The Season Page 2

  Alex laughed. "Sadly, I think you're right. Reveal just enough of your intelligence and you're safe from being courted. Especially by any of the ninnies who will be asking us to take a turn about the room at Almack's."

  Her friend smiled. "Let's hope so, because that's the best plan I've got. It's the only way my novel is ever going to be written."

  It wasn't simply that Ella found the idea of a proper marriage to a proper man distasteful, it was that she found it in direct opposition to the one thing she had wanted to do for as long as she could remember. Ella had dreams of becoming a great novelist and writing the sort of book that told the story of her time. She read anything she could get her hands on and was rarely seen without her notebooks, which held any ideas and observations she thought would be useful when she finally had a chance to tell her tale.

  Of course, the challenge of being a woman who writes loomed over Ella's head. Of all the respectable novelists in the past fifty years, few had (at least publicly) admitted to being women. But Ella was well aware that the small odds of her being an unmarried female author were slightly higher than the minuscule odds of being a married one. And she was willing to bet on them.

  "That reminds me," Vivi interjected, "I have an idea for your book that I think might be just perfect." The girls were always trading concepts and plots to be recorded in Ella's notebook. "I overheard my father discussing the impending capture of a series of spies — English spies — who have been trading secrets to the French."

  Alex leaned back against the chaise and pulled her feet up under her. She loved hearing tales of Vivi's eavesdropping. "Oooh ... go on."

  Vivi leaned forward, a natural storyteller with a gift for making anything sound interesting. "From what I could gather, the Royal Navy have had some trouble with their secret movements being intercepted by the French. It's apparently quite vexing for the men at the War Office. With Napoleon's escape from exile last month, they've obviously been preparing for a full -scale push to unseat him; they've considered a number of possible ways that their coded instructions to naval ships might be intercepted and decoded, but it seems there's only one conclusion. English spies."

  Alex had a choice and unladylike word for any Englishman who would sel state secrets in wartime. Ella already had her notebook out and was scribbling. Ignoring her friend's crude language, she spoke without looking up, "Fascinating. Who?"

  Vivi shook her head and waved a hand. "They don't have any idea at this point. It must be someone fairly high up in the War Office who has access to this kind of information. My father was recently placed on the case, along with William." She made eye contact with Alex at the mention of her friend's eldest brother. "Between the two of them, I'm sure it will be cleared up soon enough. But I'm certain that if anyone can make it more interesting, it's you, Ella."

  Ella was lost to them for a moment — focused entirely on the words in her journal. Chewing daintily on the end of her lead pencil, her mind was turning over the story she might weave around such a loose collection of information. Leaving her to her reverie, the conversation turned to Vivi and her own preparations for entering society.

  The three girls would attend Almack's for their official coming-out on Wednesday evening. Vivi, the only one without a mother to pester her, had the least amount of animosity for the event. It wasn't that she didn't feel the pressure of society's will as much as her friends. As the ravishing only daughter of a wealthy and decorated marquess, it was simply expected that she marry and marry well , considering that she couldn't inherit her father's title. She'd been hearing this from meddling aunts and the parents of her friends for years, but she had one thing in her favor — her father thought it was a terrible idea to marry for marriage's sake.

  While the ladies of the ton had spent years worrying about Vivi and her twin brother being raised by a widowed father and encouraged the marquess either to deposit his children with any number of female relatives or to quickly remarry, the marquess had flown in the face of convention and flatly refused to do any such thing. Vivi's parents' marriage had been a love match (something that would have been considered disgustingly common had the marquess not been just that — a marquess), and he had showered his daughter with the same caring and affection that he'd given her mother, encouraging her to marry for the same reason he had. Love.

  "You unbelievably lucky chit!" Alex spoke. "You have parental permission — nay, parental expectation! — to avoid all versions of limp-necked, pasty white, simpering dandies who might come calling for your hand in marriage. Are you sure your father wouldn't like to assume charge of me as well ?"

  "I'm not sure my father could handle you." Vivi laughed. "But, in all honesty, I'm not planning to avoid anyone's simpering wish for my hand. My plan is to gain as many proposals as possible. I need to hone my flirting skills if I'm going to catch The One."

  The One. Vivi had always been the only girl in the threesome who believed in "The One." Ella speculated that it was the result of her being the product of a love match. Alex felt she knew better, however, and could never shake the idea that Vivi had already set her sights on the man she wanted. Vivi, ever mysterious, refused to respond to any prodding or cajoling for more information on the subject, leaving her friends with a simple: "Everybody has a One.

  We just aren't all willing to wait for Him."

  Alex snorted indecorously. "I don't think it is unwillingness to wait, Viv ... I'm more than willing to wait. Years! Decades even!" Her eyes twinkled with laughter.

