Lady Alex's Gamble (7 page)
Lady Alex's Gamble
by Evelyn Richardson
and it is that attitude that brought me Halewood and all of you."
It was the memory of the warm smile and utter confidence accompanying those words that was sustaining Alex now. She settled into the soft pillows, so welcoming after the hours spent jolting over the country roads. Ned had assured her that the turnpikes would be better as they got closer to London and she admitted ruefully that she was looking forward to it. For the moment, though, she was enjoying the luxury of being able to stretch out her weary limbs. Alex awoke early the next morning. Even had it not been her custom to rise at daybreak, the noise in the innyard would have made it impossible to sleep. She had never heard such a racket—ostlers shouting, horses stomping, and wagons and carriages lumbering in and out. She thought regretfully of the bird songs which usually awakened her at home and realized that it was going to be some time before she could enjoy such quiet again.
Still, all the activity and the prospect of the continued journey were exciting and Alex was more than ready for the breakfast the chambermaid brought up for her. She bolted it eagerly and hurried to the yard where Ned, having paid the shot, was waiting for her. "Good morning," she greeted him as she climbed into the carriage.
"And a good morning to you, my
lord
," he greeted her carefully. Though Lady Alexandra looked the spitting image of her brother, her eager observant air and attention to those around her was all her own. It was going to be difficult to think of her as anything but his mistress, who commanded all 60
Lady Alex's Gamble
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the love and respect that he, Ned Brimblecombe, would never accord to that loose fish of a brother of hers. He climbed onto the box, grabbed the reins from the lad who had been holding them, and they were off, rattling through the streets of Cambridge past black-gowned students burdened under piles of books, laughing and teasing each other as they hurried off to meet with their masters.
Peering eagerly out of the carriage, Alex could not help thinking what a delightful life theirs looked to be with nothing to do but study and pass their time among scholars. How Alexander had detested university life and how she would have loved it! But there was no time for reflection. Soon the cloisters and colleges of the city were behind them and the gently rolling countryside surrounded them once more. It was again late in the day when they reached London at last. As they reached the crest of Highgate Hill, Alex could see the glow of the great city laid out below her. It seemed as though she had but a moment to catch her breath at the sight of the vast metropolis before they were immersed in a maze of streets that were filled with more shops and more people than she had ever imagined.
How Ned made his way through the press of traffic, she could not fathom, but at last they drew up in front of the Clarendon. It was an elegant hotel and a trifle dear. Alex, though willing to play the part of a riotous lord. had chosen it despite the expense because she was not ready for the rough and tumble of a place such as Limmer's, and she felt certain that someone of Alexander's stamp would be out of place among the clerical clientele at Ibbotson's. Besides, she was 61
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unsure of where she would be dining, and it seemed best to choose an hotel where she could procure a good meal, though news of the shocking price of the Clarendon's meals had even reached places as far away as Norfolk.
She was soon settled in the first style of luxury. The thought of the price did give her some pause, but there was nothing for it. One must incur some expense to make a fortune, she told herself. After all, no one is going to gamble high stakes against someone whose pockets do not appear to be well lined.
Having eaten a supper that fulfilled all the promise of the Clarendon's reputation for fine French cooking, Alex dispatched a note to her brother Anthony at the Guards'
quarters in Portman Square. She then fell into bed where, despite her exhaustion, she tossed uneasily, her mind too full of plans and too distracted by the unaccustomed noise outside to fall into the oblivion she so desperately needed. It was thus with great surprise that she was awakened by the clanking of andirons when the chambermaid came to lay the fire the next morning. Apparently she had slept better than she had thought.
Alex was just finishing off the remains of her breakfast when there was a scratch on the door and a footman on the other side announced, "Gentleman to see you, my lord." The door opened to admit a tall, blond young man magnificent in his regimentals. Ordinarily Captain Anthony de Montmorency's handsome, open countenance wore a sunny expression for, the best of good fellows, he liked and was liked by one and all. Today, however, the green eyes were 62
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cold as a winter sea and the mobile mouth was set in a hard line.
