Chapter Twenty-One
ALEXANDRA WAS AWAKENED by the sound of footsteps rushing ceaselessly up and down the hall outside her bedchamber and the muted, excited voices of servants hurrying about their duties. Sleepily, she rolled onto her back and looked at the clock in surprised confusion. It was not yet nine o’clock, much too early for the staff to be working on this floor, where during the Season the inhabitants often slept until eleven o’clock after staying out until dawn.
No doubt they were preparing for their illustrious master’s arrival later on, she thought with disgust.
Without bothering to ring for her maid, Alexandra climbed out of bed and went about her normal morning routine, her ears attuned to the unprecedented activity that seemed to be taking place outside her bedchamber.
Dressed in a pretty lavender morning gown with short puffed sleeves, she opened her door, then had to jump back as four footmen marched past, bound for what had been the master bedchamber, their view obstructed by towering armloads of boxes bearing the names of London’s best tailors and bootmakers.
From the foyer below came the sounds of the doorknocker being lifted and lowered, followed by repeated openings and closings of the front door and deep, cultured masculine voices. The commotion today was much, much worse than what she had heard last night. Callers were evidently arriving in incredible numbers—hoping to see “Hawk,” Alexandra had no doubt. In the past, Alexandra and the duchess normally received a gratifying number of callers every day, but nowhere near so many and never, ever at such an early hour.
Curious, she walked along the hall to the balcony and looked down into the foyer where Higgins, not Penrose, was opening the door to admit three men whom Alexandra knew only by title. Two more, who had evidently also just arrived, were waiting politely to be shown to an appropriate salon, while all around them servants in immaculate uniforms were performing their duties with suppressed excitement and energetic fervor.
As Higgins guided the last of the newly arrived guests down a hall that led to the library, Alexandra stopped one of the maids who were scurrying down the hall carrying stacks of fresh linen. “Lucy?”
The maid bobbed a quick curtsy. “Yes, my lady?”
“Why are the servants all about so early?”
The little maid squared her shoulders and proudly proclaimed, “The Duke of Hawthorne has come home at last!”
Alexandra clutched the banister for support, her shocked gaze flying to the foyer: “He’s already here?”
“Yes, my lady. Indeed.”
Alexandra’s shocked gaze flew to the floor below just as Jordan himself emerged from a salon, his tall frame clad in impeccably tailored dark blue trousers and a white shirt, casually open at the throat. With him was the unmistakable figure of George, the Prince Regent himself, decked out in rich peacock-bright satins and velvet, beaming up at Jordan while proclaiming in the royal plural, “It was a dark day for Us when you disappeared, Hawthorne. We command you to take better care of yourself in future. Your family has been plagued with too many tragic accidents. We shall expect you to take every precaution in future. Moreover,” he decreed, “We should like you to attend to the business of producing heirs to properly secure the succession.”
Jordan responded to that royal edict with nothing more than an amused grin, and then said something inaudible that made the prince throw back his head and guffaw.
Clapping Jordan on the shoulder, the prince apologized for having arrived unannounced this morning, then stepped aside just as Higgins glided into the foyer in time to open the door with a flourish. It took a moment for Alexandra to recover from the shock of seeing Britain’s regent in the very same house with her and to see Jordan treating said monarch in a manner so casual it verged on amused geniality.
When the foyer was empty of all but the butler, Alexandra gave herself a hard mental shake and walked slowly down the stairs, struggling to find some sort of mental equilibrium. Firmly setting aside the awesome spectacle of the regent, she turned her thoughts to an even more awesome event—her forthcoming confrontation with Jordan.
“Good morning, Higgins,” she said politely as she stepped into the foyer. “Where are Penrose and Filbert this morning?” she inquired, looking up and down the hall.
“His grace sent them down to the kitchens when he arrived this morning. He did not think they . . . ah . . . belonged here where they would . . . or could . . . that is . . .”
“He wanted them out of sight, is that it?” Alexandra said tautly. “So he banished them to the kitchens?”
