Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

“ O ur arrival had caused a stir again, Duchess. We are still in season,” Oliver whispered in his wife’s ear.

A few days later, they arrived at the soirée hosted by their neighbor, the Dowager Countess of Layton. The elderly woman had expressed her dismay that the couple had not been visiting her as often when they lived within walking distance.

Lady Layton was well-known for hosting parties that fueled gossip. Because of that reputation, most notable members of the ton would attend them, and anyone would be grateful for an invitation.

Tonight, Alexandra was excited about the soirée. It had been a pleasure to go anywhere with her husband.

She watched the room with undisguised glee. The townhouse was elegant, but she was more focused on her art and her husband to truly mingle. She vowed to see what she could do to improve the décor at their home. Lady Layton certainly knew what she was doing.

Crystal chandeliers made the candlelight dance, casting a warm glow over the guests. Loud chatter, laughter, and murmurs blended. Alexandra could only imagine the gossip and scandals that were brewing at that moment.

“We are still the latest diversion. I can imagine, though, that there will be new couples to focus on soon enough. The place is a gossip haven,” Alexandra remarked, her eyes scanning the smiling faces greeting them.

As they mingled with the ton , Alexandra spotted the Countess of Laverton, the lady who had given her that scandalous book. The older woman smirked at her, eyes lighting up with mischief.

Alexandra recalled reading Fanny Hill for the first time. It shocked and titillated her. She knew that reading it and any other book like it would now have her seeking out her husband, as she now knew what pleasures the bedroom could provide.

“Ah, Your Grace!” Lady Laverton did not walk toward her, but she glided over to her. Her gown was elegant and understated, shimmering like the crystals in the chandeliers. “It’s good to see you and the Duke.”

“You are most kind, Lady Laverton,” Alexandra responded while casting a quick glance at Oliver.

She was happy to see him looking so entertained. The haunted look on his face after he had returned from Devil’s Draw was gone—at least for now.

Lady Laverton leaned in conspiratorially, flicking her fan open as if to shield them from the others’ view. “Tell me, my dear. Was the book I lent you, uh, enlightening?”

Alexandra blushed but kept her composure. “It was certainly informative, My Lady.”

The older woman chuckled. She fanned herself as if the room had gotten hotter—and perhaps it had.

“I knew you’d find the book entertaining. I believe we should meet with the other ladies to discuss it in great detail.”

“Lady Laverton,” Oliver began, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist protectively. “I trust that you have been recommending some appropriate reading material to my wife?”

“Oh certainly, Your Grace,” Lady Laverton replied. “I’m all for broadening the horizons and feeding the intellectual mind.”

Alexandra stifled a giggle, both embarrassed and intrigued by the exchange. She was certain her husband knew that she and the Countess were talking about the book he caught her reading.

A new arrival gave her a respite.

“Well, if it isn’t my good friend and boxing partner,” said the Duke of Oakdale as he strode toward them.

His grin was disarming, reminding Alexandra that he was a ton favorite.

“Philip.” Oliver clapped his friend on the back, returning his smile. “Good to see that you are here with no bruises.”

“Duchess,” Philip greeted Alexandra with a respectful nod, before chuckling. “I seem to have better luck lately, but I also have not seen much of you at the ring.”

“I had been thoroughly occupied,” Oliver responded, casting a teasing glance at his wife.

“Ah, better yet. I believe you owe her enough of your time. However, do you know, Duchess, that your husband is a force of nature during a match?” Philip asked. “Any boxing match.”

Alexandra’s eyes danced with mischief as they darted between her husband and his friend.

“Is he now?” she asked, although she knew full well how her husband was in a fight.

She’d seen him fight more than one man at a time the first time she went to Devil’s Draw. She’d also seen the effects a fight could have on him.

Her cheeks burned at the thought of what happened after she tended to his bruises.

“He does seem like he’d make a good sparring partner,” she added.

“And I have never doubted that you could make a formidable sparring partner, Duchess,” Oliver said, winking.

Alexandra was about to respond, but her train of thought was interrupted by another conversation near them. Her ear caught the name, J. Lewis.

She wondered why there was another issue regarding her pseudonym. She had hoped that people would soon lose interest, but speculation about the composer’s true identity and whereabouts had only grown. It should not be a surprise in Lady Layton’s home.

The woman herself was fueling the gossip, undoubtedly speaking her mind, while her son, the Earl of Layton, stood beside her quietly. He appeared to be disinterested in the gossip and was merely there to indulge his mother.

“Mr. J. Lewis again,” Lady Layton lamented so dramatically that Alexandra wondered how she had not yet asked for her smelling salts. “Why is that man hiding, anyway? People love his music. Why doesn’t he want the recognition?”

