Tempted by an Unconventional Lady (Preview)

Chapter One

Miss Charlotte Fairchild would not marry just any man. In fact, she didn’t much mind if she never married at all, but she was genuinely happy for her best friend in all the world, Lady Chelsea Hurtle. 

“Can you believe he finally proposed?” Chelsea said with a squeal. She clasped her hands in front of her heart and grinned. “I shall be Lady Leming by the end of the summer!”

“It has only been six months since you began courting,” Charlotte said with a giggle. 

“And that is quite long enough, thank you very much,” Chelsea replied, her chest puffed out. “You know that I was tiring of the hunt for a husband. It took me far longer than I’d anticipated when I first debuted.” 

Catkins from the willow tree draped all around them, shielding them from the view of Lord Hurtle’s London townhouse and shading them from the sun. It had been their favorite spot in the garden ever since they were little girls, their own little secret haven, and even now, as young ladies, the pair hid in there to discuss their loves and their lives, their hopes and their dreams. 

“Was it terribly romantic?” Charlotte asked. “The proposal, I mean. Lord Leming strikes me as the romantic type.”

“Oh, it was,” Chelsea beamed. “We were in the park. We’d had a lovely picnic—all the best quality foods prepared by his cook—and then we took a walk by the lake. He got down on one knee and pulled a diamond ring from a little blue pouch, the rippling water cooling the air beside us. Oh, Charlotte. He said the kindest things.”

“As well he should,” Charlotte said. “He is smitten with you and no mistake.”

“Yes. I am lucky to have found such a man.” Chelsea crossed her legs on the soft earth, fiddling with the broken bits of tree that scattered the ground. 

“There is nothing lucky about it.” Charlotte ran her fingers through her long chestnut brown hair as she spoke. “He proposed to you because you will make him an excellent wife—beautiful and bright and a wonderful conversationist.”

Chelsea leaned closer, excitement written across her features. “And it wasn’t only romantic,” she said. The words came out in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around to hear her. 

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked. She knew exactly what her friend meant, but she wanted to hear the words. If she did not get to experience it for herself, then she at least wanted to listen to stories about it. 

“At one point in our walk,” Chelsea whispered, “we ended up in the woods.”

Charlotte gasped, “All alone?”

“Quite alone,” Chelsea confirmed. “I stopped to admire the trees, when Lord Leming kissed me.”

“Oh my,” muttered Charlotte. Her hand fluttered around her throat, briefly touching her bare collarbones. She had dreamed of being kissed by men in the woods. Kissed and caressed. 

“But it was unlike any kiss he has previously given me,” Chelsea said with a giggle. “It was hungry, like he couldn’t resist me.”

Charlotte giggled too, picturing the scene. “What happened? Did you kiss him back?”

“Of course I did,” Chelsea said. “Can you believe he pushed me up against the tree? It was rough and urgent, but I liked it.” Another giggle. “As he kissed me, he pushed his entire body against mine, and I could feel it through his trousers. He was truly delighted, if you catch my meaning?”

“It?” Charlotte asked. Again, she understood perfectly well, but she wanted to hear the words. Wanted to relive a moment she had not yet lived. 

“His manhood,” Chelsea said, giggling yet again. “It was so big and determined, Charlotte. Honestly, it was the first time I’ve truly felt it. It prodded into my leg like it was searching for something.”

“It was searching for something,” Charlotte said. 

She forced a giggle to join her friend, but the truth was, her body responded to the tale in kind. At three-and-twenty, Charlotte Fairchild remained untouched. Virginal. Innocent to everyone who saw her, except those who truly knew her mind. She had no desire to find a man, except to experience that one thing which would turn her into a real woman. 

That one secret thing, the connection, that physical yearning, was the only thing missing from her life. Oh, of course, she teased herself often enough. She had learned the ways of satisfying that urge in the darkness of her own bedchamber or while bathing—or both. She had thrown her head back and moaned in abandon as her thoughts spiraled. But it was not the same. 

