     "Perfect?" Oliver snorted. "Your idea of perfect is more in tune with what rational men would call difficult."

     Warton heaved a long suffering sigh. "All that spirited nature nonsense."

     "Sounds like a lot of trouble to me," Cavendish said darkly.

     "It does doesn't it?" Helmsley frowned in a good natured manner. "Was I drinking excessively at the time?"

     "Probably." Warton shrugged. "Such discussions on the relations between men and women and what we do and do not desire generally come toward the end of a long evening of excess. Usually after we have thoroughly dissected the sorry state of contemporary politics and preceding the inevitable pondering of the true meaning of existence in the world."

     "That does seem to require excessive drinking," Cavendish murmured.

     "Although we must note, Helmsley's requirements do not vary considerably whether he is inebriated or cold sober. There is something to be said for consistency, I suppose, or perhaps it's simply obstinacy." Oliver studied his friend.

     One wouldn't note his stubborn nature simply to look at him. Jonathon Effington was an attractive sort, his good looks accentuated by his confident friendly air. Add to that his title, his prospects and his family wealth and one could only wonder why he hadn't yet found the bride who would perfectly fill his expectations. Certainly there was no lack of eager candidates vying for the position of the future Duchess of Roxborough. But Helmsley had long ago made it clear he did not wish for the type of submissive, well behaved, proper bride English society was so adept at producing. He claimed such a wife would bore him to tears and Oliver wasn't sure he wasn't right. Still, Cavendish was right as well: such a wife would be a great deal of trouble.

     "As foolish as it sounds to the rest of us, Helmsley has declared he does not wish for a wife who is overly docile or blindly obedient." Oliver raised his glass to his friend. "God have mercy on him."

     "God had better," Warton said, "a woman of that nature certainly wouldn't."

     "I wouldn't mind blind obedience myself." Cavendish paused for a moment as if debating the merits of obedience, blind or otherwise. "A woman who would do precisely as I wished, when I wished without asking annoying questions. I should think that would be an excellent quality in a wife. "Yes I quite like that." A frown creased his brow. "Still, I should be willing to sacrifice a certain amount of obedience for the sake of appearance. She should definitely be pretty. I would not like an ugly wife. And she should be of good family, of course, with a respectable dowry."

     "None of which is of true importance when one is deciding upon a woman to spend the rest of one's life with," Helmsley noted in an annoyingly lofty manner then grinned. "Admittedly pretty and the rest of it is preferable."

     "One does have to bed her after all." Warton sipped his brandy in a thoughtful manner. "Although an enormous fortune would certainly make a less than attractive face and figure more palatable."

     Helmsley raised a brow. "I would not have thought it possible but you are more cynical than unusual tonight."

     "'Tis the undue influence of the season. All this good will toward men, urchins singing in the streets, high spirits run amuck." Warton shuddered. "It quite goes against my nature."

     It was a lie and every man present, including Warton himself, knew it but he did so love playing the role of jaded cynic. And who would tell him otherwise? It was part of an unspoken agreement among the long time friends not to shatter anyone's illusions about himself unless it was of the utmost necessity to do so.

     To all appearances, they were an odd group to have formed such a bond. While they shared a similarity of position and age, they were as disparate as if they were from different civilizations. Warton with his dark handsome features and brooding nature was given to cynicism in direct contract to Cavendish's boyish good looks and penchant for getting into scrapes. Helmsley was the true optimist among them and liked little better than a good joke or a good wager or a good investment. As for Oliver himself, well, he wasn't entirely sure how he described himself save that he thought in some odd way, he shared some of the characteristics of each of the others for good and ill.

     The men had attended school together but had not truly become friends until recent years when they found themselves frequenting the same clubs and same social events. Oliver's friendship with Helmsley had begun when he had enthusiastically and futilely, pursued the hand of Helmsley's youngest sister. How all four of them had drifted into friendship as fast and firm as this had become was still a matter of some debate. And there were moments when nothing but honesty between them would serve. Certainly there had been any number of occasions through the years when the group had been forced to make one of its members—usually Cavendish—face unpleasant facts about himself for his own good. Generally in situations that had involved the fairer sex, the potential for extreme embarrassment and an excess of alcohol.

     Oliver wondered if, in the spirit of the season which did seem to call for a fair amount of honesty, this wasn't one of those moments.

     "You, Jonathon Effington, Lord Helmsley, heir to the Duke of Roxborough," Oliver aimed an accusing finger, "are a nice man."

     "Women like you," Cavendish added.

     "Yes, I know. It works out rather well to my way of thinking." Helmsley grinned. "What's wrong with being nice?"

     "For one thing, it makes every other man look bad in comparison. Beyond that," Warton's eyes narrowed, "it drives the rest of us mad."

     Helmsley laughed. "Don't be absurd."

     Oliver leaned closer. "Do you realize when you end a liaison with a woman or a flirtation with a young lady they never seem to hate you?"

     "Well, of course not. Why would . . ." Jonathon paused, "what exactly do you mean?"

     Oliver lowered his voice in a meaningful manner. "Have you ever infuriated a woman to the point where she flung a vase at your head?"

     "Or slapped you across the face?" Warton asked. "Hard?"

     "Or thrown your clothes into the fire so that you were forced to make your way to your discretely waiting carriage clad in nothing more than a flimsy woman's dressing gown?" Cavendish said.

     At once all eyes and an corresponding number of raised brows turned toward him.

     "Perhaps that's only happened to me," Cavendish said under his breath. "Nonetheless, Helmsley, you do see the point, do you not?"

     "I don't know that I do. I consider myself a gentleman," Helmsley said staunchly. "And yes, I suppose I am nice. I see nothing wrong in that."

     "Except what one has sacrificed for nice." Warton sipped his liquor in a sage manner.

     "Sacrificed?" Helmsley's brow furrowed in suspicion. "What have I sacrificed?"

     "Passion." Warton's voice was smug.

     Helmsley snorted. "Nonsense, I—"

     "There's never been passion in any of your relationships, old man," Oliver said, "beyond the obvious sort of passion that is."

     "That's ridiculous." Indignation rang in Helmsley's voice. "I've experienced no end of passion. Why, I reek with passion. Passion practically follows me down the street. I've certainly never had any complaints about a lack of passion." He threw back the rest of his drink. "Lack of passion, hah!"

     "Not that kind of passion," Oliver said. "We're talking about passion of the spirit. Of the heart."

     Warton nodded. "Love if you will."

     Cavendish raised his glass. "Love."

     "Love, Jonathon." Oliver eyed him. "Or passion. Whatever you wish to call it. You are never carried away. Never overwhelmed. Which is precisely why you and whatever lady has caught your eye for a time can go your separate ways without recrimination on either side."

     "Or promises of undying affection on her part." Warton waved blithely. "Even threats—"

     "Or family members vowing to track you to the ends of the earth to carve you like a goose if you so much as . . ." Cavendish paused then winced. "Only me again?"

     Warton eyed the other man with equal parts awe and disbelief. "One does wonder where you find the time."

     Cavendish grinned wickedly. "One makes the time."

     "This is not the least bit amusing." Helmsley's tone was mild. "I am as passionate as any of you, probably more. I simply pour most of my passion into my prose."

     Oliver bit back a grin. Helmsley fancied himself the next Charles Dickens but he had yet to publish so much as a single verse. His failure to do so was in many ways a credit to his integrity. Helmsley's godfather was a well respected publisher and his mother wrote novels of adventure and romance. He certainly could have had his work published but he preferred to submit his offerings under an assumed name, wishing his writing to succeed on its own merit rather than his family connections. Thus far, his integrity remained intact although his pride was sorely tested.

     "Perhaps," Helmsley considered his friends thoughtfully, "it is not my lack of passion that has prompted this charge against me but my skill and, I might add, success, in dealing with the fairer sex."

     Oliver and Warton traded glances.

     Cavendish snorted in disdain. "Just because you have never been involved in a scan—"

     "Nor shall I. I," Helmsley got to his feet and bowed to the others with a dramatic flourish, "am a true gentleman. That coupled with my charm and an innate understanding of the nature of women is why, when a lady and I decide to part company, it is without recrimination, frenzied promises and," he glanced ruefully at Cavendish, "threats of dismemberment. As for the question of a perfect bride, I make no apologies for knowing precisely what I want and knowing as well that when I find it I shall waste no time in making the lady in question my wife. And furthermore I admit that knowledge brings me a great deal of satisfaction as does knowing," he flashed a triumphant grin, "that it drives the rest of you mad."

