Chapter Seven
W hen Alexander flipped the page to one of Georgina’s treatises, Fluffus Legatus shifted in his perch on Alexander’s lap. The bird ruffled his white feathers before settling again.
“Oh, I do apologize,” Alexander told the fowl with a wry humor that did not reach his heart.
It had been three days since he’d left Georgina in the garden of her half brother’s house. He could not shake the feeling that he had made a grave mistake in departing. The little maid had been a fretful wreck. Although Georgina’s inexplicable anger toward him masked most of her nervousness, he’d sensed that she’d been unsettled by the revelation that her family had noticed her absence.
But Georgina had clearly wanted him gone, and he would not force his presence upon any woman. He wished he knew what he’d done to make her react so violently toward his title. Perhaps he would never discover the truth, and he wouldn’t pressure her to reveal it.
But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t worried about her. Calliope, at his behest, had even sent Georgina a missive two days ago, but there had been no answer.
Alexander was also concerned over Percy’s presumed disappearance. None of the other patrons of the Black Sheep had offered more information about his whereabouts. Alexander had even called upon a few mutual friends, but no one seemed to know Percy’s location.
“I do hope your lady-savior and her rascal of a cousin are safe,” Alexander told the puffball on his lap.
Fluffus Legatus simply shoved his head under one luxuriant wing. He was not the most emotive of companions. However, he would serve as the perfect irritant to Alexander’s parents, who’d commanded his presence at their townhouse.
Alexander had already been waiting over an hour in the green salon, but that wasn’t unusual. Hence why he’d brought along the pamphlet that he’d purchased after escorting Georgina to her home.
Georgina’s dissertation analyzing Pliny the Younger’s description of the eruption at Mount Vesuvius was not likely to yield any answers into why she’d looked at Alexander with such betrayal. But he could not resist learning more about the lady, even though he did not generally like reading about history. Yet he found himself enjoying her crisp, precise observations. She wrote as she spoke, and he could hear her voice as she conjectured that not just Herculaneum lay under the volcanic rubble but the elite town of Pompeii as well.
“What is that?” Alexander’s mother asked, disdainful horror causing ripples in her otherwise placid voice.
He glanced up to find her staring at the chicken in revulsion… at least with her eyes. His mother rarely allowed displeasure to touch any of her other features.
“This is Fluffus Legatus,” Alexander said cheerfully. Carefully holding the rooster with one hand and gripping the arm of the chair with the other, Alexander rose to his feet. His mother’s gaze flashed condescendingly between his supporting palm and the poultry.
“Why is that… that thing in my second-best salon?” Lady Falcondale demanded.
Because you don’t invite me into the best drawing room. But Alexander never took the direct approach to needle his parents.
“Haven’t you heard? A pet chicken has become the fashionable companion of London.” Alexander accompanied his lie with a brilliant smile. “Feathered friends are cropping up in parlors all over the city. That is why I brought dear Fluffus Legatus. I do know how much you like to be in vogue.”
The corner of Lady Falcondale’s left nostril twitched ever so slightly. “I have not witnessed this.”
Alexander nonchalantly shrugged one shoulder. “Well, they are more popular among the younger set. Why have a pet that only attracts fleas, when you can have one who eats them?”
The right side of his mother’s nose began to tremble too. She clearly remained skeptical of Alexander, yet she also did not want to make a social blunder that would cast her as old-fashioned.
“Good lord, what is that atrocious creature?” Alexander’s father bellowed as he strode into the room like a knight about to mount his battle steed.
“Father, meet Fluffus Legatus. Fluffus Legatus, this is the esteemed Duke of Falcondale.” Alexander held out the chicken. Although it extended its head, causing its pouf to bob about wildly, it otherwise did not appear either pleased or displeased to meet a peer of the realm. Falcondale, on the other hand, turned a wonderful shade of puce. Alexander’s father possessed a narrow, aristocratic face that normally looked suitably noble. It did not when red-violet, which is partially why Alexander made it his mission to turn his father’s countenance into that glorious hue.
“Lady Falcondale,” the duke growled—he would never be so coarse as to call his wife by her first name. “Do something about your son!”
“Alexander, cease antagonizing your father. You know my nerves can’t take it when you two are at odds.” After speaking the last line, Lady Falcondale allowed her hand to flutter to her forehead for good measure. Then she sank with exceeding grace into an intricately carved chair upholstered in the finest green-and-white striped silk.
