Chapter 5
Five
“Idon’t like it!” Justin jabbed at the gammon on his breakfast plate. “I won’t allow a jaded rake to make sport with you.”
Alex took another bite of her toast and continued reading the newspaper. “Ye heavens, there is no need to get in a pucker. I merely danced with the gentleman.”
“Twice!”
“And we had a conversation.”
“A damned—excuse me, Aunt Aurelia—a deuced long one. Everyone was beginning to stare. What in the name of holy heaven were you discussing?”
“Botany.” She reached for the marmalade, suppressing a smile at the choking sounds stuck in her brother’s throat.
“Aunt Aurelia,” he appealed. “Tell Alex that she must not encourage Lord Branford’s attentions. He’s … dangerous.”
Lady Beckworth poked her head up from behind a tome of Plato’s works. “What was that, my dear?”
Justin groaned in frustration.
“Honestly, you needn’t indulge in such histrionics. I’m hardly a green girl just out of the schoolroom,” chided Alex. “And I’m hardly an attraction on the marriage mart, thus there is really no need to worry.”
“From what I have heard, there is great cause to worry when Branford is around any lady,” retorted her brother. “It’s said he has no scruples at all. About anything! Why, most of the ton is terrified of him.”
Justin clearly meant it as a warning, but Alex only tossed her head. “Then most of the ton are fools,” she replied. “Lord Branford is not in the least frightening. In fact, he’s considerably more interesting and knowledgeable than most of the aristocratic gentlemen I’ve met. And quite well-read.”
Justin refused to give up. “You know what is whispered in the drawing rooms and clubs?” He paused for effect. “It’s said that he as good as murdered his cousin in order to inherit the title. That’s the sort of man he is. Not to speak of the men he’s rumored to have killed in duels over … er …”
“Mistresses?” suggested Alex.
Justin was rendered speechless.
“Since you’ve always had the good sense to speak to me as if I had a brain in my head, you must expect that I know as much as you and your male acquaintances do about the real world.” Alex turned the newspaper page with a snap.
“What an idiot I am,” he muttered, slashing at a pile of grilled kippers.
“Besides, you know as well as I do how twisted rumors can become.” She pointed out.
“Or have you forgotten the things that were said about Papa when we lived in Cornwall for a year? We had to pack up and leave when the talk got truly ugly.” Alex shook her head in dismay at the memory.
“Imagine, the country folk getting in such a state, thinking he was a warlock because he collected esoteric plants and roamed the countryside at all hours of the day.”
Justin had the grace to color. He poked for a moment at the food left on his plate. “Nonetheless, the Icy Earl is a man to be avoided. Promise me that you will have no further conversation with him.”
Alex folded the newspaper and put it aside.
“You have given me no rational reason to act in such a silly manner.” She allowed a small pause.
“Besides, it would be extremely difficult to do so—unless you expect me to spend an entire day in silence … and that would be unconscionably rude, I might add, seeing as he has kindly offered to drive me to Kew Gardens to see the newly-arrived specimen plantings.”
Justin’s fist hit the dining table with a thud that rattled the china. “Aunt Aurelia!”
Lady Beckworth closed her book. “Are you two children having a quarrel?” she inquired, looking up over her spectacles.
Justin ran his hand through his hair. “Does no one in this family possess a grain of sense but me? Surely you cannot condone Alex’s association with a known rake and murderer—”
Alex’s quelling look cut off any further words.
Lady Beckworth surveyed the agitated faces of her niece and nephew.
“Justin, Alex is of an age to decide for herself what acquaintances she wishes to make. A ride in an open carriage with a gentleman’s tiger accompanying them is perfectly acceptable.
And as Lord Branford is received by even the highest sticklers of Society, there is no stigma attached to being seen in public with him. ”
She blew out a gusty sigh. “But Alex, your brother’s concerns are quite legitimate. You must admit that you have little experience with the working of Society here in Town. He is right to caution you to have a care. A reputation is not like a dress—once torn, it is almost impossible to mend.”
Both of them shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.
“And now, if you will excuse me, I am eager to finish a certain section of my translation before evening.” Lady Beckworth rose. “And please don’t forget we are promised to Lord and Lady Killington’s ball tonight.”
She gathered her things and left the breakfast room, leaving the two young people with much food for thought.