“Quite.”
Alexandra froze. “Did you happen to tell his grace that Penrose and Filbert were my fr—” She checked the automatic impulse to describe them as friends and said instead “servants.”
“I mentioned that, yes.”
With a superhuman effort, Alexandra fought down a disproportionate surge of rage. Obviously the two gentle old men were not capable of dealing with the Prince Regent, or even this increased barrage of callers, and she had no quarrel with Hawk in that regard. But to humiliate them in front of the rest of the staff by banishing them to the kitchens—instead of sending them to another part of the house to help out—that was grossly unjust and unkind. It was also, Alexandra suspected, an act of petty vindictiveness on Hawk’s part.
“Kindly tell his grace that I wish to see him today,” Alexandra said, careful not to take her anger out on Higgins. “As early as possible.”
“His grace also wishes to see you—at one-thirty in his study.”
Alexandra glanced at the stately clock in the hall. Her appointment with her husband was three hours and fifteen minutes from now. Three hours and fifteen minutes to wait until she could tell the man she had mistakenly married that she wished to remedy the mistake. In the meantime, she would see the duchess and Tony.
“Alex—” Tony called from the opposite end of the upper hall, just as Alexandra was lifting her hand to knock upon the duchess’ door. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked as he walked toward her.
Alexandra smiled at him with sisterly affection. “I’m fine. I slept away the afternoon and night. And you?”
“I scarcely closed my eyes,” Tony admitted, chuckling. “Have you seen this yet?” he asked as he handed her the newspaper.
Alexandra shook her head, her gaze scanning the page which was covered with news of Jordan’s abduction and his escape, including a glowing report of his bravery contributed by a fellow prisoner, the Americana whom Jordan had rescued—at the repeated risk of his own life, according to the articles.
The door to the duchess’ bedchamber swung open, and two footmen came out carrying a pair of heavy trunks on their shoulders. The duchess was standing in the middle of the room, directing three maids who were packing all her belongings into trunks and portmanteaux. “Good morning, my dears,” she called to Tony and Alexandra, motioning them inside, Dismissing her maids, she sank down into i chair and beamed her general approval at the disorderly room and the two young people who sat down across from her.
“Why are you packing?” Alexandra asked anxiously.
“Anthony and I are repairing to my town house,” she said as if Alexandra should have expected that “After all, you’ve no need of me to chaperone you with your own husband.”
The words “your husband” made Alexandra’s heart shriek in protest and her stomach twist into knots.
“You poor child,” said the duchess, astutely observing Alexandra’s sudden tension. “Whet a series of shocks you have suffered in your short life, culminating in the one yesterday. The house is under siege by every gossip in London. Still, the furor will soon die down. In a day or two, we shall resume our activities and engagements as if nothing has happened that is of concern to anyone—except to us. Society will naturally assume Anthony had intended to marry you out of a sense of duty to his ‘deceased’ cousin, and now that his cousin has returned, everything has worked out to our complete satisfaction.”
Alexandra
could not believe Society would think any such thing and she said so.
“They will, my dear,” said the duchess with an expression of amused hauteur, “because I said exactly that to certain of my friends who came trotting over here while you were resting yesterday. Moreover, Anthony was quite desperately in love with Sally Farnsworth last year, which lends credibility to the idea that he was marrying you out of duty. My friends will whisper all that into the right ears, and word will spread as it always does.”
“How can you be so certain?” Alexandra asked.
The duchess lifted her brows and smiled. “Because my friends have much to lose if they fail to direct the gossip as I asked them to do. You see, my dear, the old adage which says that it is ‘whom you know that counts’ is far off the mark. It is what you know about whom you know that truly makes the difference. And I know enough to make things very uncomfortable for most of my friends.”
Tony laughed. “You are utterly unscrupulous, Grandmama.”
“True,” she admitted baldly. “Alexandra, why do you still look doubtful?”