“I am only introducing His Grace to Fluffus Legatus. You two always insist that I act fashionably, and I am simply adhering to the latest in social graces.” Alexander slowly moved the bird so that its head remained straight while its body gently swayed.
The duke turned a lovely aubergine. Since the day was exceedingly hot, especially for London, the peer even had a sheen like the fruit.
“Be serious for once.” Falcondale glowered, but the effect was rather diminished by his purpleness.
Alexander kept grinning like a fool. Humor had been the only thing that had saved him—other than his twin sister. “I always endeavor to be good-natured, Father. Didn’t you always demand that of me?”
Falcondale ignored Alexander’s question and flicked his eyes over him. “Your attire is not acceptable. I told you in the missive to wear your best suit.”
“This is the one that you had made for me at the start of the Season.” Alexander spoke easily despite the stiffness in his heart. Falcondale preferred to control every aspect of how Alexander looked to the outside world, including ordering his attire and his curricle. It was an obsession stemming from the fact that no matter how many quacks his father had called upon, none of them had ever been able to improve Alexander’s limp.
“Your waistcoat does not have enough ornamentation. You are meeting your intended today, and you need something to distract from your cane,” Lady Falcondale said crisply.
Alexander started at the word “intended.” Suddenly, the presence of both of his parents made sickening sense. Alexander wondered if this is how Charlotte felt a few months ago when his mother blithely let slip that she was being forced into a betrothal. That casual announcement had involved clothing, too.
“I have already told you both that I will not marry who you select.” Alexander gripped Hercules and the Nemean lion and prepared to walk from the room.
“You shall wed!” Lord Falcondale bellowed. “If you do not, I shall cut you off!”
Alexander laughed at the absurdity. “What funds do you give me now? Will you stop providing me with clothing? You would be too embarrassed to see your son in the rags of a pauper. Matthew’s friend, Mr. Tavish Stewart, will employ me as a clerk. Do you truly want your heir working for a merchant and a printmaker?”
Alexander had long considered finding employment, but becoming a tradesman would all but destroy his chances of making a difference in the snobbish House of Lords. He’d witnessed how the nobility had treated his best friend when Matthew had elected to work as a physician. If Alexander had any hope of forming alliances to pass the laws he wanted, he needed to maintain his status as the son of a nobleman, even if he found the restrictions ridiculous. He might have little in discretionary funds, but he lived a comfortable enough life that enabled him to form friendships that would help him become a better, more influential duke in the future.
He realized how privileged he was to make such decisions. Despite his clubfoot, Alexander could easily obtain a job with his status, education, and identity as a male member of the nobility. Unlike many who walked with a limp or who had a missing limb, he had connections and resources that helped shield him from the worst biases. He also did not have to face the restrictions thrust upon his sister, his cousin, and other women, nor did he have to constantly battle the prejudices that Sophia and Mr. Belle faced due to their African heritage.
“You owe me a well-formed heir!” Lord Falcondale shouted as he drew himself to his full height.
Alexander did the same. Even with his uneven legs, he had an inch on his sire. “I owe you ? I spent the first decade and a half trying to do everything to please you. I suffered through hell for you to get your perfect heir.”
“Then tupping a wellborn woman should be easy in comparison!”
“That is insulting to the lady in question,” Alexander said. Rage filled him as he thought of how his father had treated Charlotte like a commodity. Swounds, the duke had almost married his daughter to a murderous fiend just so he could have more ducal grandchildren.
“Your Grace, your language,” Alexander’s mother said calmly as if she was simply ringing the servants to bring around seedcakes.
Lord Falcondale turned on his wife. “This! This is your fault. If you hadn’t borne a son with a twisted, bent foot, none of this would be necessary.”
Lady Falcondale froze, and her loathing gaze found Alexander. “I am not at fault. It is his leg.”
“It is celestial punishment for your family’s misdeeds! It wasn’t enough that your sister brought dishonor to my good name by running off with that man and making me the brother-in-law to a stinking pirate. Oh no, the penalty for her misjudgment was suffered by my heir!”
The words would hurt more if Alexander had not heard them so many times before. Old pain did flicker, but mostly he felt weary. It would do no good to bring enlightened ideas about medicine and science into the conversation. He would always be the wicked son who’d shamed the Falcondale legacy.
