Claire sighed as well. “Alas… that makes two glum folks amidst our loved ones. What shall we do?”
“About Ben?” he asked.
Claire peeked out of the dining room door to be certain her brother wasn’t loitering, and then she nodded, but then tilted her fiancé a beautiful green-eyed glance, betraying a twinkle of mischief. “But I have a plan,” she confessed.
“Claire,” Ian protested. “Really, love. Don’t you believe you’ve enough to deal with already? It’s not as though you don’t have enough to contend with.”
Claire shrugged, unfazed. “It’s only a bit of nothing,” she declared, and waved away the notion with a hand.
“Nothing?” he asked. But then, he too cast up a hand.
His bride-to-be was a wise little bird; he knew better than to assert himself against her. He had more than enough experience with strong-headed ladies to know he daren’t get in their way. It was enough to keep up with his own affairs—a mountain of changes that would put an entire nation under his care. “Never mind,” he said. “I don’t want to know. Please, pass the butter.”
With a lovely curl to her beautiful lips, his fiancée reached over to take a small plate of creamy butter and handed it to him, smiling with the light of love in her eyes.
“We should be away after breakfast,” she said giddily. “There’s so much to do, and I’d dearly love to arrive before our guests do.” She grinned. “I have holiday decorations to hang.”
“As you wish, love.”
She laughed quickly. “Will you always be so accommodating, Majesty?”
He grinned. “Always for you, Majesty.”
Her blush crept down from her cheeks into her décolletage—a lovely, delectable flush that tempted Ian’s lips, because he knew her sweet skin would be warm to the touch. Ever since her brother’s return, they’d been forced to sleep apart, if only for the sake of propriety. Only the two of them knew the secret they shared—that he had already tasted her in the most shocking of places.
“You will ever be my queen,” he said, “with or without a crown.” And he couldn’t help himself. Far hungrier for the taste of his beautiful wife than he was for the spread on the table, he bent to kiss the sweet temptation of her bosom.
“Ian!” she exclaimed. “What would my brother say?”
“Damn, that miserable fool,” he muttered, but without any rancor, because, in truth, he liked Ben, and he hoped to Hell that whatever his bride had planned, it would drag the fool out of his doldrums once and for all.
CHAPTER 3
20 DECEMBER
Rule No. 3:
On the Misuse of Mistletoe.
There is no obligation for anyone to ever kiss beneath mistletoe hanging from a hat or hand. Please understand: Mistletoe is not a portable kissing booth. Please do not harass ladies with mistletoe. It is very bad form!
Shivering beneath her light pelisse, Alexandra watched as the landscape scuttled by—clear, blue skies, green, green grass.
Weather-wise, the Parklands were not so different from London proper, and yet, unlike the hustle and bustle of Grosvenor Square, the sight of those dew-dusted fields, glittering like tinsel, made her yearn to apricate.
Bits and bobs of memories teased and tormented her, but Alexandra blew them away with the cold vapor of a mournful sigh and took pleasure in the scenery.
Fallow deer grazed in small, familial herds—bucks and does, with their awkward-limbed kids.
Even animals had families, and Alexandra wondered idly upon whose home were they descending for the holidays. So far as she knew, Claire’s family hadn’t any connections South of the City, and neither did Alexandra. It must a friend of Ian’s family, she surmised.
No matter. She was pleased over the turn of events, and even the thought of seeing Ben shouldn’t dampen her spirits. It was Christmas, she told herself. Melancholy be damned!
Pinching her coat together once more, she reconsidered her wardrobe. Even despite the apricity, the air held an unusual sharpness that stung the tender bits of Lexie’s nostrils, and now she worried about inclement weather.
It was only natural to worry when traveling, because one could never be certain what to expect.
And, regardless, she was perfectly thrilled to be spending yet another holiday with her oldest, dearest friend. After months and months apart, she couldn’t wait to hear all about Claire’s plans—and more to the point, to put the unpleasantness of her father’s treachery in their past. If she was nervous at all, this was why. And yet, she should have had no doubt Claire would forgive her. She should have had more aplomb than to sit alone in her big, empty house, brooding all the while, when, in fact, she might have easily gone to Claire.
Naturally, she had been unsettled by the entire ordeal but now she was doubly embarrassed after having waited so long, and she didn’t know what to say when she faced Claire.
Thankfully, they had never minced words; hopefully they wouldn’t begin now. And, in retrospect, the time apart hadn’t been all for naught. For one thing, Lexie now understood herself better. She knew who she was and why it was she was drawn to Claire in the first place, and it wasn’t at all because Claire Wentworth loved a good Season.
No, indeed, Claire was the last person to be fond of such drivel, and all the while Lexie had been pretending to be a gadabout, she had secretly longed to be doing precisely what Claire had the gumption to do all along: stay at home and read a good book. What a silly chit Alexandra had been.
Really, who cared what her father or mother thought of her predilections. Who cared if they wouldn’t approve of her drawings. Who cared if her passions left too little time to allow her to present herself to the ton appropriately, and really, most of all, who cared about marriage.
Did she truly want a husband to tell her what to do?
Did she want a man to pinch her purse strings?
No.
From here forth, she determined to be a changed woman, and the one true blessing of this entire ordeal was that her father had left her quite flush. She now had the means to choose her own destiny.
Indeed, the distinguished Lord Huntington might never again see the light of day, but he had been quick to deny her mother any legal tender. He’d left Lady Eveline nothing but her dowager estate, and everything else he’d assigned to Lexie. She needn’t worry ever again about being left upon a shelf, or how to get along. If, in fact, she desired, she could sell the London apartment and travel abroad… and yet something about both of those choices left her feeling bereft.
Perhaps it would be lovely to keep the house and build the conservatory she’d always dreamed of?
The carriage slowed, the deer vanished and, the landscaping looked a bit more manicured.
Alexandra peered out the window, trying to glimpse ahead—where were they going?
They rounded a bend, and when at last she spied the Lion Gate, it finally dawned on her. It wasn’t any old estate they were descending upon; it was Hampton Court Palace! But, of course, she should have realized sooner, particularly considering their affiliation with the Duchess of Kent. Where else would the Royal Family of Meridian stay?
The carriage veered onto a small service road, careening toward Home Park and the Bowling Green. On the grounds of the Palace, surrounded by lush green hedges, the Garden Pavilions included a quartet of residences and a parterre—a formal garden connected by paths. She had only heard about these mentioned in whispers. They’d served as gaming hells under the protection of the Duke of Kent. The Duchess never embraced the home—or perhaps was never invited, since rumor would also have it that the Duke had often kept his lovers here. After his death, the entire estate was assigned to his loyal equerry—a gift from the Duke’s brother, the late King George.