“For one thing, because your plan seems to hinge on all of us going out in public right away. Your other grandson,” Alexandra said, referring to Jordan in deliberately impersonal terms that clearly indicated she did not wish to acknowledge him by name, title, or temporary legal relationship to herself, “ordered me yesterday to remain in this house. An order, by the by, which I have no intention of following,” she finished rebelliously.
The duchess’ forehead furrowed into a brief frown. “He wasn’t thinking clearly,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Doing so would indicate to everyone that you are ashamed of your attempted marriage to Tony. Moreover, it would imply an estrangement between your husband and yourself. No, my dear,” she finished, brightening. “Jordan could not have thought the matter through when he ordered you thus. We shall all go out into society in another day or two. He cannot object to that. I will speak to him in your behalf.”
“No, Grandmama,” Alexandra said gently, “please don’t. I’m a grown woman now, and I don’t need anyone to speak for me. Moreover, I have no intention of letting him order me about. He has no right.”
The duchess started at this undutiful, unwifely statement. “What fustian! A husband has the legal right to govern his wife’s activities. And while we’re on the subject, my dear, will you let me give you some advice about dealing with your husband in the future?”
Each time the dowager referred to Jordan as Alexandra’s husband, Alex mentally ground her teeth, but all she said was a polite “Yes, of course.”
“Good. You were understandably upset yesterday when you insisted he speak with you at once, but you provoked him, and that is most unwise. You do not know him as I do. Jordan can be a harsh man when angered, and it was obvious he was already annoyed with you yesterday about your attempted marriage to Anthony.”
Alexandra was indignant and hurt that the elderly duchess, whom she had come to love, apparently was wholly biased in Jordan’s favor. “He was inexcusably rude yesterday,” she said tightly. “And I’m sorry if it makes you despise me, ma’am, but I can’t pretend to be happy I’m married to him. You have obviously forgotten how he felt about me and our marriage. Moreover, he has done things I cannot abide, and his character is—is flawed!” she finished lamely.
Unexpectedly, the old duchess grinned. “I cannot possibly hate you, my child. You are the granddaughter I never had.” Putting her arm around Alexandra’s shoulders, she smilingly added, “I would be the last to pretend that Jordan’s dealings with women have been anything to boast about. I shall leave it up to you, however, to change all that. And remember this, my dean Reformed rakes often make the best husbands.”
“When and if they do reform,” Alexandra said bitterly, “and I don’t want to be married to him.”
“Of course you don’t. At least not at present. But you have no choice, you know, because you’re already married to him. I’ll confess that I am looking forward, with considerable glee, to watching you bring him to heel.”
Alexandra’s mouth dropped open at that announcement, which paralleled Tony’s and Melanie’s feelings exactly. “I can’t, and even if I—”
“You can and you will,” the duchess declared in a flat no-nonsense tone, and then her eyes softened as she pointedly said, “You’ll do it, Alexandra, if only to even the score with him. You have pride and spirit and courage.” Alexandra opened her mouth to argue, but the duchess had already turned to Tony.
“Anthony, I’ve no doubt Hawthorne will expect some sort of explanation from you about why you decided to marry Alexandra, and we ought to consider carefully what you say.”
“You’re too late, my dear. Hawk had me on the carpet in his library at the uncivilized hour of eight o’clock this morning, and that was the first thing he wanted to know.”
The duchess looked slightly alarmed for the first time. “I hope you told him it was an—an ‘expedient’ measure. That explanation has a nice ring to it. Or you could have told him it was nothing more than a whim, or—”
“I told him no such thing,” Tony grinned devilishly. “I told him I had to marry her because London’s most eligibles were making damned nuisances of themselves offering for her hand, quarreling over her, and hatching schemes to abduct her.”
The duchess’ hand flew to her throat. “You didn’t!”
“I did.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“Because it’s the truth,” Anthony said with a chuckle, “And because he’d have found out in a matter of days anyway.”
“Some future time would have been far more propitious!”
