Chapter 3
Chapter Three
On the Misuse of Mistletoe.
There is no obligation for anyone to ever kiss beneath mistletoe hanging from a hat or hand. Please understand: Mistletoe is not a portable kissing booth. Please do not harass ladies with mistletoe. It is very bad form!
Shivering beneath her light pelisse, Alexandra watched as the landscape scuttled by—clear, blue skies, green, green grass.
Weather-wise, the Parklands were not so different from London proper, and yet, unlike the hustle and bustle of Grosvenor Square, the sight of those dew-dusted fields, glittering like tinsel, made her yearn to apricate.
Bits and bobs of memories teased and tormented her, but Alexandra blew them away with the cold vapor of a mournful sigh and took pleasure in the scenery.
Fallow deer grazed in small, familial herds—bucks and does, with their awkward-limbed kids.
Even animals had families, and Alexandra wondered idly upon whose home were they descending for the holidays. So far as she knew, Claire’s family hadn’t any connections South of the City, and neither did Alexandra. It must a friend of Ian’s family, she surmised.
No matter. She was pleased over the turn of events, and even the thought of seeing Ben shouldn’t dampen her spirits. It was Christmas, she told herself. Melancholy be damned!
Pinching her coat together once more, she reconsidered her wardrobe. Even despite the apricity, the air held an unusual sharpness that stung the tender bits of Lexie’s nostrils, and now she worried about inclement weather.
It was only natural to worry when traveling, because one could never be certain what to expect.
And, regardless, she was perfectly thrilled to be spending yet another holiday with her oldest, dearest friend.
After months and months apart, she couldn’t wait to hear all about Claire’s plans—and more to the point, to put the unpleasantness of her father’s treachery in their past. If she was nervous at all, this was why.
And yet, she should have had no doubt Claire would forgive her.
She should have had more aplomb than to sit alone in her big, empty house, brooding all the while, when, in fact, she might have easily gone to Claire.
Naturally, she had been unsettled by the entire ordeal but now she was doubly embarrassed after having waited so long, and she didn’t know what to say when she faced Claire.
Thankfully, they had never minced words; hopefully they wouldn’t begin now.
And, in retrospect, the time apart hadn’t been all for naught.
For one thing, Lexie now understood herself better.
She knew who she was and why it was she was drawn to Claire in the first place, and it wasn’t at all because Claire Wentworth loved a good Season.
No, indeed, Claire was the last person to be fond of such drivel, and all the while Lexie had been pretending to be a gadabout, she had secretly longed to be doing precisely what Claire had the gumption to do all along: stay at home and read a good book. What a silly chit Alexandra had been.
Really, who cared what her father or mother thought of her predilections. Who cared if they wouldn’t approve of her drawings. Who cared if her passions left too little time to allow her to present herself to the ton appropriately, and really, most of all, who cared about marriage.
Did she truly want a husband to tell her what to do?
Did she want a man to pinch her purse strings?
No.
From here forth, she determined to be a changed woman, and the one true blessing of this entire ordeal was that her father had left her quite flush. She now had the means to choose her own destiny.
Indeed, the distinguished Lord Huntington might never again see the light of day, but he had been quick to deny her mother any legal tender.
He’d left Lady Eveline nothing but her dowager estate, and everything else he’d assigned to Lexie.
She needn’t worry ever again about being left upon a shelf, or how to get along.
If, in fact, she desired, she could sell the London apartment and travel abroad…
and yet something about both of those choices left her feeling bereft.
Perhaps it would be lovely to keep the house and build the conservatory she’d always dreamed of?
The carriage slowed, the deer vanished and, the landscaping looked a bit more manicured.
Alexandra peered out the window, trying to glimpse ahead—where were they going?
They rounded a bend, and when at last she spied the Lion Gate, it finally dawned on her.
It wasn’t any old estate they were descending upon; it was Hampton Court Palace!
But, of course, she should have realized sooner, particularly considering their affiliation with the Duchess of Kent.
Where else would the Royal Family of Meridian stay?
The carriage veered onto a small service road, careening toward Home Park and the Bowling Green.
On the grounds of the Palace, surrounded by lush green hedges, the Garden Pavilions included a quartet of residences and a parterre—a formal garden connected by paths.