“It’s a shame he won’t reveal his identity,” a gentleman about Oliver’s age mused. “He’s a talented composer. He should be able to handle public acclaim. It’s the same with Westback—he’s an excellent painter, yet he refuses to reveal himself to Society.”

“I’ve said it before,” Oliver said. “He does not like the ton’s scrutiny, or he’s merely a coward.”

Alexandra, who was holding his arm, could not help but tighten her grip on him. He looked down at her with some amusement, seemingly unaware of her distress.

“Anonymity can provide you with freedom,” she said, her voice sharper than she had intended. “When a composer’s identity is hidden, people listen to the music. They don’t appreciate it because of who the composer is. There are no biases.”

“I know you’re fond of this mysterious composer, my dear wife,” Oliver remarked, raising an eyebrow. “I still want to meet him so I can introduce him to his biggest admirer— you .”

“I simply appreciate art in its barest form without having to know everything about the artist,” she retorted, meeting his gaze.

People were now staring at them curiously. When she noticed it, Alexandra was prepared to step back, but Oliver seemed to be enjoying her reaction.

“It’s almost as if you know Mr. J. Lewis personally,” he playfully whispered in her ear.

“What if I did?” she whispered back, matching his tone but keeping her expression neutral.

Alexandra could feel the crackling tension between them. She knew that he had long begun suspecting something, and she must do something about it.

To direct the attention of the crowd to someone else, Alexandra turned to the young Earl of Layton.

“Lord Layton,” she said suddenly, startling the otherwise stoic man. “Do you enjoy the works of Mr. J. Lewis?”

“Yes, very much so, Your Grace. His compositions have a raw quality that makes them stir the crowd so easily. It’s like he is more interested in the emotions than the technique.”

Alexandra could not breathe. That was one of the first critiques she’d heard about her technique. Everyone else was simply interested in whether Mr. J. Lewis was ready to reveal himself or not. She knew that if people found out that a woman composed the music, they would say, Ah. So that was why.

She knew she wouldn’t like that.

“My son has refined taste. He can play the piano and the flute,” Lady Layton declared proudly.

Alexandra felt Oliver stiffen next to her. She recalled how he had wanted to learn to play the piano, too, but he hadn’t because of his father.

He cleared his throat and briefly studied her face. Alexandra knew that he knew what she had tried to do, and he seemed prepared to do the same—at least in public.

“I can see that. Lord Layton might make a fine patron of the arts in the near future,” he said.

The elderly Countess gave them a satisfied smile and launched into an in-depth discussion of her son’s musical achievements. While some in their group had barely covered their yawns, Alexandra was relieved by the distraction.

It was time for her to breathe again. She wanted to be free of Oliver’s probing gaze. The others might not suspect her at all, but her husband had gotten enough clues.

She did not expect the respite to be so short-lived. Oliver would never let her off easily, after all.

He took her hand as they walked toward the refreshments table. His fingers stroked her knuckles casually but possessively.

“Your loyalty to the mysterious composer is admirable, Duchess,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“What do you think of it, then, Your Grace? Do you question my loyalty to you because of it?”

He stopped mid-stride and watched her— studying her. It was as if he thought he could read her mind if he tried hard enough.

It was unsettling, yes, but it also made Alexandra want to fan herself. She wanted to kiss him right there in their neighbor’s home, but there were emotions on his face that were too fleeting to read.

“No,” he whispered as he leaned toward her. “I know you are mine, Alexandra. But sometimes I do wonder if there’s more to your defense of J. Lewis than mere appreciation. Perhaps you defend him because you know who he really is.”

Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat. She lifted her hand to fiddle with her amethyst pendant. Recognizing her anxiety, Oliver reached out and covered her fingers with his.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a couple so intent on debating the motivations of an anonymous composer,” Philip suddenly remarked a few feet from them, and they pulled away from each other.

“A spirited discussion. In fact, every conversation with him is spirited,” Alexandra replied, beaming at her husband’s friend.

“I would expect nothing less from him, and from you. If you want to discuss something else further, you can call on me.”

Alexandra chuckled, while Oliver clapped his friend on the back. “She might just hold you to that, my friend.”

The rest of the evening was spent discussing safer topics. Lady Layton spent the time introducing everyone to everyone else, even if the said members of the ton already knew each other. Alexandra even endured more tales about her son. She was certain that the young Earl was embarrassed by his mother’s openness about his accomplishments, imagined or otherwise.

Through it all, though, Alexandra remained vigilant.

Could she bear to lose him if the truth came out?