Lady Alex's Gamble (19 page)
Despite the strain of playing a part and constantly keeping on her toes at the gaming table, Alex could not remember when she had enjoyed herself more, or when she had shared such a close companionship. Much of that was owed to the presence of a certain major. Although she knew their friendship had to come to an end, she realized with a sudden pang that she did not like to think about it. Regarding her curiously, Christopher wondered what on earth Alex could be thinking about to bring such a serious expression to her face and a sadness to her eyes. Then he recalled his last words and cursed himself for a fool. Of course she would be worried to death over her brother's imminent departure. It was not as though the poor girl didn't already have enough on her plate.
Casting about in his mind for some distraction, the major recalled an announcement he had seen in the
Times
and 175
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blurted out,
"King Henry the Fourth is
playing at the Drury Lane. I'm of a mind to go—would you both care to join me?" It was not the most felicitous of subjects for a play, what with its intimations of war, but it did the trick. A brilliant smile dispelled Alex's pensive expression. "Oh I should love to," she replied eagerly. "I have never seen a play, at least not a real one with real professional actors. Should you like to go, Tony?"
Shakespeare was not Captain de Montmorency's idea of a jolly evening, but his sister looked so excited he had not the heart to demur. Then the happy thought struck him that Luanda Addington might just possibly be attending as well. Certainly she was more likely to appear at Drury Lane than the gaming room at White's, which was his alternative. He was therefore able to conjure up enough real enthusiasm to acquiesce with becoming alacrity.
"How delightful. I do look forward to it. Thank you ever so much," Alex continued, fairly bubbling over with enthusiasm. Christopher couldn't help thinking that she wore the look of a little girl who has just been given a new doll. No, Christopher amended the thought, a woman such as Alex would have scorned such a thing—a new pony, then. He was oddly touched. So many women in his life had demanded so many things from him—constant attention, flattery, jewelry, trinkets of every sort—and here was someone thrilled by his invitation to see a play.
How very dull Alex's life must have been until now, if such a prospect excited her so, and how little opportunity she must have had to set aside her responsibilities and enjoy herself. 176
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Considering it, Christopher realized that for all the intelligence and humor in those eyes that observed the world so closely, her face more often hinted at somber thoughts—she was clearly someone who had been forced to deal with a great many difficult things.
Heretofore, the major had always wished that the women he encountered were a little more serious, a little less inclined to inconsequential chatter. Now, all of a sudden, he was desperate to think up ways to bring a little frivolity into this particular woman's life.
These were the reflections of a moment, but Alex, sensing she was the object of Lord Wrotham's scrutiny, glanced over at him to find him studying her closely, an unreadable expression in his dark blue eyes. Somewhat taken aback at being the subject of such intense observation, she cocked her head and raised one inquisitive eyebrow.
The major chuckled. "I beg your pardon. I was woolgathering, and now the horses are getting restless. Shall we let them stretch their legs?" In truth, Wrotham's proposal was motivated less by concern for his mount than frank curiosity, for he was dying to see Alex galloping across the park. It was early enough in the morning and sufficiently deserted for them to give the animals their heads.
Christopher was not disappointed. Lady Alexandra de Montmorency rode the way she played cards—like an angel. She sat the huge animal with effortless ease, as though they had been born together—so well, in fact, that when they at last pulled up the major could not help remarking to Tony, 177
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"Does your sister do everything as well as she rides and plays piquet?"
"Alex? Oh yes. There's really nothing she can't do," Tony replied, as though having a sister who outshone most men at these endeavors were the most natural thing in the world.
"Makes Alexander mad as fire too." He grinned and then added soberly, "It's a great pity. She would make a capital earl, certainly better than my brother, but there it is. I can't say I was best pleased when she turned up here like this, but so far it has done the trick and I've never seen her enjoying herself so much. Even if I could come up with the rest of the blunt I wouldn't have the heart to send her back, not just when she is getting the chance to see and do so many of the things she has dreamed about." Then, uncomfortably aware that he had revealed a good deal more than he meant to. Tony shut his mouth with a snap and, digging his heels into Caesar's flanks, urged his horse on to catch up with his sister, who had easily outdistanced the two of them. Until this moment. Lord Wrotham had never stopped to consider the world from a feminine point of view. He had simply always assumed that his mother and the other women he had known were perfectly content to spend their lives devoting themselves to their clothes and the gossip of the
ton.
Indeed, many of the men of his acquaintance did little else themselves. If he himself was intolerably bored by it all, what must an intelligent woman be? At least he and a few others like him were able to go into the army or politics, but what choice had someone like Alex? Struck by this new perspective on the world, the major resolved to do everything 178
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in his power to ensure that she had the most stimulating, most interesting, most wonderful time in her life while she was still in the metropolis, which, considering her astounding success at the tables, would be all too short a time. The major was discovering that he did not like the prospect of London without her.
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Lord Wrotham's attempt at providing diversion and amusement of a high order was entirely successful. All thoughts of Bonaparte, the impending conflict, and the necessary departure of Tony and the major were replaced by the pleasurable anticipation of the delights in store for Alex that evening. Despite a predilection for the classics and the tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides, Shakespeare was the English dramatist Alex most enjoyed. While
Henry the Fourth
was not her favorite of the Bard's plays, Falstaff being too uncomfortably similar to Alexander to be diverting, Alex could hardly contain herself until that evening. Putting the last touches on her cravat in front of the looking glass, Alex mused again on the ease of a gentleman's life, free to attend a play whenever he liked without thinking about having proper companionship. And how simple it was to dress. To be sure, there was a great deal of discussing of tailors and the tying of cravats, but beyond that, gentlemen really had very little compared to ladies as far as dress was concerned.