     "One day, old man, that confident nature of yours will be your downfall." Warton's manner was ominous.

     It wasn't that Helmsley was especially better behaved than the rest of them it was just that he had never actually been embroiled in a situation he could not talk his way out of. That, coupled with the annoying tendency of women to immediately forgive him for whatever transgression had occurred because he was so blasted nice and a fair amount of luck, had kept his public reputation, if not completely spotless, at least eminently respectable.

     "Take for example, that rendezvous you have every year at your family's Christmas Ball." Warton studied Helmsley curiously. "Have you no concern as to the consequences should someone uninvited stumble upon that little assignation?"

     Helmsley thought for a moment then shrugged and grinned. "No."

     It was common knowledge among the men that Helmsley had a Christmas tradition of sorts—a private meeting with whatever woman had captured his fancy at that particular Christmas in the library at Effington House at some point during the annual Effington Christmas Ball. Helmsley claimed the encounters were relatively innocent consisting merely of conversation, champagne and perhaps an embrace and a kiss or two. Nothing, he insisted, that would provoke a true scandal, no ruination of virgins or writhing about on the library rug. Still, such claims were made with a distinctly wicked twinkle in his eye and as much as Helmsley prided himself on his honorable nature and his position as a true gentleman no one—save the ladies involved—was especially certain exactly what did transpire in the Effington House library during the Christmas Ball each and every Christmas Eve.

     Jonathon Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley, heir to the Duke of Roxborough had never been caught. That too drove his friends mad.

     "I say, just out of idle curiosity, mind you," Cavendish started in a casual manner, "who is the lady this year?"

     "Yes, Helmsley, do tell," Warton drawled. "Who is this year's lucky miss?"

     "I cannot believe you would ask such a thing. A gentleman never reveals the name of a lady under such circumstances." Helmsley shook his head in a mock mournful manner. "Besides." An altogether ungentlemanly grin flashed across his face. "There's more than a week until the ball."

     Oliver chuckled. "So there is no lady as of yet."

     "Ah but there will be, old friend." Helmsley paused. "Would you care to make a small wager on it?"

     Oliver shook his head. "No."

     "We might as well throw our money into the streets," Warton added wryly. "If nothing else, you do have our confidence."

     Helmsley laughed. "And on that note I shall bid you all a good day. Christmas is but a week away and I have a great deal to accomplish between then and now."

     "Go then." Warton waved him off. "And take that nauseating good cheer with you."

     "I do wonder though," Warton studied Helmsley's retreating figure thoughtfully, "exactly what would happen if Helmsley did find a women who met all his qualifications."

     Helmsley laughed again, the friends made their farewells and a moment later he was off, the faint whistle of a Christmas carol lingering in his wake.

     "A women with spirit to challenge his mind." Oliver chuckled. "I daresay such a woman would have no end of other qualities Helmsley might not find as enchanting."

     "In my experience, spirited women tend to be stubborn and single minded. And not overly concerned with propriety. Not at all the type of woman who could be a duchess. Of course, he might well enjoy that." Cavendish thought for a moment. "Or." He grinned. "She would drive him mad."

     It was a delightful thought.

     For a long moment, the trio was silent.

     "It's really rather a pity . . ." Warton began.

     "Precisely what I was thinking," Oliver said slowly.

     Warton's brow furrowed. "Of course, no one in particular comes to mind."

     "No one he hasn't met." Oliver shook his head. "Therefore it would have to be someone entirely unknown."

     "It would be the least we could do—"

     "In the name of friendship and in the spirit of the season--"

     "What?" Confusion rang in Cavendish's voice. "What is the least we can do in the name of friendship and the spirit of the season?"

     "Why give Helmsley precisely what he wants of course." Oliver grinned. "The woman of his dreams."

     "It's a brilliant idea." Warton heaved a resigned sigh. "It's a shame we can't do something about it."

     "I do have a cousin who should be arriving from Italy any day now," Oliver said slowly.

     "A cousin?" Warton brightened. "Is she the type of woman to appeal to Helmsley?"

     "I have no idea." Oliver thought for a moment. "My mother corresponds with her regularly but we haven't seen her for years. My recollection of her is of a somewhat plump, freckled, red haired, quiet creature. Not an especially attractive child but pleasant enough in nature as I remember."

     "Perhaps she's changed?" Cavendish said.

     "Perhaps. She's five-and-twenty now—"

     "And not yet married?" Cavendish asked.

     "No. Indeed, her father's displeasure at her failure to wed is the one item Mother has repeatedly mentioned to in regards to my cousin's letters."

     "Not wed at five-and-twenty?" Cavendish winced. "That's a bad sign."

     "I doubt she would serve our purposes." Oliver shrugged. Fiona's letter announcing her imminent arrival was brief and contained no sense of the young lady's character. Or why she had decided to return to England after nearly a decade. Of course, her father had died several months ago and perhaps she simply wanted to at last return home. "Besides, I would hesitate to offer up a family member in this cause."

     "Pity. I should love, just once, to see Helmsley head over heels for a woman who is precisely what he claims he wants. It would be the quintessential Christmas gift." A slow grin grew on Warton's face. "And it would indeed drive him mad."

©2005 Victoria Alexander

 

When We Meet Again
~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

May 2005

PROLOGUE

Venice, 1818

     He was, no doubt, the greatest mistake in her twenty-two years. And the most glorious.

     The starlight drifted in through the tall windows in the ornate palace bedchamber to silhouette the profile of his face. It was an exceeding noble profile, high forehead, strong straight nose, lips just full enough to be at once arrogant and exciting. Even in slumber he had the appearance of royalty, of a man born to rule.

     She should leave and had every intention of doing so before he woke, indeed, she had made him promise to allow her to go before the break of day. Still, at the moment, she could not bring herself to stir from his side.
She started to brush aside the dark hair that had fallen over his forehead but hesitated, her hand hovering over the contours of his face. In spite of the intimacies that had passed between them in this very bed, this simple act seemed rather too intimate. Rather too personal. A liberty she had no real right to.

     Of course, in truth she had no rights to him at all. Nor did she expect any. She knew full well what to expect when she'd selected him. He'd been chosen for his charm and his reputation with women and the very fact that there was no possibility of a future with him. She had no desire for emotional entanglement with a man who was not free to return her affection. No, that path led to heartbreak and she would not tread it again.

     She had wanted him for the very reason countless other women had no doubt wanted him: for his handsome face and figure, for the enticing aura of power that surrounded him and for his royal title. A title that bore responsibilities that precluded any heartfelt morning declarations of affection and commitment. She wished for nothing beyond tonight. Or at least, that had been her plan.

     She sighed softly and slipped out of the massive bed, grabbing her cloak from the floor and wrapping it around her naked body like an oversized shawl. She padded to the open doors and gazed out beyond the balcony that overlooked the Grand Canal.

     The starlight danced off the waters and even at this late hour, or rather this early hour, the faint strains of music sounded from somewhere in the distance. Venice and the people who inhabited it did not seem to adhere to the rules that governed other cities. This was a place of magic and passion and all the things that dreams were made of. The kind of place where a young woman with a shattered reputation could begin her life anew as a woman of the world with a man of experience whom she fully intended never to see again. It had been two years, after all since she'd lost her virtue, squandered it foolishly really, and it was past time to move on with her life. And why not? She was certainly not the same foolish girl she had once been.

     She had expected his seduction to be fairly easy. The man had a sizable reputation. Rumor had it that he enjoyed a touch of intrigue, at least when it came to amorous pursuits. Where better to entice him than at a grand masked ball? It was the perfect setting to play to his love of mystery. She had even refused to remove her mask until long after the rest of her clothing had been shed.

     What she had not expected was the undercurrent that had run between them from the first. An odd spark, perhaps of recognition of a common spirit, most certainly of mutual attraction and possibly something more. Something intense and indefinable and irresistible.

     And really rather wonderful.

     From the moment his lips had first brushed her hand there had been the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach. A physical sense of anticipation, of excitement, of desire she had not truly experienced before. She had allowed it to carry her forward and provide her with a courage she might not have otherwise had.

     Certainly the anonymity provided by the mask helped in that regard and indeed some of it, much of it perhaps, could be attributed to the nature of Venice itself. The very air of the city had a sensuality that made even a woman with scant experience in the art of love feel like a courtesan. She'd been far more forward and flirtatious than she'd ever been. He'd been intrigued and interested and responded in a manner both exhilarating and gratifying. And she had indeed ended the evening in his bed.

