Splendid (16 page)

“For you, perhaps. As for myself, I'm breathless in anticipation for the day you balloon to the size of a small heifer.”

“You beast!” Sophie stomped on his foot.

Alex smiled wickedly. “Ah, my sweet bovine sister.”

“Well, it is a pity that Emma isn't here,” Eugenia said, pointedly ignoring her children's squabble. “I do so enjoy her company. When did you say you were going to ask her to marry you, Alex?”

“I didn't.”

“Hmmm, I could have sworn you mentioned something to me about it.”

“That would have been my evil twin brother,” Alex said flatly.

Eugenia chose to ignore his sarcasm. “Really, dear, you are simply an idiot if you let her get away.”

“So you've mentioned.”

“I'm still your mother, you know.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“You should listen to me. I know what is best for you.”

Alex cracked a smile. “I believe that
you believe
you know what's best for me.”

Eugenia scowled. “You are so difficult.”

Sophie, who had been uncharacteristically silent, suddenly piped up. “I think you should leave him alone, Mother.”

“Thank you,” Alex said gratefully.

“After all, I don't think she'd have him even if he asked.”

Alex bristled. Of course she'd— He smiled sweetly at his sister. “You're trying to goad me.”

“Yes, I guess I am. Sisters are supposed to do that, you know.”

“It's not working.”

“Really? I rather thought it worked beautifully. Your jaw clenched magnificently when I said she didn't want you.”

“Ah, I do so adore my family,” Alex sighed.

“Cheer up, dear,” the dowager smiled. “We're better than most, you know. Take my word for it.”

“I shall,” Alex said, leaning down to give her another affectionate peck on the cheek.

“Oh, look!” the dowager suddenly exclaimed, motioning toward the dance floor. “There is your friend Dunford dancing with Belle Blydon. Perhaps you should claim the next dance with her. She's a sweet girl, and I wouldn't want her to get upset if she's left alone for the next dance.”

Alex eyed his mother suspiciously. “Lady Arabella rarely lacks admirers.”

“Yes, well, er, there's always a first time, and I would so hate to see her feelings hurt.”

“You're trying to get rid of me, aren't you, Mother?”

“Yes, I am, and you're making it exceedingly difficult.”

Alex sighed as he prepared to claim a dance with Belle. “Pray try not to plot my downfall in my absence.”

When Alex was safely out of earshot, Eugenia turned to her daughter and said, “Sophie, we must act decisively.”

“I agree completely,” Sophie replied. “Except that I'm not exactly sure what kind of decisive move we need to make.”

“I've given this matter considerable thought.”

“I'm sure you have,” Sophie murmured, her lips hinting at a smile.

Eugenia shot her a sharp look but ignored her statement. “I have concluded that what we need is a weekend in the country.”

“What are you going to do? Force Alex to accompany you to Westonbirt and torture him until he agrees to ask Emma to marry him?”

“Nonsense. We'll ask the Blydons to join us. And of course we will insist that they bring their darling niece.”

“It's brilliant!” Sophie exclaimed.

“And then we'll contrive to leave them alone on every possible occasion.”

“Exactly. We'll encourage them to go on picnics together, take rides in the woods—that sort of thing.” Sophie paused for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. “Alex will see through it, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But I don't think it will matter. He's so besotted with her, he'll do anything to get her alone—even if that means going along with your less-than-subtle schemes.”

“Maybe he will just take the initiative and compromise her.” Eugenia clapped her hands together in glee over that possibility.

“Mother!” Sophie exclaimed. “I cannot believe you said that. I can't believe you even thought it.”

Eugenia sighed the sigh of weary mothers. “In my advanced years I find less and less of a need for scruples of any kind. Besides, for all his rakish ways, Alex is a man of honor.”

“Yes, of course. He's only nine and twenty. I would imagine
he
still has a few scruples left.”

Eugenia's green eyes narrowed. “Are you poking fun at me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hmmph. I hope you're enjoying yourself.”

Sophie nodded enthusiastically.