The fact that he’d helped Charlotte elope with Matthew had only made Alexander sink lower in his parents’ esteem. Now that they could not claim “honor” through Charlotte’s union with an heir to a dukedom, they’d clearly become more desperate to marry him off. But he doubted that aristocrats wanted to wed their daughters to a man who’d unmasked a viscount as a murderer. Worse, Alexander had handed a noble over to mere dragoons—a fact not easily forgiven privately even if applauded publicly.
“I shall leave the two of you to sort out who is to blame for the circumstances of my birth.” Alexander started to move toward the exit with Fluffus Legatus still tucked under one arm.
“Halt!” Lord Falcondale shouted. “We are due to meet the Earl of Craie and his sister in an hour’s time.”
Alexander froze. He stopped so suddenly that the docile Fluffus emitted an atypical bock . Hadn’t Georgina mentioned that her half brother was Lord Craie? But the coincidence seemed too great. Still, he couldn’t depart without learning more.
“What is the woman’s name?” Alexander asked, not turning around but not leaving, either.
“Miss Georgina Harrington,” Lord Falcondale said. “You wouldn’t know her.”
It was her. Alexander kept his back turned so his parents couldn’t see the play of emotions over his face. He did not want them to know about Georgina’s escapades, even if it would result in them not moving forward with the betrothal. Protecting her was first and foremost.
As his father blathered on about William the Conqueror, bloodlines, and biddability, Alexander tried to examine how he felt about the news. He was absolutely and entirely poleaxed. The very woman who sparked his interest was the miss that his parents wished for him to marry.
Yet he also felt thunderous relief. If he accompanied his parents, he could confirm her well-being. And if she needed assistance, hopefully she would figure out a way to surreptitiously send him a message… if she even trusted him enough to do so.
Could this blasted betrothal be the reason for her reaction to his name? Perhaps she thought he had been attempting to manipulate her emotions. He would probably feel the same if the circumstances were reversed. She’d already accused him of stealing her precious helmet. Perhaps she thought he’d marry her for it? As absurd as that sounded, he didn’t think Georgina would consider it ridiculous. If a villain had indeed abducted Percy for the antiquity, it might not be too far-fetched for someone to enter into matrimony for it.
“Given your latest brush with scandal, your blasted foot, and your sister’s dismal marriage, Miss Harrington is the best match I could make. Had I married you off earlier, the selection would have been better,” his father concluded.
Alexander made sure his jovial mask was firmly in place as he turned to face his parents. “I’ll at least meet her.”
Falcondale grunted, and some of the puce left his face. “It is about time that you listened.”
His mother, however, was not so easily tricked. Although her eyes did not narrow—for fear of wrinkles—she had a way of staring that felt just as skeptically penetrating. “Do you know this chit?”
Alexander delivered his smoothest smile. “As Father was talking, I realized that she is the cousin of my dear friend, Lord Percy Pendergrast. Since the meeting is prearranged, I do not want to be so rude as to fail to show and hurt his relation’s feelings.”
“Another third son,” his mother sighed. “Why must you always consort with the lesser-born offspring?”
He didn’t actually. Alexander had cultivated a diverse group of companions, but he wasn’t about to explain to his parents that he preferred broad social circles. They didn’t understand his views on society any more than they listened to his ideas for improvements to the estates. Alexander was simply a failure in their eyes, no matter how much he prepared himself to inherit the dukedom.
“We should be thankful that his connections are at least beneficial this time.” Falcondale glowered at Alexander. “You will not ruin this match.”
Alexander grinned with a lightness that he didn’t feel. “Then we best be off, hadn’t we?”
Falcondale emitted a sound somewhere between assent and annoyance while the duchess reluctantly rose. As they made their way to the family coach, Alexander deliberately looked straight ahead. He didn’t want his parents detecting his eagerness to visit with Miss Georgina Harrington.
Then they might think they’d won.
But Alexander was only agreeing to this meeting to ensure that the lady and her cousin were safe—not because he wished to see those solemn brown eyes cast in his direction again. Certainly not because of how he’d felt when he’d straightened her wig. And definitely not because he wished to pursue a romantic relationship.
Because he’d never marry a woman whom his father had selected.
“I cannot believe that you brought that thing with you,” Alexander’s mother whispered as she warily eyed Fluffus Legatus. They, along with the Duke of Falcondale, were waiting in an exceedingly blue drawing room at Lord Craie’s. The walls above the white wood paneling were painted the color of the sky just before dusk when hints of gray appeared. The chairs were upholstered in a hue just a bit brighter. Even the Persian rug and the ceramic knickknacks were studies of the shade. It was meant to appear elegant, but Alexander felt like he was trapped in a Delft vase.
