Page 8 of Lyon’s Obsession (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #91)
Although Alexander wished to ask if Mr. Hartley meant to court Theodora, he knew he held no right to inquire of their relationship, for he was not yet ready to speak a proposal to Dora or to any woman.
Matters of a personal nature, along with his work for the Crown, took precedence.
Times were too turbulent to speak words of “forever” to another, nor could he think of claiming a wife and begetting children when he was still learning how to survive in a world in which he had not been born.
“For now, have we learned anything new about the Marquis of Honfleur?”
“Not much,” Duncan said in quiet tones. “We’ve men verifying his legitimacy, but haven’t heard back from those in France. Honfleur’s supposed marquessate is quite removed from France’s more populous areas, as the port of Honfleur has not seen popularity since the rise of Le Havre.”
Alexander nodded slightly in understanding. “So, we are blind in this matter?”
“Been blind more than once,” Duncan remarked.
“And the young woman at his side?” Alexander asked. For some yet to be explained reason, though he was relatively confident the woman was Honfleur’s niece, he prayed the lady was not Honfleur’s wife. Such would be a true shame. They had nothing that said Honfleur was married, but…
“Honfleur’s niece,” Duncan explained. “I am surprised his daughter is not upon his arm. From what we know, the man rarely travels anywhere without his daughter.”
“Daughter?” Alexander asked. “The other one in the reports from our people in France. The female with the dark hair.”
“The daughter’s name be ‘Caroline,’” Duncan explained. “No one knows anything of the marquis’s wife, not even if the daughter actually belongs to him, but she is customarily at her father’s side. Other than from a distance, no one has seen much of the niece.”
“More well trained than the daughter or less? From what you shared previously, the daughter’s ‘studies’ have been unconventional,” Alexander suggested. “Has the marquis included the niece in these accomplishments?”
“I imagine we will soon discover for ourselves, for the young lady has stepped away from the marquis’s side.”
Alexander glanced to where the woman made her way through the crush of guests gathered in Lady Godfrey’s ballroom. Behind him, musicians tuned their instruments. “Let us see if I cannot detain the lady from whatever is her mission this evening. You keep an eye on Honfleur.”
“Theodora?” Duncan asked in warning of his daughter’s reaction.
“Inform Dora this is strictly business,” Alexander said with a knowing grin.
“If you play with Dora’s heart, you’ll have me to answer to.”
Alexander’s smile widened. “I have never been known to possess sensibilities.”
“Aye, you’ve not. I’ll watch Honfleur. See what the French lass be about,” Duncan assured.
Alexander nodded and moved away, circling in the opposite direction of the young woman, who moved stealthily through the throng.
She periodically turned away to study a sculpture or a painting so others would pass her by, meaning she had been instructed not to draw too much attention, although her costume was most provocative and, most assuredly, garnered notice.
Yet, not all were put off by her guise, for, out of the corner of his eye, Alexander noted how Lord Bacggart was quickly making his way towards the woman.
Even so, Alexander did not increase his speed, but he did adjust his course in order to reach the woman before the viscount.
“So you mean to embarrass me further by asking that woman for the opening set,” Theodora accused when she stepped before him, blocking his progress. Alexander had not seen her leave Hartley’s side.
“I do not recall requesting your hand for the first set, Lady Theodora,” he responded in clipped tones.
Alexander adored the woman, but he knew she could create quite the scene if provoked too far, and, at the moment, he did not wish others to know his business.
He was determined to converse with Honfleur’s niece without the marquis’s interference.
“We have not spoken since the evening in your father’s garden, Dora,” he said in calming tones.
“You expressed yourself quite clearly then.”
Theodora blushed and her chin dropped in embarrassment. “We always—”
Alexander squeezed the back of her hand to cut short her protest. “This is not personal, Dora. Now, do not engender gossip with your actions. We will both regret what has transpired, if such is so.”
He knew she wished to protest, for Scottish girls were, generally, not the type to bend easily to a man’s will, but after an elongated pause, she said, “Fine,” in that particular tone, which any man who dared to woo a hot-tempered lass, knew meant, “I hope to see you rot in Hell’s fire, and, when such occurs, do not dare to beg me for a glass of water.
” With a curtsey which reeked of defiance, she walked away.
Theodora crossed the room with as much dignity as she could muster. She noted her father’s worried look, and so she had made herself offer him a small smile, but her heart knew nothing but deep sorrow. She had made a final stand to reclaim Alexander’s attentions, and she had failed miserably.
She purposely did not return to her father’s side, for she did not wish to make an explanation to any of her party. Therefore, she made her way to the withdrawing room to pretend to repair the hem of her gown, when, in reality, the gown was not what required a repair. Her heart was in tatters.
Emma started in Theodora’s direction, but Dora waved off her friend’s efforts. Dora did not wish to explain herself to anyone. She simply required what any animal on this earth required when it had been beaten down—a few minutes to address its wounds.
However, the lady’s withdrawing room was not completely empty. One of Lady Godfrey’s maids paced forth and back. It was common for a maid or two to be sitting quietly in the corner of the women’s withdrawing room. They were meant to assist Lady Godfrey’s guests, if called upon to do so.
Yet, such was not what Dora encountered.
“Oh, ma’am, you are here,” the maid said nervously. “I did what the woman say. The note be on the small table. See. Did as I was told to do. Now, I must return to me duties or Lady Godfrey be angry.”
With that, the maid was gone before Theodora could explain that she was not the one for whom the note was intended. At first, she thought about leaving without looking at it. “Likely an arrangement for a lover’s tryst,” she mumbled as she caught the note in her fingers.