She longed for a man to thrust himself inside her, widening her, stretching her, filling her, just as she knew all the married women experienced. It was only a shame that one had to marry to experience it. 

“I admit,” Chelsea said, bringing Charlotte back to the moment, “I almost allowed him to find it.” She fell back in giggles once more. 

“Why didn’t you?” Charlotte asked, leaning forward, eager to hear every word. “You are to be married soon.”

Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “But we are not yet married. I do have some honor, Charlotte.”

I would not have a single drop of honor in your position. 

Charlotte smiled, despite the thoughts running through her mind. “You are a good soul, Chelsea Hurtle—soon to be Leming. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“And you shall be next, if I have anything to do with it,” Chelsea said, a glint of something mischievous in her bright blue eyes. 

Charlotte smiled at her friend, though she chose not to answer. Gone were her hot daydreams, replaced instead by thoughts of her life.

She flicked her hair from her shoulder, relishing in the freedom of wearing it around her face rather than tightly pinned up as her aunt preferred. She was a lithe young woman, lean and athletic in build, and she would always opt for comfort over style if she had the choice. Even now at her age, she could join a game of cricket as well as any of the boys, and she enjoyed the shock on their faces when she did so. Yet with it, she was elegant and graceful. Charlotte bounded with energy, her oak green eyes telling the tale of a young woman full of life and vibrancy and color. 

“Perhaps,” she murmured in reply to Chelsea. “But you know I won’t settle for just any man. And I’m rather past the age of looking now, regardless.”

It was not that she didn’t think she could attract a husband. She’d had enough proposals in the past to know that she could. It was more that she wasn’t certain she wanted to. At three-and-twenty years of age, she knew that marriage should be the first thing on her mind but more and more she found that it wasn’t. The problem was that Charlotte was an educated young lady, and quite unlike the other ladies of the ton, she had been raised to think of things other than the marriage market and the incessant need for babies. 

Though the second son of a viscount, her poor late father had never had any inherited titles, and every drop of wealth the family owned was down to his hard work as a tea merchant and that alone. When her dear mother died of consumption when she was barely seven years old, he became all the more determined. Thus, he had brought Charlotte up to be hardy, sure of herself, and full of confidence too. 

They’d been terribly close after the tragedy that took her mother, and his own death when she was just eighteen had been hard to take. An accident at sea meant she didn’t have the chance to say a proper goodbye, but he left her with a large inheritance that made her stand out from the crowd of other young ladies her own age. She still lived with her guardians, of course, but her self-sufficiency set her against everyone else. 

There were lots of reasons why marriage didn’t feature highly in her thoughts, but it was these notions that came to the forefront whenever she thought about it. She wanted to always be treated as an equal, just as her father had treated her, and though she knew how unusual that was in their world, she wouldn’t settle for anything less. While Chelsea might have been happy to be a pampered puppy of some fancy Lord, Charlotte wanted more for herself than that. 

“Not everyone can be as lucky as I am, you know,” Chelsea teased. “There is only one Lord Leming.”

Charlotte snorted. “You can keep him. He’s perfect for you, but he would drive me to distraction within minutes of our marriage.”

Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “That’s what I’m hoping for,” she teased before breaking into giggles. 

Charlotte giggled along with her friend, enjoying the secret salaciousness of their conversation. It was one of the reasons she loved Chelsea. They had been friends since they were babies, their mothers friends before them, but the older they’d become, the freer they’d become in the way they talked. There was nothing off limits. 

And in truth, if anything was to make Charlotte want a husband, it was that need for the salacious. She dreamed of being touched by the hand of a man, of fingers snaking around her body or lips moistening her flesh. She didn’t understand it, of course, but still she lusted after it. Often, in the secret darkness of her bedchamber, she found her own hands wandering, exploring parts of her she knew to be sacred. Parts that excited her. And the fact that she knew she shouldn’t? That made it all the more appealing. 

“It is not for love you are marrying then,” Charlotte teased. “But lust.”

