Chapter Nineteen #2
Issues of immodesty aside, the dress was the most exquisite piece of clothing Harriet had ever laid eyes on, let alone been allowed to wear.
It was a light-green dress, heavy and beaded, with puffed, diaphanous sleeves and only the suggestion of a bodice.
He had also procured new dancing slippers and a reticule to match.
Anne had delivered all these gifts, as Alexander had been away from home all day.
He had, according to Presley—who was standing sentinel with Harriet in the entryway—returned shortly before and was dressing now.
Harriet did her best not to fidget; all this waiting was only inflaming her nerves.
Perhaps she better claim a megrim and cry off.
How did she expect to face a ballroom of peers on his arm?
Right as she was cresting the hill of anxiety, Alexander appeared at the top of the staircase. Every thought she had of spending her evening anywhere but next to him fled. He was—he—
In a fit of madness, she spoke: “Oh my, you are the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”
The smile that cracked open his face was almost worth her embarrassment at having let the words escape her mouth.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Presley said, and Harriet had no idea how serious he was. It sent her into a fit of giggles, which she tried desperately to cover.
“Thank you both,” Alexander said, taking his hat and gloves from Presley. “Harriet, I must sincerely apologize for making you wait. It was most ungentlemanly of me. I will endeavor to prevent such a delay in the future.”
“You were worth the wait.” Oh, heavens above! What was she saying? Alexander looked down at her as he donned his cloak and raised an eyebrow.
“I had no idea formal wear excited you so,” he whispered in her ear, as they left the house. “I would have worn it ages ago.”
She nearly swallowed her tongue as Alexander helped her into the carriage.
Tonight would be her first ball with him. Her first ball as a wife. Their first time in public. Tonight would be different.
Despite her change in status and station, Harriet felt, if anything, more invisible than ever.
Well, there had been one moment when she hadn’t.
When she’d removed her pelisse at the top of the stairs and Alexander had finally laid eyes on the dress he’d had made for her.
That had felt the exact opposite of invisibility.
His eyes had swept over her, and his pupils widened in awe.
He seemed, unless he was performing, truly overcome.
“I am not entirely certain we need to attend this ball,” he said, his gaze not leaving her body. There was much to be said for a gentleman meeting one’s eye when he spoke, but there was even more, Harriet found, to be said for one’s husband’s gaze not being able to make it to one’s eyes.
Unfortunately, he seemed the only member of the ton who noticed her at all.
Had someone approached her and said, “Did you hear? Lord Alexander married, and he’s brought his wife with him,” she would have looked around the room for the woman in question.
She was a stand-in, an understudy for some other woman in everyone’s mind, whether they knew it or not.
On some level everyone, herself included, seemed to assume that another more suitable match would present itself either this season or the next or even five years from now, and that woman, the eventual duchess—if rumors about the elder son were true—would so seamlessly replace Harriet that no one would ever remember she’d been there at all.
This was reinforced by two separate gentlemen congratulating other nearby women upon their nuptials to Lord Alexander, before turning in confusion to Harriet.
One woman, upon introduction, simply said, “I’m surprised,” and offered no further elaboration.
Another lady, both drunker and kinder than the first, whispered, “Enjoy yourself. He’s marvelous, isn’t he?
” in Harriet’s ear before she stumbled off.
Alexander didn’t seem to notice the slights, or the fact that no one actually spoke with her.
After the fifth conversation in which she was clearly not desired, Harriet decided mentally tallying the number of women wearing ostrich feathers was a better use of her mind.
In fact, she was so engaged in the Great Ostrich Accounting that she only registered Alexander’s absence from her side when she noticed him dancing with feather-wearer number 27.
Harriet didn’t know the woman and tried her best not to concern herself with their pairing. Better to refocus on her tally.
She tried, she really did, only she’d nearly run out of ladies and feathers anyway, and it was difficult not to study the way the lady was looking at Alexander as if she wanted to devour him. What did ostriches even eat? Harriet would have to look it up when she went home.
Her reverie was broken with a glass of cold lemonade pressed against the back of her arm matched almost instantly with the deep, throaty laugh of her beloved sister.