Unable to do anything to curb the follies and excesses of his older brother's way of life, and resenting the hardship they brought on the rest of his family, Anthony had sought escape in military service. Now, inexplicably, Alexander was here in London and Captain de Montmorency was forced to confront all the unpleasantness he had done his best to put out of his mind.
"You summoned me, Alexander? It had better be good and it had better be quick for I am due on guard duty at St. James in an hour's time." Under no illusions about his elder brother, Anthony knew that if Alexander had sent for him it was because he wanted something from him. The Earl of Halewood, always in pursuit of his own pleasures, had no time for a fellow unless he could use him and Anthony was not about to be taken advantage of as he had been so many times in the past.
Alex rose and laid a conciliatory hand on her brother's shoulder. "Now don't fly up in the boughs, old fellow. I happened to be in town and, naturally, family ties being what they are, I wished to see my dashing brother."
"Well I haven't any money, and even if I did, you could not have it. I shall send it to Alex and the children," was the curt rejoinder. Anthony broke away from the hand on his shoulder and began to pace the room angrily.
"Tony, I am disappointed in you. Are you not even glad to see your eldest brother after so long? You have so little faith. 63
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Not that I couldn't use a bit of the ready. Hit a spot of bad luck at Newmarket and..."
"Forgive me, brother," Tony broke in savagely, "but duty calls and I have no time for this litany that has been trotted out for me so many times before. It won't fadge, Alexander, and you know it." With that he strode across the room, grabbed the door handle, and was about to fling himself out when another voice protested softly, "And here I thought you would be glad, or at least surprised, to see me." Anthony paused midflight and turned around. "Alex? You, here?" he began incredulously. But she was not there, only Alexander slightly inebriated as usual and smiling his foolish smile.
At the expression on her brother's face Alex burst out laughing. "My disguise is better than I had hoped if I can put you in such a temper. Tony."
Captain de Montmorency sank into a nearby chair, staring blankly at the figure before him. "Alex?" he said at last in accents of disbelief.
"In the flesh, brother dear." She pirouetted in front of him.
"Well, what do you think?"
A reluctant grin spread over his face. "You should have been on stage. You are dashed good, Alex. You are Alexander to the life." His face darkened. "And speaking of our dear brother, I assume that he must really be under the hatches this time. Something is mightily amiss or you would not be here. See here, Alex, I may be younger and I may not have as much in the brain-box as you do, but I do know enough to understand what you are risking by coming to town like this. I 64
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won't let you ruin your reputation to pull that blackguard out of yet another of his fixes."
Alex smiled fondly. "That is very sweet of you. Tony, but at the point we have reached, such sentiments are not only a luxury, they are useless." She quickly described for him the latest disaster, then outlined her plans for averting it. Her brother's face became increasingly grim as she spoke, and the knuckles of his hands gripping the chair became whiter and whiter until at last he sprang up and began to pace the room again. "That scoundrel!" he gasped. "I could wring his neck. Alexander has no right to play mice feet with the family's inheritance. He is the most selfish—" Tony broke off as he searched for words black enough to describe his older brother.
"Self-centered man alive. I know." His sister sighed. "And I suppose he always was, only we were such good playmates, he and I, that I didn't really notice it until recently."
"But, Alex, one hundred thousand pounds! How can you possibly win that? To win such a sum one has to wager a good deal and we don't have a feather to fly with. Besides," he broke off bitterly, "I should be raising the wind, not you, and I cannot lay my hands on that much."
"I know. Tony. You would if you could, but you cannot, for you don't gamble as well as I. Very few do, and I am counting on that. But you can do something that I am unable to do."
