Historical Romance Boxed Set (6 page)

Alexandra nodded, but her answer didn’t stop Sonya from offering her own advice on the matter.

“I’ve seen ‘ow they carry on.” The maid fixed a small lace cap onto Alexandra’s head, one with long streamers of ribbon that fell over her shoulders down to her feet. “As ye know, the best show women are French. Monique meets with the finest clients. She glides when she walks and smiles sweetly. Of course, she curtseys upon enterin’ the room… but not such a ‘umble curtsey,” she corrected when Alexandra attempted the same. “Now, ‘old still while I pin yer ‘air. Let’s see. She laces ‘er talk with ‘m’lady’ this and that, an’ speaks nothin’ but flatterin’ words, lies mostly, but they all seem to like ‘er. At any rate, she’s the golden calf around ‘ere, an’ even sups with Mr. Calvert in the evenin’.” Sonya drove the last hairpin into place, muttering, “That’s the best I can do. I’m no ladies’ maid, any more than ye’re a real show woman.”

“It’s fine. How do I look?” Alexandra turned on her toes so Sonya could view her from all sides.

“Beautiful. I wouldn’t ‘ave guessed it would be so easy, but ye look as good as any show woman I’ve ever seen, if ye are a mite underfed. Just remember, work quickly and don’t say anythin’ unless ye ‘ave to.”

Alexandra nodded again. Physically she stood ready for the charade, but her insides quaked. “Give me a moment to prepare my mind,” she pleaded when Sonya hurried her to the door.

“That would only make it ‘arder for ye. Come on”—she motioned—”I’m sure Lady Anne is not used to waitin’.”

When Sonya ushered her into the vast rectangular drawing room where Mr. Calvert sat with his guest, Alexandra couldn’t stop herself from staring. The furnishings were luxurious. Despite her nerves and her self-consciousness, she admired all she saw. Large gilded mirrors alternated with panels of richly textured green wallpaper; and a thick burgundy, green, and beige rug stretched across the floor. Three elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their cut glass twinkling overhead, and heavy, burgundy-colored draperies with gold tassels encased the windows.

Alexandra’s heels tapped on the shiny wood floor, then sank into the deep pile of the rug as she walked toward the far wall, where a fire burned brightly and two women sat opposite Mr. Calvert. Engrossed in conversation as they sipped tea, they did not bother to look up until Mr. Calvert’s eyes darted in her direction.

“My lady, let me introduce Miss Alexandra,” he said, finally drawing their attention to her. “She is our new show woman and will mend your gown so you can be on your way. You must be eager to reach your mother. Scotland is so far, after all.”

Alexandra’s stomach fluttered, and she wished she had eaten. Nourishment of some kind might have steadied her nerves.

Stopping several feet in front of the small group, she curtseyed as the women glanced at her before continuing their conversation with Mr. Calvert.

“Yes, poor Mother has been ill over a year and does not seem to improve,” Lady Anne complained while Alexandra studied her face. She was a beautiful woman, with coloring not much different than Alexandra’s own. Blond hair, coiled into two buns dripping with ringlets above each ear, framed an oval face that held wide green eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, and an upturned nose. The maid was rather plain and looked at least ten years older, closer to thirty than twenty.

“I’m sorry to hear such distressing news,” Calvert said. “Alexandra will be quick about her work then. She’s an excellent seamstress. We just brought her from Londontown where she apprenticed at Lady Sutherby’s.” He turned his small eyes upon Alexandra, looking as if he believed his own mistruth.

The falsity of Calvert’s words made Alexandra want to duck her head, but she quickly realized that such poor acting on her part would surely give them away. With an effort, she forced her shoulders back and her head up.

Lady Anne’s brow rose slightly as she turned to Alexandra.

Calvert nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you ladies to your business.” Though the words poured easily from his mouth, Alexandra understood the pointed smile that rested on his face.
Do it now and make it fast,
he urged.

Alexandra was grateful that her speech, at least, indicated her own good breeding. “It shouldn’t take but a few moments,” she promised.

