“Fa la la la la,” she groused.
And really, who cared if the servants were all cavorting! She had spent too many years being overly concerned about propriety. What had it gotten her?
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Conversely, Claire had flouted nearly every rule, and here she was, soon to be a queen! How very extraordinary! How titillating! Or, at least it might be if Alexandra were allowed to share in her good friend’s fortune. Instead, she was left alone to oversee a household of delinquent servants.
Missing Claire so very desperately, she made her way toward the stairwell, fully intending to go upstairs and read… or sketch… or perhaps both. After all this time, sketching was still her greatest joy. It helped to pass the time and kept her mind off other matters she ought not to be dwelling upon. She no longer cared what anybody thought about her passions, and Claire would marvel most of all over the changes that had come over her—but this was the saddest part of all: Claire might never know it.
And Ben…
Well, she’d rather not think about him at all.
Ben, with those startling green eyes. Ben, with his silky, sun-kissed hair. Ben, with his ever-so-patrician nose. And, no, don’t dare think about his lips!
No, no, no, no.
Determined to forget the Wentworths entirely, Alexandra had one foot on the steps, ready to ascend when there came a very unexpected knock on the front door.
A bell rang in the servant’s quarters, and a distant door opened and closed. Before Alexandra could turn, she heard the butler’s footsteps rushing down the hall. Hair mussed and red-faced, Mr. Robinson appeared, straightening his collar. “I’ll get it, Miss Huntington,” he said, hurrying past.
“Certainly,” Alexandra said, curious to see who it might be. No one ever called upon their residence anymore. Huntington Manor was nothing more than a curiosity now, a thing to point the finger at whilst passing in a hansom.
“It’s for Lady Alexandra,” the courier said—a man with a foreign accent. Alexandra lingered, eavesdropping.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Robinson, “I will deliver it.”
Lexie frowned. Turning on the step, curling her toes in her slippers, waiting eagerly for Mr. Robinson to close the door, and when he did, she tilted him a questioning glance.
“For you,” the butler said, the color still high in his cheeks—no doubt flushed over his exertions in the closet.
“Thank you,” Alexandra said, and though she would have also liked to give him her blessing for whatever he was about in that closet, she hadn’t very much good will left to squander. Even so, she wouldn’t scold him, either.
Sighing wearily, she accepted the envelope… a letter addressed to her—perhaps from her father in Newgate. He’d been placed in a convict’s prison—no mere debtor’s gaol, like Fleet or Marshalsea. And now that his fate was sealed, he was doling out their private, financial information and instructions in measures. But the letter wasn’t from her father. It smelled of… lavender. She turned it over… and sucked in a breath.
Claire.
Like a child with a present, she thrust a finger eagerly beneath the seal in order to break it and tore open the envelope. Alexandra was still holding her breath when she drew out the folded invitation and began to read…
His Royal Highness, the Prince of Meridian and his esteemed wife cordially invite you to spend the holiday in celebration with friends and family. Wednesday, 19 December through Sunday, 1 January.
Surrey. There was an unfamiliar address attached, with instructions for the driver.
Was it true? Was Claire inviting her to share the holiday?
A glimmer of joy ignited in Alexandra’s breast. Months and months and months had passed without word from Claire, but no matter. Here was an invitation to share the holiday!
“Thank you so much!” she exclaimed to Mr. Robinson. “Thank you!” And she pressed the note to her bosom and rushed up the stairs, her stomach flip-flopping with glee—a feeling not so unlike the one she used to get when she thought about seeing Ben. Joy soared through her.
Let the servants have their way with the house.
Surrey, here I come!
* * *
It was high time to set things right.
Claire and Alexandra had been estranged for far too long now, and, really, it wasn’t so much that Claire was avoiding the confrontation, she simply had too much to do. It didn’t matter how sensible one could be; when one was marrying a prince, all thought of austerity flew out the window. There was a certain standard that must be kept, regardless of one’s personal sensibilities. After all, a prince was a future king, and a future king must have a wedding in accordance with his station. But at least she had a kindred spirit in the daily struggle, because her fiancé had not been raised to take his seat upon a throne. If indeed it could be possible, Ian MacEwen was even less concerned with proprieties than she was. Unfortunately, they hadn’t only themselves to think of anymore. Until now, there had been so much to do that Claire hadn’t had a moment to stop and think how the scandal with Alexandra’s father must have affected her dearest friend.
No doubt Lexie was still brooding. She was so much like Ben, and now more than ever, she believed those two were meant for each other.
For months now, Claire had hoped Lexie would come of her own accord. She had been more than prepared to allow her the time she needed to come to terms with the entire sordid affair, but it was becoming very apparent that she would not do so, and time was growing short.
To begin with, some tiny part of Claire had insisted that Alexandra be the one to come and offer support. But really, beyond apologies for something Alexandra had had no control over, she was bound to be feeling ashamed, guilty and perhaps even unwelcome in Claire’s home. It was only natural. And, having realized as much, she had resolved to put her good friend’s mind and heart at ease. Alas, one week turned into two, and two into six, and six into months—all the while Claire had far too many people tugging at her skirts. Do this, do that, see to this, see to that—and all “right now.”
Now, after all this time, Alexandra couldn’t possibly understand that Claire didn’t blame her, because she couldn’t read minds, and sadly, Claire hadn’t had the wherewithal to see past her own whirlwind affairs to help make it easier for the poor dear to bear.
To be sure, some small part of her also dreaded seeing Alexandra. How could she face Lexie knowing full well that Lexie would know exactly what her odious father intended?
Even now, the memory of the ordeal—the offensive place Lord Huntington had taken her—was enough to put a tremble on her lips. If she never saw that man again so long as she lived, that would be too soon. But as far as Lexie was concerned, it was now or never. In less than two months’ time Claire would be departing London, perhaps forever, and she might never forgive herself if she didn’t find some way to make things right with her oldest and dearest friend.
What was more, she couldn’t abandon Lexie to spend another holiday alone in that terrible house.
Long, long before the scandal with her father, something had transpired between mother and daughter to damage their relationship. Lady Eveline might never return to London, but neither would she invite her daughter to Shropshire, and Alexandra was clearly not the sort to press herself upon others. And meanwhile, until his recent incarceration, Lexie’s odious father had spent nearly every holiday abroad, leaving his only daughter to manage his estate—such as it was, because Lexie never had much say over what transpired in that house. Essentially, she had been a tenant herself, achingly alone in the absence of her embittered parents.