“Yes, my lady.”
As Pierson strode off with a stiff gait that belied his befuddlement, Alexandra turned toward her aunt. “Aunt V, I must apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour, but I simply couldn’t wait until morning.”
“Oh? And why is that my dear? Come, let us go to the parlor and you can tell me all about it.” Taking Alexandra by the arm, Virginia guided her toward a room that had been tastefully decorated in shades of muted greens and creams.
Alexandra spent the next half hour detailing to her aunt the particulars surrounding her relationship with Michael. “So you see, Aunt V,” she finally concluded. “I’m in desperate need of your help.”
Virginia responded with a small chuckle that eventually morphed into a warm smile. “You did the right thing in coming here, my dear. I’ll be absolutely delighted to help you as long as you promise to follow through this time. I won’t have you running off again, is that understood?”
“Perfectly,” Alexandra laughed. “As long as you promise to do your very best to help me choose a gown that will make his lordship’s eyes pop.”
“Oh,” Virginia winked. “By the time we are through, it will do much more than that, I can assure you.”
“Aunt V!” Alexandra exclaimed, feigning surprise at her aunt’s insinuation.
“Hush, dearie, and come sit next to me.” Virginia patted a spot beside her on the loveseat as she pulled a towering pile of fashion plates into her lap.
Alexandra scrutinized the pile as if it were a ten-foot high wall that she was suddenly expected to scale. “Perhaps, we ought to get some rest. It’s late and there’ll be plenty of time for this tomorrow.”
“Rest?” Virginia’s voice shrilled. “My dear girl, there’s no time for rest. Why there’s only a week until the ball. We have much too much ground to cover before then if you’re to have the desired effect. No. One cannot face a battle lying down. Your dear papa will attest to that.” She patted the space on the loveseat again. “Now come along.”
Alexandra drew a heavy sigh and armored herself with all of the patience that she possessed as she took her seat beside her aunt.
Two hours later, they’d finally made their decision. “We shall visit the modiste in the morning to pick out fabrics and discuss the final cut,” Virginia said, as she carefully sorted the illustrations into a series of neat piles, tying each together with a blue satin ribbon. Looking up, she eyed Alexandra carefully for a moment. “Are those the only clothes you brought?”
“No, I did bring one dress, though it may need some pressing after being rolled up in my saddlebag for the last few hours.”
“Never mind.” Virginia sounded much relieved. “One of the maids will see to that in the morning. I’m just glad I won’t have to endure walking down Bond Street with you dressed like that.”
Alexandra didn’t take the least bit of offense to her aunt’s comment. The woman was clearly uncomfortable by Alexandra’s unconventional selection of clothes and as comfortable as those clothes might be, she had to recognize that they weren’t for everyone. Her aunt was also a true lady in every sense of the word. She never wore as much as a single strand of hair out of place. Though she might not be above alluding to certain things that ladies weren’t supposed to even think about, as she’d clearly demonstrated earlier that evening, she certainly wasn’t about to invite unnecessary gossip of any kind.
The following day turned out to be more grueling and exhausting than anything else Alexandra had ever experienced before in her life. By the time they returned to Virginia’s house in the late afternoon, she was positively sure that she’d require assistance in climbing the front steps. Her aunt on the other hand practically skipped up the steps like a bright young school girl, all the while chattering about all the things they’d accomplished thus far and everything else that still needed attending to. Alexandra groaned, grabbed hold of the banister and hauled herself upward by sheer determination before staggering inside the house. There she managed a meager three steps before collapsing onto a small bench that stood in the hallway.
“Whatever is the matter?” Virginia asked as if they’d merely taken a turn about the garden rather than cover every inch of Mayfair on foot.
“I’m positively exhausted and my feet are killing me,” Alexandra gasped as she stared back at her aunt, half expecting the woman to do a pirouette or burst into song. She seemed to have more energy than a puppy.
“Not used to women’s shoes I suspect.” Virginia nodded as if she was fully aware of the difference between the comfort of men’s boots and the painful contraptions that were presently blistering Alexandra’s feet. “Not to worry, I’ll ring for some tea and ask Pierson to bring up a footbath for you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Alexandra found herself planted in a very comfortable chair, sipping tea and eating biscuits while her feet soaked in the heavenly warmth of lavender scented water.
“There’s a letter here that appears to be from your father,” Virginia announced as she leafed through a pile of correspondences that Pierson had brought her. “He says he’s taken up residence in town and that he wishes to know if he ought to be expecting you.”
Alexandra kept silent. She knew that her aunt would continue on with her own ideas on the topic at any moment and decided to wait before offering an opinion on the matter.
“I think you’re better off here for the time being,” Virginia said, folding back the letter. “That is of course if you would like to stay. I merely wish to let you know that you’re more than welcome, and with everything still left to be done, it would be so much easier than traipsing back and forth between here and Grosvenor Square every day.”
