Authors: Andrea Pickens
"Thank you, my lord. I shall..."
Alex was interrupted by the arrival of her brother. Casting a dark look at Branford he reached for her hand. "Come, Alex. You are promised to me for this set." He nearly yanked her out of her chair in the haste to be off.
"Justin! Where are your manners? You would have Lord Branford think we were both brought up in a barn."
Justin's scowl deepened during the introductions and he barely made a civil bow before whisking his sister off to the dance floor.
Branford had no interest in remaining any longer at the ball. He turned and strode out of the room. He had matters to attend to at his club.
The man taking Branford's coat skittered away like a crab trying to avoid a crashing wave. The earl's face looked stormy indeed, and the manner in which he stalked through the rooms of the club left no doubt as to his mood. He stopped at where the betting book lay open and picked up the quill that lay next to it. Dipping it into the bottle of ink, he turned back a page or two, his brows drawn together as he scanned the entries. He paused momentarily, then with bold, angry strokes, slashed through the offending lines again and again until only an illegible black streak was visible. Throwing down the pen, he looked around the room.
"Wilton!"
The gentleman in question tightened the grip on his glass of brandy so that his knuckles were nearly white. A small group of his friends unconsciously took a step or two away from him.
With a few long strides Branford was beside him "You and your friends were grossly mistaken as to the subject of our bet."
Wilton's mouth twitched spasmodically. "I... I never..."
"You will inform them that as of now, the wager has ceased to exist. If they have a problem with that, they may call on me."
"Of course, my lord." The relief was evident in Wilton's voice. "My... my apologies for any misunderstanding. I am sure..."
Branford made to go. "Oh, and one other thing." His tone was low but the fury in it was barely disguised. "I am not in the habit of blackening an innocent's reputation. If a whisper of this wager is ever breathed anywhere, I shall know where to look for satisfaction. I take it my meaning is quite clear. Be so kind as to inform the rest of your cronies."
Wilton swallowed and could only nod, not that Branford took any notice. He was already storming out of the room.
"I don't like it!" Justin jabbed at the bacon on his plate. "I won't allow a jaded rake to make sport with you."
Alex took a bite of her toast and continued reading the newspaper. "There is nothing to get so worked up about. I merely danced with the man."
"Twice!"
"And we had a conversation."
"A damned — excuse me, Aunt Aurelia — a deuced long one. Everyone was beginning to stare. What in heaven's name were you discussing for such an age?"
"Botany." She reached for the marmalade, suppressing a smile at the choking sounds coming from her brother's direction.
"Aunt Aurelia," he appealed. "Tell her she must not encourage Lord Branford's attentions. He's... dangerous."
Lady Beckworth poked her head up from behind a tome of Plato's works. "What was that, dear?"
Justin groaned.
"You needn't carry on so. I'm hardly a green girl just out of the schoolroom. And I'm hardly an attraction on the marriage mart, so there is no need to worry..."
"From what I have heard, there is cause to worry when Branford is around any lady. It's said he has no scruples at all. About anything! Why, most of the Ton is terrified of him." Justin meant it as a warning but Alex only tossed her head.
"More fools they," she retorted. "I didn't find him in the least frightening. In fact, he is considerably more interesting than most of the gentlemen I've met so far. And he is quite well-read, you know."
Justin refused to give up. "You know what they say? That he as good as murdered his cousin to inherit the title. What say you to that? That's the kind of man he is. Not to speak of the men he's rumored to have killed in duels over... er..."
"Mistresses," she suggested?
Justin was rendered speechless.
"Since you've always had the good sense to speak to me as if I had a brain in my head you must expect that I know as much as you and your male acquaintances do about the real world." Alex turned the page with a snap.
"What an idiot I am," he muttered, slashing at a pile of grilled kippers.
"Besides, you know as well as I how twisted rumors can be. Or have you forgotten the things that were said about Papa when we lived in Cornwall for a year? We had to leave when the talk got so bad. Imagine, the country folk getting in such a state, thinking he was a witch because he collected all manner of plants and roamed the countryside at all hours of the day."
Justin had the grace to color. He poked for a moment at the food left on his plate. "Nonetheless, the Icy Earl is a man to be avoided. Promise me that you will have no further conversation with him."
Alex folded the paper and put it aside. "You have given me no real reason to act in such a silly manner. Besides, it would be extremely difficult — unless you expect me to spend an entire day in silence. And it would hardly polite, I might also add, seeing as he has kindly offered to drive me to Kew Gardens to see the newly arrived specimen plantings."
The fist came down with a thud that rattled the china. "Aunt Aurelia!" This time Justin was nearly shouting.
Aurelia laid her reading material on the table as well. "Are you two children having a spat?" she inquired over her spectacles.
Justin ran his hand through his hair. "Has no one in this family any sense but me? Surely you cannot condone Alex's association with a known rake and murder..."
