Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (7 page)

Alexandra
wasn’t sure what to say.  She expected that Miranda said the last bit to
shock her, possibly even test her in some way. 

“Cam is my
brother, Lord Reynolds.   You’ll likely meet him.  Most of his
friends call him Cam – short for Cambourne, but his given name is
Sutton.  Satan Reynolds is just a play on his first
name.    I’m really not sure where the nickname came from. 
I mean, my brother has always been a bit wicked even as a child, but I don’t
think that’s it.  It may be because he has a tattoo.”  Miranda’s eyes
blazed bright green.  

Miranda
is trying to scandalize me.
 
“I believe I heard that.”  Alexandra nodded wondering what sort of comment
she could make. 
Maybe I should shock Miranda and tell her that I met
her brother in a dark library and he kissed me. 
Alexandra sat with
her hands on her lap, composing her face into what she hoped was polite
interest as Miranda continued to chatter.

“I’m certain
those horrid boys at Eton started it.  He had a terrible time of it
there.  Or possibly the
ton
started calling him that when he
returned from Macao, no – that can’t be right because the Chinese also
called him ‘Satan’ in Macao.”  She paused and looked
thoughtful.   “I don’t know how you say ‘Satan’ in Chinese. 
Have you ever heard of Macao?  I’ve read loads about it and I’ve asked Cam
to take me there but he says it’s much too wild and full of unsavory
characters.”  Miranda gave a careless shrug.  “I think Macao sounds
positively decadent!  Cam had a monkey named Jonas when he lived there. 
Jonas wore a little red knit cap and smoked opium.  Can you
imagine?   Oh, there’s the tea cart!”

Alexandra’s
head was spinning.  She wasn’t even sure Miranda Reynolds had taken a
breath in the last ten minutes. 

Miranda sat
back in a profusion of lavender silk making her look as if she were perched in
a giant orchid.  “Now what about you, Miss Dunforth?  Grandmother
said you were newly arrived to London, and that you are
unhappily
looking for husband.”  She gave Alexandra another sly look.

Alexandra
nearly laughed out loud.  She could clearly see the Dowager’s strategy,
sending in Miranda just to make sure Alexandra was worthy of tea.  She
chose to be blunt and hoped the elderly woman was listening at the door. 

“My uncle
has engaged Lady Agnes Dobson to be my sponsor and has instructed her to find
me a husband.”  There was no need to relay her true circumstances to Lady
Reynolds.  “I would prefer to simply return home and begin breeding my
livestock.”  Alexandra decided to shock Miranda back.  Young ladies
did not discuss livestock or breeding, ever, and especially not in a parlor
over tea.  She waited for Miranda’s reaction.

Miranda’s
eyes widened, then she burst into charmed laughter. “Oh, Grandmother was so
right
about you, Alexandra!  I may call you Alexandra?”  She reached out
and patted Alexandra’s knee.  “I hope I haven’t offended you.” 

“Not in the
least.”  Alexandra’s gaze flicked to a book on the side table. 
Lord
Thurston and the Wicked Countess
. 

Miranda saw
her look and burst into a fit of giggles.  “Yes, it’s mine.  I do so
love Lord Thurston.  Have you read any of them?” 

Alexandra
gave a nod of assent. “All but the last two.” The books were likely still
sitting in the study at Helmsby Abbey.  She had forgotten to pack them in
her distress over Odious Oliver summoning her to London. 

“Oh, but
this is wonderful!    The author of the Lord Thurston series
quite intrigues me.   The mysterious
J
.  Cam has a
friend, Lord Wently, who is one of the most arrogant men I’ve ever met.” 
Miranda’s mouth pursed. “He is part owner in the publishing house that prints
the Lord Thurston novels.  I am quite sure he knows who the mysterious
J
is but he refuses to tell.  I keep asking Cam to pressure Lord Wently but
he refuses and –“

“Enough,
Miranda!  I can hear you chattering down the hall.  Miss Dunforth has
not said a word I will merit.  She is likely to slash open the sofa
pillows and put the stuffing in her ears.  Pray do quit talking.” 
The Dowager Marchioness strolled in, assisted by a young footman.  Her
silver hair was piled high atop her head.  She looked tired and walked
stiffly, but her eyes sparkled as she saw Alexandra.

Alexandra
stood and curtsied.  She wondered if she had passed the Dowager’s test.

