To Catch a Countess (14 page)

“A passing cloud has cast a shadow over your sunny smile,” Alexander said, drawing her attention.

Victoria managed a bright smile for him. “How is that?”

“Much better.” The waltz ended and Alexander escorted her back to their group.

“Lady Victoria, may I have this dance with my favorite red-haired sister-in-law?” Rudolf asked, offering his hand.

“I would love to dance with my favorite, Russian brother-in-law,” Victoria answered, placing her hand in his.

Rudolf and Victoria stepped onto the dance floor. He held her somewhat less close than her fiancé.

Swirling around the ballroom in the prince’s arms, Victoria saw Samantha dancing with Prince Viktor. Her heart sank when she spied Alexander step onto the dance floor with Lydia Stanley.

“What is wrong, Tory?” Prince Rudolf asked.

“Alexander is dancing with Lydia Stanley,” Victoria answered. “She visited our opera box. What is between them?”

“Nothing.”

Victoria arched a copper brow at him. “Let me rephrase that. What was between them?”

“Why don’t you ask Alexander?” Rudolf countered, his dark gaze skittering away from hers.

“I am asking you,” she said. “As his bride-to-be, I have a right to know.”

Prince Rudolf inclined his head and escorted her off the dance floor. Instead of returning to their group, he strolled with her in the opposite direction. “Alexander and Lydia were involved three or four years ago,” Rudolf told her. “Then Reginald Stanley, the Marquess of Tewksbury, a man old enough to be her father, offered for her. Lydia chose to become a marchioness rather than a countess.”

“Where is her husband now?” Victoria asked.

“Reginald Stanley did Lydia the favor of dying after she had given birth to his only son,” Rudolf answered. “Which left her free to marry Alexander.”

“Why didn’t they marry?”

“Alexander is a proud, unforgiving man who would never take another man’s leavings,” Rudolf said. “Lydia Stanley has thrown herself in his path since coming out of mourning.”

Victoria worried her lower lip. “Do you think Alexander still cares for her?”

“I think it is time for us to return to our group.”

Rudolf and Victoria reached their group just as Duke Magnus and Aunt Roxie arrived. Her aunt and uncle greeted everyone and then stepped onto the dance floor together.

Lord and Lady Wilmington had also joined their group. Lydia Stanley and Miriam Wilmington eyed each other with cool politeness. Victoria wondered how she could ever hope to compete against two sophisticated and beautiful women for Alexander’s affection. How many other women in this ballroom were angling to capture Alexander’s eye?

“Lady Victoria, you must be excited about your impending nuptials,” Miriam Wilmington said.

“Alex is more excited than I am,” Victoria answered. “He promised to drape me in diamonds and, as you can see, he has made an excellent start.”

Victoria glanced at Alexander, who appeared to be struggling against laughter. Rudolf and he turned away as if in deep conversation.

“His proposal was so romantic,” Samantha entered the conversation. “In front of the entire family, Alexander knelt on bended knee and asked her to marry him.”

“That does sound romantic,” Miriam Wilmington agreed, her tone cooly polite.

“How did you like tonight’s opera?” Lydia Stanley asked, her expression distinctly unhappy.

“The Marriage of Figaro, wasn’t it?” Miriam Wilmington said.

“I adore opera,” Victoria drawled, trying to sound sophisticated. “Mo created a remarkable composition.”

“Mo?” Lydia Stanley echoed in obvious confusion.

“Mo Sart is the composer,” Victoria told her, feeling smart for once.

Everyone stared at Victoria as if she had turned purple. She realized she had blundered somehow, but what she had done wrong eluded her.

“Lady Victoria, you promised me this dance,” Prince Viktor said, offering his hand.

Glad to escape whatever she had done, Victoria accepted his hand and stepped onto the dance floor. As they waltzed, Victoria refused to meet the prince’s gaze but kept a watchful eye on Alexander. Ladies Wilmington and Stanley appeared to be vying for his attention. When Lydia won and stepped onto the dance floor with Alexander, Victoria felt her heart sinking to her stomach.

Alexander and Lydia made a striking couple and waltzed as if they had been made for each other. They were smiling, too. At her expense, no doubt.

“Generally speaking, people make small talk while they dance,” Prince Viktor said.

