Chapter 10
Ten
Alex feathered her paintbrush over the paper, laying in a subtle shading of deep alizarin crimson to create a delicate shadow under the curling petals of the flower. Then, putting aside her palette, she stepped back to assess the finished watercolor.
A smile touched her lips …
It had turned out rather well.
But as she turned away to rinse her brushes, she couldn’t help wondering what Branford would do with it. Would he hang the painting where he would see it often? Or would he quickly tire of it—as Society said he was wont to do with most things—and consign it to some dusty attic?
Alex sighed. It shouldn’t concern her as to what he did with her art—that wasn’t part of the bargain And yet, it would be nice to think the flash of regard she had seen in his eyes as he regarded the half-finished sketch was not merely a passing fancy.
Carefully unfastening the thick, textured sheet of watercolor paper from her easel, Alex carried the finished painting over to the table and slid it inside her portfolio.
Well, at least she was ready to fulfill her end of the business arrangement.
As for father’s note …
Had she made a cake of herself by asking Branford to spend what may turn out to be hours on deciphering the mysterious message?
What if it did turn out to be naught but a list of plants and where her father had found them?
Perhaps the strange tool-like symbols weren’t hatchets but hand trowels—the kind he used to dig up his specimens.
It might very well be that they were simply a mundane notation indicating how difficult the terrain made it to remove them.
Ye heavens. Alex made a face. If that were so, she would feel like an utter fool. No doubt the earl should tease her unmercifully …
And yet, that prospect didn’t seem that bad.
Her gaze drifted towards the tall, leaded glass windows as she imagined his low, mellifluous voice and lively blue eyes …
Alex quickly shook her head to banish such idle daydreams. So far, Branford had done nothing to fulfill his end of the bargain, she reminded herself. He certainly had given the problem no further thought, for she had heard absolutely nothing from him for over a week.
Perhaps he has forgotten about it.
Determined to put all thoughts of the enigmatic earl aside, she quickly took up a fresh sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal.
It was time to get back to her own work.
The next day, Alex was still in an oddly unsettled mood when she arrived at the evening’s soiree and joined her friends in one of the side salons off the main drawing room.
They were already engaged in an animated conversation concerning a recently-published scientific paper.
Mr. Graves, a noted expert on roses, had apparently stirred up a great deal of controversy—due in no small part to his arrogance and abrasive manner—with his theories on hybrids.
Alex knew she should find the subject interesting—she always enjoyed taking part in any heated botanical argument. But tonight, she found her attention wandering.
Her thoughts were caught up in more pressing concerns than the shape and color of certain roses.
Though she had completed her end of the business deal with Branford, the fact that she had done nothing to follow up on her vow to investigate accidents that had befallen her brother, weighed heavily on her conscience.
Granted, it was difficult to know where to begin, having little practice in sleuthing …
But of course, she would never admit that to the earl.
Her jaw tightened as she recalled Branford advising her to drop the whole matter.
Ha! And pigs might fly!
One simply had to apply logic to the problem, she told herself.
Perhaps a first step would be to find out if any stranger had been observed in the vicinity of the accidents.
Pursing her lips in thought, Alex decided to send a letter of inquiry to her aunt’s steward first thing in the morning.
And then she would make a point of questioning Justin’s good friend Mr. Hartley regarding the saddle incident
She would show the earl that she could use her head—
Alex spotted Branford as he entered the room.
His gaze seemed to sweep the room … and she felt a pinch of disappointment when he didn’t as much as pause to acknowledge her presence.
After watching him move on and disappear into the crowd near the punch table, she sighed inwardly and turned away to catch the last of Mr. Simpson’s comments on the rose controversy.
No matter that plants and their nuances couldn’t seem to hold her interest tonight—
“Good evening, Miss Chilton.”
Feeling her face grow warm with pleasure at the sound of Branford’s voice, she hesitated for a moment before slowing shifting her stance to face him. “Milord,” she responded, forcing a cool tone. “Where have you been for over a week?”
“Ah, has my presence been missed?” There was a twinkle in his eye.
Her blush deepening, Alex ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. “No, of course not…. That is, I mean …” she mumbled, struggling to regain her equilibrium. “It’s just that I have been wondering about our … business arrangement.”