“I could not meet my lady-love-to-be empty-handed,” Alexander said merrily.
“You should be bringing flowers, not poultry.” Falcondale frowned stormily in the chicken’s direction.
Fluffus remained oblivious to the fact that it was once again the center of the conversation. He simply perched on Alexander’s lap and twisted his head this way and that. Alexander had no idea how the excessively feathered creature could see anything with the giant pouf on his head.
“Are you sure these types of pets are actually popular?” The duchess glanced nervously in Fluffus’s direction. “It is a barnyard dweller, after all.”
“Oh, ladies are getting their portraits painted with their chickens on their laps,” Alexander lied gleefully. “You would look wonderful holding a red-combed rooster in one, Mother.”
Once again she shuddered with her body while keeping her mien a motionless but pleasant mask. “No thank you. There are limits to what I will suffer for fashion.”
But not on what you make your children endure for the sake of appearances. Alexander, however, did not voice those words aloud. He only maintained his carefree facade.
“You are writing Miss Georgina a poem.” The duke looked down his nose at the vellum and inkpot that Alexander had requested from Lord Craie’s butler. “Is it necessary to gift her with a fowl as well?”
“Very.” After all, Alexander required Fluffus’s, well, fluffiness to obscure the secret missive to Georgina asking if she required saving. He couldn’t very well include a message like that in the utter romantic dribble he was penning. It was very likely either his parents or Georgina’s relations would skim his overwrought stanzas. They wouldn’t, however, think of checking the chicken for contraband.
Suddenly, Fluffus Legatus decided it was high time to start clucking. Alexander found it rather soothing, but his parents clearly did not. His mother’s nostrils began their almost imperceptible dance as she angled her body away from Alexander and the bird. The duke deepened his ever-present scowl.
“Are you certain that it will not frighten or disgust Miss Harrington?” His mother dabbed her nose with a finely embroidered silk handkerchief.
“I have it on good authority from Pendergrast that his cousin is enamored with banties such as these.” The half falsehood slipped easily off Alexander’s tongue. He was pleased with himself that he’d discovered a way to deliver Georgina’s pet to her. If her half brother was as keen on this marriage as Falcondale, then the man should agree to house Alexander’s “gift.”
Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall. As Alexander’s parents rose slowly to their feet, he used the opportunity to hastily scribble a note. After hiding it in his sleeve, he grabbed his cane. When the ferrule hit the wood, his father glanced at the implement with unveiled disgust. Alexander just grinned.
Georgina’s brother and sister entered first, mostly blocking Georgina from Alexander’s view. He could only see a small portion of her silk skirts behind her sister-in-law’s. Paying scant attention to the introduction, he tried to gaze around her relatives. Damn it. Was Georgina well?
When he finally espied her wan, colorless face, rage burst through him. Her eyes—her normally beautiful, sharp brown eyes—looked dull and frightfully resigned. There was a brittleness about Georgina that reminded him keenly of his twin’s when she’d been almost forced into marrying a murderer.
Alexander wanted to step forward and whisk Georgina away. But he couldn’t. As much as he believed the lady to be in peril, he wasn’t absolutely certain. Judging by her reaction to learning his title, she clearly did not wish to wed him. But if he grabbed her hand and ran away with her, he would be sentencing them both to quick matrimony. If she wanted to be free of her half brother’s residence, Alexander would need to be clever about planning her escape.
“Oh!” Lady Craie executed a little jump as she caught sight of Fluffus Legatus. She instantly tried to smooth her features, but she wasn’t as good at hiding her thoughts behind pleasantness as Alexander’s mother was. “You brought your pet. How… utterly… charming.”
“It is a gift for Miss Harrington,” Alexander told Lady Craie, using every ounce of his carefully cultivated charm.
“How… how generous.” Lady Craie’s expertly painted lips started to curl toward the floor. With visible effort, she attempted to raise them. But no sooner had she lifted her mouth into a pleasant smile than the sides popped down again.
“It is a very unorthodox present.” Lord Craie didn’t even attempt to obscure his distaste as he sidled away from Alexander and Fluffus Legatus.