"What is that?" he broke in, anxious to do anything that would be of the least assistance. It was so unfair that Alex, who had devoted much of her life to raising all of them, 65
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should have to continue looking after them. She should now be enjoying an establishment and a family of her own.
"You can introduce me to someone who will vouch for me at White's."
"White's? Alex, you must be all about in the head!"
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"You must be all about in the head." These very same words were on the lips of Christopher, Lord Wrotham, as somewhat later that morning he sat in the cavernous drawing room of the Earl of Claverdon's townhouse in Grosvenor Square. The recipient of these sentiments, a diminutive lady of uncertain years who was swathed in a pale pink gauze morning dress more appropriate to a young miss in her first Season than to the mother of a grown man, was taken aback.
"How can you say such a thing about your own mother, Christopher?
All about in the head!
I am sure I am no such thing. Lord Grainger is devoted to me." The blue eyes opened wide and the lips, penciled into the shape of a perfect rosebud, pouted prettily.
"Mother," her son interjected, unable to suppress a sigh of pure exasperation, "the man is only a few years older than I. He cannot wish to become leg-shackled to a woman old enough to be his mother and someone who can give him no heirs. After all, think what
his
mother would say to such a match."
Dorothea, Dowager Countess of Claverdon sniffed tearfully, "You are too cruel, Christopher. If you could but see how he dances attendance on me you would agree. But you never go anywhere except to White's or Tattersall's even when you do come home from your horrid wars, so how could you possibly know?"
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"And what does Hugh have to say about all of this?" Lord Wrotham inquired, obviously exerting a good deal of restraint to remain calm.
"Oh, Hugh," the countess dabbed her eyes with a scrap of lace, "you know him, he never had the least sensibility." The countess dismissed Lord Wrotham's stepbrother with a disparaging wave of her hand. "I never even broached the subject with him. After all, how could one possibly discuss such a delicate topic with someone who wears as much brown as he does. Which"—she paused to gaze with pride at her handsome son—"I am glad to say you do not. And I must say you look excessively fine. I do wish Hugh would consult your tailor, his clothes are always so ill-fitting. Is it Weston?"
"Stultz," was the short reply. "But really. Mama." Lord Wrotham strove to return to the matter at hand only to be interrupted by his unrepentant parent.
"Christopher, you know I must have gaiety. I was not made to dress in black and sit in the corner with the town tabbies."
"I know. Mama, I know." His sigh was the sigh of a man who had taken part in this particular discussion times out of mind. "But you also were not meant to play the fool. Lord Grainger is half your age if he is a day."
"And people say that
I
look half my age, so there you have it, perfectly unexceptionable," his mother concluded brightly. Then, a sly sparkle in her eyes, she continued, "However, if you were to escort me to these affairs, for example to Lady Derwent's rout, why then I should be able to attend it without requiring Lord Grainger's escort. Not even those who are 68
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most jealous of my youthful appearance—and I must say there are more than a few—could make the least comment, except, of course, that you look far too old to be my son." She leaned over to stroke her son's bronzed cheek. "Of course, it is all the fault of this silly war which you feel you must fight. It has aged you, you know, and if I do say so, I think it excessively selfish of you to leave your mother at home with nothing to do but fret and worry about you." Lord Wrotham snorted. In truth, his mother's unblemished countenance had far fewer lines than his swarthy one. Years in the hot sun of the Peninsula living in primitive quarters had hardened him into a battle-weary veteran who stood out conspicuously among the rest of his peers, who had whiled away the past few years in the clubs and drawing rooms of London with nothing more upsetting to consider than the cut of their coats or the loss of a few pounds at the gaming table.
"Please, Christopher," the countess begged, "you so rarely go to these things, and once we are there I shall not lack for partners, so you have no need to dance attendance on me. Besides, the Carstairs will be there and I do so want you to meet their eldest daughter, Lavinia. She has become all the rage this Season, though I cannot imagine how someone as ordinary-looking as Amelia Carstairs could produce an incomparable."
