The Season
Page 17
Alex’s spine stiffened in response. Her tone turned frosty. “As usual, my lord, your caution—or shall I say interference?—is unnecessary. Need I remind you that I’ve been managing Freddie Stanhope since he was in short pants?”
His chuckle held no humor. “Take my advice, Alex. Your ‘Freddie’ is no longer in the schoolroom. And you’re out of your league if you think you can, as you say, ‘manage’ him. Just because you wear a gown that marks you as all grown up doesn’t mean you are prepared to take him on.”
Alex’s temper flared. “I require neither your advice, nor your opinion, my lord. I would thank you to remember that, besides the fact that you’re not that much older than I am, I already have a father—and three brothers. I hardly need another overbearing male telling me what to do and with whom to do it.”
“More like what not to do. And with whom not to do it.”
She inhaled in a sharp intake of air, eyes narrowing, and made a move to leave him mid-waltz. To an outside observer, nothing changed about their movements—but Alex felt Blackmoor’s arms turn to stone around her. He held her fast, and tight, and his voice lowered. “You will finish this waltz with me, Alexandra. I will not allow you the pleasure of giving me a set-down at your first ball.”
Recognizing how damaging leaving him on the dance floor would have been to his reputation, not to mention her own, Alex remained in his arms, thoughts reeling. Why was she responding to him so strangely tonight? Ordinarily, she would have laughed off his concern. Clearly something was amiss. After all, hadn’t she noticed the cut of his waistcoat, the width of his shoulders? In seventeen years, she had never noticed anything special about Gavin. And yet, even now, through her irritation and her anger, she was acutely aware of his hand on the small of her back, the heat of his gloved palm through the silk of her gown, the feel of his fingers resting against hers. What was wrong with her?
Alex looked up at him, searching his gaze for a hint of what he was really thinking. He was usually so unflappable, so calm, and yet—he had been tight with anger at the thought that Stanhope might have been interested in her. Was it possible he was experiencing the same mix of bizarre feelings that she was tonight? Could it be that he, too, had felt the tremor of emotion pass between them? Now his grey eyes were unreadable behind a mask of civility.
“I don’t know what to say.” She spoke quietly. “The excitement of the evening seems to have addled my brain a bit.”
His gaze softened. “I shouldn’t have taken such liberties. You are, of course, right. I am neither your father nor your brother. Let’s not think of it again.”
There was something about his comment that left Alex feeling even more unsettled. They’d always been as close as siblings; was he pulling away? She shook herself mentally. This new world was already turning her into a cabbagehead, and she’d only been a part of it for an evening. “That,” she said, pushing her disquiet to the back of her mind, “sounds like an excellent idea.”
He smiled and took a deep breath. “I forget, sometimes, that you aren’t that little girl stuck up in a tree, Minx. It’s hard not to jump in to save you whenever I think I should.”
There was a pause before Alex could think of a retort. “Well, don’t go shirking your duties as savior altogether.” Her smile turned into a knowing grin. “After all…who else will save me from eager suitors with leaden feet?”
The couples around them turned to look as he laughed—entirely too loudly.
six
After the waltz, Blackmoor and Alex joined a waiting Vivi, Ella, and Will at the far end of the ballroom. The orchestra had paused in its performance, and Alex took a moment to drink in the sights and sounds of the ballroom—the experience of her first event of the season. The room was lit with thousands of candles placed in chandeliers high above the crowd of people. No one seemed bothered by the hot wax that dripped from the light fixtures; they were far too dazzled by the glorious satins and silks in every imaginable color that were illuminated around the room.
The roar of chatter was deafening—it made conversation nigh impossible if one wasn’t within inches of one’s partner—but over the crowd, Alex could pick out some unique sounds: Ella and Vivi’s laughing chatter with Blackmoor and Will, the rustle of skirts as a gaggle of other young women brushed past her, the deep rumbling voices of a nearby group of men talking about a foxhunt planned for the coming week’s end. Alex watched the hundreds of men and women making their way across the ballroom to the refreshment room and back again, stopping every few feet to speak to old acquaintances or to make new ones.
Tonight, London society was at its best: the women, dressed in gowns that could feed dozens of London’s less fortunate, ready for another four months of gossip and jockeying for position; the men eager for another season to begin, keeping the women entertained and out of their orbit for a time. Alex was acutely aware of the elaborate game that played out around her as she surveyed the scene. In London, it really was about whom you were seen speaking with, especially at Almack’s, and tonight offered a new set of chances to those with less title and less money to raise their own visibility by being spied in conversation with the most powerful members of the ton.
She shook her head, amazed at the arbitrary rules of the game as she watched the odious Duchess of Barrington, whose opinion—thanks to a very smart marriage match—mattered above most others in this world, regard a group of eager young hopefuls with devastating disinterest. With her searing ennui, the duchess was in stark relief to Alex’s own parents, just as powerful in this room, who she noticed were graciously accepting the acquaintance of a young woman who certainly hadn’t met a duke and duchess before tonight. The girl, Alex’s age, blushed prettily and fell into a deep curtsy as the Duchess of Worthington spoke, and Alex smiled with pride as her mother introduced the newcomer to Nick, who, ever the gentleman, responded to the introduction with elegant ease.
