Chapter 4
Chapter Four
On Avoidance.
Holly. Ivy. Mistletoe.
No expense had been spared to illicit good cheer, every room in the manor festooned with boughs of holly and sprigs of mistletoe as well—a small, but annoying detail Alexandra might have happily overlooked had she not encountered the frippery in her own home.
Only to make matters worse, unlike in her own home where there was a single sprig hidden along the back hall, here the mistletoe was everywhere, and full of drupes, besides.
One must be vigilant to avoid them, but the sight of them bedeviled her all the more because she and Benjamin were presently the only ones in attendance without sweethearts.
Never in her life would she have believed she would say such a thing—or even think such a thing—but she desperately hoped the Duchess and her daughter would be arriving soon, because, at the instant, she felt as though she were attending a party for twains.
Merrick, Chloe.
Ian, Claire.
Mr. Cameron and his flamboyant paramour…
Waiting for the dinner bell to chime, Alexandra chose a spot at the back of the parlor, next to the pianoforte—as far as possible from mistletoe—and there she remained, awkwardly alone… certain of only one thing: Nothing was as it used to be. Nothing.
Bittersweet memories of her youth accosted her—holidays in Shropshire, wassails with Ben and Claire, plum pudding at midnight in the kitchen…
Like a comfortable old friend, the pianoforte’s hood was left ajar, the ebony and ivory keys winking brilliantly beneath the light of a glittering chandelier.
The urge to tap a key was nearly irresistible, but Alexandra daren’t call attention to herself.
Placing her hands firmly behind her back, she managed a smile, only considering the changes in their roles.
For so many years, Alexandra had pushed and cajoled Claire into the spotlight, but for all her wallflower tendencies, Claire was now a model hostess, seeing to her guests with all the ease of a seasoned socialite—something her dear friend had always claimed she would never be.
And yet… here they were… and there she was…
A trickle of laughter drifted over as Claire delighted over something Chloe Welbourne said, and Alexandra felt an immediate and unmistakable tweak of envy—although, really, why shouldn’t Claire and Chloe be friends?
On the surface they had more in common than Alexandra and Claire.
Against all persuasion, both had remained true to themselves, flouting convention at every turn.
And really, were Alexandra Claire, she might prefer Chloe as a best friend too.
Not only was Chloe a notable physician in a day and age when women were not afforded such choices, she was effervescently lovely besides.
And look at her—only look at her. Despite her left-handed marriage and increasing belly, she moved about the parlor with a grace born of confidence, something Alexandra was sorely lacking.
Under different circumstances they might have all been good friends, but it was far more likely that they would part ways after the holidays, and Alexandra would never see any of these people again, including Claire.
Feeling the loss acutely, her gaze moved to Ben, who was now speaking with Mr. Cameron—the detective Claire employed some months past to investigate her brother’s disappearance.
Only watching them together, she frowned.
Because if, indeed, Ben was ignoring Lexie—and he was—he didn’t seem the least bit inclined to ignore Mr. Cameron’s guest, one Lady Morrissey, whose husband was not entirely deceased, and yet here she was, cozy in public with Mr. Cameron, and flirting with Ben besides.
She wasn’t jealous. That wasn’t the thing at all. It was just that Ben had only spoken two words to her.
“Lady Alexandra,” he’d said, with a polite bow.
But he didn’t take her by the hand, nor did he embrace her. Instead, he’d wandered into the gallery to study portraits, only returning at the lure of Lady Morrissey’s laughter.
And there they were, laughing gaily, whilst Alexandra had never felt so out of sorts, or completely at sea.
So, yes, indeed, she was feeling sorry for herself, and fighting the most incredible impulse to pound most vigorously upon the piano keys, if for no other reason than to remind certain persons in attendance that the occasion was supposed to be gay…
and yet, really, there was only one person lacking in joy here, and it wasn’t Lady Morrissey.
Nor was it Ben.
Nor Claire.
Nor Chloe.
Nor Merrick, or Ian.
Certainly not Mr. Cameron, whose ears were now blushing as fiercely as his cheeks.
Fa la la la la, Alexandra groused silently, feeling like a crosspatch to the nth degree, and looking everywhere but at lovers or at the mistletoe—one hanging from the chandelier, another from the arched entry—all the while trying desperately not to remember the minty scent of Ben’s mouth…
or the way his long, lean fingers had splayed over her back…
all so chaste considering the way Lady Morrissey and Mr. Cameron were canoodling in public.
