Lady Alex's Gamble (10 page)
Lady Alex's Gamble
by Evelyn Richardson
hall for Alexander, should he live, or for Tony. For the first time in her life, the future she'd planned for herself looked depressingly bleak, especially when compared to jauntering about the country and rubbing shoulders with the best of them at White's. Shaking off her sudden sadness, she turned to Tony with a bright smile. "So you see, I shall have to make the most of my visit here."
"Oh?" Knowing full well his sister's taste for adventure, Tony eyed her with considerable misgiving. Alex laughed. "You needn't look so Friday-faced, Tony. I shan't do anything truly outrageous. I merely mean to enjoy myself while I am here."
"That is just what I am afraid of." Her brother shook his head, sighing lugubriously.
Alex chuckled. "Now, Tony, you know I never come to any harm. All I mean to do is see the sights, attend a few plays, and gawk at the nobs like any other rustic. And, of course, win a great deal of money."
By now they had reached the Clarendon and she turned to lay a reassuring hand on his arm. "Never fear, I shan't do anything bacon-brained, or at least not any more baconbrained than I already am doing."
"Ah, I shall rest easy then," was the sarcastic reply. Knowing the strength of his sister's will. Tony was forced to be content with that. He was well-enough acquainted with Alex to know that whatever risks she might incur, she was nobody's fool, and more than well able to take care of herself. He just had to hope she was as capable of coping with the challenges the city had to offer as she was of coping with 89
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those in Norfolk. Tony had infinite faith in her, but all the same, he resolved to purchase for her the very next day an elegant but serviceable walking stick suitable for self-defense. Left alone in her room, Alex sat down to consider the evening. She longed to order a glass of warm milk to calm her nerves and soothe the headache that was creeping across her temples, but decided the staff would think it to missish. She was forced instead to content herself with throwing open the windows and taking several deep gulps of the crisp night air before pulling off her clothes and falling into bed. Once in bed, however, she found she could not fall asleep. Images of the evening kept crowing in her brain: the glare of the lamp over the table. Sir Gerard's amiable but foolish smile, and then, faintly at the back of it all, a pair of bright blue eyes in a deeply tanned face that appeared to be taking it all in, and far more of it than she would have wished—Major Lord Wrotham. His height, his broad shoulders, and his air of command immediately set him apart from the other devotees of White's, but there was more to it than that. He was observant while the others, if they looked up from their cards or dice at all, merely stared blankly off into space. The major's watchful eyes had missed nothing and Alex had had the uncomfortable feeling that they had seen through her bluster and assumed inebriation. As she had turned to meet him, she had caught his look—penetrating and questioning—and had suddenly felt convinced that he knew her secret. The question was, just how much of it did he know and what would he do?
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Lady Alex's Gamble
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Somehow she didn't think he would expose her. He didn't look that sort of man. For some strange reason Alex was disposed to trust him—as much as she was disposed to trust anybody, that was. There was something in the directness of his gaze, with its air of quiet confidence, and the self-assured way he carried himself that made one feel he was a man of his word, a man to be relied upon. However, the view that such a man would take of a person bent on deceiving the entire
ton
was another matter altogether. Well, there was nothing Alex could do about it now except brazen it out and hope for the best. Perhaps he would not be at White's in the ensuing evenings. Gaming must be pretty tame sport to someone who had spent the better part of the year on Wellington's staff and the ones prior to that in the Peninsula. She could see how her brother was chafing under the forced inactivity after so many years spent fighting the French and how boring he considered life in the metropolis. The major must feel the same way, if not more so. Enough wool-gathering, my girl, she admonished herself strongly. If you are to win more tomorrow you must be at your sharpest, and for that you need rest. With an effort she concentrated on thinking up all the things she would like to see in the metropolis besides the gaming room at White's. Slowly soothed by the prospect of more diverting, less challenging activities to pursue on the morrow, she fell into a deep sleep and was only awakened by the sound of the maid bringing in her hot water and laying the fire. After dressing, perusing the
Times,
and fortifying herself with a hearty breakfast, Alex sauntered out of the hotel, 91
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curious as to what the city had to offer for amusement besides games of chance.
Her first destination was Hatchard's, where she spent two blissful hours examining all that the bookseller had to offer. After lingering over
Travels in South Africa
by the Reverend J. Campbell, and Major General Lord Blayney's account of his years as a prisoner of war in Spain, she at last settled on the three volumes of
Guy Mannering,
happily anticipating the joy with which Althea would greet her selection. What a luxury it was to be able to arise in the morning with nothing more on one's mind than the prospect of new sights and experiences—no housework to oversee, no tenants' cottages to be visited, no account books to be worried over. Alex could barely remember a time when these and a hundred other tasks had not awaited her attention every day.
She thought briefly of Ally and the children. How they would love to see the elegant carriages crowding Piccadilly and the splendid horses that drew them, and how Ally would sigh at the exquisite walking dresses worn by the women Alex had passed in Bond Street. Truly, it seemed a shame that she, who cared little for such things was here in London while Althea was not. But there was no help for it, Alex was the only one who could procure them the money to continue to live as they had. However, she resolved to observe it all very closely and record it as best she could for those waiting eagerly to hear from her back home. A particularly dashing phaeton drove by and Alex sighed enviously at the handsome 92
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team pulling it. How she would love to go to Tattersall's and look over the prime bits of blood on display there!
Then with a start she realized that there was nothing in the world to stop her from doing so. As Alexander de Montmorency she was free to go anywhere and do anything without running the least risk of causing comment. The full significance of the freedom conferred upon her began to sink in and she almost laughed aloud.
