The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

It was very strange, she thought, and rather predictable that men always seemed to remember things differently. Alexandra sighed. “I am perfectly willing, but you never give me the chance to reward you, Douglas. You are all over me before I have a chance to do anything, and thus it is I who get all the rewards, and I never buy you anything.”

“That is an interesting way of looking at it. Most women and men would consider you an oddity, that or a woman of immense guile.” He frowned at her, as if uncertain of something, then said, “You still have the thirty pounds?”

“Yes. You mean, to have a constant supply of men I need to adapt myself to their little vagaries?”

“It doesn’t work that way. Men are always in constant supply. Men are excessively easy to attach. Men won’t ever simper or play the tease or make excuses.”

“Come, Douglas, I may not have much experience, but what experience I have convinces me that the goose and gander apply here. The thirty pounds won’t go very far. It wouldn’t do for the mythical men to feel slighted, no matter how eager they are. Perhaps I could purchase several dozen of a single item and give them out as I go along. What do you think?”

“I think you’re pushing me and it isn’t wise. I think you need to be beaten. I think your humor needs silence and reflection. You are being impertinent and I won’t allow it. Be quiet, Alexandra.”

“Perhaps watch fobs,” she said in an idle voice against his shoulder. “And I could have my initials engraved next to theirs on each one. Personalized, you know.”

He said calmly, his voice controlled and cold, “If you provide me quickly with an heir, all the money I have spent on you will have been worth it.”

Oh dear, she thought. She had pushed him and his retaliation was swift and rather brutal.

“If you tell me you don’t mean that, I will be quiet and forget about the watch fobs and the humor.”

“I won’t tell you anything. Now, London is thin of company this time of year. However, there are still adequate amusement

s. The Ranleaghs’ ball is tonight and it will suffice for your debut. You will wear the ball gown you wore at Northcliffe Hall. I have asked Mrs. Goodgame to assist you.”

That evening, just after eleven o’clock, at the Ranleaghs’ magnificent mansion on Carlisle Street, Alexandra came face to face with a woman who obviously knew Douglas well and wanted him still.

She was eavesdropping and she felt only a dollop of guilt. But in matter of fact, she was far more furious than guilty. They were speaking French and she couldn’t understand a bloody word.

The woman was too pretty for her own good, slight, very feminine with her large eyes, in her mid-twenties, Alexandra thought, and her white hand was on Douglas’s sleeve. She was standing very close to him, and leaning even closer, her breath doubtless warm on his cheek, the way Alexandra’s was when she was kissing his face. Her voice was low and vibrant with feeling. Douglas was patting her hand, speaking very quietly, his French as smooth and fluent as could be.

Why had her father insisted she learn Italian? It was worthless. Ah, the woman looked so serious, so intent, so interested in Douglas. Who was she? Had Douglas bought her clothes? Was she offering him a reward?

Douglas turned at that moment and Alexandra pulled back behind a curtain that gave into a small alcove. A couple were there, passionately kissing, and Alexandra blurted out, “Oh, do excuse me!” She fled.

Since she had met nearly fifty people and remembered no one’s name, she was quite alone. She saw Lady Ranleagh but that good lady was in close conversation with a bewigged gentleman who looked very important and somewhat drunk.

Since she had no choice, Alexandra stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching the couples dance a charming minuet. They performed flawlessly; they were all beautiful and rich and sophisticated and she felt like an interloper, a provincial with her gown a half-inch too high. At any moment, they would turn and point at her and yell, “She doesn’t belong here! Get her out!”

“Dare I believe you are a lost lamb in search of an amiable shepherd?”

That was an interesting approach, Alexandra thought as she turned to look at the gentleman who’d spoken it. He was tall, and well built, his linen immaculate, and very fair-haired. He was probably not more than twenty-five years old, but his eyes, a very dark blue, were so filled with unhappy wisdom and weary cynicism that he gave the impression of being older. He was handsome, she’d give him that, and he did indeed look dazzling in his evening wear, but that glint of too much knowledge in his eyes was disconcerting. And now he was offering to be her amiable shepherd?

“I’m not at all lost, sir, but it is kind of you to inquire.”

“You are Melissande’s little sister, aren’t you? One of the ladies pointed you out to me.”

“Yes. You know my sister?”

“Oh yes. She is most charming, a glorious creature. Is it true that she married Tony Parrish, Lord Rathmore?”

Alexandra nodded. “It was love at first sight. They will be coming to London soon.”

“I fancy Teresa Carleton won’t be overpleased to hear who snapped him up. Ah, you don’t know, do you? Tony was engaged to her, then suddenly, the engagement was no more. He didn’t say a word, just left London. Teresa let it about that she didn’t want him for a husband for he was proving to be unfashionably priggish in his notions. Ah, forgive me, my dear. I am Heatherington, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. What this lady said about Tony—if you are acquainted with him, you must know it is a clanker. Tony, priggish? It is too absurd. You know my husband, Douglas Sherbrooke?”

“So that is true as well. All know Sherbrooke, or North, as many of his army friends call him. He is a man not easily dismissed. I shouldn’t like him for an enemy. And no one really believed Teresa. No, Tony is no prig.”

“He is a great deal of fun and he and my sister deal well together. They are much in love.”