“Oh, do sit
down, Miss Dunforth.  I’m afraid the only one who demands all that pomp
and circumstance at home is my daughter-in-law.”    She clasped
Alexandra’s hands in her own and squeezed them.  “Miranda, will you please
pour?”

The Dowager
began asking questions.  She wanted to know all about Alexandra’s
upbringing, what languages she spoke, what subjects she had studied, and what
she knew about farming, of all things!  She was rapt with attention as
Alexandra explained how she managed Helmsby Abbey first for her aunt, then on
her own.  She spoke lovingly of Mrs. Cowries and Jameson. How Cook made
the best scones in England.   The Dowager laughed and clapped her
hands as Miranda related the ‘livestock breeding’ comment while Alexandra
blushed in embarrassment.    The older woman seemed inordinately
pleased to hear that not only was Alexandra a bluestocking, but also a
gentleman farmer, of a sort.  When Alexandra told the Dowager she knew how
to make an apple pie, the elderly woman insisted that Alexandra must make her
one straightaway.

“Once you
marry, will you be bringing Cook and her excellent scones to your new home? Or
are you planning on living at this Helmsby Abbey?  I can tell you miss it
terribly.”  The Dowager’s brow wrinkled at the question.

Alexandra
twisted her hands and tried to choose her words carefully. “It is my sincerest
hope.” 

The Dowager
watched her with hooded eyes.  “Indeed? “  She peered at Alexandra
closely, waiting to see if she would say more.  When Alexandra stubbornly
stayed silent she said, “I hope, Miss Dunforth, that you consider myself and
Miranda to be –.”

The Dowager
was interrupted by the appearance of the butler.

“Madam, the
Marchioness of Cambourne.”  The butler quietly opened the door to allow a
stunning blonde, dressed in ice blue silk to enter.  The blonde looked at
the butler with disdain, and waved him away.  She sauntered over to the
Dowager, leveling a look of muted distaste at Miranda. 

“Well,
well.  Quite the little tea party you’re having Donata.  I assume you
just neglected to tell me we were having guests.”  She looked pointedly at
Alexandra with a tiny sneer on her perfect pink lips.

Alexandra’s
first thought was that she was seeing a fairy princess from a fable come to
life.   The woman’s beauty was what poets wrote odes to, and men
fought duels over.   The Marchioness’s golden tresses, the color of
ripened wheat, curled into an ornate coiffure that pulled artfully back from
her temples.  Arrogance and entitlement dripped from her like the diamonds
in her delicate ears.   Alexandra couldn’t tell how old she was, for
her face was as unlined as Alexandra’s own and her complexion reminded one of
fresh cream.   
Was no one in this family plain?
 Alexandra
looked at Miranda and the still lovely Dowager. 
I am a duckling
amongst swans
.

“Jeanette,
dear
,
why don’t you join us for tea?  I assumed you would be sleeping late. You
danced so late into the night with our dear Herbert.”  The Dowager’s voice
dripped with sarcasm.   Alexandra didn’t understand the sudden
tension in the air, but the parlor was rife with it. 

Lady Reynolds
stiffened at the Dowager’s tone.  Her lip curled into a sneering imitation
of a smile. The two women reminded Alexandra of cats disputing territory. 

The Dowager
looked ready to hit her daughter-in-law with her cane.  She stared down
Lady Reynolds.

Lady
Reynolds’s hands curled into themselves, giving her nails the appearance of
talons.  The perfect features tightened.  “Herbert’s a dear, isn’t
he?” Lady Reynolds’s cultured tones said politely. “Just imagine, if Robert
hadn’t married that vicar’s daughter in the
nick of time
,” Lady Reynolds
put special emphasis on the words,  “well…things would likely be much
different. How f
ortunate
, don’t you agree Donata?”

The
Dowager’s lips tightened. “You overstep the bounds of politeness.”

“Well,
that’s all ancient history now, isn’t it?”

“We have a
guest, Jeanette.”  The Dowager gave a nod in Alexandra’s direction. “You
forget yourself.”  The warning in her voice was implicit.

Lady
Reynolds gave a sniff of her perfect nose, ignoring the Dowager.  “I have
some errands to attend to.  I shall be gone the rest of the
afternoon.  Friends to visit.”  She turned to Miranda. “Miranda, pray
drink nothing but tea.  No cakes or scones!  I see in you a tendency
towards stoutness.  Now that your brother foolishly declined Percy Dobson’s
offer for your hand, I am assured of nothing but difficulty in finding you
another suitor.  If you grow stout, it will only complicate
things.”  

