It turned out to be Magnus and the Earl of Scottsbury. She wondered how much of this conversation Magnus had heard.
Scottsbury was a handsome fellow, gone a bit gray in the hair and ruddy in the face, suggesting he loved both the outdoors and his liquor.
“Good Christ, Brightwall, I suppose all one hasto do to get such a pretty piece for a wife is win a war or two. Ha ha!”
Alexandra went rigid with astonishment.
Lady Scottsbury’s tight, studiedly blank expression made Alexandra’s entire being contract in sympathy. She would warrant it wasn’t the first time Lady Scottsbury had needed to disguise some sort of pain or embarrassment caused by her husband.
Magnus looked ready to split the man in two.
Which was alarming, because she thought him fully capable of it.
Alexandra laid a gentle hand on Lady Scottsbury’s arm. Magnus clearly had things he wanted to say to the Earl of Scottsbury that couldn’t be safely uttered in front of ladies.
“I wondered if you would show me the way to the withdrawing room, Lady Scottsbury. Your taste is so exquisite, and I should like to ask your advice about modistes. I’ve heard Madame Marceau is gifted, but she is always so very busy. I wondered if you might have some secrets you’d be willing to impart about where to find a wonderful seamstress.”
Lady Scottsbury’s face softened into gratitude. She looped her arm through the lady’s and they strolled off together.
Magnus understood men. He understood liquor.
But an actual screen of red had dropped down over his eyes when the earl had spoken to Alexandra that way.
Magnus slowly turned to the earl. “I comprehend you are foxed, Scottsbury. But I wonder if you would find it sobering to imagine the consequences if I ever hear you referring to my wife as a ‘piece’ again, or as anything other than Lady Montcroix. Why don’t you take a moment to do that now.”
All the blood fled Scottsbury’s complexion as he obliged Magnus by looking at him and accurately reading his expression.
“Nod if you understand me,” Magnus demanded.
The earl’s head bobbed. “Good God, Brightwall. I apologize. No need to gobeastlyon me.”
Magnus’s jaw set. “For God’s sake, Scottsbury. You know better. I don’t care if you’re foxed. Please stop.”
Scottsbury sighed. “You’re right. I’m very sorry. I will apologize to your wife, as well. I’m foxed and I’m sorry. I suppose I’m envious. You seldom took your eyes from her all during the dinner, old man, and now you look ready to do murder because I called her ‘pretty’ a trifle too casually, and again, I’m sorry. What was it Byron said about love being more dangerous than the measles when it comes late in life?”
Magnus went silent. He was genuinely nonplussed and not at all pleased to hear that he’d been so obvious. He hadn’t had a clue. About that, or Byron.
It was just that it was such a pleasure to watch her. So why wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t anyone?The laughter that rose up around her when she was in the center of a conversation, her bright head gleaming in the candlelight, the flash of her eyes as she aimed a conspiratorial glance in his direction and fulfilled her part of their bargain.
All night, as they had mingled with guests, together and apart, old acquaintances had complimented him on her. He’d witnessed young ladies unconsciously mirroring her gestures when she spoke to them. He’d seen the admiration, both overt and covert, in the eyes of men, and the soft approval in the eyes of dowagers. The slyly probing ones had been put in their place so gently he was certain they’d scarcely even noticed.
He wished Alexandra understood how impressive she truly was. Her nimble social gifts arose from a genuine pleasure in the company of other people, and from her warmth and compassion. From her willingness tolikethem and make them comfortable, even as she saw them clearly.
Did she seemhimclearly?
What did it mean for the two of them, if she did?
And yet. He could still not reconcile all of the admirable things he knew her to be with the young woman who had passionately kissed another man on her wedding day.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Scottsbury,” was all Magnus said finally. Conciliatorily. Dryly.
Scottsbury actually gave him a sympathetic pat. Together they moved on to other guests, and Magnus continued performing his duty as guestof honor, bestowing attention and words and moving on.
But as the minutes wore on, he became aware of what could only be called a gathering panic on the edges of his awareness, for no other reason except that he couldn’t see Alexandra anywhere in the reception room.
He knew his sense of unease wasn’t quite rational—she had simply gone to the lady’s withdrawing room, and was probably merrily chatting there.
But it seemed to him she’d been gone an inordinate amount of time. Or perhaps it merely felt that way. Perhaps time behaved differently when he was with her, paradoxically standing still and moving too fast. Perhaps it was because the difference between a room with and without her in it was like the difference between a meadow and a cell.