Alex's quelling look cut off the last word.
Lady Beckworth surveyed the agitated faces of her niece and nephew. "Justin, Alex is more than of an age to decide for herself what acquaintances she wishes to make. A ride in an open carriage with a gentleman's tiger accompanying them is perfectly acceptable. And Lord Branford is received by even the highest sticklers of Society. "
She paused. "But Alex, your brother's concerns are quite legitimate. You must admit you have little experience with the working of Society here in Town. He is right to caution you to have a care. A reputation is not like a dress — once torn is it almost impossible to mend."
Both of them shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Lady Beckworth picked up her book. "If you will excuse me, I am eager to finish a certain section of my translation before evening. And please don't forget we are promised to the Killington's rout tonight."
She gathered her things and left the breakfast room, leaving the two young people with much food for thought.
It was an even greater crush than the night before. Lady Killington's reputation as a splendid hostess ensured that her invitations would not be overlooked by those privilege enough to receive one. The sounds of violins and cellos floated through the immense ballroom, the flickering of hundreds of candles winked off the shimmering silks and jewels, creating a gallimaufry of color. Masses of exotic flowers added a special touch, their subtle fragrance wafting through the soft trill of laughter and animated conversation.
Alex tugged at a flounce on her sleeve to mask her discomfort. Why did she always feel so deucedly awkward at such evenings? Why couldn't she seem to master the art of dazzling smiles and fluttering eyelashes that other young ladies seemed to find so effortless. She sighed. It was simply no use. And why was she even thinking about it? Normally such frivolous thoughts about her demeanor or her appearance never even occurred to her. She sighed again. At least in such a crowd there should be a few members of the Botanical Society present with whom to converse so the evening wouldn't be a complete waste.
"Miss Chilton."
There was no mistaking the rich baritone, though it was spoken quite softly. She turned to face a pair of glittering sapphire eyes.
"Good evening, my lord." She smiled, quite effortlessly because it was real. "Quite a crush tonight, is it not?"
Branford raised an eyebrow. "Come, Miss Chilton. You disappoint me. Surely you do not make a habit of uttering the usual polite platitudes." His face was deadpan, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.
"What would you prefer, sir? That I recite the phylum, genus and species of that... " she glanced quickly around "... rare orchid over between the delphiniums?"
"Which you no doubt know."
"Or perhaps you would prefer something more practical, as in if you move your right elbow a fraction of an inch you will send Lady Killington's no doubt priceless crystal vase to its demise."
Branford straightened with a start, narrowing averting disaster. How the devil hadn't he noticed the arrangement of flowers? He wasn't usually so clumsy.
Alex struggled without success to suppress a grin.
"Impudent chit," he murmured as he took her elbow and guided her to the dance floor.
"I should like to know more about your work, Miss Chilton. Tell me about the manuscript you are working on," said Branford as they began to move to the lilting melody. Once again, he couldn't help but notice how in tune she was with his movements, how she matched his steps with an effortless grace.
She looked up at him warily, as if searching his face for some hint of mockery. He merely cocked his head expectantly but said nothing further.
"It is not a manuscript," she answered slowly. "Rather it is a series of watercolors on the wildflowers of — shire."
"You are an artist, then?"
She smiled at the thought. "Indeed not. I create no heroic scenes from history like Fragonard nor capture the likenesses of important people like Gainsborough. I merely record, as faithfully as I can, the nuance of detail and color in such everyday things as flowers. To me, the simple elements of the natural world have an inherent beauty as special as any face..." She stopped abruptly, as if afraid she had revealed too much of her feelings.
He didn't reply, but regarded her thoughtfully.
When the music had finished, Alex glanced around the crowded room. "Oh, I do so hope Mr. Simpson and Mr. Hepplewith are in attendance tonight. I wanted to ask them a question concerning a certain lily." She trailed off as she continued to search the crowd.
Branford's height offered him a better vantage point. ""I believe Mr. Simpson is over there." He guided her through the crush towards a large potted palm tree near the entrance to the card room. "He is with an elderly, rotund gentleman who appears to be wearing a rather outdated wig."
Alex smiled. "That is Mr. Hepplewith. He is quite interesting despite his odd appearance. I think you would like him, sir."
Before he could answer, she hurried ahead through the last few couples in the way. "Good evening, gentlemen. How nice to see you here. At least I shall be assured of some intelligent conversation for the evening."
Behind her, Branford cleared his throat.
"Oh!" Alex's hand flew to her mouth. "Of course, I didn't mean..."
Mr. Simpson stared wide eyed, first at her, then at the earl, mesmerized as if waiting for a snake to strike its helpless victim.
Branford threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. "I shall endeavor not to bore you excessively during the next waltz."
Alex managed a weak smile. "You are teasing me, Lord Branford."