     That too was not as she had expected. Certainly she knew her previous experience had been cursory and hurried and secretive but it had been colored, at least on her part, by love and was therefore exciting or so she'd thought. She had never anticipated what an experienced lover could provoke in her. How he could bring her senses alive with pleasure. Even now her body still hummed with a tense excitement.

     " I do not even know your name." His voice came softly behind her and she was rather glad he had awakened to join her. He rested his hands on her shoulders and she leaned back against him.

     " Is it necessary then to know my name?"

     He paused for a moment, not long in the scheme of things, but long enough to provide a measure of satisfaction, of pleasure really that he might care enough to want to know who she was. At last he laughed softly. "I suppose not. Still, I admit to a certain curiosity as to who has shared my bed."

     " Why?" It was her turn to laugh. "I cannot imagine that a man with a reputation as great as yours would be overly concerned with names. It is said you have bedded half the women in Europe."

     " Don't be absurd. Half the women indeed. I am not nearly old enough to have bedded even a fraction of that number." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Although I have given it a fair amount of effort."

     " No doubt," she said wryly.

     " Is that jealousy I hear?"

     " Not in the least, Your Highness."

     " Pity," he said more to himself than to her.

     In spite of her best intentions her heart sped up and the oddest sense of something that might well have been hope leapt within her. Utter nonsense of course. She thrust it firmly aside.

     "Do you realize you are precisely the right height for me?" He pushed her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. "It is extraordinarily easy to kiss you."

     "Is it?" She shivered.

     "Indeed it is," he murmured against her neck. "You know who I am. It seems entirely unfair that I should not know who you are."

     "There is much in life that is unfair. We cannot always have everything we want."

     He scoffed. "Rubbish. I always get everything I want."

     " Always?"

     " Always." Without warning he spun her around to face him and stared down at her. "I do not permit otherwise."

     She sensed he was trying to make out the details of her features in the faint light and was confident he could not do so well enough to identify her. Anonymity was part of the magic of the night. It made no difference at any rate, she would be gone by morning and there was little chance they would encounter one another ever again.

     " I should rather like it, I think, for you to be jealous of the women who came before you."

     " Why?" She shook her head. "There are no ties between us. You are a prince and I—"

     " Yes?" A hint of eagerness sounded in his voice. "You are?"

     She laughed. "I am not a princess."

     " Aren't you?"

     Her breath caught. How had it happened that what she had intended to have no significance beyond a romantic interlude with a handsome stranger had become rather more important? It was not merely the pleasure he had provided in their hours in his bed, the responses he had coaxed from her, the unexpected joy in their coupling. Something had touched her somewhere in the vicinity of her heart although such thoughts were the height of absurdity. This was a moment stolen out of time, nothing more than that.

     " Although I confess, I do not care if you are in truth a princess or a chambermaid."

     She adopted a teasing tone. "And that is which part of your anatomy speaking?"

     " My heart," he said without pause.

     " Your heart is caught up in the magic of the night, your highness." She paused for a moment resisting the impulse to accept his words, embrace them, revel in them. "I understand, as do you, that come the morning, what has passed between us in the darkness will be of no significance. Your highness—"

     " Alexei," he growled and kissed the curve of her neck.

     " Alexei." She shuddered with his name and the feel of his lips on flesh still sensitive from lovemaking. She resisted the urge to melt into his arms. "Alexei, I—"

     " What shall I call you?"

     " It scarcely matters."

     " I must call you something. It is still sometime before sunrise and I do not intend to permit you to go before then."

     " We agreed I would leave by dawn."

     " But not so much as a moment before."
     

     " I am not entirely certain I can trust—"

     " La Serenissima." His hands caressed her back through the silk of her cloak and he nuzzled her ear. "The serene one. That is what I shall call you."

     " You're going to name me after Venice then?" She sighed with the pleasure of his touch. "After a city?"

     " It is not merely a city."

     " And I am scarcely serene."

     " Oh, I shall make certain of that." He chuckled then quieted and turned her around to face out again into the Venetian night, pulling her close against his bare chest and wrapping his arms around her. "I have always loved it here. There is a feel to Venice that touches the yearning in one's soul. It is in the very air we breathe, in the light itself, and unlike anywhere else in the world."

     " Such fanciful notions, your highness. I would not have suspected it of you."

      I would not have suspected it of myself," he said in a wry manner. "I doubt I have ever said it aloud before but I have long thought this was a place of magic where anything could happen. And no more so than tonight."
She stared out over the wide canal, at the stars overhead and their light reflected in the windows of the ornate palazzi that seemed to grow from the water itself. "A place of dreams."

     " Where a prince can be nothing more than a man with a beautiful woman in his bed. And ask no more from life than that."

     " But you are not merely a man."

     He blew a long breath. "No, I am not." He paused. "Still it has been an unexpected and rather extraordinary night."

     " Indeed it has."

     " I am scheduled to remain in Venice for several weeks. There is nothing to say we cannot share another night as glorious as this one. Or a dozen nights. Or more."

     She laughed lightly. "I fear another night with you, your highness, and I shall fall madly, irrevocably in love which can only lead to the breaking of my heart."

     " That would be a very great shame. Of course," his voice was thoughtful, "it could well be my heart that is broken.

     " And that would be a greater shame."

     " Because I am a prince?"

     " Because you will one day be a king," she said softly.

     " There are moments when I would rather be a mere man."

     " I suspect you could never be a mere man."

     He laughed, scooped her up in his arms and her cloak fell to the floor. She realized he was as naked as she and noted in the back of her mind how odd it was to be in this position and yet not feel at all exposed or embarrassed but rather quite, quite lovely. He started back toward the bed. "You would be very good for me, Serenissima."

     " You would be very bad for me, your highness."

     " Alexei. Tonight, let it be no more than Alexei and—"

     " Serenissima?" She laughed.

     " Serenissima." Abruptly his mood sobered. "As serene and beautiful and mysterious as the city she is named for."

     " Beautiful? I am flattered as you have not seen truly seen me."

     " And yet I know." He laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her. "My lips have kissed yours and explored the features of your face." He suited his actions to his words. "My hands have caressed the curve of your hip and the length of your legs and the firm, sweet swell of your breasts. I have felt you quicken beneath me at our joining and known the excitement of your release surrounding me."

     She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her body closer to the heat of his. "You are very good at this, your highness."

     " I suppose I am." He gathered her to him and fell silent for a long moment. She felt his heart beat in his chest against the press of her breasts. His growing arousal nudged between her legs and her own newfound desire pooled within her. "I could keep you here, you know. At this very minute, there are guards outside the door and others in the room beyond. I could spirit you away without notice, if I so wished, and keep you forever in my bed and by my side."

     " Yet you will not do so." Even as she said the words she knew the truth of them. He was a man with unlimited power. A man used to getting exactly what he wanted yet she hadn't the slightest doubt that, in spite of his threat, he would not do anything to tarnish the memories of this night. He would not do anything she did not wish. "And to what end, your highness? I have no desire to be any man's mistress not even a prince's."

     " I cannot offer more."

     " I am well aware of the obligations of the heir to a throne."

     " Still—"

     " Alexei." She brushed her lips against his. "You would grow tired of me before the week is out."

     " Never," his lips murmured against hers.

     " There is no place for me in your life beyond this one night."

     " What is it about this night?" His voice rang hard in the shadows and he drew away. She sensed him studying her. "You have cast a spell upon me, Serenissima. In truth, I am enchanted. By a woman I have not seen save by the light of the stars. A woman who will share her body but not her name. A woman who initiated seduction yet has had little experience in such matters."
She caught her breath.

     " Do not be surprised, Serenissima." He chuckled. "You cannot choose a man of my reputation for this game you play and not expect him to notice you are not what you appear."

     " It is not a game, Alexei," she said quietly. "It is my life."

     " It could well be my life at risk. You could be an assassin sent to cut my heart out."

     " As you can see I am unarmed."

     " Indeed, I made certain of it." A grin sounded in his voice. "Ah, Serenissima, I have no reason to trust you yet I do." He shook his head. "It is this place, no doubt. In the air. The stars. The music of the water. The magic of the night."

     " Alexei." She drew him back to her. "We have this moment and this moment alone. Tonight. Is it not enough?"

     " I have never wished for more than this from a woman before," he muttered.      "It is most disconcerting."

     " Tomorrow you will be Prince Alexei Pruzinsky, the heir to the throne of Avalonia and the night will have no more significance than a dream."

     " And you? Who will you be tomorrow?"

     " I will be . . ." she smiled. "I will never be the same again."