The Duchess of Falcondale grabbed the fleshy part of Alexander’s upper arm and twisted. Clearly, she realized his deception about the popularity of fowl companions. Alexander kept his grin firmly affixed to his face as he studied Georgina.
She was staring at Fluffus Legatus with a look of disbelief. Slowly, she raised her eyes to Alexander’s. He could easily detect her internal debate. It was apparent that she did not know what to make of him or whether to trust him. But he had no doubts about her. Something was dreadfully wrong.
“It is very fortunate that I had my rooster with me when I came to call on my parents,” Alexander said, keeping his voice bright as he tried to send Georgina secret reassurance with his words. “I was not aware that I was to meet Miss Harrington today. In fact, I was not privy to my parents’ decision to begin marriage negotiations on my behalf. But I am glad to bring such a fashionable present.”
His words earned him another vicious pinch from his mother, but the short burst of discomfort was worth it. Some of the dreadful hopelessness in Georgina’s eyes cleared. Her chin lifted further. He had not won her confidence, but he had at least startled her from her stupor.
“Fashionable?” Lady Craie asked, her voice quavering between politeness and derision.
“Oh, yes. The Duke of Blackglen purchased a pet rooster, and now they are all the rage in his circle,” Alexander gleefully lied. Blackglen was always up for a good lark, and he was the older half brother of Calliope. Alexander would have her write to her brother and explain the joke in case it ever reached his ears. Knowing Blackglen’s sense of humor, he might even start hauling around a fowl himself. If Alexander’s fib actually resulted in a chicken craze, it might be a strategic blessing. Once the nobility acquired affection for their pet poultry, it would be easier to pass laws protecting chickens against blatant cruelty.
“Blackglen has a cock?” Lord Craie asked with interest.
Alexander did his best not to snort at the earl’s poor choice of words. Really, the man could have just said rooster .
Lord Craie turned to his wife in excitement. “Dear, why weren’t you aware of this? If only I’d realized before we ran into him at Mr. Powys’s theater. I could have had one with me. Perhaps he would have been more amenable to chat.”
“If you do purchase a chicken, you must find one with dark feathers,” Alexander said, not wanting Lord Craie to abscond with Fluffus. “Those are the most popular, as Blackglen’s is the color of pitch. I had the devil of a time securing this one, since they are selling with such alacrity. I had to settle for snow white, which is the least desirable of colors, I am afraid.”
A sliver of relief crept through Alexander as he saw a twinkle flash in Georgina’s brown eyes at his blatant falsehoods. She still looked horribly piqued, but her indomitable spirit was reviving. It worried him that her half brother and his wife had been able to suppress it in the first place. What had they done to Georgina?
Alexander slipped the secret note from his jacket’s sleeve and covertly buried it among Fluffus’s numerous feathers. The bird emitted a single cluck but then appeared to accept its new fate as impromptu carrier pigeon. Alexander handed the bird over to Georgina. She immediately cradled the creature, affectionately running her hands over its body. Closely, he monitored her expression for any change. When her lips pursed together ever so slightly, he realized she’d discovered his missive.
“Oh, but I almost forgot the sonnet that I penned for you!” Alexander exclaimed, intent on providing a distraction so Georgina could read his message.
“You—you wrote me a poem?” Georgina blinked, clearly nonplussed.
“Since I didn’t know what you looked like,” Alexander lied, “some of the descriptions will not be accurate, but please accept my humble attempts nevertheless.”
Alexander made a show of thumping over with his cane to the table where he’d been writing, knowing that everyone’s eyes would be drawn to the sound and not watching Georgina. When he turned back in her direction with his horribly written stanzas in hand, he thought she gave him a nod. Did that mean that she’d read his note and was in trouble? Alexander’s heart pinched, and he forced himself to remain calm.
“What is the name of the bird?” Georgina asked rather woodenly.
Alexander wondered if she was trying to send him a message. “Fluffus Legatus.”
“I like it,” she said. “It has a much better sound to it than if you had given the bird a fully Latin appellation. Crinitus is not suitable.”
Alexander now had no doubt. Georgina was definitely signaling that something was amiss. She would never otherwise concede to the name of Fluffus.
But as much as Alexander wanted to play Georgina’s prince and release her from her locked tower, there was someone else—two someone elses, in fact—who were better positioned to free her. He just hoped that Georgina trusted him enough to know that he would see to her rescue even though he had to walk out the door without her today.