Calvert gave Lady Anne and her maid a sweeping bow before leaving the room, then Alexandra eyed the torn gown with a discerning eye. An elegant day dress made of blue barege, it had a high, plain body that buttoned up the front to the throat. Full bishop sleeves ended in a deep cuff at the wrist, and the skirt had several flounces, each bordered with quilled ribbons.

“My lady, if you will stand before the mirror, I’ll have a look at the problem,” Alexandra said.

“The tear is here.” Lady Anne indicated a spot that looked as though she’d caught her skirt on a nail or some such. “I was tempted to wait until I reached my mother’s, but this gown was a gift from her. I’m afraid if I don’t have it fixed right away, the damage will become irreparable.”

“I see.” Alexandra bent to examine the offending flounce. “This shouldn’t be too difficult to mend. When I’m finished you won’t even know it was there.”

After helping the duke’s daughter to remove her dress, Alexandra carried it from the room in search of a needle. She did not yet know where she was to find the color of thread she needed, but with twenty seamstresses staying under the same roof, sewing supplies could not be far off.

“How is everything?” Calvert asked. He had been hovering near the portal and nearly pounced on her when she emerged.

“So far, all is well. I need some blue thread and a needle, however, and I have no idea where to find them.”

“I’ll show ye.” Sonya appeared from nowhere, it seemed, and led her upstairs to a large, well-equipped room.

Alexandra found thread in a rainbow of colors and chose the one that best matched Lady Anne’s dress. Then the doorbell sounded, and Sonya left to answer it.

It took only a few minutes for Alexandra to stitch the tear. But when she left the sewing room and reached the landing, she stopped short. Her stepfather’s voice echoed through the hall below; Willy wasn’t more than ten feet away.

Panic raised the hair on Alexandra’s arms. She had a good inkling what Willy would do if he found her here and learned she had already collected some of the money for the skirts. She had experienced such retribution before.

Sonya told him Mr. Calvert would be with him shortly and ushered him into a room straight off the bottom of the stair as Alexandra’s thoughts flew in a thousand different directions. In a matter of minutes—as soon as Calvert saw her stepfather—Willy would learn the truth. She had to hide!

No, she had to escape! If Willy caught her now, she’d never make the train. Worse, she’d probably be unable to leave the house for several days. She’d miss Aunt Pauline for sure, and lose the opportunity to be free of her stepfather.

Feeling the weight of the money already in her pouch, Alexandra hesitated a mere fraction of a second before racing back the way she had come. She quickly donned Lady Anne’s dress, praying that Willy would never recognize her so elegantly garbed, and snatched a bonnet of blue satin and dangling black lace from the workbench of some unknown milliner.

Ducking her head so the lace that cascaded down her back would fall about her face, she crept to the top of the stairs. Calvert was nowhere to be seen, but Willy hovered near the entrance to the room where Sonya had asked him to wait.

How could he have such terrible timing? Alexandra wondered, writhing in the misery of her own bad luck. She had been so close!

Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands as she started down the stairs. It was now or never. She had to escape before Calvert appeared.

Willy glanced up, his attention drawn by the swish of her skirts. His gaze passed over Alexandra like a cold breeze, but she steeled her nerves against it. Keeping her chin tucked resolutely into her chest, she allowed him a clear view only of the black tulle of her cap.

He cleared his throat as Alexandra brushed past, so close she could have reached out and touched him. The fear that seized her at that moment nearly caused her to collapse in a puddle at his feet. She knew he probably expected her to glance up, but she kept her face averted, forcing one foot to step in front of the other as she moved purposefully toward the front door.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor behind her alerted Alexandra to Calvert’s approach. His voice confirmed his identity when he called out in confusion.

“My lady! Where are you going? Pray, give me a moment to bid you farewell.”

Alexandra didn’t so much as pause. The front door was now only a few feet away and she fled through it, nearly tripping on the hem of Lady Anne’s gown as she ran down the porch steps.

The footmen waiting with the Kimbolten coach out front jumped to attention. One even moved to open the door before realizing Alexandra was not his mistress.