His chuckle held no humor. “Take my advice, Alex. Your ‘Freddie’ is no longer in the schoolroom. And you’re out of your league if you think you can, as you say, ‘manage’ him. Just because you wear a gown that marks you as all grown up doesn’t mean you are prepared to take him on.”
Alex’s temper flared. “I require neither your advice, nor your opinion, my lord. I would thank you to remember that, besides the fact that you’re not that much older than I am, I already have a father—and three brothers. I hardly need another overbearing male telling me what to do and with whom to do it.”
“More like what not to do. And with whom not to do it.”
She inhaled in a sharp intake of air, eyes narrowing, and made a move to leave him mid-waltz. To an outside observer, nothing changed about their movements—but Alex felt Blackmoor’s arms turn to stone around her. He held her fast, and tight, and his voice lowered. “You will finish this waltz with me, Alexandra. I will not allow you the pleasure of giving me a set-down at your first ball.”
Recognizing how damaging leaving him on the dance floor would have been to his reputation, not to mention her own, Alex remained in his arms, thoughts reeling. Why was she responding to him so strangely tonight? Ordinarily, she would have laughed off his concern. Clearly something was amiss. After all, hadn’t she noticed the cut of his waistcoat, the width of his shoulders? In seventeen years, she had never noticed anything special about Gavin. And yet, even now, through her irritation and her anger, she was acutely aware of his hand on the small of her back, the heat of his gloved palm through the silk of her gown, the feel of his fingers resting against hers. What was wrong with her?
Alex looked up at him, searching his gaze for a hint of what he was really thinking. He was usually so unflappable, so calm, and yet—he had been tight with anger at the thought that Stanhope might have been interested in her. Was it possible he was experiencing the same mix of bizarre feelings that she was tonight? Could it be that he, too, had felt the tremor of emotion pass between them? Now his grey eyes were unreadable behind a mask of civility.
“I don’t know what to say.” She spoke quietly. “The excitement of the evening seems to have addled my brain a bit.”
His gaze softened. “I shouldn’t have taken such liberties. You are, of course, right. I am neither your father nor your brother. Let’s not think of it again.”
There was something about his comment that left Alex feeling even more unsettled. They’d always been as close as siblings; was he pulling away? She shook herself mentally. This new world was already turning her into a cabbagehead, and she’d only been a part of it for an evening. “That,” she said, pushing her disquiet to the back of her mind, “sounds like an excellent idea.”
He smiled and took a deep breath. “I forget, sometimes, that you aren’t that little girl stuck up in a tree, Minx. It’s hard not to jump in to save you whenever I think I should.”
There was a pause before Alex could think of a retort. “Well, don’t go shirking your duties as savior altogether.” Her smile turned into a knowing grin. “After all…who else will save me from eager suitors with leaden feet?”
The couples around them turned to look as he laughed—entirely too loudly.
six
After the waltz, Blackmoor and Alex joined a waiting Vivi, Ella, and Will at the far end of the ballroom. The orchestra had paused in its performance, and Alex took a moment to drink in the sights and sounds of the ballroom—the experience of her first event of the season. The room was lit with thousands of candles placed in chandeliers high above the crowd of people. No one seemed bothered by the hot wax that dripped from the light fixtures; they were far too dazzled by the glorious satins and silks in every imaginable color that were illuminated around the room.
The roar of chatter was deafening—it made conversation nigh impossible if one wasn’t within inches of one’s partner—but over the crowd, Alex could pick out some unique sounds: Ella and Vivi’s laughing chatter with Blackmoor and Will, the rustle of skirts as a gaggle of other young women brushed past her, the deep rumbling voices of a nearby group of men talking about a foxhunt planned for the coming week’s end. Alex watched the hundreds of men and women making their way across the ballroom to the refreshment room and back again, stopping every few feet to speak to old acquaintances or to make new ones.
Tonight, London society was at its best: the women, dressed in gowns that could feed dozens of London’s less fortunate, ready for another four months of gossip and jockeying for position; the men eager for another season to begin, keeping the women entertained and out of their orbit for a time. Alex was acutely aware of the elaborate game that played out around her as she surveyed the scene. In London, it really was about whom you were seen speaking with, especially at Almack’s, and tonight offered a new set of chances to those with less title and less money to raise their own visibility by being spied in conversation with the most powerful members of the ton.
She shook her head, amazed at the arbitrary rules of the game as she watched the odious Duchess of Barrington, whose opinion—thanks to a very smart marriage match—mattered above most others in this world, regard a group of eager young hopefuls with devastating disinterest. With her searing ennui, the duchess was in stark relief to Alex’s own parents, just as powerful in this room, who she noticed were graciously accepting the acquaintance of a young woman who certainly hadn’t met a duke and duchess before tonight. The girl, Alex’s age, blushed prettily and fell into a deep curtsy as the Duchess of Worthington spoke, and Alex smiled with pride as her mother introduced the newcomer to Nick, who, ever the gentleman, responded to the introduction with elegant ease.