“Can a girl not feel both love and lust?” Chelsea countered. “If anything, I’d wager that it is a truer love which is passionate as well as tender.”

“Is there such a thing as true love?” Charlotte wondered. “Or is it all merely financial convenience and physical attraction?”

“You are cold sometimes, Charlotte. Of course love exists. You just haven’t been lucky enough to experience it yet. You will, one day, of that I can assure you. Though it would be helpful if you were to attend the occasional social event. When was the last time you went to a society ball?”

Charlotte groaned. Balls bored her, and luncheons irritated her. She never seemed to fit in anywhere, always left on the sidelines as the peculiar one, the different one. Though she attracted the eyes of many a gentleman and the friendship of a fair few of the ladies, it always seemed to be out of curiosity rather than any genuine comradery. It was as if people wanted to meet the strange creature in the corner, the one who stood out against all the ‘normal’ young ladies. 

“I am not interested in marriage anymore, Chelsea. I thought I had told you that already.”

“You had, but I don’t believe you. Everyone is interested in marriage—or at the very least, in love. You do not want to grow into an old spinster, do you?”

Charlotte snorted with laughter. “I’m near old enough already, especially in the eyes of the ton. Three-and-twenty and still no prospects!”

Chelsea eyed her warily. “You’ve had plenty of prospects, Charlotte. You’ve just refused them. What on earth would your mother have said?”

Charlotte looked down at her fingers, the pads of her thumbs running across each of her sharp nails. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever know, will I?”

“Sorry,” Chelsea muttered. 

When Charlotte’s mother died, it had been incredibly difficult. And with her father so often working away, Charlotte found herself at a loss. Though there were nursemaids and governesses aplenty, Charlotte had found herself spending more and more time in the bosom of Lady Hurtle, Chelsea’s mother. At the tender age of seven, their family life looked to be perfect, and Lady Hurtle had been kind enough to mother Charlotte as well. 

“I know what my mother would say,” Chelsea said, brightening the mood suddenly. She imitated her mother’s whiny voice. “You are taking too long, Charlotte. If you do not select someone soon, I shall select someone for you.”

Charlotte laughed, loudly and freely. “You sound just like her—she has indeed said that exact sentence to me more than once, though Aunt Lydia would have a thing or two to say about it, that’s for sure.” 

Aunt Lydia, one of Charlotte’s guardians, was a decent enough woman but she tended to be a little overbearing, even with her husband, Charlotte’s Uncle Elliot. Charlotte had long suspected that though her mother had liked Elliot well enough, she would not have abided Lydia’s austere ways. 

“Ah yes, dear Aunt Lydia. Doesn’t she have something to say about your rejected prospects?”

“Oddly, no,” Charlotte said, surprised by her own answer. “I don’t know why. She has enough to say about everything else.”

“Perhaps she still sees you as a little girl,” Chelsea suggested. “She does prefer you in rather unflattering clothing, after all.”

“And always with my hair scraped back and pinned down,” Charlotte added with a laugh. “I’m certain she means well but it does make my head ache by the end of the day.”

“What about you?” Chelsea asked. “Do you ever regret turning down quite so many proposals?”

Only in that I do not get to experience the throes of passion.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, deciding to answer in the way society expected her to. “From men far more interested in my wealth than in me? No, of course not. If they weren’t rakes, they were bores, and if they weren’t bores, they were fops. I do sometimes wonder if there is a single good man left in England.”

“Perhaps I took the last one,” Chelsea said with a nonchalant shrug. 

“I am perfectly happy to be myself—and be by myself,” Charlotte went on, reassuring her friend. “I know it might be difficult to understand, but there it is. I would far rather that than find myself caught up in an unhappy marriage.”

“But there’s the issue,” Chelsea said, leaning forward eagerly as if she’d caught the hook. “Why would you assume a marriage would be unhappy? You don’t think mine will be unhappy, do you?”

Something darkened Chelsea’s eyes, and Charlotte realized that now was not the time to be negative about love. It was a time for celebration, and her friend needed her encouragement, not her pessimism. 

