Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
A rm in arm with Penelope, Alice held her parasol at her side, admiring the sprawling expanse of Lady Westley’s palatial gardens.
Amid the winding pathways, trimmed hedges, and flowery bushes, she drew in a breath of fresh air. The countryside idyllic home was a valuable escape from the bustling, smoke-choked bosom of London.
Here, surrounded by towering oaks, she appreciated the myriad dragonflies with their mosaic wings and chirping birds, over the clattering carriage wheels and raucous road mongers of the London Street.
“What a lovely place,” Penelope sighed, her gloved hand brushing down her middle. “It is unfortunate we do not see such open spaces in the Square.”
Though listening, Alice’s eyes were on the lords passing by, most of them matching the floral ambiance with colorful jackets and waistcoats, some even adorned in orange and pink cravats. Truthfully, she was looking for any sign of Rutledge, though she knew there was a slim chance he would be present.
The nodcock is probably still in the bed of one of the women he sauntered past me with.
“ Girls ,” Aunt Agatha chirped, her fan fluttering while she inched her way with her green gown. “Keep an eye on dear Eliza, will you? Make sure she does not fall in with the wrong ones, yes.”
“Who does she think are the wrong ones?” Penelope whispered. “These are all vetted members of the ton, aren’t they? Are scapegraces and blackguards about to come over the wall and through the shrubbery?”
Alice didn’t reply but she would tell Penelope what she thought her aunt meant when they had a moment of privacy.
Holding back a grimace—or was it a sigh of relief—at realizing Rutledge was not there, she trained her attention to the flocks of ladies around them.
She knew what her aunt meant; make sure Eliza found the girls that came from the crème-de-la-crème of the ton, daughters of Dukes or Marquesses; who her aunt considered good company. What her aunt meant was that she had to make sure such a girl was a wallflower or a spinster, where Eliza would enjoy the company and take the shine.
As unassuming as her aunt was, Agatha was cutthroat when it came to her daughter and making sure Eliza climbed the social ladder.
Alice’s mind flittered to Duke Valhaven, his haunting grey eyes—and she held back a shiver.
Put him out of your mind. You will never cross paths again.
“I’ll take care of what Aunt asked us to do,” Alice assured Penelope. “Do you want something to drink? The buffet gazebo is over there.”
“I would like a glass of lemonade,” Penelope said as she nodded to a seat under an elm. “I’ll be over there.”
While her sister went off to sit, Alice went to the gazebo, its wide lattice barriers light and cheerful. Some ladies and gentlemen were mingling there first so Alice waited her turn.
In between times, she made sure to keep an eye on Penelope, but it seemed she was doing just fine. Her sister had the same coloring their mother had; her hair golden with a tint of red to it, pale skin, and bright blue eyes she had inherited from their father.
I need to fix this situation for her. It is what mother and father mandated me to do.
Upon reaching the refreshment table, she was promptly asked for her order. “Two glasses of lemonade, please,” she requested with a polite smile.
Turning to leave with cups in hand, she very nearly collided with a gentleman standing close behind her. She gasped in horror, the drinks almost sloshing over the rims. “Heavens! I am so sorry. Did—did I spill some on you?”
Blue-grey eyes gleamed under coiffed russet hair. “Never fear, my lady, you have not doused me with lemonade,” a youthful voice chimed back.
Relieved, she examined his bronze waistcoat and blue cravat to make sure. “I am glad. Will you please excuse me, my lord?”
“No,” he said, and she was at a loss of what he meant, when he added, “Please, let me carry those for you. Any half-decent gentleman would not allow a lady to carry these on her own. Please.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Are… are you sure?”
“Benedict Landon, Marquess of Brampton, at your service,” he replied, while gently prying the glasses from her, “Please, lead the way.”
As she headed to the seat where Penelope had indicated, she found that her aunt and Eliza had joined them and realized her grave mistake of taking only two cups.
Her aunt perked up at seeing the lord behind her, her stern expression suddenly as bright and sweet as a summer’s day. “We were wondering where you had gone off to, dear.”