As Lady Alexandra de Montmorency there was so little she was permitted to do by society, and none of it by herself. Why, even her solitary rides through her own fields were looked upon as something approaching the scandalous. As Alexander she had the world at her feet, waiting to be explored. She grinned, set her beaver at an even more rakish angle on her head, and strolled along toward Tattersall's, marveling at the delightfulness of life accorded to the male sex.
She could have happily spent the rest of the day at the auctioneer's admiring the magnificent animals being paraded back and forth, listening to bits of sporting conversation, and observing the improbable mixture of customers—from Corinthians seeking out perfectly matched pairs to sporting clerics looking for a good hunter to cavalrymen selecting an animal who could be trusted to carry them in the direst of circumstances. From grooms to lords, all were united by their common preoccupation with these splendid animals. How she missed Trajan, the powerful gray that had been her father's last gift to her before he died. "I never let on that I was buying it for a woman," he had confided with a grin, 93
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"lest the man refuse to sell him to me." Most of the county would have agreed that such a horse was no mount for a lady, but the magnificent animal had consistently demonstrated only the best of manners with her and he had become nearly as close a companion for Alex as Ally and the children.
But keeping Trajan in London would have been an enormous expense, so Alex had left him behind with instructions for everyone in the household to look after him, from Cook, who was to set aside a regular supply of carrots and apples, to Andrew, who was to feed him these choice morsels, to Jem the stable boy, who was responsible for cleaning out his stall and rubbing him down. Standing there with the smell of horses and hay all around reminded Alex so strongly of home that it brought a sudden pang of longing to be back where everything was safe and familiar. It was a pang she quickly stifled with thoughts of the job she had come to London to do and the sights that were still left to see. After all, she could not very well go home and face the children without having been to the Tower, the Egyptian Hall, or Madame Tussaud's famed waxwork exhibition.
There was no time like the present to see these things and write them down while she could still view these wonders with the freshness and curiosity of a visitor. Judging from the faces passing by her on the street, it either did not take one long to become inured to all that the metropolis had to offer, or it was fashionable to appear so. Well, she for one, was not going to be dictated to. To Alexandra, boredom, despite its 94
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cultivation by the
ton,
was the indication of an empty mind, and if to be curious was to be too rustic to be
a la mode,
then so be it.
This air of inquisitiveness and curiosity did set her apart from the crowd, at least for one interested observer—Major Lord Wrotham, who was among the military men in search of new mounts. Dearly as he loved Brutus, the horse that had carried him with such steadiness and dependability through so many battles was showing signs of age. His wind was not what it had once been and lately he had been favoring the right foreleg for no reason that the major, his batman, Radlett, or any groom had been able to fathom. Now, with the possibility of a crucial conflict looming in the future, was not particularly the time Christopher wished to become acquainted with a new mount, but Brutus deserved a peaceful old age on one of the major's estates, and he would get it. Christopher was determined on that score.
It was just as he was listening to the auctioneer enumerating the finer points of a rather splendid-looking bay that Lord Wrotham caught sight of Alex, and he immediately lost interest in the horse. The major's first impulse was to greet the mysterious gambler of the previous evening, but on second thought, he decided that he would learn far more by quietly watching him.
After some minutes of close observation he was amply rewarded. Close scrutiny confirmed his original impression of the man. There was something unusual about him, something that set him apart from the rest of the crowd, any crowd, whether it be the players at White's or the fanciers of 95
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horseflesh. What was it? The major frowned, puzzling it out. It was not his physical presence. De Montmorency was a wellenough-looking man, but nothing out of the ordinary, except for the rich auburn hair. Otherwise, he was somewhat taller than most, of a slender build, but nothing to cause one to take a second look. What was it then?
After some minutes of consideration Christopher decided that it was the air of alertness and inquiry that made him stand out. Somehow, looking at the man, one was struck by a sense of purposefulness about him, whether he was sprawled at the gaming table or watching an auction. True, he did his best to appear as accustomed to it all as the rest of the
ton,
but his air of casualness was a studied one, calculated to dispel any possible interest in him. Why was that?
Even more intrigued than before, Christopher looked forward with eagerness to stopping in at White's that evening. In the meantime, however, it was time to call on a few of the more conservative members of Parliament in order to convince them that it would be in their best interests, as well as those of the country in general, if Wellington were to be given what he needed to secure peace for Europe and markets for English goods. The major had just received some recent figures concerning the size of Bonaparte's everincreasing military strength that were sufficiently threatening to alarm even the most recalcitrant members. Sighing at the prospect of hours of niggling argument ahead of him, and convinced that at least today there was no prospect of a replacement for Brutus, he left the enclosure and headed off to track down the first of his quarry. 96
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Alex's interest and curiosity, which had so intrigued the major, were causing a good deal of consternation in other quarters. Captain de Montmorency, calling on his peripatetic sibling that evening, was aghast to hear of her exploits. "On your own around London?" Tony clapped a hand to his brow and sank into the nearest chair.
"But, Tony, you can hardly expect a budding Corinthian who is hoping to attract gaming partners to remain invisible except at the gaming table," his sister pointed out reasonably. "That sort of behavior would very likely arouse suspicion."
"I suppose, you are in the right of it," her brother conceded reluctantly. "Hatchard's is unexceptionable enough, but Tatt's?"
"But, Tony, people who throw away their blunt at White's are far more likely to frequent Tattersall's than a bookseller's. I went to Hatchard's for my own amusement. The other was, er, in the way of business, you might say." Tony grimaced. "You don't fool me for a minute, Alex. I know you were equally as amused, if not more so, casting an eye over the prime bits of blood as you were poring over the most recent offerings from the printers. And here I thought that storming the fortifications at Nivelle would be the death of me. You are far more a threat to my health than Soult ever was."
