“Surely Standen has got over his disappointment,” David said.
Alex snorted. “The earl has got over nothing.”
“But the scandal was more than thirty years ago. From what Grandmamma said, the earl should be falling on his knees every night and thanking God he didn’t get buckled to mama. She was much too young and too wild to suit him.”
Alex shrugged. “I can assure you the earl harbors no good thoughts concerning our family. He’d drag his sister naked down St. James’s Street before he’d give his consent for a Belmont to marry a Wilton.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me so himself,” Alex said, his voice more bitter than David had ever heard it, “twenty-three years ago when I asked to marry his sister.”
Chapter 2
“Are you certain you’re all right, Aunt Kate?”
“Ah. Oh. Er…” She certainly was not all right. Thank God the retiring room was empty. Her loss of composure was bad enough—at least she was not enacting a spectacle for an interested audience.
She had to get hold of her emotions before she went back out into the ballroom.
Kate clasped her hands and tried to stop gulping air. If only she could loosen her stays. She should never have had Marie, her maid, lace them so tightly, but she’d stupidly wanted to look young again, slim and virginal and seventeen. Impossible. Marie could tighten her stays until the strings broke, she’d still have lines at the corner of her eyes, threads of gray in her hair…
She wasn’t seventeen any longer. Alex must have been shocked—horrified—to see how she’d aged.
Oh, Alex…
Kate moaned slightly. Breathe in through her nose; out through her mouth. In. Out. Stop panicking.
“Here, try your vinaigrette.” Grace waved the small, aromatic box under Kate’s nose.
“No, I—ah!” Kate’s head snapped up as she inhaled the pungent scent.
“Do you feel better?”
“Ah.” No, she was just more aware of how miserable she felt. Could she spend the entire evening here in the retiring room?
Definitely not. She was Grace’s chaperone. She had to go out into the…
Breathe.
Grace was still waving the vinaigrette in her face. Kate snatched it from her and snapped it shut.
Most likely Alex—Mr. Wilton—hadn’t even noticed her entrance, didn’t remember her or the unfortunate incidents of her long-ago Season, had absolutely no recollection of that mortifying scene in this very garden…
“Ohh.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Aunt Kate, you sound like you’re in pain.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” She waved the hand with the vinaigrette in Grace’s direction.
Had Alex noticed her arrival? She’d been too shocked to see, let alone comprehend, his expression.
“What is the problem?” Grace said. “Is there something…odd about those two men?”
Two men? There were two men? Kate tried to clear some of her distress from her mind. Oh, yes—the other man—the younger one who looked so like Alex. He must be Alex’s nephew, the product of the first Wilton-Belmont scandal.
Why in God’s name was Alex here anyway? He should be safely in the country. What infernal coincidence had sent him to London precisely when she’d chosen to come?
His parents had died around the same time as Oxbury. Perhaps that was it. Death did have a way of making one reevaluate one’s life. Oxbury’s passing had certainly forced her to do some soul searching.
“Aunt Kate…”
Kate flushed. She had barely admitted it to herself, but she had thought…only in a general way, of course…that while Grace was looking for a husband, she might also take a glance around the London ballrooms. Oh, not for another husband—though Oxbury’s heir was certainly making living in the dower house miserable—but for…
Well, she was a widow, and widows were allowed—almost expected to take—certain…liberties. She’d considered…
But she had never expected to see Alex.
Twenty-three years ago, she’d been eager for excitement and surprises. She’d had her head full of silly dreams of handsome men and stolen kisses. Of love and marriage. Of happily ever after.
She was wiser now. She knew life might hold contentment, if one worked hard and had a modicum of luck, but happily ever after? That was only for fairy tales.
But Alex was here. Could it be…was it possible…?
“Aunt Kate, what is the matter with you? Are you ill? Do you need to leave?”
Yes, yes. She needed to leave—leave this ball, leave London. Go home where it was safe, where she could hide.
But she couldn’t hide. Oxbury, with its comforting, orderly house and neatly trimmed lawns, wasn’t her home any longer, and if she fled Town, Grace would have to go with her. She’d miss her Season and her chance to find a husband of her own choosing.
She would not let Grace be forced by circumstances—by Standen—to make the same mistake she’d made…not if she could help it.
“Aunt Kate!” Grace had resorted to shaking her shoulder.
“What?” Kate blinked and looked up. A very worried expression twisted Grace’s features.
“Should we send someone to fetch the carriage?”
“No. No, of course not.” Kate moistened her lips and smoothed her skirt with hands that didn’t shake very much at all. “I am perfectly fine.”
Grace opened her mouth, but Kate put up a hand to stop the words she knew were coming.
“No, truly. I am fine. I had a brief attack of nerves, that’s all.” She forced a smile. “It has been many years since I’ve stepped into a London ballroom. I was momentarily overcome, but I have recovered.” She stood and shook out her skirts. “Come, let’s go back to the ballroom.”
Grace crossed her arms. “Not until you explain what just happened.”
Kate wished Grace wouldn’t loom in such a disconcerting fashion. “I have just explained. I lost my composure briefly.”
Grace’s left eyebrow flew up so she looked just like her father at his most skeptical. Kate had always hated that expression on Standen. Since their parents had died when she was young, she’d seen that look growing up more times than she cared to consider. At least it was better than the cold, haughty expression he assumed when he was furious—as he had been the last time she’d been in London.
“I may be new to Town, Aunt Kate, but I am not a complete flat. You’ve been remarkably calm this whole trip. I cannot think even a ballroom full of the ton could set you to quaking—especially as your nervous attack did not commence until you saw the tall, older gentleman by the potted palms. Who is he?” Grace grinned. “And, more importantly, who is his companion?”
Oh, dear. Grace’s eyes were sparkling. This would never do. Of all the men in London—of all the men in the world—this was the one man Grace could never have.
“I’m not certain.” Kate tried to leave, but Grace caught her arm.
“Who