Chapter Five

Alex watched the new guests disappear into the house, unable to shake an unsettling feeling in his gut. He knew Lady Caldecott, of course, although she’d been notably cold with him. Odd.

And then there was her niece, who seemed strangely familiar to Alex. He’d likely passed her by at some gathering or another, although they’d never exchanged words.

It had been pure coincidence that he’d passed when the girl was tumbling out of the carriage. Why she hadn’t waited for the footmen to arrive was beyond him, but that wasn’t the point.

She had the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen. Brown, proper brown, like the heart of a chestnut, shot with lights of gold. Not a hint of green or blue to be seen, and that was rare, wasn’t it? Everybody had blue eyes in this country.

Not that she’d seemed to want to talk much to him. She’d kept her head down and had barely looked at him. Perhaps that was embarrassment, though. A trip like that in the middle of a thriving ball would be noticed, and probably would make its way into a scandal sheet if nothing else exciting happened.

Not your business, Alex reminded himself, turning to face the second carriage coming down the drive. This one was a hackney cab, and he knew exactly who would come tumbling out of it.

“Alex, old friend!” Hamish cheered, flinging open the door when the cab was still moving. “Good of you to come out and meet me.”

“I got your note this morning. What do you mean by it? Why are you here?”

Hamish stumbled out onto the gravel, chuckling to himself. He threw a few coins to the cab driver, who snatched them out of the air and moved on without ever having properly stopped the cab. Apparently, Hamish’s entire baggage was contained in one simple box.

“I was invited,” Hamish snorted. “By you, no less. Don’t you remember? The night before last.”

Alex did remember, and his heart plummeted.

Hamish was invited to the main ball itself, like the rest of London, but guests invited to the days before and after were strictly curated by Mary herself. Hamish had not made the list.

That is, until Alex, drunk and in a state of high spirits, told him to come anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Alex muttered. “I’ll have to tell Mother what I’ve done. Oh, what a mess.”

“It is a most regrettable predicament, indeed,” Hamish agreed. “I’ll charm her, don’t worry.”

“Lady Caldecott is already here, with a niece. She was very unfriendly to me. I can’t think of what I’ve done to offend her.”

“A niece? Isn’t that the remarkably pretty one, the one that’s not out yet? Did she come out after all?”

“She was pretty, yes,” Alex acknowledged. “Miss Abigail Atwater, if I recall correctly.”

Hamish wrinkled his nose. “Oh, that’s the older one. Generally regarded as quite plain.”

“I didn’t think she was plain. And you are in no condition to be casting remarks upon the appearance of others, Hamish.”

“That is true,” Hamish conceded, not offended at all. “I think I know why Lady Caldecott was unfriendly to you.”

“Do enlighten me.”

“She doesn’t want you getting in her niece’s way.”

Alex paused, blinking. “What on earth do you mean?”

Hamish surreptitiously took out a hip flask from his waistcoat pocket and took a swig. He offered it to Alex, who shook his head. Mary would only smell it on his breath. Or worse, William would.

“If she’s brought the niece to this ball, it means she wants the girl to make a good match,” Hamish explained. “She’s acting as a duenna to her niece. And you, my flirtatious rake of a friend, are not at all the sort of suitor she’d like Miss Atwater to have. She’s warning you away, I’m afraid.”

Alex blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of it. Alex knew he had a certain kind of reputation. He liked people, and he liked making friends, male and female. He was vaguely aware that his friendliness towards women could be misinterpreted, but it had never quite occurred to him how strong his reputation had become.

It also occurred to him that, if he were a woman, he wouldn’t have the luxury of simply being unaware of his reputation.

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s the way things are,” Hamish agreed, faintly sympathetic. “Still, it hardly matters, does it? Just steer clear of Lady Caldecott and the niece. Easy enough, isn’t it?”

“Easy enough,” Alex echoed mechanically.

There was an awkward pause after that, broken only by Hamish noisily sipping from his flask again.

And then they heard the rattle of carriage wheels on gravel once more. Alex glanced over his shoulder, and his heart immediately sank.

“Oh, no,” he muttered. “Recognise that crest?”

The carriage was well-lacquered, and rather unnecessarily pulled by four horses instead of just two. Boxes and suitcases were piled on top, well lashed down. The carriage lurched to a halt in front of the two men, spilling gravel everywhere, and the door flew open.

Lord Graham Donovan, dandy extraordinaire and well-known artiste , stepped nimbly down from his carriage.