Stepping aside, Alice began, “Aunt Agatha, may I introduce his lordship, Marquess Brampton. He graciously offered to bring the drinks for Penelope and Eliza.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Penelope said curtsying.
Eliza was a touch slower, but she followed as well, and when he handed both their glasses, he added, “I am remiss. It is not fair for two to drink when they can be four. Please, excuse me.”
“My lord, you don’t—” Alice lifted her hand to stop him, but he caught it and kissed the back of it instead.
“‘Tis my pleasure, my lady,” he replied.
Alice could feel her aunt’s glare singe the side of her neck and knew she had to tell the lord the truth about her station when he returned. She had to make sure he knew she was not a lady, which would possibly turn his eye to Eliza—even though she was not a lady either.
In the few minutes he was gone, questions flew from all sides.
“Where did you meet him?” Penelope asked.
“Why didn't you tell us about him?” Her aunt demanded.
“Were you thinking about keeping him to yourself?” Eliza muttered.
“I just met him.” Alice kept her tone civil, though she almost made to scoff at that last remark. “I very nearly spilled those drinks on him, and he decided to do the gentlemanly thing and carry them for me.”
“Oh.” Eliza blinked, her blue eyes clearing, before she sipped her own drink.
“ He’s coming, he’s coming ,” Aunt Agatha murmured quietly.
The Marquess returned to a wide-eyed entrance, holding two glasses in hand, before handing one to Alice and one to her aunt.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, heart hammering. “But you should know, I haven’t a title. I am Miss Alice Winslow. My father was a merchant.”
He cocked his head, a brow arching. “I apologize, Miss Winslow, if I accidentally made you feel the need to declare such a thing.”
“It only felt fair to state it,” Alice smiled thinly. “I would hate to appear to be something that I am not.”
Marquess Brampton’s grin was slanted, very boyish but still handsome. “I assure you; I am unbothered. If your aunt would be inclined to chaperon, would you walk with me for a spell, after you finish your drink of course?”
Aunt Agatha nearly fell over her feet agreeing and when the Marquess bowed away, she wanted to walk away because she knew that her aunt would capitalize on the unexpected meeting and near mishap.
“Do everything in your power to charm him,” her aunt ordered. “Do not, and I mean do not regale him with whatever nonsense of the last book you have read. Listen to him, be submissive, do not give him any reason to walk away.”
When Benedict did return, Alice, like many other times, squashed her irritation, forced a smile on her face, and took his offered arm.
“Truly, you hadn’t needed to clarify your origins,” Benedict grinned, keeping his face forward.
“I did not want to give you a false impression,” she began, gently twisting her head to look at him. “I do detest generalizations, but it is very plain how the ton sees those who are Gentry.”
“I hate to tell you that the divisions in the Upper Ten are as bad as the prejudice you face,” Benedict shrugged. “They are not as visible, but they are there.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The lords have to be sure the women they meet are not only there for gain and the ladies have to be absolutely sure the lords nipping at their heels are not fortune hunters in disguise,” he said. “The open secret of the ton is that matches and marriages are made on the consideration of power and fortune.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. “Do you… follow that philosophy?”
He paused in the middle of the path and turned to her, his expression understanding as he clearly had deduced the words she hadn’t said. “No, I do not.”
For once, Alice allowed herself to smile. Sincerely. “Thank you.”
“Now,” he began, spinning and leading the way once more. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Only if you will do the same,” she said. “In plain words, my lord, I am a simple country Miss with a practical mindset. I read very much but not so much as of late.”
“And why is that?”
“I suppose I have been caught up in… other things,” Alice said, knowing her tone was vague. She couldn’t dare tell him that she felt too old, too self-sufficient, and too unsophisticated to attract a husband because while she felt so, she knew it was the only way to save her sister.
“When our parents passed—that is to say, myself and my younger sister, Penelope, the young lady with blond hair—my aunt graciously took us in, and she was more than happy to use her position to give her rustic nieces a way to find decent prospects for marriage, and with that, a better life.”