     " Serenissima." He groaned and met her lips with his and all rational thought vanished beneath an onslaught of passion and sensation of utter, indescribable delight.

     And in the moment before she gave herself completely to the pleasure of his touch she wondered if indeed she could be a woman of the world and share the beds of other men or if whatever had passed between her and this one man on this magic night was far and away too wondrous and unique to know ever again.

     He was indeed a glorious mistake.

     And she'd never forget him.

 

 

The Pursuit of Marriage
~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

May 2004

"The power of women to influence king, country and all of mankind cannot be underestimated. It is a power at its greatest when it is exerted subtly, in a clandestine manner and achieves it purpose before its existence is so much as suspected."
T. Higgins

Prologue

               Spring 1821

     "I must say, I am deeply disappointed." The Duchess of Roxborough gazed over the ladies assembled in the parlor at Effington House and heaved an overly dramatic sigh. "We are failing in our responsibilities, ladies, and we simply must do better.

     "In the year or so since the formation of The Ladies Society for the Betterment of the Future of Britain, our various members have assisted, as it were, in the forming of a mere three unions."

     Marian, Viscountess Berkley glanced at her very closest friend, Helena, the Countess of Pennington or rather now, thanks to her son's marriage, the dowager countess.

     "That of Lord Pennington—"

     Helena smiled in a most gracious manner that didn't appear the least bit smug unless of course, someone knew her as well as Marian did. Marian was well aware of how terribly satisfied Helena was by the results of her machinations last year that had finally brought her son to the altar. Oh certainly, there had been a fair amount of deceit involved on Helena's part, quite monumental by some standards, but she firmly believed, and as her dearest friend it was Marian's duty to share that belief, that she had simply nudged events in the right direction. Helena claimed what happened after that could well be attributed to fate.

     "—that of Miss Heaton--"

     Lady Heaton, mother of the aforementioned Miss Heaton beamed with the pride of accomplishment.
" Thanks to an overly impressive dowry and the threat of a fair amount of scandal," Helena said under her breath to Marian.

     "I think scandal is highly underrated as a tool to encourage marriage," Marian whispered. "We should employ it more often."

     " --and Miss Putnam."

     Lady Putnam smiled weakly. If anyone was well aware of the role of scandal as an inducement to wedded bliss it was Lady Putnam whose daughter Althea was involved in a rather flagrant misadventure with a young lord, ending in a quick trek to Gretna Green and a hasty wedding.

     "I'm not sure if Lady Putnam deserves the credit for that marriage," Marian murmured. "Or the blame."

     Helena bit back a smile and Marian grinned to herself. Not that Marian would hesitate for a moment to use the threat of scandal to force her son into marriage with the right young woman. The problem was finding the right young woman.

     "Perhaps ladies, we have forgotten the very reasons for these gatherings." The duchess' brows drew together in a most reproachful manner. "We are here for the express purpose of assisting our marriageable children in the finding of suitable matches, without their knowledge of course. As we are all well aware, young people today do not appear to be pursuing marriage as actively as they should. Indeed." The duchess' gaze settled on her sister-in-law Georgina Effington, Lady William. "Some seem to be pursuing anything but marriage."

     Lady William stood and smiled uneasily at the assembly. "As some of you probably know, my daughter Cassandra has discovered a talent for the refurbishment and redecoration of houses."

     "She's really quite wonderful," a lady behind Marian whispered.

     "And while I am confident she wishes to marry, I fear this pastime of hers—"

     "It's scarcely a pastime given what she charges," another woman murmured. "Still, well worth it to say your designer was an Effington."

     " --will keep her too occupied to see potential matches that may present themselves. In short, while I have always encouraged a certain amount of independence in my daughters, I fear for her future. Indeed, I think her actions might well be in opposition to the stars themselves. Therefore," Lady William heaved a heartfelt sigh, "I am more than willing to entertain any proposals or suggestions."

     "Excellent, Georgina." Her Grace beamed at her sister in law. "Cassandra well deserves a good match and I daresay there are any number of possibilities represented in this very room."

     A wave of enthusiastic murmurs swept around the room.

     "Marian." Helena considered her friend thoughtfully. "In spite of this venture of hers, Cassandra Effington would be an outstanding match for any young man."

     "Indeed she would," Marian murmured. "And, given her heritage, an excellent viscountess as well."

     Certainly, nothing Marian and her friends could possibly do would ensure such a match. There were no real guarantees in endeavors of the heart. Given that, was there any real harm in nudging things in the right direction in the hopes that fate would then take a hand?

     "Lady William." Resolve brought Marian to her feet. "I have a house sorely in need of refurbishing. And better yet," she flashed the assembly her brightest smile, "I have a son."

©2004 Victoria Alexander

Want to read more? Order a copy now through Barnes & Noble!

 

The Lady in Question
~ Excerpt ~
by
Victoria Alexander

November 2003

CHAPTER ONE

June 1820 

Dearest Cassie,

I have at last returned to London to take up residence in my husband's house.  I am all too aware that Mother has yet to forgive me for my transgressions and continues to forbid you to so much as speak to me but if it is at all possible could you pay me a call this afternoon?  I have missed you terribly, dear sister.  I arrived three days ago and there is no one here to talk to save the servants and they are an odd lot indeed. . . 

 "Given the circumstances, that is all things considered, and the time that has passed . . .," Lady Wilmont, Philadelphia, Delia to her dearest friends and up until a scant six months ago Miss Effington, picked at an odd thread on the arm of the far too masculine sofa in the parlor of her late husband's town house and forced a casual note to her voice.  "Do you think Mother will ever speak to me again?"

"I certainly wouldn't wager on it at the moment.  She's already gone on far longer than I would have expected."  Cassandra Effington, Delia's younger sister by no more than two minutes, drew her brows together thoughtfully.  "You know how Mother is.  She has taken all of this as an affront to the stars, a defiance of destiny, that sort of thing."

"Yes, she would, wouldn't she?"  Delia heaved a resigned sigh.

"Mother will come around eventually."  Cassie leaned closer and patted her twin's hand.  "In truth, I think now that you have returned from exile--"

"It wasn't exile, Cassie, it was the Lake District."

Cassie scoffed.  "The Lake District in winter sounds very much like exile to me.

"Not at all.  Besides each of our brothers visited and Father sent letters."

"Even so, for the most part you were ensconced with a relative so distant we have scarcely heard of her."

"Great-aunt Cecily.  She was quite nice if rather private which was well and good because what I needed was time and distance," Delia said firmly.  "Away from London and gossip and scandal."

"Perhaps we should send Mother to the Lake District.  It's taking her rather a long time to get over her—"

"Anger?  Outrage?  Embarrassment?"

"Yes, of course, all of that."  Cassie waved away her sister's words as if they were of no importance.  "I believe Mother could manage anger, outrage, embarrassment, humiliation, disgrace, dishonor--"

"I don't think I actually used the words humiliation, disgrace or dishonor," Delia murmured.

"Use them or not, they are present nonetheless," Cassie said firmly.  "However, my point is that Mother could cope with all that and more.  She is, if merely by marriage, an Effington.  And Effingtons are well used to dealing with the petty problems brought on by the occasional minor scandal."

"You think this was minor then?"  Delia sat up a bit straighter.

"Oh, dear Lord, no.  Not at the time anyway."  Cassie shook her head with far more enthusiasm than was necessary.  "No, an Effington running off with a scoundrel of Lord Wilmont's reputation was quite the biggest scandal of the year."

"I suppose so."  Delia sank back in her seat, an odd rational portion of her mind chastising her for such posture.  Miss Philadelphia Effington never slouched.  Apparently, however, Lady Wilmont did.

"This may well be the biggest scandal of the last few years," Cassie added.  "In fact, I am hard pressed to recall a bigger scandal ever.  Although I do suppose—"

"That's quite enough, thank you."  Delia sighed again and slumped deeper into the sofa.  The perfect carriage expected of a properly bred young woman of two-and-twenty scarcely seemed of significance when one was the center of the biggest scandal of the last few years.  Or ever. 

"Oh dear, I haven't been any help at all have I?  Very well.  Perhaps I have exaggerated somewhat.  It probably only seemed so huge because it occurred in December and there was little else for everyone to talk about."  Cassie cast her sister a sympathetic look.  "I do apologize, dearest, it's simply odd for me to be in this position.  And frankly, that's why I think Mother has had such a difficult time with it all."

Delia raised a brow.  "Because it isn't you?"

"Exactly."  Cassie nodded firmly.  "She, and every one else, has always thought if one of us were ever to be embroiled in a scandal of this magnitude—"

"It could have been far worse.  I did marry him after all," Delia pointed out.