“What I was trying to say,” Eugenia continued; “is that if Alex happened to compromise our Miss Dunster in some way—”

“Ravish her, you mean,” Sophie interrupted.

“Whatever you want to call it, but if such an event were to happen in the, er, heat of passion— you must agree that he would feel honor-bound to marry her afterward.”

“Isn't this a rather drastic way of getting your son married off?” Sophie asked, still unable to believe that she was discussing such delicate matters with her mother. “And what about Emma? She might not be exactly thrilled about getting compromised, you know.”

Eugenia looked her daughter straight in the eye. “Do you like Emma?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you want Alex to marry her?”

“Of course I do. I would love to have Emma as a sister-in-law.”

“Can you think of a woman who would make your brother happier?”

“Well, no, not really.”

Eugenia shrugged her shoulders. “The end justifies the means, my dear, the end justifies the means.”

“I cannot believe what a strategist you've become,” Sophie said in a hushed whisper. “And furthermore, you can't even be certain that he'll compromise her!”

Eugenia's expression was smug. “He will certainly try.”

“Mother!”

“Well, he will. I'm sure of it. I know a rake when I see one, even if he
is
my own son. Especially if he's my own son.” Eugenia turned to Sophie with a knowing smile. “He's a lot like his father, you know.”

“Mother!”

Her smile widened as she lost herself in memories. “Alex was born only seven months after our wedding. Your father was quite a lover.”

Sophie clapped her hand to her forehead. “Don't say another word, Mother. I really do not want to know anything about the intimate details of my parents' lives.” She sighed deeply. “I would really prefer to think of both of you as completely chaste beings.”

“If we were completely chaste, my dear”— Eugenia chuckled and unceremoniously poked her finger at her daughter—“
you
would not be around now to talk about it.”

Sophie flushed. “All the same, I'd rather not hear about it.”

Eugenia patted her daughter comfortingly on her upper arm. “If it makes you feel better, my dear.”

“It does, believe me. I simply cannot believe you're telling me this.”

Eugenia smiled and shook her head. “Propriety, I'm afraid, has gone the way of scruples.” With that, she wandered off into the crowd, in search of Lady Worth.

Belle and Dunford, meanwhile, were having a marvelous time waltzing around the ballroom. The waltz was still a rather new dance, and some considered it scandalous, but Belle and Dunford rather enjoyed it, and not just because it annoyed the more staid members of society. Their love of the dance stemmed mostly from the fact that the waltz allowed a couple to actually carry on a conversation without one or the other having to continuously turn his back. They were taking advantage of this feature, rather heatedly debating an opera they had both recently seen when Dunford abruptly changed the subject.

“He's in love with your cousin, you know.”

Belle was widely regarded as one of the most graceful dancers among the
ton
, but this time she didn't just miss a step, she missed three. “He told you that?” she asked, agape.

Dunford gave her a little tug to get her back into the rhythm of the dance. “Well, not in so many words,” he admitted, “but I've known Ashbourne for ten years, and believe me, he's never been so silly about a female before.”

“I'd hardly call falling in love silly.”

“That's not the point and you know it, Arabella dear.” Dunford paused for a moment as he smiled innocently at Alex, who had just spotted him from across the ballroom. Turning back to Belle, he added, “The fact is he's absolutely crazy over your cousin, but I fear he's got it so firm in his head that he's not going to marry until he's nearly forty, that he won't do anything about it.”

“But why is he so dead-set against marrying now?”

“When Ashbourne first made his appearance into society, he had already inherited his title, and he was also fabulously wealthy.”

“And quite handsome.”

Dunford smiled wryly. “It was a veritable feeding frenzy. Every unmarried lady—and quite a few of the married ones—set her cap for him.”

“I should think he'd find the attention flattering,” Belle surmised.

“Quite the opposite, actually. Ashbourne isn't blind, you know. It was excruciatingly apparent that most of the women who were fawning over him were more interested in becoming a wealthy duchess than they were in getting to know Alex himself. The whole experience quite turned him off the social scene. He left to fight on the Peninsula soon after, and I don't think his desire to go was entirely due to patriotic fervor. He doesn't exactly hold most women in the highest regard.” Dunford paused and looked Belle straight in the eye. “Even you must admit that most
ton
ladies are really quite ridiculous.”