But before he could speak, five gruff-looking men dressed in sailor’s garb rushed the liveried servants, seeming to come from nowhere, as if the shrubs in the yard had suddenly grown arms and legs.

The footmen were knocked senseless with a few bone-crunching blows, and the next thing Alexandra knew, someone was forcing a bag over her head.

She tried to scream, but managed only a squeak unworthy of a mouse as a strong hand coiled around her neck, nearly cutting off her air. Flailing in panic, she began, despite her heavy skirts, to kick at everything and anything she could reach. She hit what felt like a sturdy shin here, perhaps a knee there, but the recipient of her blows seemed impervious. He—Alexandra could tell it was most definitely a he—didn’t so much as grunt or stumble, only pulled her hard against a solid chest.

“Tie her up and make it quick,” he muttered, letting go of her neck.

Once the bag was in place, he crushed her face into the hollow beneath his shoulder. Alexandra caught the scent of leather, horses, and soap through the cloth. Then she heard a strange whimper rise in her own throat as her hands were twisted painfully behind her back and bound with a thick, tarry rope.

“And her feet?”

“Not now.”

Whoever held her hefted her easily over a broad shoulder. Then a deep, resonant voice, dripping with resentment, whispered, “Hello, dear sister. So we meet at last.”

Chapter 3

Alexandra struggled against the hands that held her fast, but there was little she could do as she landed hard on the floor of Lady Anne’s carriage. Her assailants climbed in around her. She could hear their urgent whispers, feel them jostle about. Then a voice said, “Let’s go,” and the conveyance lurched into motion.

The blackness inside the bag sparked Alexandra’s memory of the trunk incident with Willy, causing the same panic to return. Once again caught in a tight, dark place, she writhed in misery. “Help! Let me out,” she wailed.

“What’s wrong with her?” someone asked. “She’s frantic.”

“Nothing. She’s been pampered and petted all of her life. That’s all. She’ll be fine,” responded the same man who had spoken to her before, calling her “sister.”

Alexandra desperately wanted to believe the words spoken by that bitter voice. She
would
be fine, she told herself, over and over again. There
was
enough air to breathe. But something much deeper contradicted anything so rational, and tears began to stream down her face.

“Please. Let me out. I can’t be in the dark. I can’t breathe!”

Suddenly the hood was yanked off her head. “That’s enough!” A man with shocking blue eyes and long black hair pulled back into a queue at his nape, a man Alexandra had never seen before, glared at her. “Tears might work with other men, but they have little effect upon me.”

Alexandra gulped as she tried to stifle her tears and suck air into her lungs at the same time. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

Her blue-eyed captor gave her a glacial smile. “I’m afraid we have never had the pleasure of being formally introduced. I am Nathaniel Kent, your older brother.”

“My what?” Alexandra shook her head in confusion. “I have no brother.” She struggled to right herself, but with her hands bound behind her back, she could only wiggle helplessly until one of the other men grasped her by the elbow and pulled her into an upright: position. She almost thanked him before she caught herself.

Nathaniel chuckled without mirth. “Evidently our dear father has neglected to mention a few minor details regarding his past. But what’s a marriage, or a child, for that matter, to a man like him? Nonetheless, I am who I say.”

Alexandra studied the men surrounding her. They looked like desperate fellows. Dressed in tattered, homemade breeches and shirts, many wore thick beards and sported jagged, irregular scars on various parts of their bodies. Tattoos decorated bulging biceps: swords, dragons, or hearts with the name of some lady love.

Nathaniel, obviously their leader, was different.

Black tapered trousers revealed a lean, lithe build, and his white, blousey shirt was clean and well made. He possessed handsome, aristocratic features that could have been chiseled from stone: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, a cleft chin. Even while he sneered at her, Alexandra could see that Mr. Kent would be quite appealing to the ladies, if his lips ever curled into a sincere smile. His only physical flaw appeared to be the absence of part of one arm. A wound? A birth defect? Alexandra couldn’t tell.