“You look parched. Or perhaps ill?” Philippa said, almost gleefully. “Perhaps a sign of a successful honeymoon?”
Harriet gripped her sister tightly, as if Philippa were a raft that had appeared after days lost at sea. It had been too long. Philippa handed over the lemonade, sipping on champagne herself.
“Is he that bad?” Philippa asked, in a voice that was light with humor but eyes that searched out the truth. When Harriet didn’t answer, she looked around for Alexander and found him on the dance floor and then let out a soft “Hmmm.”
“What? Who is she?” Harriet asked, unable to keep the desperation out of her tone.
“Lady Delonge. She’s a widow. She’s … well. You see,” Philippa said, gesturing toward the woman with her champagne. Harriet did see. Lady Delonge was practically draping herself across Alexander, laughing a little too hard. The dance had ended—surely they didn’t still need to be touching?
“Perhaps we ought to take a turn about the room?” Harriet suggested, needing distance from him. Distraction. Sisterhood.
As they walked, Harriet mostly asked after Caroline and Frances to see if her sister knew any more than she did. Unfortunately, Philippa was similarly isolated from their sisters by the presence of their father.
“I’ve only had one letter from them. Caro says everything is fine.
But I know him to be desperate for money.
He’s come around a few times, although Matthews runs him off, the dear,” she said, referring to her beloved stable master.
After a slight pause, she admitted with uncharacteristic solemnity, “I haven’t any money anyway. ”
Harriet stopped short. “You haven’t?”
Philippa’s sly smile had already reappeared, which would have reassured anyone who knew her less well. It frightened Harriet more than anything.
“The estate, you know. Oh, it’s all tied up after Reginald’s third cousin, you know the one who was in the Indies?
Apparently, he went and died last month on the way over.
Awful inconvenient. It’s reverting to the crown.
Likely to be divvied up among Prinny’s friends, or given to some war hero.
Perhaps they’ll leave me a small plot. No one quite knows what to do with me.
Or if they do, they won’t tell me. I’m a bit stuck at the moment.
None of it is mine, but nor is it anyone else’s.
” Philippa thrust her champagne—never lemonade—up in an ironic cheer.
“Philippa, what can I do? I’m sure Lord Alexander can help.” And the odd thing was, she was sure of it.
“Oh, there’s nothing to be done. I wouldn’t let you anyway. One of those god-awful situations where the only action one can take is a bath.” Philippa smiled at her and then looked across the room at a particularly handsome man. Turning to Harriet she winked once again. “Or a lover.”
At that, Philippa unlinked her arm and set off, swanning across the crush of people, parting the crowd with her presence.
When Harriet looked up to seek out Alexander, she found him hanging on every word that came out of a quite severe-looking woman’s mouth.
Harriet winced. She hardly needed more proof of how much he enjoyed ladies’ company.
Unfortunately, he looked up then and met her gaze, and with a full lemonade glass and no dancing prospects, she had no reason not to reunite with her husband. Thus, she dutifully did.
As she arrived in the circle, she happened upon something almost miraculous in its rarity: a woman Alexander could not charm. It only took a moment’s observation to recognize the signs, but here she was, an immune party.
Barely able to suppress her excitement at meeting such a woman, Harriet sidled up to the small group, her lips twitching in excitement.
“Lady Holden, Lord Holden, here she is! May I introduce my wife, Lady Alexander?” He sounded like an anxious schoolboy. Who were these people who had him on his best behavior?
“Lovely to meet you,” Harriet said, dipping into a curtsy in front of the couple.
Alexander’s behavior was only dwarfed in peculiarity by the idea of these two people being married to one another.
The man was not unattractive for an older gentleman, and he had an easy, open face, dominated by a mustache Harriet would have requested he shave off had she been his wife.
Lady Holden appeared to be at least his age if not a touch older, and she seemed even more severe up close.
If her husband had the appearance of an affable sheepdog, she brought to mind a raven.
“My dear,” Alexander began, an endearment he’d never used before, “Lord Holden is a business partner of mine. We’ve been looking at some land together.
I was just telling Lady Holden about you.
” His eyes held a plea, although for what, she could only guess.
Fortunately, Harriet was quite practiced at playing along.