“Of course, but Emma's not like that, and he knows it. I would think he'd be thrilled to find someone like her.”

“That would be the sensible thing, wouldn't it?” The music came to a stop, and Dunford took Belle's arm and led her to the edge of the dance floor. “But somewhere along the way, this mistrust of women got translated into a decision to avoid marriage as long as humanly possible, and I imagine he's quite forgotten why he became so dead-set against getting married in the first place.”

“If that isn't the stupidest thing I've ever heard!”

Before Dunford could answer, they heard a deep voice chuckle. “I have heard a lot of stupid things in my life, Belle. I'm intensely curious to hear the stupidest.”

Belle looked up in horror at Alex, who was standing before her to ask her to dance. “Um,”
she improvised wildly, “Dunford here seems to think that, um, in operas, um, that people should sing less.”

“He does, does he?”

“Yes, he does. He thinks that they should talk more.” Belle looked at Alex hopefully. He didn't believe a word she was saying and she knew it. Still, she didn't think he'd heard them discussing him, and for that she was blessedly thankful. Unable to think of anything else to say, she gave Alex what she was sure must be a rather weak smile.

“My mother has ordered me to ask you to dance, Belle,” Alex said frankly, grinning and ignoring her obvious distress.

“Goodness,” Belle replied, “I had no idea that my popularity had sunk so low that men had to be forced by their mamas to ask me to dance.”

“You needn't worry. My mother is simply trying to get rid of me so that she and my sister can arrange my life without my interference.”

“Plotting your marriage, I imagine,” Dunford surmised.

“No doubt.”

“To Emma.”

“No doubt.”

“You might as well just give in and ask her.”

“Don't hold your breath.” Alex took Belle's arm and prepared to lead her out onto the dance floor. “After all, I'm not the marrying kind.”

“Well,” Belle declared sharply, “neither is she!”

 

Back in the side hallway, Emma had landed on the floor in an undignified tangle. Someone had left the side door open, but no candles had been lit in the hallway. As a result, Emma had not seen the doorway until she was right on top of it. She didn't even try to stifle a groan as she slowly rose
to her feet, twisting her neck and limbs to stretch out her aching joints. Absently rubbing her sore backside, she found herself fervently wishing that the Lindworthys had thought to lay down a carpet in the hall.

“You know,” she muttered, continuing the conversation she'd begun with herself in the garden, “it's fairly clear that Alexander Ridgely is a danger to your health, and you should endeavor to keep far away from him.”

“I heartily agree.”

Emma whirled around in shock and found herself facing an elegantly dressed, sandy-haired man in his late twenties. She recognized him immediately as Anthony Woodside, Viscount Benton.

Emma groaned inwardly. She had met Woodside during the first few weeks of the season and had disliked him instantly. He had been dangling after Belle for over a year and would not leave her alone, despite her obvious efforts to put him off. Emma had tried her hardest to avoid him at subsequent affairs, but oftentimes she simply could not escape a polite dance. There was nothing overtly offensive about him; his manners were nothing if not correct, and he was obviously intelligent. Emma's low regard for him was a reaction to far more subtle aspects of his character. The tone of his voice, the way he looked at her, the tilt of his head when he surveyed a ballroom—all of this somehow managed to make Emma feel extremely uneasy in his presence. He was a strange man, outwardly courteous to her but at the same time somewhat disdainful of the fact that she was American and did not possess a title. To top it off, Alex seemed to hold him in extremely low regard.

So Emma naturally was not overjoyed to find him facing her in the Lindworthys' hallway. “Good
evening, milord,” she said politely, trying to brush over the obvious fact that she was quite alone, far from the party, and had just literally fallen into the hallway from the garden. She prayed that he had not seen her sprawled on the floor, but one look at his sardonic smile told her that she was not so blessed.