"In this particular case, I daresay that does make it worse," Cassie said.  "I still do not understand why you did it."

"Nor do I," Delia said under her breath.

She had no idea how to explain what she could only call the madness that had inflicted her in weeks surrounding Christmas and ultimately led to scandal and her current odd position of barely wed widow.

Six months.  It scarcely seemed long enough for a life to change so completely.  Six months ago she hadn't a care in the world save for the usual questions about whether or not she or her sister would find a suitable match in the coming year.

"Your letters were not at all informative, at least not about anything of significance.  We have had no chance to talk since it all happened."  Cassie shrugged casually.  "You fled so quickly—"

"I didn't flee.  I," Delia wrinkled her nose, "escaped.  It was cowardly of me, I know but I was hard pressed at the time to accept that I lost my mind, ran off and ruined my life."

"It's not entirely ruined.  You did marry him."

"You just said in this case that might well have made it worse."

"I did, didn't I?  Well, I might have been wrong."

Delia snorted in a disdainful and unladylike manner most unbecoming for Miss Philadelphia Effington but quite appropriate for the widowed Lady Wilmont.

Cassie studied her sister carefully.  "I have been most patient but it's past time you told me everything."

"Everything?"

Cassie nodded.  "Absolutely.  Every detail.  Do not leave a single thing out.  It's the very least you can do."  She crossed her arms over her chest, settled back in her chair and stared at her sister.  "You have no idea what it feels like to discover one morning your sister, your twin sister, has run off with some man—"

"Charles," Delia murmured.

Cassie ignored her.  "—and you knew nothing about it.  You hadn't so much as a hint of what she'd been up to.  I can tell you right now it's quite distressing.  In addition, not one soul in the entire household believed I was completely innocent and no more aware of your intentions than anyone else."

Delia winced.  "I am sorry about that."

"Mother and Father questioned me as if I were a traitor to the crown."

"I can imagine."

"No, Delia, I don't believe you can.  You've never been in this position because we have never had secrets between us.  At least I have never kept secrets from you."

"Nor have I," Delia said quickly.  "Until now."

Cassie sniffed.  "I'm still not certain I shall ever forgive you."

"But I do apologize.  Really, I do."  Delia couldn't blame her sister for being overset, even angry, over Delia's failure to confide in her.

"You can begin making up for it by telling me everything.  However, I don't have much time.  Mother doesn't know I'm here." 

"It's absurd the way she's separating us, as if we were still children."  Delia studied her sister.  "I must say, your willingness to abide by her edict is somewhat surprising."

Cassie laughed, the dimple in her left cheek a mirror image of Delia's own.  "I'm rather surprised by it myself.  But, as I've always been the sister expected to totter off the edge of respectability, and therefore you've always been something of a favorite—"

"I most certainly have not!"

"Perhaps."  Cassie shrugged.  "Nonetheless, I have quite enjoyed being the proper sister in your absence.  It's really quite pleasant although not entirely fair.  I've always maintained the differences between us were minimal and nothing more than superficial at best."  She grinned.  "And I must say I do appreciate you're proving me right."

"So glad I could be of assistance," Delia said wryly.

Cassie might indeed be right although Delia had never thought so before now.

The sisters were as alike in appearance as two peas in a pod save that Delia favored her right hand and Cassie her left.  Cassie had long believed it was the same for their temperaments and had always insisted the difference between them was no more than a matter of degree.  Shading if you will.  She considered herself a bit more impulsive, outspoken and adventurous than her barely older sister but only a bit.  Delia rarely disagreed with this assessment aloud but privately thought it was a great deal more than a bit.  She saw herself as far quieter, much more reserved and entirely more cautious than her sister.

"Now, you may begin by telling me exactly when you met Wilmont."  Cassie settled back in her chair.  "Go on."

"Very well."  Delia blew a resigned breath.  "Do you remember Lady Stanley's Christmas ball?  How frightfully overcrowded and stuffy it was?"

"It's overcrowded and stuffy at every ball."

"It was particularly so that night.  I felt the need for a breath of fresh air so I slipped out to the terrace."

She'd since thought there must have been something in the air that crisp, winter night, in the glow cast by the stars, in the promise of the spring to come.  A promise of something new and unknown and exciting.  Some kind of magic spell perhaps or more, something she had always yearned for but hadn't recognized she wanted until that very moment. 

"And that's when you met Wilmont?"

"Yes."  Lord Wilmont.  Baron Wilmont.  Charles.

"And?"

"And . . . we exchanged pleasantries."  He'd appeared out of the shadows, almost as if he had been waiting just for her.

"Pleasantries?"

"One might call it something of a flirtation I suppose."  He'd been outrageous.  Totally improper and far and away too intimate.  He'd taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.  Completely scandalous.  And utterly, utterly charming.

Cassie raised a brow.  "Oh?  And were you flirtatious in return?"

"I might have been."  Delia shrugged offhandedly.  She'd responded in kind that night with a confident, teasing demeanor not at all like her usual, reserved nature.  In the back of her mind, she'd wondered what on earth had possessed her but enjoyed it nonetheless.  "A bit perhaps."

"I see."  Cassie considered her sister for along moment. Delia resisted the urge to squirm in her seat.  "And then what?"

"Then?"

"Yes, then.  Unless you decided that very moment on the terrace at Lady Stanley's that you would run off with him, there was obviously a then.  When did you next see him?"

"The next day.  At a bookseller's, Hatchard's I think."  He'd scarce acknowledged her acquaintance save to tip his hat and politely recommend a book of poetry, handing it to her as he left.  Inside, she'd found a scrap of paper with his signature and the words until we meet again.  Later, he'd given her the same book.  "And again at Lady Concord-Smythe's soiree . . ." 

Lord Wilmont, Charles, was not the type of man who was generally attracted to Miss Philadelphia Effington, which she could see now made him all the more attractive.  His reputation as an irresponsible spendthrift and gambler only rivaled his reputation with women.  Gossip had it that he had been the ruination of more than one young woman and no respectable lady should so much as favor him with a dance.  His frequent absences from London for long periods during the last decade only fueled the rumors about him.

Still, when Wilmont did deign to make an appearance, his impeccable family ties allowed him entrée into the tight knit and somewhat hypocritical world of London society.  Of course, the ladies could not fail to notice that he was exceedingly handsome with hair the color of spun gold, a wicked twinkle in his eye and a smile that told a woman it was for her and her alone.  And the gentlemen were quite aware that regardless of whatever else he may be, he always paid his debts.  In addition, he was possessed of a significant fortune and bore an old and honorable title, if perhaps a bit tarnished.   

As for his reputation, it was all rumor and innuendo.  Why, Delia had never actually met anyone who had been ruined by the man.  The stories she'd heard about him might well be little more than fabrications spun by those jealous of his appearance or his wealth or his name.

Not knowing had made him all the more mysterious and dangerous and exciting.

And he wanted her.  From the moment they'd met, that simple fact had made her reckless and daring, entirely different from her usual nature.  She'd reveled in the difference, in who she was with him and only with him, and reveled as well in the certain knowledge that this dangerous rake wanted her not because she was an excellent match but because she was very much a woman and he was every inch a man.  It was the most intoxicating sensation she'd ever known.  And completely irresistible. 

"And at Lady Bradbourne's New Year's ball and . . ." Delia smiled weakly.  "I met him quite a bit actually."

"Good Lord."  Cassie sank back in her chair and stared.  "I can't believe no one noticed."

"You'd be amazed at how easy it is to slip away from a crowded ballroom to a secluded library or empty parlor."  Delia drummed her fingers nervously on the armrest of the sofa.  This had been her secret and hers alone for so long, it was surprisingly awkward to reveal it now, even to Cassie, the one person Delia had never kept anything from. 

"Indeed I would.  I suspect you can teach me a great deal, dear sister."  Grudging admiration shone in Cassie's eyes.

"This is surprisingly difficult to talk about."  Delia rose to her feet and paced the room, wringing her hands absently with every step.  "I had thought, given the passage of time, that it would be easy to tell you but I find I am not at all good at confession."

"It is good for the soul, they say." Cassie said primly.

"I doubt that.  My soul doesn't feel the least bit good.  Only quite, quite foolish."

"Nonsense.  Oh, not that it wasn't foolish," Cassie said quickly, "every bit of it, but you probably couldn't help falling in love with the man."