“Of course not,” she cried, reaching out and squeezing Chelsea’s hand. “Dear me, your marriage will undoubtedly be the happiest in the world, for it’s you and Lord Leming, and you could be nothing else. Ignore my self-pity. I am turning more and more into an old crow as the days go by.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. “You are not an old crow,” she said. She raised her eyes and looked at Charlotte from beneath her lashes and then added, “Yet.”

The pair burst into happy laughter, falling over each other onto the wet, dewy earth. Charlotte knew she’d be picking bits of twig from her hair for the rest of the day, but she didn’t care because when she was with Chelsea, she felt free again. Young again. So very different to when she was with her guardians. Uncle Elliot was a kind and generous soul, and Aunt Lydia was… well, she was Aunt Lydia, but they both believed strongly in propriety and traditional roles, and neither quite understood Charlotte’s attitude to life.

Soon, they lay on their backs, staring up at the glimmers of sun glittering through the gaps in the tree. Charlotte sighed. 

“I really do think Lord Leming is perfect for you, and I suppose in some ways I am envious. Not because I want to marry, you understand, but because you two just seem… right. It’s so natural and easy for you to be together. That’s obvious to anyone with eyes.”

And I wonder whether anyone would ever feel right with an oddball like me.

She turned her head to look at her friend. Chelsea continued to stare upward, but the soft smile on her face told Charlotte she was thinking of her love. 

“It is rather perfect, isn’t it?” she said. “And we’ll be married in only a matter of months.”

“So soon?” Charlotte was so shocked that she sat up again. Chelsea continued to sprawl, a hand draped over her stomach. 

“I told you we’d be married by the end of the summer.”

“Yes, but…” Charlotte hesitated. “But I thought that was simply a turn of phrase.”

Chelsea shrugged. “Why wait, when you have found the one?”

“But however will you be ready in time?” Charlotte asked. 

“I shall be returning to Hampshire in a week’s time to start the preparations. You’re right. There’s so much to do. So much to organize.” She sat up quickly, swinging her legs around so that she crossed them beneath her. “Will you come, Charlotte? Will you stay with me a while and help with the preparations? Please, say you will!”

Charlotte’s smile grew, thrilled that her friend had asked her. A few weeks away from London and a little romp in the countryside was just what she needed, and she was overjoyed to be able to help her friend. 

“Please?” Chelsea asked again. 

“Of course,” Charlotte said. “I would love to.”

 

Chapter Two

“I’m afraid, Your Grace, there is little else for it. Unless you can come up with a solution soon, you will have to sell Ashbourne House to cover the increasing debts. It rather seems that your predecessor burned through the last remains of the Ashbourne coffers.”

Alexander sighed, rubbing the exhaustion from his face. The day so far had been a series of bad news, first from the bank about his mounting debts and his obligations to repay. And now, Mr. Whitmore, his longstanding solicitor, had told him there was nothing more they could do. No more funds that could be shifted around, no further investments he could withdraw from. He knew that inheriting the title and the duchy would not be an easy ride, but he had not quite expected this. 

He would do better to open a brothel. He’d earn a fair wage and get to enjoy a little fun with the ladies of the night. He’d satisfy both his yearnings—for wealth and for pleasure. He sighed, knowing that there weren’t even funds for that. 

“Surely there is another building we can sell? Or someone willing to invest in one of our businesses?”

Mr. Whitmore shook his head. “The only buildings left are those on the estate, Your Grace. And you have no businesses left into which someone could invest. Unless you think of something rather drastic and perhaps unorthodox, I’m afraid the Ashbourne Duchy will be a title alone.”

At the age of three-and-thirty, Alexander Wentworth had never expected to become the Duke of Ashbourne. His dear old cousin, Norman Wentworth, had turned senile long before anyone had noticed, and in his aging madness, he had gambled and wasted away the money. The duchy itself was in a mess, the people unhappy, and the estate itself in near ruin. 

