Page 18 of Is This Real or Just Pretend?

A few days later, Alex once again submitted to the indignities of courtship by allowing her mother and aunt to offer their opinions on her wardrobe.

The LaSalle salon was that evening and Lucien was downstairs in the parlor with their father.

Alex hadn’t seen him since their walk in Hyde Park and thinking of him waiting for her just a few floors below made her stomach flutter.

Alex usually attended the salon on her own, but tonight she needed a chaperone to help sell the legitimacy of her courtship with Lucien. Unsurprisingly, her aunt had not been very enthusiastic about attending a salon dedicated to innovative business ideas, so Father offered to come instead.

“Honestly, darling,” her mother said gently, “I think the green suits you best. Much better than that brown thing you were considering.”

“Yes, why on earth would you even own a gown in such a color?” Aunt Winifred demanded from her spot on the chaise longue in Mother’s dressing room.

“Because I like it,” Alex grumbled as she tugged on the bodice of her gown. “And at least I could breathe in the brown thing.”

Her mother let out a dismissive tsk and pushed her hands away. “If you’re being this dramatic, I’d say you can breathe perfectly fine. And stop pulling or you’ll tear a stitch and Walters will have to mend that as well.”

From her place on the floor, Walters grimaced. She was busy fixing the spot where Alex had ungracefully stepped on the hem earlier.

“Sorry, Walters.” Her mother’s maid grunted in response. “Could I at least loosen the corset a little?”

Her mother looked appalled by the suggestion. “Whatever for? All you’re going to do is sit in a chair and talk about the stock exchange or whatnot.”

Alex resisted the urge to correct her. “I’d still like to be comfortable.”

“It will ruin the shape,” Aunt Winifred pronounced and her mother nodded gravely.

“I don’t care,” she gritted out.

A perfect figure wouldn’t do her much good when she collapsed in the middle of Mr. LaSalle’s parlor.

Walters let out a long-suffering sigh. “If you insist, Miss Atkinson.”

She might as well have said It’s your funeral.

Half an hour later, Alex headed downstairs in a slightly looser corset. Though she hadn’t noticed any negligible difference in the shape of her gown, Aunt Winifred and her mother acted as if she were now wearing a burlap sack.

They entered the parlor where her father, Lucien, and Freddie were gathered by the hearth. As Alex watched her sister animatedly speak to Lucien while wearing a fashionably cut soft blue gown to great advantage, she was suddenly very glad she hadn’t worn the brown thing .

But it was the smile on Lucien’s face that caused something to tighten in her chest. Something that could not be blamed on her corset. She had allowed herself to forget the very important fact that Lucien was in love with her sister. It was an inexcusable oversight.

“Good evening, all,” her mother trilled as she glided over to the group. “Freddie, I thought you were going to the Egyptian Hall with the Ericsons this evening to see that fortune-teller.”

“Medium. And I am, but I didn’t want to miss Lucien,” she said with a fond glance in his direction and not at all cowed by her mother’s pointed tone. “Mrs. Ericson is simply mad for seances.”

Alex realized she was gripping her hands together and forced them apart before plastering a smile on her face.

“Good evening, Miss Alexandra,” Lucien said as he turned to her with a short bow. For reasons she couldn’t begin to understand, her brain decided that was the ideal moment for the memory of Lucien’s quite naked and well-formed backside to pop into her mind.

It didn’t matter that her corset had been loosened. She still couldn’t breathe. He was wearing the same suit as the night of her mother’s birthday party. Some people would be appalled by this faux pas, but Alex didn’t care. He looked splendid.

“Good evening,” Alex rasped. She couldn’t help standing a little straighter as his gaze skimmed appreciatively over her figure.

“We had better go,” her father said, checking his pocket watch. Then he turned to his wife. “Have a good night, my dear. Where are you ladies off to this evening?”

“The Foxes are having a little soiree. But I have half a mind to accompany Freddie instead,” her mother said with a cross look, to which Freddie simply rolled her eyes.

In Alex’s opinion, her sister had been given far too much freedom as a young girl and their parents had long ago given up on any meaningful attempts to rein in her behavior.

Granted, Freddie hadn’t ever gotten into too much trouble—or at least had the good sense to be discreet about it—but now her years of carefree carousing had begun to catch up to her.

She was largely considered a flibbertigibbet, and if this engagement with Hank Jr. did not come to fruition, there was a chance she could end up on the shelf right beside Alex.

Unless Lucien steps in.

And why wouldn’t he? Especially if Alex made a success of him, which she had every reason to expect he would be. Alex felt her hands tighten again but she forced them to remain by her side as they said their good-byes and exited the parlor.

“You look nice, my dear,” her father said offhandedly as he escorted her down the hall to the carriage.

The compliment took her by surprise. “Thank you.”

She couldn’t remember the last time he said something like that to her.

Most of their conversations revolved around the business or whatever irritating debacle one of her sisters found themselves in.

For the last few years, Phoebe had been the biggest thorn in his side but they had reached an understanding of sorts over the summer and her engagement to a duke certainly helped.

Now it was Freddie causing him the most grief. Though hopefully this little charade would firmly put an end to that.

“Lucien told me he’s staying in Hackney,” her father said conversationally as they exited the house. “We could find him something closer, couldn’t we? The Albany, perhaps?”

Alex nodded. “Yes. I thought the very same.”

“And I said I am perfectly fine where I am,” Lucien chimed in good-naturedly. “Though I do appreciate the offer.”