Delia stopped and stared at her sister, her words coming before she could stop them.  "Oh, but you see, I didn't"

Cassie's brows drew together in confusion.  "But I thought—"

"Oh I know."  Delia waved her sister quiet.  "I would have thought exactly the same thing: that someone in my position would have gotten in my position in the first place because she had quite fallen head over heels and therefore lost all sense of proper behavior.  But it wasn't like that at all."

"I'm afraid to ask precisely what it was like."

"It was . . ."  Delia clasped her hands together and screwed up her courage.  "Quite the most exciting thing I have ever imagined.  The adventure I had always dreamed of."

"Adventure?"

"I'm not certain how else to explain it."  Delia groped for the right words.  "It was very much like riding a horse entirely too fast.  You know it's dangerous and will more than likely end badly but it's so exhilarating, you don't really care."

Delia returned to perch on the edge of the sofa.  "I know this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever but Charles was not at all the kind of man who is usually interested in me.  Even you must admit my suitors were inevitably somber in character, serious in demeanor and bent on the altogether critical quest of finding a suitable wife.  And to a man they were one and all deadly dull."

"Well, yes, they were rather--"

"Whereas gentlemen who seek your favors are typically dashing and exciting and often have an air of danger about them."

"I have never understood it myself."  Cassie shook her head.  "We are both precisely the same in appearance—"

"Yes, but there is something about you."  Delia studied her sister, trying to put her observations into words.  "As much as staring at you is like staring at a mirror, there is a difference.  In the look in your eye or the tilt of your smile perhaps.  Something that says you could be terribly improper given the slightest provocation."  She sighed and settled back on the sofa.  "I obviously look like I would never have so much as have an improper thought."

"Looks indeed can be quite deceiving as I have never particularly done anything improper save speak my mind.  However you managed to make yourself the center of scandal."

"I did marry him."

"And everyone asked why.  Good Lord, Delia, people wondered if Wilmont married you for the respectability of your family or your family's money—"

"Actually, his solicitor wrote me about that.  I am apparently quite well off," Delia murmured.

"—or to save your honor.  Of course, that would make him a much better man than anyone suspected and would make you . . ."

Heat flashed up Delia's face.

"Delia?"

Delia jumped up and crossed the room in a futile attempt to avoid the inevitable.

"Philadelphia Effington!"  Shock sounded in Cassie's voice.  "I can't believe—"

Delia whirled to face her sister.  "Did I failed to mention the excitement of riding entirely too fast?"

"You were speaking about a feeling!  And blast it all, you were talking about a horse!  At least, I thought you were talking about a horse."  Cassie stared, her eyes wide with shock.  "You didn't, Delia, I know you.  You couldn't.  You wouldn't."

"I might have."  Delia pretended to study her fingernails.  "Once."

For a moment silence hung in the room.  Delia held her breath.

"How?" Cassie asked at last.

Delia's gaze snapped to hers.  "What do you mean how?"

"How did you manage it?"  Cassie's eyes narrowed.  "Surely you didn't take that little horseback ride—"

"Cassie!"

Cassie ignored her.  "—in a library or an empty parlor."

"Of course not."  A touch of indignation sounded in Delia's voice.  "That would be most improper."

Cassie raised a disbelieving brow.

Delia ignored her.  "Do you remember the night I feigned illness and you and the rest of the family went off to whatever party it was you attended?"

"Vaguely."

"I had a hired carriage waiting to take me here.  To Charles' house."

"Oh, nothing improper there."  Sarcasm colored Cassie's words.

Delia raised her hands in front of her in a helpless gesture.  "And Charles insisted afterwards on marrying me."

"I see."  Cassie's expression was annoyingly noncommittal.

"And I do wish you wouldn't refer to it as a horseback ride."  Delia drew her brows together.  "It makes it all so . . . unseemly."

"And we wouldn't want that."  Cassie got to her feet.  "I was wrong though.  It was a good thing that he married you.  Pity he had to get himself killed within the week."

"Yes, it was."  There was a familiar pang when Delia said the words.  Of regret for what might have been and of guilt as well that he was gone and she hadn't truly cared for him the way she'd always wished she would one day care for the man she married.

"However."  Cassie put on her hat and adjusted it to the proper angle.  "His death has been of some benefit."

"I scarcely see—"

"Actually, you needn't see because I do."  Cassie's pulled on her gloves in a slow and deliberate manner.  "No one knows this was not a love match, indeed I didn't know myself until a few minutes ago."  She pinned her sister with an accusing look.  "Did I mention how lacking in anything of substance your letters were?"

"You may have."

"I knew your return would renew discussion of the scandal, which had died down nicely I might add.  So, I am taking it upon myself to rectify the situation."

"What do you mean: rectify?" Delia said slowly.

"Nothing much, really.  A few carefully placed words here and there and the way the world sees this incident will change dramatically.  You will no longer be the subject of scandal and curiosity but sympathy."

"Cassie, what are you—"

"It's obvious you were swept off your feet by this rake and obvious as well that he felt the same.  Why would a man with as unsavory a reputation as Wilmont's marry you otherwise?"  Smug satisfaction sounded in Cassie's voice.  "I wish I had thought of it months ago but it didn't occur to me until I learned you were on your way home. 

"You reformed this rake into becoming an honorable man but before either of you could enjoy your newfound love, he was tragically killed.  In your grief, you exiled yourself—"

"The Lake District is not exile."

"Until you could once again face the world."

"That part, at least, is true although it was embarrassment more than grief—"

"Yes, but my version is perfect and too, too romantic.  Tragedy combined with love is irresistible."

"I don't think—"

"It might even alleviate any speculation that Wilmont was leaving you, so soon after your marriage, which was why he was on the packet to France alone."

"That's absurd," Delia said staunchly.  "Charles had pressing business interests in France and did not think it was appropriate for me to accompany him."  Delia hated to admit that she did not know her husband well enough to truly know if indeed what he had told her as to the purpose of his trip was true.  Given his behavior after their marriage, she too had wondered if he was leaving her.  Whatever the purpose of his trip, it cost him his life when the packet wrecked during a storm in the channel.

 "Regardless, my idea is brilliant and you may thank me for it later.  It might even hasten Mother's forgiveness.  I daresay she would much rather be the mother of a tragic, bereaved widow who sacrificed all for love than the mother of a—"

"Very well then," Delia said quickly.  "I suppose it's worth a try at any rate."

Cassie flashed a grin.  "I shall do more than try, dear sister, I shall rally the Effington women, except for Mother of course, in a valiant effort to twist the flow of gossip to your advantage.  I haven't the least doubt of what we can accomplish."

For the first time in a long time Delia laughed.  "It is indeed a formidable force."

The ladies of the Effington family were well known for strength of character and other qualities considered either sterling or troublesome depending on one's point of view.  They'd long understood the power wielded by their family had as much to do with the tenacity of its female members as its men. 

Cassie pulled on her gloves and started toward the door.

"You're not leaving are you?"  A sliver of panic shot through Delia.  "You've scarcely been here any time at all and it's so dreadfully lonely."

"I don't want to but," Cassie sighed.  "Mother is keeping a closer eye on me than usual.  She firmly believes if she had been as watchful when it came to you, all of this would have been avoided."  She considered her sister for a moment.  "You could come with me, you know.  Father would welcome you and Mother can just as easily not speak to you at home as she can if you remain here."

"I should like that but . . ."  The idea was exceedingly tempting.  To return home and pretend nothing had ever happened.  But among all else she had realized during her months of relative solitude, she understood and accepted that her life had changed forever and no amount of pretense would undo what was done.  Besides, she had the blood of generations of Effington women in her veins and it was past time she behaved with the courage that was her birthright.  "I have chosen my path and now I must live with it."

"I knew you would say that, I would have been quite shocked if you hadn't."  Cassie shook her head and smiled.  "I must say I rather envy you."

"Why on earth would you envy me?"

"As a widow you are no longer subject to the limitations that govern my life.  You may not realize it at the moment, dear sister, but you are free."

"Free?"  Delia folded her arms over her chest.  "I'd scarcely call the restrictions of mourning free.  I have simply traded one set of rules for another."

"But there is an end in sight for you and then you may do precisely as you wish."  Cassie's eyes sparkled with amusement.  "Perhaps, I can find myself a wealthy rake to marry who will then conveniently die.  Someone quite old, I think, barely tottering, to ensure I would become a widow as quickly as possible."

"Cassie!"  Delia tried and failed to hold back a laugh. 

"It was just a thought and at least I have made you laugh."  Cassie gave her sister a quick hug.  "I don't know when I'll be able to visit again but I suspect I can manage to write and dispatch a servant to deliver my notes.  Every day if you wish."