Alexander’s own family had had little to do with Norman, and so Alexander hadn’t known that the previous duke had produced no heirs. He had something of a reputation as a lover of women, and so Alexander had secretly expected illegitimate children to come out of the woodwork. But a year after he had unexpectedly received the title, the estate, the debts, and the headache that came with it all, still no one challenged his right to be there. Either the rumors were vastly exaggerated, or Norman Wentworth was somehow biologically unable to reproduce. And to make matters worse, Alexander now had to watch over Norman’s care as well. 

Alexander sighed again, his eyes roving over the papers on Mr. Whitmore’s desk as though they might somehow contain the answer. 

“I still don’t quite know how this wasn’t noticed—and stopped—years before it became this bad. I’m certain the crown isn’t happy to see the decimation of what was once such a distinguished duchy.”

“I’m certain you are correct, Your Grace,” Mr. Whitmore said. He took off his spectacles and folded the arms down. “But asking why it wasn’t noticed and dealt with sooner will not alter the fact that we need to act now—and you have very few options left open to you. If you wish to put the estate up for sale—”

“I do not wish to do that,” Alexander said quickly and rather firmly. 

“But it is in a state of disrepair, Your Grace. Perhaps it would be better to sell it to someone who has the means to return it to its original grandeur. And I am certain it would be a weight off your mind.”

Alexander stood up, plucking his top hat from the desk in front of him. “I will have the means to restore it,” he said. “I just… don’t have them yet.”

“But you are running out of time, Your Grace,” Mr. Whitmore said, looking up at Alexander from his seat. “The bank will not wait forever, and as heir to the duke, the responsibility has been handed to you.”

“I have not run out of time yet. I shall think of something, Mr. Whitmore. Good day to you.”

Alexander swept out of the room, putting his hat on as he left. He heard the solicitor calling after him, but he ignored him. He couldn’t take much more bad news today, and the man had a particular way of haranguing. Alexander had a solution to come up with and a spirit to raise. 

I need some physical release, he thought, his desire reaching him even as he dealt with blow after blow. Some woman to please me. At least then I shall have some control. 

He had always been a lighthearted, happy man. But between the hardships of the past year and his hardships in love, Alexander had turned cynical. His manner grew more detached and abrupt by the day, and though he preferred the man he used to be, his need for personal armor was more important for the time being. 

He paused at the top of the steps down to the street, taking in the scene, his metal-tipped cane tucked beneath his arm. Spring was just around the corner but still the skies were gray, the clouds as heavy as Alexander’s heart. He fastened his cloak around his shoulders and frowned. The street was bustling with people going about their business, the noise of the everyday filling the air. Across the road, Alexander’s carriage awaited him, his horses stomping on the cobbles in frustration at its stillness, their breath plumes in the air. 

With another sigh, Alexander trotted down the stone steps and slipped between the people to reach his carriage. 

“Wake up, Jenkins,” he snapped, tapping the side of the carriage loudly with his cane. The coachman jumped from where he lounged on the trap, his cap lowered over his eyes. He looked wide-eyed at the duke, who merely threw him a disapproving glance and sprang lithely onto the pavement opposite.

Alexander could feel the eyes of the passersby upon him, as was often the case. He was naturally an imposing figure. At over six feet tall, he stood above even many of the gentlemen of the ton, and his muscular, athletic frame made him all the bigger. He raised his shoulders, his chest puffed out to belie his true feelings—that he wanted to hide away from his seemingly insurmountable problems.

It wasn’t only his size and his self-assurance that drew the eye. He was a handsome man, and he knew it, though his arrogance presented itself as endearing rather than pompous. His hair was as black as a moonless midnight, and it hung an inch or two below his earlobes. It was almost always tousled with a gentle wave that needed no iron to curl, and it was somewhat softer than the short, wiry hair of his whiskers. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jenkins said, clearing his throat. “Back to Ashbourne House, is it?”

Alexander turned to him and blinked as if newly remembering he was there. “Yes,” he said shortly. “And let’s be quick about it. I have work to do.”