Where, indeed, was Lady Morrissey’s husband?
Wasn’t she concerned over her reputation?
Particularly with the Duchess expected. Victoria would no doubt report every faux pas to the gossip-mongering ton—and if Lady Morrissey was not concerned, who was she to be spared the Duchess’s cutting tongue?
Alexandra stood wondering about that when Claire approached to whisper in her ear, in precisely the manner she used to do. “Penny for your thoughts?” she said.
Alexandra’s answering smile was quick as she turned to her friend, answering the way Claire would expect her to, “Give me two and I’ll tell all.”
“All?” Claire teased.
“Yes, indeed.” She lifted her chin. “Three will get you a song about it as well.”
Claire laughed, and reached out to embrace Alexandra, leaving an arm about her waist. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Quite,” she lied, and, truly, she might have had the opportunity to do so if only she could temper the demons raging on her shoulder—an entire host of them now: one to needle her about Ben, one to harangue her about Claire, one to pester her about the mysterious Lady Morrissey, and yet another to bedevil her endlessly about the mistletoe hanging throughout the manor.
Glancing up again at the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the crystal chandelier, she said, “It’s a lovely home. ”
“Indeed,” said Claire, whispering now. “Although I do wonder how many scandals were born here…”
“Truly. How can Victoria bear to spend the holiday?”
“Well… my guess is she will not,” said Claire.
“She advised close proximity to Hampton Court for Chloe’s sake, but I’m quite certain she pressed General Moore as much for her own designs as she did for Chloe.
” It was not Victoria’s way to lose an opportunity to see to her daughter’s welfare, and now that King William was aging, without legitimate heirs, and Drina was the heir apparent, there was hardly any chance the Duchess would bypass Hampton Court only to reside in the Pavilions, especially since Ian’s royal father wasn’t in attendance.
“Lawd,” said Alexandra, “when I think about my own wretched family… I should remember poor Drina.”
Claire’s brows lifted. “Poor Drina?” she exclaimed. “That child will be Queen some day!”
Alexandra smiled. “So will you.”
Claire shrugged, dismissing the notion with a hand. “Hardly apropos. I shall be Queen Consort of a small province—smaller even than Leiningen.”
“And regardless…”
“Well, you know it doesn’t matter to me, Alexandra, but if it affords us the opportunity to make better someone’s lot, I will welcome my crown wholeheartedly.”
Alexandra smiled genuinely at the familiar glimpse of her old friend.
“You shall be splendid,” she said, returning Claire’s embrace as Lady Morrissey chirped with laughter.
Like a lodestone, Alexandra’s gaze lifted to the trio across the room, and following Lexie’s gaze, Claire smiled knowingly.
“If you must know, the holiday decor was her idea.”
“Lady Morrissey?”
Claire nodded.
“And the mistletoe, as well?”
“Oh, yes,” said Claire. “She’s been helping with wedding plans, and she’s quite amazing, although I presume, like Victoria, she must have had her own designs when suggesting the mistletoe.” Her lips curved impishly. “What do you think?”
“Indeed,” said Lexie, lifting her brows. “And where did you meet her? She’s rather… bold.”
Claire lifted a hand to her lips and bent closer. “Believe it or not, she’s a very close acquaintance of Victoria’s. In fact, I’m told she’s some relation to the Saxon Duchy.”
“Interesting,” said Alexandra. Claire shrugged.
There were whispers of a distant marriage arrangement in the works between royal cousins Alexandrina Victoria and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, but Drina was still far too young.
However, if Lady Morrissey was present with Victoria’s blessing, perhaps she was here to protect the interests of the Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld house.
Claire shrugged yet again, and Alexandra startled as Prince Merrick suddenly barked with laughter, then leaned to clap his brother on the shoulder—the twin he’d not met until they were both well past their salad days.
How must it feel to discover so late in life that one had a sibling…
and more, that he shared the same face? In fact, they shared the same hair, the same coloring, the same broad shoulders, the same blue eyes.
They were identical in every respect, except for the mode of dress: While Prince Merrick was inclined to more formal garb, Claire’s fiancé wore a simple frock coat that was far more relaxed, even down to the grade of wool and lack of cravat.
Truly, Prince Ian looked more like a commoner than he did any sort of prince.
“It’s hardly any wonder their father couldn’t tell them apart,” said Claire, perhaps reading her mind.