Fearing someone would come in and see her with the note, Dora sought privacy behind a screen where a chamber pot was available, but she did not use it. Instead, she broke the dab of wax on the folded-over paper to read its contents. “Oh my. Not the type of liaison I had anticipated.”
She tucked the note inside the fold of draped material across her shoulder, crossed to the wash basin to splash water upon her face to wash away the traces of her tears, and prepared to rejoin the masque.
As she exited the withdrawing room with a new sense of urgency, she thought, “ Alexander thinks to learn of Honfleur’s plans from the pretty redhead, when all that was required was to send me to the withdrawing room. I am more successful as an agent for the Crown than is he. ”
Alexander watched Theodora’s exit for a few brief seconds.
Dora was fiercely loyal to those she affected, and, if he dared to admit them, which he would not, he held tender feelings for the lass, but there were times he wished for something different for his future.
In truth, he thought he could never be satisfied without members of his own family surrounding him with their love.
With a sigh of resignation, he turned his attention again to the mystery woman.
Bacggart had reached her side and was bowing before her.
Alexander doubted Bacggart would claim the woman’s hand, even if she would be expected to sit out the remaining sets after her refusal: If she truly was Honfleur’s niece, she had not made an appearance this evening in hopes of gaining a suitor.
As he neared the pair, he heard Bacggart say, “Would you honor me with this set, my lady?”
Before she could respond, Alexander stepped between them to say, “I apologize, my dear. I was momentarily detained, and it grieves me that it was necessary for you to search me out in the room. I should have been more prompt in reaching your side. Are you prepared for our dance?”
Her eyes widened in obvious alarm. She glanced to where Honfleur held court and then to him and Bacggart.
“I meant to seek some air, my lord,” she said softly, in better English than he had expected from a “French” girl.
Perhaps Bacggart did not recognize the fear lacing her words, but Alexander did, and he suddenly felt a sense of protectiveness towards her.
“If it pleases you, we might walk the room instead, Miss Moreau, or we might step out onto the balcony. Naturally, just outside the door where you may still be viewed by your uncle.”
She swallowed hard before responding, “I believe my uncle would prefer I did not retreat to the balcony.”
Alexander presented the woman his best smile.
“If you insist.” He offered her his arm and nodded a farewell to Bacggart.
He recognized the viscount’s dismay, but in the pecking order that was London’s society, Alexander’s earldom held the advantage of history and of wealth and of importance in the peerage.
Although her hand barely touched the cloth of his sleeve, Alexander noted a certain “comfort” in having the young woman at his side.
It was something he had never considered with anyone previously, and the idea would necessitate more attention once he was alone.
For now, he would be required to concentrate on learning all he could of the woman and her uncle.
They walked in silence for perhaps a quarter of the room before she said, “I do not recall your requesting a dance, my lord.” Again, his awareness was on alert, for a slight quiver in her voice announced her nervousness.
She was most assuredly not the polished “agent” her uncle appeared to be.
Perhaps Alexander could use such information to learn more of Honfleur’s purpose in England.
“I would never permit a lady to suffer thirty minutes of Lord Bacggart stepping upon her toes. I meant to be your gallant.”
“Do you not think I am capable of refusing Lord Bacggart without your interference, my lord?”
He grinned purposely. “Here I thought myself providing a service to a stranger to our fair land.” He faked a blow to his heart.
“Do not be foolish, my lord,” she chastised, although the slight blush coloring her cheeks said she was more embarrassed than angry.
“I assure you, Miss Moreau, I am never foolish. I am always honest. It was my intention to claim your acquaintance, but Lord Bacggart managed to reach you first. A grand gesture was required,” he declared.
She had, at length, found her courage. “You made no effort to greet my uncle or me upon our entrance, and you were detained by the beautiful lady in the white and green Grecian dress.”
Alexander did not look away from the woman at his side.
The fact she had noted his companions spoke volumes.
Whoever she was, she had been trained in observation, and, he suspected, in other forms of engagements.
“The lady is the daughter of my nearest neighbor. Her father’s estate and mine march along together.
We have known each other since we were quite young.
In fact, Lord Duncan served as one of my guardians when I became Marksman.
Served me well until I reached my majority. ”
“Does Lord Duncan no longer provide sage advice?” she asked, apparently momentarily forgetting the “chess match” they played.
“Duncan remains as steadfast as ever,” he confided. It was not like him to discuss his relationship with the Scot beyond the long-forgotten guardianship, but, for a reason he could not explain, Alexander wished her to know more of him and for him to learn more of her.
The first notes of the music sounded, interrupting the moment. “Do we dance or not, Miss Moreau?” he asked with a lift of eyebrows.
She glanced at where Honfleur kept company with several gentlemen. Whether she was aware or not, Alexander knew the men to be those of a more “radical” nature than was he. “My uncle will not approve,” she said in tones which again relayed a certain underlying “fear.”
Her reaction had Alexander suddenly feeling very protective of her. “I would not wish you to know censure on my account, Miss Moreau. I would gladly return you to your uncle’s side, if such is your wish.”
She shook off his offer. “I am not likely to know peace whether I choose to dance or not,” she announced.
“In truth, I have always dreamed of dancing in an English ballroom. When I was young, my mother would spin me around and around and hum some of her favorite songs as we danced about each other.”
“I had a mother who did something very similar,” he said with an easy smile, for that particular memory was one of his favorites of Madelyn Smithfield Dutton. He extended his hand to the young woman. “One dance in honor of our mothers.”
She placed her hand in his, and, instantly, another shock of awareness skittered up Alexander’s arm. It was only through a force of will he did not jerk his hand away. Then he looked into the lady’s eyes and read the same reaction in hers.
“What the devil?” he hissed.