“Suit yourself,” her father said with a shrug. “But let me know if you change your mind. Ah, here’s Markham.”

Just then, their coachman alighted from the carriage and opened the door.

For a moment, Alex wondered if this was at all awkward for him and Lucien.

Markham had worked under Mr. Taylor until his recent illness and had enjoyed a promotion of sorts at the expense of the man’s health.

Would they have even attempted this charade if Lucien’s father was still head coachman?

Everything would have been decidedly more complicated if that had been the case…

But then Lucien held out his hand and her thoughts scattered.

“Thank you,” she murmured as her palm slid against his. Even through the silk of her glove, she could feel the heat radiating off his skin and instinctively shivered.

Lucien frowned in concern as he helped her into the carriage. “Are you cold?”

Before she could assure him that she was fine, her father climbed in behind them and took the seat beside Alex.

As the carriage rocked into motion, Alex turned toward the window.

Usually she loved the look of Belgravia in the evening, but tonight the street scenes passed by in a blur of gaslight while her father and Lucien made idle conversation beside her.

When they finally turned onto the LaSalles’ street, her hands tightened on her lap and her heart fluttered in her chest.

For God’s sake, she was still nervous. Well, she wouldn’t stand for it.

“Alex.” Her father gave her an encouraging smile as the carriage rocked to a stop. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” she said hastily, then flashed him a brittle smile that didn’t convince either of them.

Then he addressed Lucien. “Ready for the gauntlet?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said with a nervous laugh. Then he looked back at Alex. “Let’s get you inside.”

Her father chuckled and clapped his hands. “That’s the spirit. No sense in dillydallying. Onward!”

They had arrived fashionably late, as her father always preferred to make an entrance, and were led into the drawing room by a towering butler to find the gathering in full swing.

Small groups of people were deep in discussion, some more animated than others, while various gadgets and mock-ups were displayed throughout the space.

There were a few other women in attendance, including Mr. LaSalle’s wife, Marguerite.

She immediately spotted them and approached. “I was hoping you would come this evening, Alexandra. And you brought friends!”

Alex then submitted to Marguerite’s cheek kisses, which she only allowed because the woman was terribly French and she didn’t like to make a scene. “Yes. This is my father, Mr. Atkinson, and Mr. Lucien Taylor. He’s just returned from Paris.”

Marguerite looked delighted and after greeting her father, began speaking to Lucien in French, most of which was spoken so rapidly, Alex could barely keep up.

But Lucien smiled and responded in kind.

Alex had never heard him speak French before, and though she was hardly an expert, to her ears he sounded fluent. It was rather attractive.

“I’ll go speak to LaSalle,” her father murmured by her ear. “You talk Lucien up.”

Alex shot him a bewildered look. “But what am I to do?”

Her father arched a brow. “Stay here and be wooed .” Then he strode across the room, letting out a booming “LaSalle!” as he went.

Alex huffed and returned her attention to Marguerite and Lucien, who were now chattering on like a couple of old friends.

Marguerite let out a laugh and threw back her head of dark blonde hair.

She was considered very fashionable, but Alex had never paid much attention to her clothing, as Marguerite LaSalle was quite brilliant.

Much more so than her celebrated husband, in Alex’s opinion.

She also harbored a suspicion that Marguerite wrote most of her husband’s papers—or at least heavily edited them.

But tonight Alex couldn’t ignore her hostess’s dazzling cornflower blue gown, nor the way it set off her sapphire eyes—eyes which lingered rather long on Lucien.

Though she would never admit it to her mother, once again Alex was relieved that she hadn’t worn the brown thing, otherwise she would have faded into the wallpaper. Now at least she stood a chance of competing with the furniture.

Marguerite managed to tear her gaze away from Lucien long enough to address Alex. “I’m so glad you brought your friend ,” she said, putting a peculiar emphasis on the word.

“Yes,” Alex replied. “We have been spending a good deal of time together since his return.”

Marguerite raised a knowing eyebrow and looked between them. “Have you? Well, that is wonderful to hear,” she said with a genuine smile before turning back to Lucien. “I’ve long wondered what man would be smart enough to pursue our Alexandra.”

Alex’s cheeks heated, though perhaps she should not be so surprised at Marguerite’s bold comment.

But Lucien appeared nonplussed and merely smiled. “I can only hope I’m smart enough to keep her.”

Marguerite grinned. “Oh, I do like him,” she murmured to Alex and patted her arm before moving on to make the rounds.

I can only hope I’m smart enough to keep her.

It was just a line, but a dashed good one.

Alex cleared her throat. Her cheeks must be crimson by now. “The entire room will know before the evening is over.”

And soon the rest of London.

“It’s that easy?”

She glanced up at Lucien. He was scanning the room so she let her gaze wander over his profile. “You saw Mrs. LaSalle’s reaction.”

Lucien turned to her. “She seemed happy for you.”

“And also surprised,” Alex added. “No doubt Mildred Henderson thought the very same. ‘Alexandra Atkinson has finally found a man willing to put up with her,’” she said, imitating the voice of a nosy matron. “It will be the story of the season.”

But Lucien only stared at her for a moment, his expression grave. “Is that how you see yourself?”

Her jaw tightened at the softness that had crept into his voice. The last thing she wanted was his pity. She turned away before his eyes could turn limpid. “Come,” she said briskly. “Let’s look at the displays.”

“As you wish.”