by Evelyn Richardson
gauzy draperies, leaving behind a furious son and a heavy scent of patchouli.
"Women!" Christopher fumed. "They are nothing but vain parasites, every one of them after attention, wealth, or a title, or all three, and the worst of their sex are those in the
ton.
Give me honest Haymarket-ware anytime. At least with them you know what you are getting into. They only exact payment for services rendered, not for a lifetime. The rest are after everything but you—your possessions, your position, your—" he broke off suddenly, realizing that one of his companions was a member of the group he was so bitterly disparaging. The major turned to Alex. "I do beg your pardon, but..." She smiled ruefully. "No need to apologize to me. Ever since I first took tea with Lady Ramsey and her daughters and heard them debating the qualities of prospective suitors and wagering as to the likelihood of their being brought up to scratch, as if they were no more than a hunter or a racehorse, I have had an aversion for most female company in particular, and the society that promotes that sort of thing in general. In my opinion, the marriage mart is just flesh peddling of another sort."
The major grinned as he added, "And not nearly as satisfying as the more honest trade I was referring to." Damn! He had done it again! Here he was feeling so at ease with her he was quite forgetting that, despite her clothes, Alex was a woman, and as gently bred as anyone he was likely to encounter in the
ton,
all of whom would have shrieked and fainted at the very mention of the existence of the bits of muslin that haunted the streets of London. Yet 185
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here she was quite calmly discussing it with him as though she were a brother officer.
The curtain rose and Alex turned to concentrate on the play unfolding below, but her companions had no eyes for the stage. Tony, having at last caught a glimpse of the fair Lucinda in a box opposite then, was plotting ways to run into her party as they left the theater, while the major's thoughts were entirely of the woman sitting next to him. It appeared that Alex had even less use for the female sex than he did, yet the way the world was now constructed she was forced to endure the company of women or none at all. He'd been able to dampen the pretensions of most marriagemad misses, and was now generally regarded as a hopeless bachelor, a state that discouraged all but the hardiest of pursuers. But a woman who disdained the society of much of her sex would, at best, be labeled blue or eccentric; at worst, she would cease to exist at all socially. Yet Alex obviously enjoyed good fellowship and rational conversation, both of which were denied those who kept to themselves. Not for the first time, the major wondered what her life must have been like before she came to London. Her very enjoyment of the metropolis suggested a spirit that had long been stifled in the countryside. And not for the first time he wished he had been in Norfolk to do for her what her useless twin should have done—taken care to see that she was introduced to those who could share her interests. The major became so exercised at the thought of all of this that he was prepared to ride straight to Halewood and talk some sense into Alexander de Montmorency, dying though he might be. It 186
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was only the very real possibility that he would be ordered to the Continent at any moment that kept Lord Wrotham from doing so.
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It was only later, alone in her bedchamber, that Alex had a chance to reflect on the evening's conversation. She had been so wrapped up in the play that she hadn't paid much attention to the bitterness in Lord Wrotham's voice and the cynical gleam in his eyes as he had spoken so slightingly of her sex. Now, alone with her thoughts, she recalled the scene in vivid detail. It was more than bitterness that she had detected; there was also pain, the pain of disillusionment. Small wonder, she supposed, with a harpy like the Dowager Countess of Claverdon for a mother. A woman so greedy for masculine attention would have had little love to spare for anyone but herself, and certainly not for a small son. The major must have been a very lonely little boy. Alex remembered her own happy childhood, which had been filled with the love of her parents and the warmth and companionship of brothers and sisters. How unhappy she had been when Alexander had begun to show his true nature, and how much worse it must have been for the major to have the sole person in his life be someone as self-centered as his mother obviously was.
No wonder Lord Wrotham was not married. Now that she stopped to consider it, Alex realized that he must have been forced to offer a fair amount of resistance in order to maintain his bachelor status. From the little she had observed at the Norwich assemblies, most young misses could be quite 188
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determined in their pursuit of handsome young men who offered titles and the potential for a great deal of pin money. Of course, much of this was the merest conjecture. Alex did not know precisely how young the major had been when his father had died or his mother remarried. She only sensed that he was young from the attitude these events seemed to have engendered toward his mother. One might expect that such an experience would have made him distrustful of all of mankind, yet he had been quick to sense her needs and generous in his offers of assistance.
These were not the actions of a misanthrope, nor was his invitation to the play. In that, she had sensed a special concern for her happiness and amusement that bespoke a person alive to the hopes and dreams of others. How sad then, that such a person had suffered from a lack of such sensitivity on the part of someone who should have been close to him. It only took the briefest of observations to see that the Dowager Countess of Claverdon was sensitive to nothing but admiration of herself.
It was the oddest thing, but Alex found herself wishing that somehow she could erase the pain that she sensed in the major, could give him the disinterested kindness and concern that his mother and other women appeared to have denied him. She shook her head. It was a foolish thought and undoubtedly it was all imagination on her part. Anyway, what could a green girl from the wilds of Norfolk give a man such as Lord Wrotham? In one week of his adventurous existence he had seen more of the world than she had in her entire 189
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lifetime. Still, Alex resolved to observe him more closely in order to test the accuracy of her speculations. During the ensuing days Alex had ample opportunity to do just that, for not only did Christopher stick close to her side at White's, encouraging one high flyer after another to take on the challenge of beating the seemingly invincible de Montmorency, he kept turning up at the Clarendon on the slimmest of pretexts, always with an offer of some project for her amusement. These ranged from taking her to see the equestrian feats at Astley's Amphitheater to witnessing the latest debates in Parliament over the raising of troops. Prior to coming to London Alex had always been so occupied with the running of Halewood that she had had little time for anything else, and even if she had, as a single female she was restricted in her movements and amusements. Now for the first time in her life she was sharing new experiences, new impressions, with someone else, a person who could be relied upon to speak knowledgeably and to furnish interesting commentary. It was altogether a delightful experience and Alex began to view her increasing success at the gaming table with some dismay, for the closer she came to reaching her goal, the closer she was to returning home. However, whenever such unsettling thoughts came to her, she was quick to put them out of her mind so as to retain what wits she still had left about her.
