Chapter Two

      London—spring 1889

      Alex glanced over her shoulder as she tiptoed down the stairs of Waverton House. She held her hat and gloves, hoping she could stuff them behind a potted palm or one of the statues glaring down from their niches, if someone should see her. The enormous house was quiet—for the moment.

      Her mother, the Duchess, was napping, her father was locked with his business managers in the library and her brother, Charles, was who knew where. He always left right after breakfast and returned in the dead of night, the lucky boy. Even the maids were quiet, their morning duties in the drawing room and music room finished and their evening tasks not yet begun.

      Charlie could escape, but Alex was always there, practising at the piano, waiting for callers, having fittings, listening to her mother list eligible suitors. None of them was department-store owners, no matter how rich, of course. She was being slowly smothered by it all, by the velvet curtains puddling on the Aubusson rugs, the silk walls, the portraits of all the Wavertons alive and dead staring down at her.

      Having a Season was even more exhausting than she had feared—and more lonely. She was surrounded by people almost all the time, but she hardly ever saw her old friends from Miss Grantley’s. That was why she was creeping down the stairs now.

      Luckily, just as she was sure she would start screaming with it all, Emily’s note had arrived, asking her to meet them for a Blues and Royals concert in Hyde Park. She hadn’t seen Diana and Em except for balls and dinners, where they could only snatch a few whispers, in weeks. Surely a day with them, laughing in the fresh air, with no one around who knew or cared she was the Duke of Waverton’s daughter, was just the respite she needed.

      Unfortunately, just as she was almost to the bottom of the stairs and nearly free, the library door opened and her father and his business managers emerged. It was far too late to flee back up the stairs. She followed her original plan of shoving her hat behind a vase of ivy and ostrich feathers and tried to look casual.

      She peeked down over the carved and gilded balustrade at her father. The Duke was as tall and grandly moustachioed as always, a formidable presence she had always been frightened of, especially after Scotland. But in that moment, when he thought himself alone, he seemed rather grey-faced and distracted. As the businessmen shuffled out, a blur of black suits, silvery pomaded hair and leather valises, the Duke glanced up and saw Alex there. He smiled wearily, no curiosity or scolding glint in his eyes, and she was glad it was him and not Mama who had seen her. He wouldn’t notice she was wearing her new blue walking suit for a supposed afternoon at home.

      ‘Hullo, my Flower,’ he said. He used her old nickname, one he hadn’t said much since she came back from school, but still he looked tired. Distant. ‘What are you up to today?’

      Alex thought fast. ‘Just fetching my workbox from the morning room.’ She paused, studying her father’s strained expression. Had he heard she had sent money to her charities again and was unhappy about it? Her parents approved of benevolence on the part of a lady, but only to a point. A point not nearly far enough for her. Or maybe it really was business. Charlie had mentioned their father was thinking of selling his Scottish shooting box. ‘Is everything quite all right?’

      ‘Oh, yes, yes, just talking to my silly estate managers, nothing for you to think about.’ He stepped closer to the staircase, reaching up to pat her hand where it rested on the balustrade. ‘Tell me, Flower, how would you like to visit Paris?’

      Alex felt a small leap of excitement in her stomach and smiled. ‘For the Exhibition? Oh, I should love it! Everyone has been talking about nothing else lately. All that beautiful art…’

      ‘Perhaps there will be a bit of art, of course, but mostly it would be an official visit. We have been asked by the Prince of Wales himself to be part of his visit to the city. And to loan the Eastern Star for an exhibition in the Indian Pavilion.’

      Alex glanced at her mother’s portrait at the head of the stairs, the Duchess in her blue-and-white satin Worth gown, the Eastern Star sapphire in her upswept hair. It was her mother’s favourite jewel, a famous piece the Duke’s father had brought back from India, bought from a maharajah under mysterious circumstances. ‘Have you talked to Mama about that?’ she asked doubtfully.

      ‘Not yet. It was just presented to me as an idea. And I think it is quite a fine one, as I’m sure will your mother.’ He patted her hand again, staring up at her intently. ‘There are so many people flocking to Paris right now. It could be a marvellous opportunity for you, Flower.’

      Alex felt suddenly cold and wanted to snatch back her hand. ‘Opportunity?’

      ‘Yes. So many royal personages are there right now. You are so pretty, Alexandra, you would grace any royal court in the world. It would be a good connection for our family, could see you secure for your life.’

      ‘I—I’m not sure I want to leave England, Papa.’

      ‘And I would miss you! But with so many railroads these days, a visit to any corner of Europe would take no time at all.’ His hand tightened on hers. ‘We are Wavertons, you know, my dear. Our first duty is always what is best for the family.’

      Alex knew that. She had always known that, ever since she was in leading strings. It had been hammered into her when she’d been separated from Malcolm. The Mannerlys had been in England since the eleven hundreds, had been dukes for centuries. Every generation had to make the family name stronger, bring it glory. It was their purpose. ‘Of course.’

      ‘You are a good daughter, Alexandra. We only want the best, the very best, for you. Royal connections…’

      ‘Do we not have royal connections? The Princess…’

      ‘Your godmother has always been kind and her help will be invaluable to obtain the right introductions in Paris. I only want to ask you to make the very most of them. Seeing you well settled, and soon, would be the greatest comfort to your mother and me.’

      Something in his voice, some edge of sharp desperation she had never heard there before, alarmed her. ‘Papa, is something amiss?’

      His smile widened, but it did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Certainly not! I just wanted to tell you about Paris, Flower. It will be a splendid time.’ He patted her hand once more and retreated back into his library, closing the door behind him.

      Alex grabbed her hat and dashed down the stairs, unsettled by what had just happened, though she couldn’t say why she would feel that way. It had been just a quick conversation with her father, him telling her what she had always known—she had to make a fine marriage. But it didn’t feel like that was all it was.

      She paused for just an instant in front of a silver-framed mirror to pin on her hat. She made a face at herself in the glass. Surely if she was not a duke’s daughter, there would be no hope of her landing a prince and she wouldn’t have to worry! She was small, too slender to look quite right in fashionable gowns, and pale, with large eyes in a pointed face and blonde curls that wouldn’t stay in their pins. Not like Emily with her thick chestnut hair to her waist, or Diana and her auburn waves. With a sigh, she stabbed in her hat pins, drew the small net veil over her forehead and spun away from the glass.

      Before anyone could stop her,