Miranda
reacted as if she had been slapped.  Her lovely face reddened, and her
whole form deflated like an overdone soufflé.

The Dowager
banged her cane on the floor.

“
Dear,
daughter-in-law,
I fear I am out of patience this morning.  Pray do not try
me
.” 

The air
around the two prickled with animosity.  Miranda lowered her eyes. 
Alexandra wished to fade into the tapestry of the sofa.  She lowered her
gaze to her lap.

“As you
wish, my lady.” Lady Reynolds curtsied low to the Dowager, smirking with
disrespect.  Her skirts rustled softly.  The icy gaze pierced the
Dowager with dislike.

She quirked
a perfectly plucked eyebrow in Alexandra’s direction, as if she suddenly
remembered Alexandra was in the room.  “Donata, you haven’t introduced me.
And you are?”  Her tone spoke volumes.  Lady Reynolds couldn’t care
less who Alexandra was.

Alexandra
rose and curtsied. “Alexandra Dunforth, my lady.”

The golden
head didn’t nod in acknowledgement.  The pale blue shards of ice flickered
with what Alexandra thought was recognition.  The Marchioness turned her
back on Alexandra, and faced the Dowager.

“Well, I
will leave you to your
scintillating
conversation.  Please make
sure that Miranda drinks only tea.  Sutton is so tight with every
farthing, I can ill afford to let out her gowns if she eats too
much.”   The Marchioness flounced out of the room in a flurry of blue
silk.

Alexandra
exhaled slowly.  She had been holding her breath.  What a horrid
woman!  And she was a Marchioness! 

The Dowager
looked very old and tired, as if her previous liveliness were taken by the dark
fairy who had just sailed from the room. 

“That’s my
mother.  Lovely, isn’t she?  She thinks Cam is the reason no one has
offered for me.  Ha!”  Miranda gave a toss of her head.

A soft knock
came at the door.  Alexandra prayed it wasn’t Lady Reynolds returning.

“Come,” the
Dowager uttered in her commanding tone.

The butler
opened the door and bowed low.  “Lord Reynolds is here, madam.” 

Alexandra’s
teacup shook.  She struggled to set it down without spilling her
tea. 

The Dowager
cast her an odd look.

The scent of
cinnamon wafted into the room, followed by Lord Reynolds.  “Hello,
Rainha
,
hello, Miranda.  I’ve come to chase away your demon.  I believe she
bolted to her carriage when she saw me coming.”  He smirked like a child
caught in mischief as he walked through the door, but stopped in surprise when
he spied Alexandra.  The green gaze ran over her figure on the couch,
lingering on her bosom before lifting to her lips. 

Damnation! 
He does remember me! 
She
felt ridiculously happy that he did, then, chided herself for doing so. 

His features
immediately composed into cold curiosity. “Forgive me, Grandmother, I didn’t
realize you had a guest,” he drawled with what sounded to Alexandra like
insolence.

 
Alexandra stiffened her spine.   
Does he think I am here to
scream ruination?  Well, I don’t give a bloody damn what he thinks. 
I wasn’t snooping and I certainly don’t wish to acknowledge our previous
meeting.

 “Cam,
this is Miss Alexandra Dunforth.  Grandmother met her at Lady Dobson’s
ball the other night.  Miss Dunforth, my brother, Lord Reynolds, the
Marquess of Cambourne.”  Miranda, no doubt still smarting from her
mother’s remarks, defiantly bit into a slice of raisin cake.

“Must you
refer to me in a foreign tongue?  Portuguese is only slightly better than
Chinese.  At least the Portuguese aren’t heathens.”  The Dowager
sniffed.

“But  
Rainha
means queen.  I thought you would appreciate the sentiment.”

Alexandra
rose and made a dutiful curtsy, all the while wishing she could run from the
room.  Lord Reynolds was more beautiful than she remembered, in spite of
the slight frown he directed at her. The dark, silky locks of his hair were
pulled back and tied neatly with a leather thong. The earring, dangling
jauntily from one ear, appeared to be a jade figure.    The
smell of cinnamon grew stronger as he moved into the room.  He bent down
to bestow a kiss on his grandmother’s forehead before moving his tall form to
the window, where he leaned against the sill.  The green eyes, so like his
sister and grandmother, watched her appraisingly.