These wits she put to observing Lord Wrotham during their various outings as closely as he had at first observed her. After several strolls along Bond Street and Piccadilly she was able to establish that scornful as he might be toward the 190
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fairer sex, the major was an object of supreme interest to them. This was borne out by discreet but flirtatious glances cast in his direction from underneath the brims of fashionable bonnets or behind coquettish parasols. If Lord Wrotham was aware of such attention, he gave not the least sign of it except a marked determination to pay attention to the discussion that he and Alex were sharing as they sauntered along.
This state of affairs was thrown into even clearer perspective one afternoon as they were cutting across the park at the height of the fashionable hour. They had nearly gained the gate when a gay voice trilled, "Christopher," and an elegant barouche drew alongside them. The Countess of Claverdon, clad in a carriage dress lavishly trimmed with ribbons and ruffles leaned out to accost them.
"How perfectly charming to come upon you like this when you are usually never to be found here at this time of day." The grim look on Wrotham's face was proof enough as to his reasons for avoiding such a public spot at such an hour. "You must ride with me a little way." Anticipating her son's response, she wagged a playful finger at him. "You cannot deny me the pleasure of showing off my handsome son. All the town tabbies will be so jealous, though of course no one believes I could possibly be old enough to have a son your age. And I am so delighted that you are accompanied by de Montmorency here, for it can only add to a lady's credit to have two such fine-looking gentlemen in her carriage." The countess smiled smugly as they climbed in and then leaned forward to address Alex in confidential tones. "You 191
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know, one has to take advantage of Christopher's presence whenever one can, he is so elusive. All the young ladies complain of it. Here they are dying for a word or a look and he neglects them all most shamefully. Why, can you credit it, I am the only woman he is ever seen with in public!" Alex was fumbling for a suitable reply, but luckily the countess, heedless of anyone but herself, rattled on. "It is a great deal too bad because he must marry. Think of the succession"—she turned to her son—"you may choose to ignore Lavinia Carstairs, though she is accounted a diamond of the first water, but you must have someone you know. Now this dreadful war is over you can..."
"Mama." The major sighed in exasperation. "The war is
not
over and I do not need to insure the succession. Osbert is perfectly capable of taking care of everything should anything happen to me, and his son is a likely-looking lad. Besides, I cannot think that any of this is of any interest to de Montmorency here."
The countess was silenced, but only for a moment, then turning to Alex she inquired, "Surely you are not such an unnatural son. I feel certain you must have a young lady to whom you are devoted."
Out of the corner of her eye, Alex caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes brimming with amusement and the oddest wave of happiness washed over her. It was such a gratifying thing to share something with someone that for a moment she felt as though she and the major were by themselves alone in the park. Sharing the secret of her identity with him gave her a sense of intimacy such as she had never had, not 192
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even with anyone in her own family. "No," she stammered slightly. However, with the most heroic of efforts, she was able to maintain a straight face. "But then, I am somewhat younger than your son and have time yet before I should be thinking of such things." She shot a triumphant glance at the major. There, that should pay him back for doing his best to overset her.
Leaning down to flick an imaginary speck of dust off his highly polished Hessians, Wrotham managed to whisper
"Touché" in her ear.
It was the gesture of a moment, but the warmth of his breath ruffling her hair, the closeness of his lips to her skin almost felt like a kiss. What a ridiculous notion! Alex angrily dismissed the thought the moment it occurred. Really, Alex, she admonished herself, the strain of the entire thing has gotten to you. Touched in your upper story is what you are. Still, she enjoyed the delightful feeling of conspiracy and friendship in spite of herself.
Having had more than enough of his mother the major begged her to let them down, which she did reluctantly. "It is so rare that I see you." She pouted prettily. "For you never attend any of the routs and balls to which I know you have been invited."
"If you know that, then you also know that I am far too busy, Mama. I am here in London at Wellington's express command and must devote myself to that," he replied evenly enough, but Alex, observing the muscle twitching in his jaw, knew the control he must be exerting over his temper. 193
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No wonder the man had no love for her sex if his first experience with it was with someone as capricious and demanding as the countess. As soon as they were out of earshot the major echoed her thoughts. "You see what I mean? That is all they want—constant attention, someone to dance attendance on them from the moment they put up their hair and let down their skirts, and they are all in league with one another. They won't rest until you are caught in the parson's mousetrap, condemned for the rest of your life to wait upon them. It beats me why anyone gets leg-shackled." He stopped, embarrassed at having forgotten once again that it was a female to whom he was talking, but Alex seemed not to mind in the least.
"Me too." She was thoughtful for a moment. "Though why I feel that way I cannot explain. My parents were very much in love. Papa really never got over Mama's death. Oh, he tried, but they shared so much together that everything reminded him of her. He never stopped missing her."
"Really?" Christopher snorted. "They were lucky then and so were you. I have never known anyone who even liked the person they married after all was said and done, nor were they ever as interested in them as when they had been pursuing them."