“It’s just around the corner,” Alexandra pointed out with a hint of a smile.
“Yes, I suppose it is, but—”
“Aunt V, I’d be happy to stay if Uncle Henry doesn’t mind.”
“Uncle Henry?” Virginia brushed the name aside as if she hadn’t the faintest idea who that name belonged to. A bright smile shone upon her face. “What on earth does he have to say about the matter? You are my niece, and I have just invited you.”
From that moment on, every waking hour of Alexandra’s days turned into a frantic frenzy—a race against time, so to speak. People hurried in and out of the house—seamstresses, dance instructors, cobblers, maids, and milliners, all united in the common goal of turning a duckling into a swan.
Two days before the ball, Alexandra’s gown arrived for the final fitting. It was made from the finest white Indian muslin, beautifully embroidered with little white flowers that flowed in a wide panel from the bustline to the hem. The fashionably low neckline was underlined by a wide satin ribbon that tied at the back in a voluminous bow and the sleeves puffed airily just below the shoulders. Over this, Alexandra intended to wear a robe of cream Egyptian silk that, since it did not close and was held together only with a ribbon, was designed to reveal the gown beneath. “Well?” Alexandra asked her aunt as she turned back and forth before the full length mirror. “What do you think?”
Virginia studied her niece for a few moments while Alexandra did her best to keep her enthusiasm under some measure of control. She knew that this was the sort of gown to draw attention and she wasn’t too modest to recognize that she filled it out very nicely. “I think it suits you remarkably well,” Virginia said. “But I also think we ought to lower the neckline.”
“But it’s already rather low . . .”
“Yes, but if you have the courage for it, I’d recommend removing another . . . shall we say quarter of an inch?”
“But my br**sts will be practically spilling over the edge of it if we do that. I won’t even dare breathe!”
“My dear,” Virginia said quite seriously. “You’re about to make your debut. You’re no young miss anymore, so you’ll want to make a dramatic statement. There’s no harm in turning a few heads.”
“Papa will most likely be horrified and my brothers . . .” Alexandra suddenly grinned. “When we were in Paris, we attended a ball at the Tuileries Palace. Ryan intended to keep me covered up all night and that dress was far less risqué than what you’re proposing here.”
“Take my advice, Alexandra. The man you desire will be there on Saturday. Let’s get his heart pumping a little shall we?”
“Very well,” Alexandra agreed with an impish smile.
“Wonderful!” Virginia clapped her hands together with glee. “And as for jewelry . . . I have just the thing.” Crossing to a nearby table she picked up a velvet box and snapped open the lid. “These were your grandmothers. I think they’ll add the perfect finishing touch.”
“Oh, Aunt V!” Alexandra stared down at the pearl necklace and matching pearl drop earrings. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Yes, I think they’ll be absolutely perfect.”
“Good. Now let’s get you out of this dress so the seamstresses can get back to work on it, and then we’ll have some lunch while we talk about your hair. I have quite a few ideas on how we might best tame those curls without removing from the natural beauty they offer.”
Alexandra grinned as she shook her head in surrender. “Of course, you do, Aunt V, I wouldn’t have dared think otherwise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Flickering torches lined the steps of Willowbrook house as Lady Lindhurst’s carriage drew up and the steps were set down. A handsomely dressed footman helped the ladies alight, bowing to Lord Lindhurst as he too emerged from the carriage. They were deliberately late of course. Virginia had strategically planned to be the last guests to arrive so that everyone might be present as her niece made her entrance.
Alexandra knew that there was no doubt in her aunt’s mind that she would render even the most talkative ladies of the ton speechless this evening, and her unwavering support added to her confidence as she now stepped forward. She felt utterly divine in her gown and robe, which her aunt had remarked, brought out a pink hue to her creamy white skin. They’d solved the problem of her rioting curls with a couple of tortoise shell hair clips that seemed to work wonders for Alexandra’s overall appearance.
“Go ahead, my dear,” Virginia urged Alexandra. “We’ll be right behind you.”
Taking a deep breath as she glanced toward the stairs, Alexandra lifted the hem of her gown and began her ascent. When she reached the top, a footman asked for her name before leading her through to a grand staircase that descended into the ballroom. “Lady Alexandra Summersby,” he announced in a voice that rose above the music and the murmur of the crowd.
Holding her head up high, Alexandra ignored the butterflies that had just been unleashed in her stomach. She moved forward instead.
A hush spread like wildfire through the masses as every single head without question turned toward her. Only the occasional whisper could be heard. She might as well have been standing there stark nak*d, she realized, because it was highly unlikely that she would ever feel more uncomfortable than she did at that very moment under the scrutiny of the ton. In truth, she wanted to turn and run, but instead, she straightened her back, slapped a smile on her face, placed her hand upon the banister and started down the stairs.