“I’m sorry.” Victoria lifted her gaze to his. “I’m not feeling very well at the moment.”

“Can I help?” the prince asked.

“Only if you can remove my foot from my mouth,” she answered, making him smile. “Alex told me Mo Sart was the composer.”

“The man’s name is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart,” Prince Viktor told her. “Mozart is one word. Trust me, everyone makes mistakes.”

“Some of us make more mistakes than others,” Victoria said, as the music ended.

“You are much too hard on yourself.”

“I would like to freshen up,” Victoria said, unable to face the others. “Please, tell Alex I will be along in a few minutes.”

*    *    *

Victoria retreated to the ladies’ withdrawing room. She needed to compose herself before facing the others, especially women who wanted Alexander for themselves.

Unseen by others, Victoria sat in a dark corner and tried to calm herself. The more she appeared in public, the more mistakes she would make. Alexander would soon regret marrying someone as stupid as she.

All her problems stemmed from her word blindness. If only she could read, she would have known that Mo Sart was Mozart, Napoleon was at Elba, and the apprentice law had been repealed. Her only hope was the Philbin brothers.

“The twit actually called Mozart Mo Sart,” Lydia Stanley said, walking into the withdrawing room with another woman.

“So?” the other woman said. “She didn’t mispronounce it.”

“My God, Sarah, you are almost as stupid as she is,” Lydia Stanley said. “I doubt winning him back will be difficult. Blushing innocence is merely a novelty.”

“There you are, darling,” Aunt Roxie said, marching into the room. “Alexander is looking for you.”

“Lady Victoria, I didn’t see you there,” Lydia Stanley said in surprise.

“Apparently not.” Victoria rose from the chair and started to leave.

Obviously flustered, Lydia kept speaking, “May I present my dear friend Sarah—”

“No, you may not present anyone to me.” Victoria brushed past the two women.

“I love your gown, Lydia,” Aunt Roxie drawled, “but that color makes you look sallow.”

With his arms folded across his chest, Alexander stood a few feet away from the entrance to the withdrawing room. He straightened when he saw her.

Victoria walked toward him. She tried to smile but could not banish the angry embarrassment staining her cheeks.

Alexander had loved Lydia Stanley kept pounding through her mind. And now Lydia Stanley wanted him back in her life, her heart, her bed.

“Anyone unfamiliar with opera could have made that mistake,” Alexander said, taking her hand in his. “You should not—”

“You should marry someone else,” Victoria interrupted, thinking a little pain now would save her a lot of pain later.

“Why should I marry someone else when I want to marry you?” Alexander asked, his voice low and soothing.

Victoria tipped her head toward the withdrawing room. “Lydia Stanley intends to win your heart again. She’s very beautiful and, probably, smart.”

“Lydia and I were finished a long time ago,” Alexander said, cupping her chin with one hand and waiting until she raised her gaze to his. “I want to marry you, Tory.”

“You never wanted to marry me,” Victoria said. “You agreed to the match my aunt proposed.”

Alexander could have kicked himself for saying the words to her. She wouldn’t feel this way if he had kept his mouth shut.

“No one twisted my arm to make me agree to marry you,” Alexander told her.

“I would like to speak with my niece,” the duchess said, approaching them. She gestured with her hand. “Wait over there and give us privacy.”

When Alexander walked out of earshot, Aunt Roxie turned on her. There was no mistaking the displeasure stamped across her features.

“I know more about men than you,” Aunt Roxie told her. “Alex would never be tempted to resume his relationship with Lydia Stanley, and she is a fool to believe otherwise. No man will forgive his woman for betraying him. Now, about your little faux pas. I cannot understand how you carry my blood in your veins.”

“I am hopelessly stupid.”

“It isn’t that, darling,” her aunt drawled. “No matter what you do or say, always stare your adversary out of countenance. Never cut and run, especially into the withdrawing room.”

“Should I have stayed and listened to insults?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, and then returned the favor to whoever insulted you like I did to Lydia on your behalf,” Aunt Roxie answered. “Never allow your emotions to show. Keeping a placid expression in the face of extreme provocation is required for social success.”

“Thank you for your advice,” Victoria said, a smile lifting the corners of her lips. “I shall bring no further disgrace to your reputation.”

“Alex is waiting,” her aunt dismissed her. “Run along.”