“But not nearly so satisfying,” Anthony joked (and Alexandra thought he was the dearest, kindest man alive), “because he’d have heard it from someone else, and I wouldn’t have been there to see his reaction.”
“How did he react?” Alexandra asked, because she couldn’t stop herself.
“He didn’t,” Anthony said and shrugged. “But that’s Hawk for you. He never shows how he feels. He’s better known for his composure than his flir—”
“That will be enough, Anthony,” said the duchess, going over to tug on the bellrope and summon her maids.
Alexandra and Tony also arose. “Do you feel up to some fencing this morning?” he asked.
Alexandra nodded. Fencing would be the perfect thing to help the time before her interview with Jordan pass more quickly.
* * *
Shortly before twelve-thirty, Higgins appeared in Jordan’s study to deliver a note from a gentleman with offices in Bow Street, which explained that the sender was unwell and wished to postpone their confidential meeting until tomorrow.
Jordan glanced at the butler, deciding to move up his meeting with Alexandra. “Where is your mistress, Higgins?”
“In the ballroom, your grace, fencing with Lord Anthony.”
Jordan opened the doors of the huge ballroom on the third floor and walked inside, unnoticed by the pair of skilled duelists moving ceaselessly about the floor, their rapiers clashing, then breaking free as they parried and thrust with grace and expertise.
Propping his shoulder against the wall, Jordan watched them, his unswerving gaze on the lithesome female figure clad in revealing men’s breeches that clung to the graceful lines of her slim hips and long legs. She was, Jordan realized, not merely talented with the rapier as he had long ago supposed; she was, in fact, a brilliant swordsman with faultless timing, lightning-quick reflexes, and stunningly executed moves.
Still unaware of his presence, Alexandra suddenly called out that it was time to stop. Breathless and laughing, she reached behind her head, pulled off her face mask and gave her head a hard shake that sent her long, heavy hair falling over her shoulders in a riotous tumble of rich mahogany waves threaded with gold. “Tony, you’re getting slow,” she teased, her laughing face beguilingly flushed as she removed the protective padded chestplate and knelt on one knee to put it
against the wall. Anthony said something to her and she looked over her shoulder at him, smiling. . . . Suddenly Jordan felt himself catapulted backward through time while the image of the lush beauty before him abruptly blended into another image—that of an enchanting, curly-haired girl who had brandished a makeshift saber at him in a woodland glade and knelt down among the flowers, looking up at him with a puppy squirming in her arms and unconcealed love glowing in her eyes.
Within him, Jordan felt a pang of nostalgia, mingled with a sharp sense of loss because the girl in the glade was gone now.
Tony finally saw him standing there. “Hawk,” he jokingly asked, “do you think I’m slowing down, because I’m getting old?” On the opposite side of the room, Alexandra lurched around and her face froze.
“I hope not,” Jordan replied dryly. “I’m older than you are.” Turning to Alexandra, he said, “Since I’m free earlier than I expected to be, I thought we could have our meeting now, rather than later.”
In place of the cold animosity that had marked his mood yesterday, his tone today was impeccably polite, impersonal, and businesslike. Relieved but wary, Alexandra glanced down at her snug-fitting pants, erroneously thinking that she would be at a distinct disadvantage if she met with him dressed like this, with her face flushed and her hair in disarray. “I’d like to change first.”
“It isn’t necessary.”
Unwilling to antagonize him by caviling over trifles, when she in fact had a matter of great import to negotiate with him, Alexandra acquiesced with a coolly polite inclination of her head. In tense silence she accompanied him downstairs to his study, mentally rehearsing for the last time what she intended to say.
Closing the double doors behind them, Jordan waited for Alexandra to be seated in one of the chairs arranged in a semicircle in front of his massive, intricately carved oaken desk. Instead of sitting behind it, he perched a hip on the edge of it, crossed his arms over his chest and studied her impassively, his leg swinging lazily to and fro, so close to her own leg that the fabric of his trousers whispered against hers.