An Impossible Attraction. Brenda Joyce
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not want to blame anyone, there was one person to blame. She reminded herself that their father was no longer himself. Elizabeth Bolton’s death had crushed him, leaving him with no passion but drink and gaming, and no spirit to challenge that passion. Did it matter? Her sisters deserved more, and maybe something good would come of this night for them. The gentlemen present would have to be blind not to notice them.
Suddenly hoofbeats sounded, as if an army was approaching. It was almost their turn to alight, but Alexandra turned, as did her sisters, the squire and Edgemont. A huge black coach, pulled by six magnificent blacks, red-and-gold crests emblazoned upon its doors, passed them, clearly cutting to the head of the line. As it did so, gravel sprayed their carriage.
Alexandra stared after the magnificently attired footmen, in red-and-gold livery, pale stockings, patent shoes and long, curled white wigs. She felt her tension increase. She reminded herself that when Elizabeth Bolton was alive, she had been to a few high-society fetes. Being nervous was absurd. Would anyone really care about their sudden appearance in society, or that they wore older clothes? But now she worried, and not for herself. She did not want her sisters ridiculed tonight.
The huge coach had halted, though she could not see who had gotten out. But she thought she glimpsed a tall, dark figure striding through the crowd, bypassing the queue and directly entering the house.
Oddly, her heart thundered, and she stared.
“Ah, it’s our turn to alight,” Denney exclaimed. A coachman had opened his door, and he got out.
Her father was about to follow Denney to the curb. He must not ruin this for them, she suddenly thought. And she did not trust him. She settled in her seat and faced her father, resolved. “I prefer that you do not overimbibe tonight.”
His eyes widened in shock. Then, “You cannot talk to me that way, Alexandra.”
She firmed. The one thing she could control, or at least try to control, was her father’s drinking. “There is a flask in your pocket. May I have it?”
He gasped and turned red.
She held out her hand and somehow smiled. “If you want me to marry Squire Denney, it will not help if he sees you stumbling about. And, more importantly, what if Corey and Olivia attract suitors tonight? We are clearly in dire straits, and that means our behavior must be impeccable.”
Grumbling, Edgemont took a tarnished silver flask from his pocket, and then, before handing it over, he took a swig. “Father!” Alexandra reproved.
“You remind me more of your mother every day,” he groused, handing her the flask.
Alexandra uncapped it and poured the contents out the window. Then she exchanged looks with her sisters. “It is our turn.”
Corey was somehow both pale and flushed at once. Alexandra murmured, “You will be fine.” She gave her hand to Denney’s coachman—he did not have liveried footmen, obviously—and stepped down to the ground. Her sisters followed.
Olivia came close and whispered, “What are you thinking? We are not here to attract suitors! How could we possibly do that? Everyone knows we are in dire straits.”
Alexandra smiled at her. “Being here tonight makes me yearn for better circumstances, not for myself, but for you and Corey. Father and mother used to go to balls frequently. You should have had this life, Olivia. So should Corey.”
“We are fine,” Olivia insisted. “And right now, the only task we must concentrate on is getting you out of an unwanted betrothal.”
Alexandra grimaced, glancing ahead of them, but the squire hadn’t heard. “My mind hasn’t changed. I am very pleased that the squire is courting me,” she whispered back.
“Maybe you will find someone else here tonight,” Olivia said. She was never combative, but her will was steel. It had always been that way. She was simply so good-natured that very few knew that fact about her.
“I am nervous,” Corey suddenly said, interrupting them. “Enough so that I have a headache. And those men are staring at us.”
Corey was never nervous, Alexandra thought, and looked past her sister to see three gentlemen standing by the open front doors, where the doormen were ushering other guests inside. The gentlemen were about Alexandra’s age, and they were regarding her and her sisters. One smiled and touched his top hat, his look of admiration focused on her youngest sister.
Alexandra somehow smiled back. “He was smiling at you,” she said to Corey. “And there was nothing bold or improper about it.”
“He was smiling at Olivia,” Corey said quickly. But she blushed.
Alexandra took her arm, reminded of just how young her sister was. Corey might be reckless and willful at home, but she was overcome now, and Alexandra did not blame her. She would not be so anxious if she’d had the kind of life she had been born into, she thought. And while Alexandra’s marriage to the squire would not give her that kind of life, it would be a step upward.
The squire turned, gesturing for them to join him. They hurried to his side, following other guests up the walk. Alexandra had been to Harrington Hall many times, at first with her mother, and on two occasions, after Elizabeth’s passing, with her sisters. Lady Blanche had greeted them warmly, even after their fall from grace, as recently as last year.
The entrance hall was the size of their dining room twice over, and standing just outside the threshold of the ballroom, Alexandra saw their hosts, Lady Blanche and Sir Rex. He had lost his leg in the war and was leaning on a crutch. It didn’t matter. They made a stunning couple as they greeted their guests, for she was pale and pretty, and he was dark and handsome. Sara was with them, a stunning, bejeweled and well-dressed brunette. Alexandra felt a twinge of envy as she studied her, but the envy wasn’t for herself, it was for her sisters.
Then she realized that they were being remarked.
Alexandra started. Lady Lewis was staring hatefully at her—as if she wished her dead. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Lady Lewis was one of her best customers. The other woman turned away when she saw that Alexandra had noticed her, but then she began whispering to two other ladies, and Alexandra knew they were discussing her.
The squire was greeting several gentlemen, and he’d stepped ahead of them. Alexandra turned to her sisters, uneasy and dismayed. “Did you see that?”
Olivia met her stare. “Why would she look at us that way?”
Alexandra took a steadying breath. Now she noticed Lady Henredon across the room—and Lady Bothley, too. What had she been thinking? She sewed for all these women, and it was unacceptable for a servant—or a seamstress—to step out with her betters.
Her stomach churned. She turned—and bumped into Lady Lewis, who had approached.
“Alexandra, what a surprise. I did not recognize you in that dress.”
Unable to manage a smile, she was aware of her sisters stepping close to her, one on either side.
Lady Lewis glanced contemptuously at the three of them. “I don’t recognize any of you, dressed as you are.”
Alexandra’s heart thundered. “That is very unkind.”
Lady Lewis lifted a brow. “It’s not as if I said that I am accustomed to seeing you all in rags—and sewing my gowns.”
Corey choked.
Olivia took Corey’s hand.
Alexandra forced a smile. She wanted to explode, but she needed Lady Lewis’s account, at least for now. “No, you didn’t say any such thing, and I apologize. You would never speak so disgracefully. I am certain of that.”
“My maid will drop off this gown to be cleaned and pressed tomorrow,” Lady Lewis said, then huffed and walked away.
Alexandra trembled.
“What a witch!” Corey cried. “Don’t