“Are you all right?” Alexander asked when she approached him.

“I am fine,” Victoria answered. “Will you walk with me?”

“I cannot think of anyone else with whom I would rather walk.”

Victoria slipped her hand in his. Alexander gave it a little squeeze and led her down the length of the ballroom toward an alcove where they could enjoy privacy but still be seen.

Alexander maneuvered Victoria into standing against the wall. He turned his back on the ballroom, effectively blocking her from view. “You are lovely, Miss Victoria Douglas.” Alexander traced a finger down her silken cheek. “I wish the remaining days until our wedding could sprout wings and fly away so we could be alone all day, every day.”

“Will you tell me about Lydia Stanley?” Victoria asked, and watched his expression become grim. “My aunt has instructed me to keep my expression placid, no matter the provocation. I imagine that unwritten rule applies to gentlemen, too.”

Alexander inclined his head. “Lydia Stanley and I were friends a long time ago. You needn’t concern yourself about her. I am flattered that you care enough to feel threatened but concerned that you do not trust me.”

“I trust you. I was concerned because—” She never finished her thought.

“Alex,” cried a woman behind him.

Alexander and Victoria stared at the brunette. Standing in front of them was Venetia Emerson, Alexander’s sister, who was supposed to be in Australia. A tall, well-built gentleman and a voluptuous, dark-haired beauty stood on either side of her.

Venetia threw herself into her brother’s arms. “I told Harry and Diana you would be attending the Wilmingtons’ ball.”

Victoria peeked at Alexander. He did not appear to be pleased by the sight of his sister.

“Alex, I present my husband, Harry Gibbs,” Venetia said.

The two men shook hands.

“Diana Drummond is Harry’s widowed sister,” Venetia said, gesturing to the dark-haired beauty. “I thought Diana and you would get along.”

Victoria felt nauseated at the sight of the Widow Drummond. The last thing she needed was another woman competing for her fiancé’s attention.

Alexander drew her forward. “You remember Victoria Douglas. Tory and I will be married in two weeks.”

“How wonderful,” Venetia said, but her smile did not reach her eyes.

“Best wishes,” the Widow Drummond said, her voice low and seductive.

In that moment, Victoria compared herself to the widow and came out lacking. The widow was the ultimate sophisticate, beautiful and voluptuous and self-assured. Compared to her, Victoria felt like a child. An illiterate child.

“Harry bought the town mansion only three doors down from Emerson House,” Venetia told him.

“Charles?” Alexander asked.

“Father is dead,” Venetia answered. “To the day he died, Father regretted those last angry words that passed between you.”

“I’ll bet he did.”

Victoria noted the grim set to his jaw. Alexander was disappointed because Charles Emerson knew the secret of his birth and took that secret to his grave.

“Come to dinner tomorrow evening,” Venetia invited him.

“Victoria and I planned to dine together,” Alexander hedged, clearly uncomfortable with the invitation.

“Lady Victoria is welcome to join us.”

Alexander nodded. “We’ll be there at . . . ?”

“Eight.” At that, Venetia looped her arm through her husband’s and walked away with the Widow Drummond in tow.

“How can you dine with a woman who once tried to kill you?” Victoria whispered, watching them walk away.

“Charles Emerson tried to kill me, not Venetia,” Alexander told her.

“Well, Venetia tried to kill my sister Angelica,” Victoria reminded him.

“Are you refusing to accompany me?”

Victoria had no intention of allowing Alexander to dine at the same table as the widow unless she was there. “I will accompany you,” she said, “but I intend to eat before I go lest the witch tries to poison me. I urge you to do the same.”

Alexander laughed and pulled her into his arms. “Victoria Douglas, you are an ‘original.’”

“I thought I was an ‘incomparable.’”

“You are that, too.”

Chapter 7

“Good morning, Tinker.”

“Good morning, Lady Victoria.”

Humming a waltz melody, Victoria crossed the dining room and tossed her bonnet onto the table. At the sideboard, she helped herself to plain black tea and a buttered roll.

“May I say how lovely you look this morning,” Tinker complimented her.

“Thank you.”

Victoria wore a white, high-waisted muslin morning gown adorned with a petal pink ribbon below the bosom and pink embroidered rosettes along the hem. Her shawl and slippers were also petal pink as were the ribbons that fastened her white bonnet.