  Ella chimed in with, "Centuries! Millennia!"

  "There is just one problem." Alex leaned forward and, with a wink to Ella, she spoke with grave seriousness, "Mothers." all three girls burst out in giggles.

  "ALEXANDRA ELIZABETH STAFFORD! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

  "Uh-oh."

  "Speaking of..." Ella said drily.

  Alex's feet came off the chaise and she sat up. "Mother ..."

  For a petite woman, the duchess could appear as regal and enormous as her title suggested. "What did I tell you about that dress? What would possess you to come down here and lie about in it as if it were your nightgown and this your bedchamber? Leaving aside your unladylike behavior for the moment ... do you have any idea how long it took Madame Fernaud and her assistants to turn that dress into something worthy of your coming-out? It is a ball gown ... not a riding habit!"

  "But..." Alex tried to get a word in.

  The duchess was not in the mood to hear her daughter's feeble explanations. "No buts, young lady. March up to your chamber, apologize to Eliza for her having to bother with you at this hour of the day, and Remove. That. Dress."

  Ella was suddenly and vastly interested in the weave of the upholstery on the armchair in which she was seated. Vivi could have been searching for treasure in her tiny reticule for the amount of attention she was giving to the contents of the bag, likely a handkerchief, some lip rouge, and a traveling comb. Neither girl wanted to be the next recipient of the duchess's wrath.

  "And you two." The two in question looked up, then stood. "Do you think I haven't noticed that you were both encouraging her ridiculous behavior?"

  Vivi's mouth opened. She thought better of it. It closed.

  "Excellent choice, Vivian. I rely on the two of you to keep Alex from losing hold of all of her decorum. I do not expect to be disappointed by you."

  Ella risked speech. "Yes, Your Grace."

  "I feel confident that I will not be disappointed in you again ... especially during your first season." Contrary to the wording, this was not a theory the duchess had shared, but rather an order she had decreed.

  Vivi spoke this time. "No, Your Grace."

  From behind her mother's back, Alex gaped at her friends. "Traitors!"

  The duchess did not turn to look at her daughter. "Good friends know not to cross mothers, Alexandra." There was a merry glint in her eye as she studied her daughter's closest confidantes.

  Vivi knew the
storm had passed. "Especially when the mother in question is a duchess."

  Alex groaned. The duchess smiled. "Are you girls staying for tea?"

  three

  When Alex returned to the drawing room, she was in more suitable attire for an afternoon with her friends. The Empire gown she wore was a lovely shade of pale blue, falling to her matching slippers. It was comfortable and fashionable — another one of her new gowns, designed to make her seem more adult and less ungainly.

  Of course ... no dress could actually make Alex more ladylike — she burst through the door of the room with a "What did I miss?" ... only to realize that her friends were no longer alone.

  And they were outnumbered.

  Alex's brothers had arrived. Towering well over six feet — all broad shoulders and long legs — the boys never failed to dwarf even this larger-than-average room.

  With satin-covered chairs and dainty chaises, the room was designed in the most fashionable of ways; which, of course, meant it was designed for a more foppish and less ... enormous group of men. Not that the men in question seemed to care. They were sprawled out, long legs extended, leaning back on the petite furniture with no notice of its size — or their own.

  For generations, the Stafford men had been known throughout the ton for their appearance — the epitome of tall , dark, and handsome. Alex's father was a mere six feet tall , and was teased relentlessly by his brothers and cousins as "the diminutive duke." His sons did not suffer the same fate — all standing taller than six feet, four inches, proving that the next crop of Staffords would reclaim their statuesque heritage. The sons in question — William, twenty-three, Nicholas, twenty-one, and Christopher, nineteen — shared other familial qualities with their father, however: They were devilishly handsome, with the dark-as-midnight hair, strong jaws, regal noses, and full lips that had made the Staffords legendary since the early days of the kingdom.

  But it wasn't their good looks that stopped women in their tracks. It was the famous Stafford eyes. For as long as anyone could remember, Stafford men had been blessed with eyes the color of clearest emeralds. One could get lost in those eyes — they were windows on emotion, glittering with humor, flashing with anger, fiery with passion.

  These were eyes that wreaked havoc on the women around them — unless the woman in question was a sister. In which case, they served to simply exasperate.

  "Ah. Talk of the Devil."

  Alex moved farther into the room and perched herself against the edge of the chaise, leveling her brothers with a cool look. "What has you three so amused?"

  "Just the fact that, even on our most difficult of days, we have never infuriated Mother the way you seem to with virtually no effort. An admirable trait, to be sure." William Stafford, already the Marquess of Weston and heir to the dukedom, spoke wryly from across the room.