“Lord Alexander,” he greeted delicately, lifting a quizzing glass to inspect them both. “And Lord Hamish Grey, I do declare. How kind of you to welcome me to your home. Or rather, your brother’s home, in your case, Lord Alexander.”

Alex forced a smile. “Lord Donovan. How excellent to see you. I’m surprised you could drag yourself away from your canvases to visit.”

“One must fulfil one’s social obligations. The green suit is a bold choice, Lord Alexander. You are to be commended.”

Am I? Am I really?

Alex swallowed down any sharp comments. “I hope you enjoy the week, Lord Donovan.”

He made to move aside – their house was large, surely he could avoid the man over the next few days – but Lord Donovan stepped in his path again.

Lord Graham Donovan was around thirty. He had aged well, tended to dress well, and had a neat oval face and thick brown hair. Coupled with his modest fortune and excellent breeding, that was enough to win him the love of Society. His paintings were fairly good, and many people commissioned him to do their portraits, more for the novelty of having a lord paint their picture than anything else. He was generally thought to be an amusing and a likeable man, as well as being considered a Catch in the marriage mart. In another world, Alex and Lord Donovan might easily have been friends.

Needless to say, they were not.

“I hear that Miss Havisham married after all,” Lord Donovan said, an edge to his voice. “She picked neither of us, it seemed.”

Alex flushed. “This again, Graham?”

“It’s Lord Donovan to you. Do you really have nothing to say for yourself?”

“I will say the same thing to you as I said to Miss Havisham. My intentions were always platonic, and I truly hate myself for giving an impression otherwise. The mistake was mine. Miss Havisham is a fine woman, and I’m thrilled for her happiness.”

Lord Donovan’s lip curled. “Three years, and that’s all you have to say? I loved her.”

“She would never have married you.”

The words were out before Alex could stop himself. Lord Donovan turned a faint purple colour.

Hamish hastily grabbed Alex’s arm, towing him away. “Let’s go inside. Your mother and brother will be furious if you start a fist-fight on the driveway.”

Alex muttered various curses under his breath, glancing back over his shoulder. Lord Donovan was fighting to compose himself, straightening his waistcoat and shouting at the footmen who came hurrying over to help with his bags.

The tale was a simple one. Lord Donovan had pursued a beautiful young heiress for a Season or two. She was not interested in him. Alex, a youthful fool, made friends with the heiress. He should have known better, should have known how his overtures would have been interpreted. She was a clever, amusing young woman, and pleasant to spend time with, although Alex had never felt drawn to her in that way.

When he told her truthfully how he felt – or rather, how he did not feel – Miss Havisham had retired to the country. Lord Donovan made one last attempt at a proposal – which was refused – and promptly challenged Alex to a duel.

The duel had not happened, of course. William handled things, as he always did, and it had been kept from the ears of their father. Miss Havisham had recovered and gotten married – quite happily, if gossip was to be believed – and all that was left was a simmering resentment – mostly one sided – between Lord Donovan and Alex.

There was no time to think about that now, as they were climbing the stairs, and Mary was waiting at the top. Her eyebrows rose at the sight of Hamish.

“Lord Grey,” she said, as calm and dignified as always. “What a pleasure.”

“I am intruding, your Grace,” Hamish said, with just the right note of apologetic wryness. He bent over her hand, and Mary graced him with a frosty smile.

“The fault is mine, Mother,” Alex murmured. “I invited Hamish along, and entirely forgot to ask your permission first. I am sorry.”

Mary nodded. “Think nothing of it, my dear. The more the merrier, and we have plenty of rooms to spare.”

She gestured for a footman to come over and instructed him to show Hamish to his room.

The two departed, leaving Alex with his mother. He was keen to get out of the way before Lord Donovan appeared.

“I am sorry, Mother,” Alex repeated, feeling like a naughty schoolboy. “I never thought…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mary said, reaching up to pat his cheek. “These house gatherings must be so awfully dull for you.”

“They aren’t dull, I promise.”

“I know how close Lord Grey and you are – I ought to have invited him, to be sure.” She stood up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her son’s cheek. Alex obediently bent down to receive the kiss. “Now, why don’t you run along and dress? Dinner will be served soon enough. We have only a few latecomers to greet now. Oh, and here is Lord Donovan!”

That was Alex’s cue to leave. He mumbled something and darted along the hallway, climbing the stairs two at a time.

It was a relief that Hamish was here, to be sure. At least he would have someone to talk to. And while they couldn’t get in their cups at the gathering – ladies present, and all – it would be good to have a friend to drink with afterwards . In fact…

Rapid footsteps thudded along behind Alex, and he barely had time to turn before somebody grabbed his arm and manhandled him into the nearest bedroom.

