"And I assure you, Lady Alexandra, I have seen none of these flaws that you speak of. Surely, they do not exist."
Alex laughed. "My family — particularly my brothers — would disagree with you on that point, Baron." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "No matter what you say, you are a welcome addition to our little world — mine especially."
"I shall happily defend you to your brothers, Lady Alexandra. Being a brother myself, I am sure I speak their language well. There are four, are there not?"
Alex shook her head with a quick laugh. "Thankfully, no. I've only three brothers — three too many, it seems some days."
"Of course... I do not know why I thought there were four."
"You are not alone. It sometimes feels that way. Lord Blackmoor and they are thick as thieves, which explains his constant presence and the confusion about the number of Stafford siblings."
The baron stilled, looking at Alex quizzically. "Lord Blackmoor, you say — friends with your brothers?"
"That is correct."
"Ah, that is interesting."
"Is it? After seventeen years of their combined company, good sir, I'm afraid I find it rather more tiresome than interesting."
He chuckled good-naturedly at her response and continued, more seriously, "If I may, how is the new, young earl faring with the loss of his father?"
It was a common enough question, one that Alex had heard a number of times. She answered without thinking,
"Well enough, I think. He does not speak of it much, and he seems to have — matured — if that makes sense. Our families have always been very close and I was well aware of how important his relationship with his father was to Lord Blackmoor." Alex's voice had softened and her gaze, of its own accord, had moved to Gavin up on the knoll, smiling at something Kit was saying. She couldn't help thinking that even his smile was subdued in comparison to that of a year ago. "I am filled with sorrow for the pain he must feel."
She trailed off, realizing that Ella and Vivi were both looking at her with surprised expressions. She was sharing too much with this little-known companion — too much about Blackmoor, but more importantly, too much of her own emotions. Young English ladies were not supposed to have such opinions and thoughts. They were not supposed to speak so freely. Looking at the Frenchman, Alex couldn't help but notice his obvious discomfort with the situation — he was looking slightly desperate to escape.
With an inner sigh, Alex changed tack, a wry smile on her face. "I fear, my lord, you are too easy to speak with. I should not share so much of my thinking. I must be boring you."
"Not at all, my lady." The Frenchman looked distractedly into the distance, lost in thought. "The elder earl was a fine man — a great hero. I'm sorry to hear of his loss."
"You are not alone. He was much revered by those who knew him well."
"May I ask...?" The question hung in the air between them, the normaly poised baron seeming uncertain of the proper etiquette in this particular situation.
Alex took pity on him and did not wait for him to finish his query. She knew what he was asking. With a tiny nod, she spoke. "It was an accident — the earl was thrown from his horse at the Blackmoor estate. He fell to his death." Without thinking, she continued, "One almost cannot believe that it was an accident." She waved a hand in dismissal at his surprised look. "It's silly, of course. The earl had few, if any, enemies."
Alex couldn't help but notice that the old man had gone white as a sheet. "Baron, are you all right?" She looked back with alarm toward Vivi and Ella.
"I am quite well, yes, my lady. Unfortunately, the hour grows late, and I must regretfully take my leave." Bowing low to the trio of girls, he made quick work of his farewell and hurried off, as though he couldn't get away fast enough.
His abrupt decision to depart underscored his obvious discomfort with Alex's frank conversation. She watched his speedy exit across the greensward, feeling slightly sorry for herself and, with a sigh, turned back toward the little group on the hill.
Hearing Penelope's giggles and the boys' laughter, she had a sudden desire to be far away from there, far away from that place that required so much effort, so much thought. She found herself exhausted by the entire charade of this first week in society. She had always known it would be a struggle to be the perfect company — to say all the proper things without appearing too opinionated, too frank, too much herself — but now, watching her friends and her brothers laugh and joke together, all so seamlessly integrated into their roles as members of London society, she couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with her.
She watched as Blackmoor leaned in to say something just out of earshot to Penelope, and felt a flash of irritation as she responded with a well-practiced demure smile and shy dip of her head. Ugh. Yes. Alex had definitely had enough of society for today.
She caught Stanhope's eye and, gallant as ever, he stood and moved toward her. "Are you unwell, Lady Alexandra?"
She couldn't stop herself from looking past his broad shoulders, from meeting Blackmoor's unreadable gaze as he looked up from his cards, distracted for a moment. A warning flashed ever so briefly in his grey eyes — gone so quickly that Alex might have imagined it.
She ignored it anyway and replied, "Not at all, my lord. Just a slight headache. I think I shall return home, and by tonight, I should be right as rain. Would you mind very much escorting me to Worthington House? I wouldn't like to ruin the afternoon for everyone else."
ten
Fear was foul company. Especially at night.
He prowled his darkened apartments, playing his actions over and over in his mind, desperately attempting to find some misstep that, when rectified, would bring him closer to the answers for which he was searching. He had to find out what the new earl knew.
His lip curled in an unconscious sneer as he paced the floor. He now knew from multiple sources that the young pup remained unconvinced that his father's death was an accident, and that Blackmoor continued to search for evidence of foul play. He was unconcerned about information that the boy might find in the public record about that cold January day. It was easy enough, after all, to bribe a local constable or two. Instead, he worried that young Blackmoor's search would turn up information uncovered by the former earl... information that would reveal his part in the villainy. Information that would indict him not simply for murder — but for treason as well.
Turning to a looking glass, he stared at his reflection, noting the paleness of his skin, the sunken state of his eyes. It had been an eternity since he had slept through the night, unplagued by the demons that haunted him in the darkness. He had been able to take a small pleasure in Blackmoor's death... but now, as this suffocating blackness surrounded him, he found little comfort. He was becoming consumed by fear from all sides —fear of the powerful men to whom he answered, who were losing their patience with each passing day, who would soon be unwilling to hear his excuses and would take their revenge by any means necessary... including blood.
He swore fiercely and, with force borne of frustration, lifted a candelabra from a nearby table and hurled it at his reflection, embracing the sound of shattering glass — enjoying the way he looked in the fractured mirror. He saw himself repeated in each shard and, for the first time in months, felt as though he were not alone.
Events beyond his control were taking place across the Continent. Napoleon was pressing north and war was again imminent. Time was running out. If he didn't find answers for his powerful partners, he would lose everything for which he had worked. He was left with little choice — not that he was saddened by what he knew he must do next. He could not let another Earl of Blackmoor ruin his well-laid plans. No, he must prevent that at all costs, by any means necessary. If the young earl knew anything, he would soon share it... or pay the price.