“Sometimes I realize that I am out of touch with the hardships ladies face in our society,” Benedict admitted. “I am still at Oxford, you see, where we men are cloistered in study halls and in the classrooms.”
“In the daytime, I assume, but what happens away from the halls?” she asked, cringing at her failing attempt to sound coy.
His warm laugh made her feel that she was on the right track with him. “Touché, Miss Alice. At night, we are another sort of cloister. The mischievous ones.”
There was no question mischievous was a euphemism for something else entirely; something risqué. “I cannot recall a time I have been mischievous,” she murmured.
“You should try it sometime,” Benedict’s grin was nothing less than charming and tempting. “It’s fun.”
Giggling, she asked, “What do you consider fun?”
“Croquet,” Benedict replied dryly.
Again, she knew he did not mean that. “I enjoy our repartee.”
As they rounded a corner, she found themselves surrounded by a gaggle of giggling debutantes. Holding back a grimace, she allowed Benedict to lead them over and they entered the fray.
Razor-sharp smiles greeted Alice as she curtsied to the titled ladies. She could feel their derision; how was it that a second-class girl like her was on the arm of a titled lord, second perhaps to a Dukedom.
“Miss Alice, is it?” Miranda Valentine, the daughter of an Earl—a tall, slender woman long considered firmly on the shelf—stood encircled by her usual companions. “I am surprised to see you here; aren’t Saturdays for restocking days at merchandisers? Not that I should know of course.”
“My uncle is a lawyer,” Alice said evenly. “My late father was with the East Indian Traders.”
“Oh,” Miranda fluttered her fan. “Merchandiser, lawyer, much of the same.”
Flustered, Alice had the suffocating feeling that she should tell them that she only wanted to borrow the Marquess for a few minutes and would send him right back.
“Are you attending this Season?” Petunia, a pug-faced debutante who wore more rouge than the fashionable rule allowed, asked.
“My cousin, my sister, and I will be attending, yes,” she replied.
Lady Tabitha, the third of the threesome blinked her wide vapid blue eyes. “But who will mind the shop with you gone?”
She ground her teeth but forced a smile. “There is no shop, my lady.”
“Lord Brampton,” Miranda simpered, gaze falling back on the Marquess smoothly. “I heard your trip to the Far East changed your life. Could you give listening ears a tidbit of the journey?”
Alice was willing to stay in the company of the ladies as long as the Marquess wanted; she would take the snipes and un-subtle jabs because this was temporary; her and Penelope’s future was on the line.
“I would,” Benedict muttered. His stiff tone made Alice’s chest tighten. “But not now, my ladies. If you will excuse us.”
Without any preamble or by your leave, Benedict steered her away and they walked into silence until they came to the edge of a manmade pond. Alice sighed and gazed at the ducks gliding on the surface with not a care in the world.
“They do not like me that much,” she said quietly.
“I can see that…” he replied in thought. “Aside from the clear biases they have against you, I am not sure I understand why.”
“That is all that’s needed, I’m afraid,” she sighed. “It is a stigma I’ve borne half of my life, from the schoolroom to the ballroom. I’ve heard all the slights they could levy against me. Most of the time I have turned a blind eye and ear to the she smells like shop witticism, or the one I hear most; she’s no less common this Season than she was the last .”
He shook his head slowly, left to right. “I am… sorry to hear that.”
She jumped when a pair of squirrels burst from the bushes and darted across her boots, their bushy brown tails swishing as their game of chase took them up a tree and high into the leafy boughs.
“Dear lord,” she breathed, her hands pressed to her pounding heart.
Fortunately, Benedict did not let her tip over but held on as she was practically plastered against his side. “My, my, Miss Alice, are you that willing to jump into my arms already?”
Blushing profusely, she pulled away from him and brushed her skirts down, not entirely enthused about the dryness of his tone. “I apologize.”
“No, no, do not,” Benedict snorted. “I appreciate a lovely woman close to me. Well, Miss Alice, I may have to rethink my ideas about you.”
Wait, what did that mean?