She had only heard about these mentioned in whispers.
They’d served as gaming hells under the protection of the Duke of Kent.
The Duchess never embraced the home—or perhaps was never invited, since rumor would also have it that the Duke had often kept his lovers here.
After his death, the entire estate was assigned to his loyal equerry—a gift from the Duke’s brother, the late King George.
Gobsmacked, Alexandra stared as they approached, thinking of all the scandals that were born here…
How ironic it must be that at a time when she couldn’t care less about tittle-tattle, she would find herself here.
Only for the briefest instant, she wondered what Ben must think of it all. And then she frowned, pushing the thought of Ben right back out of her head.
Who cares what Ben thinks!
She was not here to see Ben.
She was here to see Claire.
Whatever rapport she’d once had with Claire’s elder brother, it was over now, and good riddance!
Long before the carriage came to a halt before the largest of the red-brown brick buildings, Claire was already standing outside waiting, clapping her hands, surrounded by servants all prepared to help Lexie disembark.
Oh, Claire! she thought, tears stinging her eyes at the sight of her beloved friend.
Dressed in a pale green chiffon morning gown, Claire was even more beautiful than Alexandra remembered.
She glowed like an emerald flame! Standing with shoulders back, her head tall and back straight, she looked every bit the part of a queen.
The instant the carriage came to a halt, Alexandra was up from her seat, tears brimming in her eyes. She threw open the door and fell out of the carriage, straight into Claire’s waiting arms.
For the longest bittersweet moment, it was as though they’d never parted—friends forever, with nary a care between them. But, oh, what Alexandra would give for a return to simpler days.
“Lexie!” said Claire. “Oh, Lexie!”
But Alexandra couldn’t speak. Tears clogged her throat. The only sound that emerged from the constriction was more like a piteous gurgle. Blessedly, Claire seemed to understand—as only friends ever could—and she squeezed Lexie tighter, which only brought forth another cascade of tears.
Really, for all that she’d considered it endlessly, Alexandra hadn’t any notion at all what she’d meant to say at this moment, but it all came out in a rush in five little heartfelt words. “I am so sorry, Claire.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Claire easily, smiling and patting the long strands of Alexandra’s hair that fell loose at her back—what a sight she must present, fresh from travel, eyes red-rimmed and stinging.
Her voice softer now, barely a whisper at Lexie’s ear, Claire said, “All’s well that ends well, my dear friend. I never blamed you even once.”
And then she wrenched herself free of their maudlin embrace, somehow understanding how it could end if she didn’t take matters in hand.
Smiling, she turned Lexie about, linking their arms, and said brightly, “Let me show you where we’ll be sleeping.
Isn’t this grand?” And she patted Lexie’s hand, and gave her the state of affairs.
Some of the guests had already arrived, including her fiancé’s twin brother and his wife, who was apparently very, very pregnant.
Alexandra and Claire would be sharing one suite, Merrick and his wife another, Ian and Ben another.
Mr. Cameron, perhaps inspired by the accommodations, was bringing a “guest.”
“Chloe is a doctor,” Claire explained. “Can you imagine?”
Alexandra blinked in surprise. “A true doctor?”
Claire nodded. “True as they come. As I understand it, she’s the physician for all of Glen Abbey as her father was before her.”
“How incredible!”
Claire smiled artfully. “I suppose no one ever told her she couldn’t do it.”
“Good for her,” Alexandra said, and meant it.
“She’s delightful,” Claire said. “I know you’ll be fast friends. And Ben will be so pleased to see you.”
Ben.
Alexandra wrinkled her nose.
Unfortunately, Benjamin Wentworth, the man who’d once held her heart without ever realizing it, was the very last person Alexandra wished to see.
Certainly, she blamed her father most of all for the majority of Claire’s troubles, but Benjamin had had a part to play as well.
It was his gaming, after all, that had brought his family to ruin, and if he’d never gambled a penny, her damnable father would never have had the chance to abuse him—and all for what?
Really, it had to be Ben’s fault. Alexandra couldn’t imagine Claire’s father leaving them in too deep.
But she didn’t wish to think about those travails any longer. She was determined to make the most of the weekend, and judging by the size of the house, she need not ever see Benjamin Wentworth if she didn’t wish to. “So, have we the entire Pavilion?” she asked.