"That would be wonderful," Delia said with relief.  "I feel quite isolated here.  This house is not overly large but it's rather empty."

"Surely Wilmont had servants?"

"Only a housekeeper, who also served as cook, and a butler and they up and quit right after I was informed of Charles' death.  Father had this house closed up this house for me when I left.  As for my own maid, you remember Martha?"

Cassie nodded.

"She met a farmer while we were gone and stayed to marry him when I returned to London so I shall need to replace her.  Did I tell you the house had been broken into while I was away?"

Cassie gasped.  "Good Lord."

"The thieves left quite a mess and, I confess, it was most unnerving.  There wasn't a single room left untouched.  All the books in the library were torn from the shelves, every drawer pulled from every chest, furniture upended.  The picture of chaos really."

"Delia, are you certain you're safe here?"

Delia waved away the question.  "Of course.  Such things are bound to happen when a house is left empty for so long.  Fortunately, the very day I returned a new butler, sent by an employment service I assume, arrived and promptly hired a housekeeper and a footman.  They have spent the last few days setting everything to rights while I have tried to determine if anything was taken."

"It's fortunate that you have help but isn't it a little odd that these servants just magically appeared on your doorstep?"

"There was nothing magical about it.  No doubt the previous servants notified the service and they were simply waiting to send anyone until I had returned."  Delia shook her head.  "And I don't mind in the least given the state of the house.  Besides, their references were excellent."

"I met the butler when I arrived.  He seems rather old."

"And therefore has a great deal of experience.  He will serve for the moment," Delia said firmly.  The last thing she wanted or needed to worry about was hiring servants.  "Besides, he came highly recommended."

"Well that's something I suppose."  Cassie started to open the door then paused and met her sister's gaze.  "Delia, what was it like?"

"It?"

"It. You know exactly what I mean by it."  Cassie studied her cautiously.  "With him."

Realization struck Delia and her face burned.  "Oh, that it."

"Well?"

"It was," Delia struggled to find the right words, "interesting.  Rather enjoyable really . . ."

"Was it as painful as they say?"  Cassie's tone was casual but curiosity shone on her face.  "The first time that is?"

"Not really.  It was odd and a bit uncomfortable but . . ."

"And after that?"

Delia was not about to admit, even to Cassie, that there had been nothing beyond a first time.  Nor would she ever tell her it was not quite as wild and glorious as she had expected.  She drew a deep breath.  "All in all, I'd say the experience had a great deal of potential."

"Potential?"  Cassie raised a brow.

"Potential," Delia said firmly.

"Potential," Cassie murmured.  "That is interesting."  A few moments later she kissed her sister on the cheek and took her leave.  

Delia lingered at the parlor door long enough to watch the new butler, Gordon, see her sister out then closed the door and slumped against it.

It was exceedingly hard to be an outcast in one's own family.  She regretted that but little else.

Even now, Delia knew if she could indeed turn back the clock and live the days that had led to today over, she would make the same choices.  Oh, she would do what she could to prevent Charles's death and do what she could as well to build affection from what started as nothing more than passion but she would not change her actions.

For all of her twenty-two years, she'd known it was her lot in life, as well as her sister's, to look as lovely as possible, learn those skills that would serve them well as the proper hostess and mistress of a household and, of course, to make excellent matches.  What real choice was there other than marriage for the daughters of Lord William Effington, the brother of the Duke of Roxborough?

The sisters had on occasion through the years discussed, or rather bemoaned, whatever quirk of fate that had decreed them female with no true purpose in life save to wed and breed well.  They quite envied their brothers and male cousins who were free to explore the world and have grand adventures and lead exciting lives.  With age, they'd discovered there was a certain amount of adventure offered in the flirtatious smile cast by a handsome lord, the promise of excitement to be found in the meeting of the admiring gaze thrown by a roguish gentleman across a crowded ballroom.  Adventure and excitement that had not truly tempted Delia before Charles.

In hindsight, she wondered if rebellion had always simmered unacknowledged beneath her calm exterior, some reckless unknown need for excitement or adventure, and wondered as well if the realization that she fast approached an age where she could no longer avoid a suitable marriage, with or without affection, had simply brought forth that part of her nature.  Charles had offered the excitement and adventure and yes, danger, she didn't know she yearned for until she met him.

Regardless of the outcome, this had been the grandest adventure of her life.

Now, she simply had to live with it. 

©2003 Victoria Alexander

Want to read more? Order a copy now through Barnes & Noble!

Love With The
Proper Husband
~ Excerpt ~
by
Victoria Alexander

April 2003

"The delight in male children is strictly in fulfilling one's responsibility and having them in the first place because, unfortunately, at some point they become men."
-The Duchess of Roxborough

 

 

Prologue

Spring 1820

"And so, ladies, I propose we do something beyond simply complaining and hoping for the best." The Duchess of Roxborough cast her brightest smile around the gathering of ladies in the parlor at Effington House.

Helena, the Countess of Pennington sipped thoughtfully at her tea and glanced around the fashionably decorated parlor to see the reaction of the dozen or so other women present. They were all friends or at least acquaintances, indeed, she'd known most since her come out season, far too many years ago now to note without a visible shudder of dismay. Beyond that, nearly each and every lady here had a son or daughter of marriageable age. And at one point or another, Helena had heard nearly each and every one despair of ever getting said child to agree to a suitable match.

"I'm a bit confused, Your Grace." Marian, Viscountess Berkley drew her brows together.

Marian had been a bit confused for as long as anyone had known her but was so delightfully pleasant, no one particularly minded. In truth, when she was very young and very blonde and very flirtatious, Helena quite suspected Marian had actively perfected her state of innocent confusion to the level of art.

"Your son and daughter are both married," Marian said. "I don't quite understand why you should propose this--what did you call it again?"

"The Ladies Society for the Betterment of the Future of Britain." The duchess's voice rang in the room and Helena was certain she saw Her Grace's chest visibly swell with pride.

A murmur of approval washed through the crowd. And why not? It was indeed a grand name. And far better than anything with the words meddling or interfering or, heaven forbid, matchmaking in it.

"And I propose this, Lady Berkley, precisely because I no longer have to worry about my children making suitable matches but I am, as we all should be, concerned about future generations. Indeed, it could well be considered our patriotic duty. Besides, there are a number of young people throughout my family who are making no particular effort to marry. I find it quite distressing. In addition," she flashed a wicked grin, "I think it will be great fun."

The ladies laughed and nodded their approval.

"I am simply suggesting we take our children's destinies in hand and do all within our power, with the help of one another, to find suitable matches for them, whether they wish it or not."

"It's past time my son wed," a lady somewhere behind Helena murmured.

Lady Heaton pursed her lips. "One more season and my daughter will be firmly on the shelf. And I shall be stuck with her forever."

"Probably because she greatly resembles her mother," Marian said under her breath to Helena.

"Shhh," Helena whispered, stifling a grin and her agreement.

"We are a clever lot," the duchess continued, "and we certainly have the skills amongst us to assist one another, should it be necessary, with various and assorted ideas—"

"Plot, schemes—" someone said.

"Plans, tactics—" another added.

Voices raised with excitement. "Strategy, intrigues!"

"Exactly." The duchess beamed. "It may be that, in certain cases, I think of them as projects, members of the society need do little more than lend moral support to one another. In other, more complicated projects, it might be necessary to actively take matters in hand to assist each other."

"Surely you're not suggesting those of us with daughters trap some gentleman into a situation by which the only honorable solution is marriage?" Lady Dawson said with a note of horror in her voice.

"Of course not, although I, for one, would at least consider such a suggestion under the appropriate circumstances." The duchess paused thoughtfully. "And how old is your daughter now?"

"Nearly two and twenty, Your Grace." Lady Dawson smiled weakly.

"As old as that," the duchess murmured.

On one hand, the duchess' proposal was outrageous: turning their children into the projects of a society determined to see them wed. Still, Helena knew full well the marriages of a fair number of the women present were arranged by their families and most of those had turned out well. Indeed, it was rather a pity that such things had fallen out of favor. In some respects, the duchess' society would simply be arranging matters in a tried and true method. Upholding a time honored tradition as it were. Honoring the heritage of their country. Why, who could possibly argue with that?

"I needn't mention, should we decide to go forward with this, secrecy is of the utmost importance." Her Grace's tone was firm. "This simply will not work if any of the children become aware they are the target of an organized effort." She shook her head. "They can be quite stubborn when they suspect interference on the part of a mother. I believe they get it from their fathers."

There was a general murmur of agreement.