She sucked in a quick breath to steady her emotions. “Well? Have you made any progress?”
“I regret that other matters have prevented me from dealing with your request. Be assured that I will address it forthwith.”
Alex found herself wondering just what had occupied the earl’s attention for such a stretch of time.
“I trust you have been well?” Branford asked pleasantly, seeming to ignore the awkward interchange that had just taken place.
“Quite well, sir.” To her consternation, she felt her cheeks color again.
Ye gods what had come over her? She was acting worse than a giddy schoolroom miss.
His brows rose. “Is something wrong?”
Alex forced a frown. “Why do you ask?”
“Because the scowl on your face would put Napoleon’s Imperial army to rout,” replied Branford.
“Forgive me.” Alex avoided meeting his gaze. “I was thinking of something else.”
“Well, I shall endeavor to turn your thoughts to a less disturbing subject.” He took her arm. “I trust you will allow me the next dance?”
Before she could compose herself for a reply, they passed Justin and a petit brown-haired young lady dressed in an expensive figured silk gown of the latest fashion.
“Halloo, Alex.” Her brother greeted her, then smiled rather shyly at the earl. “Good evening, Lord Branford. May I have the honor of presenting my friend, Miss Anne Lockwood?”
Branford bowed politely. “Miss Lockwood.”
The young lady dipped a hurried a curtsy, then shied against Justin’s shoulder, words seeming to elude her.
Justin smiled an encouragement at her downcast face before nodding once more at his sister and the earl. He then guided her out onto the middle of the dance floor.
“I suppose she does not chatter your brother’s ear off,” remarked Branford dryly.
Alex had to stifle a grin. “Truly, she is not as addlepated as she just appeared. She is much more at home in the country, where she’s quite content with a quiet life.” A sigh. “In truth, she dislikes London and feels intimidated by all the machinations of the ton—and her parents.”
The earl looked at her questioningly.
“Justin and Anne have known each other for ages and are in love. He would like to offer for her, but her father has bigger plans and won’t hear of it. He’s a rich merchant and he is angling for a title—an earl at least, though it appears he may have to be content with a mere baron.”
“I see.”
Alex gave a wry grimace. “That’s really the main reason we are here for the Season. Justin can’t bear to give her up. Somehow, he hopes to change her father’s mind. But I fear it is rather hopeless.”
Branford frowned slightly as his gaze followed the young couple. He looked about say something, then merely thinned his lips and drew her onto the dancefloor.
Anne watched the earl lead Alex out. “How can your sister have the nerve to dance with the Icy Earl?” she whispered to Justin. “Why, I’m terrified just looking at him. So tall and dark and forbidding…”
“Why, Lord Branford isn’t at all like what the rumors imply,” Justin answered. “In fact, Alex finds his company quite enjoyable.”
Miss Lockwood looked at him doubtfully. “But it is said that he is ruthless and cold and … well, not a gentleman.”
Justin frowned. “Anne, I should hope you would have more sense than to judge someone by what the gossips say.” He eyes strayed over to the earl. “I, for one, think he’s a great gun.”
As the music started, Alex was more aware than ever of Branford’s closeness—the light pressure of his hand at the small of her back, the tickle of warmth from his broad chest, the strength of his hand around hers as he guided her through the first steps of the waltz.
What the devil was the matter with her?
Perhaps she shouldn’t have had a glass of champagne earlier. The fizzy spirits must be addling her wits.
“It’s back.” he murmured
Alex gave a little start. “What?”
“The frown, Miss Chilton. I fear I’m failing in my promise to keep your attention.”
“N-not at all.”
“Well, with that black a scowl, I devoutly hope that I’m not in your thoughts.”
“Why should you be?” she muttered.
Branford laughed softly. “Why, indeed?” Then he quickened the tempo, giving neither of them a chance to speak for the rest of the dance.
The musicians put aside their instruments for a short break and people began to drift off to the game room and the sumptuous array of refreshments in one of the side salons.
As Branford paused to allow an animated group of young couples jostle their way off the dancefloor, a voluptuous blond—her gown cut low to reveal her obvious charms—motioned for her partner to go on while she stopped in front of the earl.
“Why, Sebastian dear, it has been an age.” She tapped her folded silk fan lightly on his shoulder, letting her hand linger on the tailored wool of his evening coat.