It was sufficient for a gentleman to sport a well-cut coat. There was no worry if the décolletage was too low, the sleeves cut in last year's style, or the color decidedly passé. Still, oddly enough, and for just the briefest of moments, Alex wished she were donning a lovely filmy gown of green or some color that would show off her eyes, and with a neckline that would reveal her slender, graceful neck and shoulders—
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not that she had ever owned such a thing in her life. Furthermore, she could not imagine what had possessed her to think thoughts that were far more like Ally's then hers. Enough of that. She would just have to be satisfied with looking distinguished instead of beautiful. Giving the auburn curls a final pat, she went downstairs to await Tony and Christopher who had both insisted on escorting her to the theater.
Alex might have been less than satisfied with her appearance, but she was alone in her opinion. Watching her as she sauntered toward them. Lord Wrotham was struck again by her graceful carriage and air of self-possession. In truth, Alexandra de Montmorency made a very handsome gentleman.
Unbidden there rose an image in the major's mind—a most disquieting image—of a delicate neck and white shoulders and the gentle swell that even the tight bandages could not quite conceal. He wondered idly what she would look like clad in delicate garments that would reveal the slender figure now obscured by the dark coat and starched cravat. It was a picture to make his throat tighten and take his breath away—
a most awkward situation for one suddenly called upon to respond to Alex's friendly greeting: "Good evening, Wrotham. I saw in a copy of the
Times
that Mr. Hartley is to play the part of Falstaff. Do you know anything of him as an actor?" Christopher stared blankly for a moment as he struggled to bring himself to reality. "No, not at all, that is, I am certain I have heard the name before, but ... but I have been away 181
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from London so long that I am of no help as to what or who is
au courant."
Alex noted his reaction with interest. What had occurred to fluster the man so, for undoubtedly he was flustered. It was hard to conceive of the cool and collected Major Lord Wrotham ever being disconcerted by anything. A second glance, stolen a few minutes later revealed that he had quickly recovered. Gone was the self-conscious look and the hint of a flush under the tan, but Alex was certain they had been there, and her conjectures as to what could possibly be the cause of his discomfiture kept her quiet all the way to the theater. However, her two companions, immersed in speculation as to the probable location and subsequent movement of Bonaparte's troops, failed to remark upon her unusual silence.
It was not until they arrived in their box that Tony and the major noticed Alex's silence, but now her lack of conversation arose from entirely different reasons. Beyond her initial gasp of "Oh, how wonderful!" she had sat absolutely dumb, engrossed by the scene and the activity all around her. To the major, she looked like an excited child at her first circus, and the play had not yet even begun. Christopher had not been to the theater in an age. When he had attended, it had been with companions, especially females, who cared more about the impression they were making on the assembled audience than the spectacle they had come to see. In truth, the major found Alex's delighted absorption far more enthralling than the play itself and he spent a good deal of the first act watching it all reflected in her expressive face. 182
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"Are you enjoying it, then?" he inquired as the curtain fell after the first half.
"Oh yes! I have read the play ever so many times, but it is nothing like seeing it come alive, is it?" she replied shyly. The major was touched. To think that a woman who could travel about England alone and take on the
ton—
adopting a disguise, moreover, that was equally as skilled as any of the actors on stage—that she could still take such pleasure in a simple play was somehow very endearing. Too few members of society allowed themselves to be anything but thoroughly bored by it all. It was such a simple thing, but he suddenly realized how much her pleasure in the performance enhanced his.
"And I do think that Mr. Hartley is most clever in his portrayal of Falstaff," Alex continued. "He is extremely diverting without turning his part into mere buffoonery."
"Yes, I think that—" Wrotham was interrupted in midsentence by the sound of the door to their box opening. A gay voice cried, "Christopher! I vow 'tis too bad of you. Why if you had only told me you were going to the theater we could have made a party of it."
Alex watched in sympathetic amusement as the major, who had frozen at the sound of his mother's voice, forced a smile onto his rigid features and turned to greet her. "Hello, mother. Why, Hugh," he greeted his half brother with some surprise. "Whatever brings you here?"
"Well you may ask." The Earl of Claverdon, a rather sober, heavyset man, certainly did appear extremely uncomfortable, and most definitely out of place in the fashionable throng. "I 183
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needed a new hunter and there were some business matters I was forced to attend to in the City, so here I am."
"And I told him positively that he could not spend the evening moldering away at home, that he must take me to the theater." The dowager countess patted her stepson's arm and smiled up at him in a coquettish way that only succeeded in making the poor man look all the more miserable. Then she turned to Alex. "You naughty boy, you promised to call on me. I have been quite pining at home waiting for you. But you young men are all the same, roving all about town without a thought for the ladies." She shook a playful finger at Alex before turning to Tony. "Now this fine-looking fellow is familiar to me."
"That is Anthony de Montmorency, Mother," Christopher explained patiently, but anyone who cared to observe could see that the patience was hard won and likely to evaporate at any moment.
"La, a family with two such handsome men is like to make a woman's head swim." The dowager countess advanced on the hapless Tony with a most beguiling smile, but happily, before the unfortunate Tony was forced to submit to the lady's flirtatious chatter—and before the major had throttled his mother—Hugh broke in to point out that the curtain was about to rise on the next act and they had better regain their seats.
Pouting prettily at her stepson, the countess bestowed a final dazzling smile on the de Montmorencys, admonished them both to call upon her, and then departed in a flutter of 184
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