Helena already had an idea of sorts that would serve well to get her son to at last accept his familial obligations and marry. It had begun as an odd, chance thought but had dwelled in the back of her mind, becoming more solid each time she turned her attention to it. She simply hadn't the courage to carry it through. Now however . . .

"Your Grace." Helena rose to her feet. "I think The Ladies Society for the Betterment of the Future of Britain is an outstanding proposal and I should like to do my part." She squared her shoulders. "Therefore, I am more than willing to offer my son as the Society's first project."

"Excellent, Lady Pennington." The duchess favored her with a brilliant smile. "I daresay, you won't be sorry. Now, do you have any prospects in mind for him?"

"I not only have prospects." Helena grinned. "I have a plan."

Want to read more? Order a copy now through Barnes & Noble!

A Visit from Sir Nicholas
~Excerpt~
by
Victoria Alexander

November 2004

 

CHAPTER ONE

Christmas Past, December 1843

Affectionately Yours, Lizzie.

Lady Elizabeth Effington stared at the words she'd just written and grimaced. No. Affectionately was entirely too personal and Lizzie too informal. He'd never called her Lizzie and she doubted he'd start now. Indeed, with one significant exception, he'd never been anything other than completely proper with her. It was most annoying. She crossed out the line just as she had the previous three attempts.

"That was truly wonderful." Behind her, her younger sister, Juliana, sighed with heartfelt satisfaction.

"I knew you would like it," Lizzie said absently and stared at the sheet of white velum lying on the desk in front of her in the sitting room she shared with Jules.

"It was so . . . so . . ." Jules thought for a moment. "Wonderful."

"Quite," Lizzie murmured and wrote With Sincere Best Wishes, Lady Elizabeth Effington .

"No, more than wonderful. I daresay it's the best story about Christmas—no—the best story about anything I have ever read."

That wasn't right either. With Sincere Best Wishes had an obligatory ring as if one were writing to an elderly relative one didn't particularly like but was required to be pleasant to nonetheless. Besides, while Lizzie might be too personal Lady Elizabeth Effington was far and away too formal for her purposes. She slashed a pen stroke through the bothersome phrase.

"In point of fact," Jules continued in a tone that sounded far more like a literary critic than a mere girl of sixteen years. "I think it's quite the best story Mr. Dickens has written. Of those I've read, of course, but I do think I've read most of his stories as he is possibly my favorite author. It's not as amusing as Nicholas Nickleby but a far better ending to my mind than The Old Curiosity Shop, although I do so love stories about girls having adventures." Jules paused. "Even if Little Nell's were rather dreadful."

"Yes, well, dying at the end of one's story does tend to make one's adventures a bit less than cheery," Lizzie said under her breath. With eternal friendship, Elizabeth. "I dislike books that don't end well. Mother's books always end well. This one does too, in a fashion, although it is something of a pity Scrooge did not discover the error of his ways until he was old. He would have had a rather wonderful life if he had married Belle. Don’t you think so?"

"Um hmm."

Friendship was good. Not the least bit improper. And Elizabeth had the right tone. Perhaps . . . Lizzie sighed and crossed out her latest effort. Why on earth was this so blasted difficult? All she was trying to do was come up with an appropriate inscription for a book to give as a gift. Still, her words were as important as the book itself. Even more so.

"I think my very favorite part though," Jules said slowly, "was at the end when Tiny Tim sprouted wings and flew off with Fezziwig and the Ghost of Christmas Past. Don't you agree?"

"Yes. Of course. I . . ." Lizzie jerked her head up, swiveled in her chair and stared at her sister. "What did you say?"

"I suspected as much." Jules narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You weren't listening to a word I said, were you?"

"I most certainly was. You said . . ." Lizzie searched her mind. She did so hate to admit that her sister was right, at least in part. "You said you liked A Christmas Carol better than any of Mr. Dickens' other works."

Jules snorted in a most unladylike manner. "That was the very least of what I said." She sat upright on the chaise and craned her neck to see around her sister. "Whatever are you doing anyway?"

Lizzie shifted to shield the paper on the desk and adopted a casual tone. "Nothing of importance really. Just trying to find the right words."

Jules raised a brow. "For what?"

"For none of your concern that's what," Lizzie said firmly.

"Is it something for Charles?" Jules fluttered her lashes in an exaggerated manner.

Lizzie laughed. "No, it's not. And even if it was, I wouldn't tell you."

"Why not?" Indignation sounded in the younger girl's voice. "I'd tell you what I was giving the gentleman who was about to ask for my hand in marriage."

"Nonsense," Lizzie said quickly. "Charles is not about to ask for my hand."

Jules smirked. "Would you care to wager on that?"

Lizzie stared at her sister, unease settling in the pit of her stomach. "Do you know something I should know?"

"Perhaps." Jules settled back on the chaise and smiled at her sister in that irritating way younger girls refine for the express purpose of torturing their older sisters. "I might know that Charles spoke to father privately this morning. And I might further know, when Charles came out of Father's library he had a look of relief and excitement on his face."

Lizzie waved off her sister's comments. "That could mean anything."

"Oh, come now, Lizzie. You can't be the least bit surprised by this." Jules studied her sister curiously. "For as long as I can remember, everyone in both our families has expected a match between you. I rather thought you expected to marry him as well."

"Charles is a good man and an excellent match and any woman would be honored to be his wife. Indeed, it seems to me there are any number of young women wishing to do just that." Lizzie smiled in a noncommittal manner and hoped her comments would satisfy her sister.

"I know I would. Charles is wonderful." Jules heaved a heartfelt sigh. "He's so handsome with the brightest blue eyes and the merriest smile and the most charming manner. Indeed, I fear I have a penchant for men with blond, wavy hair. One is hard pressed to keep from running one's fingers through it."

Lizzie bit back a grin. "You shall have to resist that in the future."

"In the future I shall have a merry, blond haired, blue eyed man of my own to wed." Jules cast her sister a wicked grin. "Then I should be able to run my fingers through his hair all I wish."

"I daresay one shouldn't choose a husband on the basis of his hair," Lizzie said wryly.

"I don’t see why a man's appearance shouldn't be considered as well as the rest of his attributes. I should much rather marry a handsome man than a homely one." Jules drew her brows together. "Doesn't Charles remind you of Fred?"

Lizzie shook her head. "Fred?"

"Fred. Scrooge's nephew. He was terribly happy and jolly and handsome as well although he hadn't much money."

"Charles has a great deal of money."

"So much the better. I think it's far easier to be happy and merry if one has money than if one doesn't." Jules thought for a moment. "Although the Cratchits had no money and they seemed happy enough. Except for Tiny Tim, of course. But then he didn't die after all thanks to Scrooge. Or at least that's what Mr. Dickens implies." Her brow furrowed. "Do you think Mr. Dickens was trying to tell us that if you have enough money you can change your fate so that you won’t die young and horribly?"

"Don't be absurd. He didn't mean anything of the sort." Lizzie scoffed. "He was obviously saying that charity and generosity of spirit can make a huge difference in the lives of those who have little. Indeed, I think the moral to the story is that we should all do what we can to help the less fortunate and not just at Christmastime but the whole year through."

"Probably, although I do wish you hadn't said that." The younger girl wrinkled her nose. "I quite liked the story just as it was without concern as to morals or lessons."

"Morals and lessons are good for your character."

"My character has had quite enough, thank you. Between Mother and Grandmother and all the aunts, someone is always trying to tell me something that is good for my character. Or my mind for that matter."

"Perhaps that's an indication that your character and your mind need improvement," Lizzie said primly.

"I would scarcely comment about the need to improve one's character or one's mind if I were you."

"Juliana Effington, how can you say such a thing?" Lizzie gasped in mock dismay and clasped her hand to her throat. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with my character or my mind. I am intelligent and well-read, honest and forthright and my moral standards are beyond reproach."

Jules eyed her sister wryly. "Then it must be exceedingly difficult to fool the entire world as you, among all the varied and assorted Effington and Shelton cousins, are considered perhaps the merriest and the most frivolous."

"Indeed it is. I work very hard at it." Lizzie nodded solemnly then met her sister's gaze and both girls burst into laughter. Lizzie sobered and sighed. "In truth, Jules, I learned long ago that in this world a woman, as opposed to a man, is judged far more on her appearance than her intelligence and men quite prefer a frivolous nature to a serious one. Someday, when I am old and long married, I fully intend to allow my mind free rein and explore all sorts of fascinating interests."

"I do hope I live long enough to see that." Jules thought for a moment. "Still, I doubt