  "She merely holds you three to a different standard, will . She manages her expectations of you — a trio of mediocrity. Aren't you three, as gentlemen, supposed to stand when a lady enters?" Alex was beginning to regret returning to the sitting room.

  Christopher shot his sister a questioning glance. "A lady entered?" At his sister's withering look, his face broke into a broad grin as he made himself more comfortable in his chair. "Come now, Allie ... just because you're about to have your first season doesn't mean you have to lose your sense of humor."

  "On the contrary, Kit, my sense of humor is very much intact." She shot a conciliatory look at Vivi and Ella and spoke frankly: "You're simply not that amusing."

  A deep, rumbling laugh came from the doorway. "She has a point, Kit."

  Alex spun around to face the newcomer with surprise, followed by delight. "No one told me you were back! Of course ... with this lot" — she nodded to her brothers, none of whom seemed moved by the new arrival — "I shouldn't be surprised."

  Gavin Sewell moved across the room toward her to bow low over the back of her hand. "It would seem that I am indeed back ... and that you're still making as much trouble as you were the last time I .saw you." His eyes met hers with a smile.

  "Not on purpose," Alex defended herself. "How am I supposed to remember all the silly rules of the season?"

  Ella piped in practically, "In fairness, it seems not wearing your first ball gown in the front sitting room in the middle of the day is a fairly simple rule to remember."

  Gavin chuckled over Alex's glare, unable to resist teasing her. "It does seem that way, although never having had to wear a ball gown myself, I can't guarantee I wouldn't be confused as well."

  "It's a good thing, too. I'm not sure you'd survive the corset."

  He cocked an eyebrow in response to Alex's retort and moved to greet Ella and Vivi. As Gavin bowed over the backs of their hands, Vivi was the first to speak. Her "Good afternoon, my lord Blackmoor" surprised Alex.

  "Oh," said Alex quietly, remembering her manners and falling into a curtsy, "apologies, my lord, your new title slipped my mind."

  Gavin turned back toward Alex, surprised. "No need to stand on ceremony, Alex. I forget that I'm the earl myself most of the time. I cannot seem to get comfortable with the idea that I carry the title now. Besides, I don't see how it would change much. Nick has been an earl your whole life and that doesn't seem to change the way you treat him." He shot her an odd smile and nodded in the direction of Alex's middle brother.

  Nick, as always, was quick to chime in. "That's right! You lot have never respected my title," he said, puffing out his chest in a false air of pompousness.

  He added a thickly arrogant tenor to his blustering. "Why should Blackmoor get any respect? I've been the Earl of Farrow since before you were born and it doesn't earn me an ounce of esteem!"

  Everyone laughed and, with that, the awkwardness of the situation had disappeared. Gavin moved to sit by Alex's brothers, throwing himself into their conversation about a horse auction they planned to attend the next week.

  Alex rejoined Vivi and Ella, who resumed their discussion about a novel that the three girls had recently read, Mansfield Park, but she couldn't shake the odd feeling she'd had during the scene that had just unfolded. She hadn't missed the fact that, even when Nick was making light of his own title, he'd casually referred to Gavin as Blackmoor — the name that was now rightfully his, along with the earldom and all its privileges — as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But when she'd seen him in the doorway, Alex hadn't even registered that Gavin was any different, that anything had changed.

  With one ear on the girls' discussion, Alex stole a glance at the object of her thoughts.

  Gavin's father had been her own father's closest boyhood friend — something that was bound to have happened, considering the fact that Blackmoor and Stafford lands bordered each other both in the Essex countryside and in London, where the townhouses shared expansive back gardens on Park Lane. Proximity and age had made Gavin a natural companion of the Stafford sons. The four had climbed trees together, been schooled together, and wreaked general havoc together.

  For all the afternoon teas, suppers, and dinners that Gavin had been a part of, Alex thought of him as a fourth brother, equal parts exasperating older sibling and wonderful protector. When, at the age of seven, she had climbed a tree in the back garden trying to emulate her brothers and become stuck in its branches, it was thirteen-year-old Gavin who had come to rescue her — talking her down to a low branch and convincing her to let go and trust him to catch her when she fell . Of course, once it was over, Gavin went back to teasing her; he had never let her forget that she "climbs trees like a girl."

  To her surprise, she had missed him in the past few months, and the short time had changed him. She had seen him last in January, three months ago, at the funeral of his father, the late earl. The earl had died tragically from a fall from his horse on a rocky cliff side path on the Blackmoor estate in Essex.

  The entire ton had mourned the loss of Gavin's father — a wonderful, intelligent man who had been l
iked and admired by all .

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

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

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

  "I didn't find it nearly as interesting as Pride and Prejudice," Vivi was saying.

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

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

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