The event was an even greater crush than the one of the previous evening. Lady Killington’s reputation as a splendid hostess ensured that her invitations were always accepted by those privileged enough to receive one.
As the guests began to fill the stately ballroom, the sonorous sounds of the violins and cellos floated through tastefully-appointed space.
A myriad of candles blazed overhead, the fire-gold flames accentuated by the cut crystal chandeliers.
The flickering light, dazzling in it brightness, winked off the shimmering silks and jewels of the well-dressed ladies, creating a gallimaufry of color.
Masses of hothouse flowers added an air of sumptuous elegance, their subtle fragrance wafting through the soft trill of laughter and animated conversation.
Alex tugged at a flounce on her sleeve to mask her discomfort as she gazed at the opulent setting, wondering why she always felt so deucedly awkward at such evenings. How was it that other young ladies seemed to find it effortless to master the art of dazzling smiles and fluttering eyelashes.
She sighed. It was simply no use—she didn’t fit comfortably into any of Society’s expectations.
And why was she even asking herself such questions?
A frown furrowed between her brows. Such frivolous thoughts about her demeanor or her appearance usually didn’t trouble her at all.
Expelling another sigh, she shook off her odd mood, reminding herself that in such a large crowd there should be a few members of the London Botanical Society present.
At least the evening wouldn’t be a complete waste of time …
“Miss Chilton.”
Though it was pitched quite softly, there was no mistaking the rich baritone voice that sounded from behind her.
Alex turned to face the earl. “Good evening, milord.” She smiled—quite effortlessly, much to her surprise. “It’s quite a crush tonight, is it not?”
Branford raised a brow. “Come, Miss Chilton. You disappoint me. Surely you don’t make a habit of uttering the usual polite platitudes.” His face was deadpan, but there was a twinkle in his sapphirine eyes.
“What would you prefer, sir? That I recite the phylum, genus and species of that …” She glanced quickly around. “… rare orchid over between the delphiniums?”
The twinkle became even more pronounced. “Which you no doubt know.”
“Or perhaps you would prefer something more practical—as in if you move your right elbow a fraction of an inch to the left, you will send Lady Killington’s priceless crystal vase to its demise.”
Looking surprised, Branford straightened with a start, narrowly averting disaster.
Alex struggled without success to suppress a grin.
“Impudent chit,” he murmured as he took her arm and guided her to the dance floor.
“I should like to know more about your work, Miss Chilton,” he said, before she could muster a protest at being made to dance.
“Tell me about the manuscript you are working on,” said Branford.
In the next moment, the musicians struck up the opening chords and they began to move through the first figures of a waltz.
She looked up at him warily, searching his face for some hint of mockery. He merely cocked his head expectantly.
“It is not really a manuscript,” she answered slowly. “It is a series of watercolors on the wildflowers of Wiltshire, along with—”
“You are an artist?”
Alex smiled at the thought. “Indeed not. I don’t create heroic scenes from history like Fragonard, nor do I capture the likenesses of important people like Gainsborough.
I merely record, as faithfully as I can, the nuance of detail and color in such everyday things as flowers,” she explained.
“To me, the simple elements of the natural world have an inherent beauty as special as any face—” She stopped abruptly, as if afraid she had revealed too much of her feelings.
He didn’t reply but regarded her thoughtfully.
Strangely enough, he said nothing more for the rest of the dance, and yet Alex found it a comfortable silence. She was almost sorry when the music came to an end.
“Oh, I do hope Mr. Simpson and Mr. Heppleford are in attendance tonight.” She glanced around the crowded room. “I wish to ask them a question concerning a certain lily …” Her voice trailed off as she continued to search the crowd.
Branford’s height gave him a better vantage point.
“I believe Mr. Simpson is over there by the tropical greenery.” He guided her through the crush towards a cluster of potted palm trees near the entrance to the card room.
“He is with an elderly, rotund gentleman who appears to be wearing a rather outdated wig.”
Alex smiled. “That is Mr. Heppleford. He is quite interesting despite his odd appearance. I think you would like him, sir.”
Before the earl could answer, she slipped between two couples and quickened her steps.
Branford hesitated, then hurried to follow her.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” greeted Alex as she fixed her two friends with a smile. “How nice to see you here. At least I shall be assured of some intelligent conversation for the evening.”