It was one of the spare rooms, done up in grey and the palest shades of blue, all ready to greet a guest. Alex spun around and found himself facing his brother.

“What are you doing, Will?” Alex snapped, yanking his arm free. “You really dug in your fingers.”

“I have just heard that Lord Hamish Grey is here,” William hissed. “Your friend. You invited him.”

Alex flushed. “Yes, that’s true. Mother knows.”

“She knows now , because you told her. Why do you think we don’t invite your friends to these balls?”

“Because you hate to see me enjoying myself?”

“Because they are rakes. All of them,” William continued, ignoring his brother altogether. “You’re a rake, but we can’t ignore you because you’re my wretched brother and one of the family. Have you no shred of propriety left, to invite a man like Lord Grey to our family home? You’ve seen the guests staying here. Single ladies, families, respectable people. If you must spend time with Lord Hamish Grey outside of this house, that is fine. He can even come to the occasional ball and dinner, if he behaves himself. But this – inviting him here in this matter – this is too much. Can you really not see that?”

Alex could feel colour rising to his cheeks. He hated flushing like a child, but there really was nothing to do about it.

William clearly was angry. His face was white, his lips pinched together, and he had his arms folded tight across his chest.

At least he doesn’t look like Father, Alex thought, and the idea was strangely reassuring.

The late Duke never gave any outward signs of anger. He was almost smooth-faced and composed, only a cruel glint in his eyes giving a hint of awful things to come.

William, on the other hand, had anger written all over his face, almost like a much younger man on the brink of a tantrum. It was almost comical.

At least, it would have been comical, had he not had a point.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Alex said, as honestly as he could. “I… I hardly remember making the invitation.”

“No, because you were in your cups. It’s clear that Lord Grey remembers.”

Alex hung his head. “Yes, yes, alright, if you must hear it. I was drunk when I invited him to stay. I ought to have spoken to mother about it, but I entirely forgot. I didn’t think he would come. And he’ll be on his best behaviour, I promise. I’ll make sure of it.”

William pursed his lips. “Tell me, how did Mother react when you told her?”

Alex frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Was she angry? Did she roll her eyes? Did she complain, and inform you that there isn’t enough room for any more guests?”

“Well, no, but…”

“What do you think, may I ask, would have happened if Henry did this, or Katherine, or even me?”

“This is your house.”

“Don’t be a fool. Legally, yes, but in our mother’s mind, it will always be hers, and I’m not cruel enough to convince her differently.” William scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re treated entirely different from us, and you truly can’t see it, can you?”

Alex swallowed hard, lifting up his chin. “What is your point, William? I apologised to Mother. She gave her permission for Hamish to stay. I promised that he and I will both behave. What do you want from me?”

William clenched his jaw. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

“Nothing. I want nothing from you, Alex.”

He turned on his heel, reaching for the door. The door flew open just before he could touch it, revealing a footman and Lord Graham Donovan standing in the hall.

“Oh,” the footman stammered, looking confused. “I thought… her Grace said The Grey Room, sir.”

“You are correct,” William said, recovering rapidly. “Do excuse my brother and me. We were having a private conversation.”

“Ah, I see,” Lord Donovan said, an insufferable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I hate to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” William said, with remarkable grace. He stepped out into the hallway and strode away, head down, never once looking back.

Alex was left to edge out of the room after his brother, smiling nervously.

The smile had dropped from Lord Donovan’s face now. The footman looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing a great deal of each other over the next few days,” he said smoothly. There was an edge to his voice which Alex did not like.

“I wish we could be friends, Lord Donovan,” he said quietly, so quietly the man almost did not hear him. “I’m tired of this rivalry.”

Lord Donovan took a step towards Alex, coming so close their noses almost touched.

“I’m only just getting started,” he whispered. “You’re going to regret crossing me, Lord Alexander Willenshire. You’re a spoiled, stupid rake of a third son, and it’s no wonder your brother is so disappointed with you.”

Alex swallowed hard. “My brother is not disappointed with me.”

Lord Donovan smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, no? I think we both know that’s not true. Now, if you don’t mind, my dear Lord Alexander, I should like to have my room to myself. We’ll have opportunities to talk at dinner tonight, I’m sure. How does that sound?”

Alex swallowed hard. He was obliged to step aside, as Lord Donovan showed no signs of stepping back. Without risking another comment, he turned on his heel and marched away down the hallway, feeling the other man’s eyes boring into his back all the way.