“Oh, no. Only this one was restored by the Duke before he died. The others are still in disrepair. Mr. Moore and his wife are both currently abroad, so the Duchess impressed upon them to lend it for the holiday. Of course, how could they refuse, when it was originally her husband’s?
“Lovely,” said Alexandra, though it struck her yet again how fickle the haute ton could be. Less than a year ago, the Duchess had barely tolerated Claire. Now, she was arranging holiday accommodations?
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Claire, with a hint of a smile, because, despite their recent estrangement, Claire knew her only too well. “She’s family now.”
Alexandra lifted a brow. “Victoria?”
“Be nice. She may be joining us and she’s bringing Drina along with her.”
“Lovely,” said Alexandra, torn. She did enjoy little Drina— infinitely more than she did her meddling mother. But where that child got her good cheer, no one could say, because, by all accounts, her father had been utterly loathed by his peers and her mother was a dour-faced matron.
A flutter of movement caught her eye, and she peered up, spying an all-too familiar face in the upstairs window.
Against her will, her heart did a flip and a flop.
But that wasn’t joy, she apprised herself.
Those days were done. It was merely that she hadn’t seen him in nearly a year, and she didn’t know how they would get along.
It’s all well and good, she reassured herself.
Chin up, do it for Claire.
* * *
Alexandra Huntington.
But, of course.
His sister had a heart of gold, and there was no wonder why Claire would invite her. Those two had been friends since the cradle. Their mothers had met with prams in the park, and Ben himself had scarcely been old enough to pull himself up to peer inside at the round-faced babes within.
She was not a child any longer.
From the upstairs window, he watched as she descended from her coach—or, more like spilled from it, into a billowing cloud of sapphire skirts—quite sedate for her.
She was usually aglitter, with gems in her tresses and jewels at her throat.
From his vantage it seemed that she hurled herself into Claire’s arms, clutching his sister in a veritable death grip.
Frowning, Ben watched the pair embrace, releasing the curtain as they started for the house.
It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see her. Quite to the contrary. Claire and Lexie should make amends.
But.
And that was the word of the moment…
But.
Seeing Alexandra left him feeling bedeviled on so many fronts; the worst of it being the guilt he felt over what her father did to Claire—held her at pistol point, fully intending to defile her.
He took Claire to that house of ill-repute—the one where he’d swindled Ben.
And some believed Huntington intended to do his worst.
But there was this as well: He didn’t wish to feel pity for the daughter of the man who’d brought him to his knees.
Lord Huntington was an abomination.
Ben had gone to the man for help, and Huntington had not only swindled him, but then had him thrashed and tossed into debtors’ prison with no one the wiser. He still bore a small scar where the pipe had caught him on the chin.
Naturally, he was still furious over it all, but no more furious than he was that Huntington had set his sights on Ben’s sweet sister, preying upon her in much the same fashion he would hunt some beast of prey.
In the end, he’d not gotten what he’d deserved.
Gaol was too good for the man, and Ben hoped to God that Huntington found himself buggered every day of his miserable life.
Unfortunately, seeing Alexandra only roused his darkest emotions, and he didn’t relish thinking about his time in Fleet.
So what if Alexandra was alone for the holidays. He’d come dangerously close to spending every day of his life alone in a cell, with only her father to account for it.
Moreover, he had a feeling in his gut that his sister was up to no good and he really didn’t appreciate Claire’s meddling. No matter that he was, in fact, still attracted to Alexandra—who wouldn’t be; she had grown into a fine young lady—she stood for everything he could no longer bear.
Point in fact: He couldn’t remember the last time—or even the first time—they’d had some meaningful discourse that lasted more than three minutes that didn’t revolve around some juicy bit of gossip.
How pleased she must be to be spending the holidays in this bastion of inequity, where, no doubt, her father would have felt right at home.
No matter that the place was changed now, altered by bits of velvet and lace, Ben could still smell its taint in the walls themselves.
Gambling, whoring, drinking.
All that gibberish was behind him now. Consequently, he wasn’t remotely interested in spending time with Alexandra Huntington.
“Claire,” he whispered. “What are you up to, sister?” Whatever it was, she wouldn’t get away with it.