“Well, well! If it isn’t the Duke of Ashbourne himself!” 

Alexander didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, and his smile grew, his spirits instantly lifting. Perhaps all he needed was a friend after all. He spun around, a grin on his face. 

“Stewart Stanhope, as I live and breathe! I didn’t realize you were in London. It’s good to see you, old friend. It’s been—what? Two? Three months?”

“More like six,” Stewart replied. “You know how it is. Business is just that—busy.”

Alexander groaned. “I’m glad someone’s is,” he muttered. 

“That bad?” Stewart asked with a wince. “I mean, we all knew about your cousin’s propensity for the card tables but…”

Alexander put on a bright smile. “I shall find a solution soon enough, I’m sure. Perhaps you’d care to join me for dinner? Maybe you’ve got a suggestion or two. I shan’t deny that I am in need of a little company as well as sound advice at the moment.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Stewart said. “It would be good to catch up with an old friend.”

“Then that’s a…” Alexander trailed off as he caught a flash of blonde hair across the road. Blonde hair that would have once set his groin stirring, a visceral reaction that would have him leaping across the road to pull her into his arms. Blonde hair that he, for so long, lusted after. 

He remembered the night of the masquerade ball, when she had led him out onto the balcony. It had been dangerous—very much so—but she had pushed him against the wall and cupped his manhood, all while whispering lewd words into his hot mouth. He should have known better then, realized what a witch she was, but he had wanted it. 

Goodness, I had wanted it. 

But no more. She had broken him in more ways than one. He squinted, his body frozen and tense as he waited to see if it was truly her or if his mind was playing tricks on him again. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The woman turned, her blue eyes glittering like the ice that was in her heart. 

Yes, it’s her!

Wide-eyed, Alexander gasped then dived quickly into the waiting carriage. He slid down on the seat, his hand raised against the side of his face in the hope that she wouldn’t see him—and if she did, that she wouldn’t recognize him. It felt as though his heart would burst from his chest, and he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. But thankfully, his loins remained distinctly unstirred. 

Stewart ducked his head, his hand leaning on the roof of the carriage, and he frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Whatever’s the matter?”

Alexander carefully lowered his hand, peering over the top of his fingertips. Yes, she was still there. With a look of consternation, he nodded in her direction, hoping he would not have to explain himself. She might hear his voice across the way. Stewart followed his gaze. 

“Ah, I see.” With a nod of understanding, Steward climbed into the carriage after Alexander, and the coachman shut the door behind him. “You’re still hiding from her then?” 

“And everything else,” Alexander muttered, sliding even further down in his seat. If it were only her he’d had to worry about, life would have been a lot easier. 

He reached blindly for his cane and tapped the roof to signal his readiness, and then he kept a wary eye on the beautiful woman through the window as the carriage slowly rolled forward, the horses preparing themselves for their work. 

“Oh dear. You are in a bad way,” Stewart said. “Seems to me that you need more than a little dinner.”

“Several thousand pounds should do it,” Alexander said and then immediately regretted it. It was uncouth to discuss money so openly, but he and Stewart had been friends since their first day at Eton all those years ago. He felt more an extension of himself than a peer. “But let’s not discuss that. I have a few… er… investments to follow up on. Some property options.”

“You’ll sort it, old boy,” Stewart replied, shifting with discomfort at Alexander’s frankness. “If ever there was a man who could get a duchy out of a sticky situation, it’s you, my friend. Among the best and brightest at Eton, you were.”

“And always with you by my side,” Alexander reminded him. 

“Well. Us wonders of nature need to stick together, don’t we?” He laughed at his own joke, and Alexander felt a touch of the lightness that had once made up his being. He smiled at his friend, grateful that he had bumped into him at all. 

“Your humor knows no bounds,” Alexander retorted. 

Stewart gasped, his hand to his chest in mock horror. “You mean to say you don’t think of me as a wonder?”

Alexander chuckled but didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and looked out of the window, watching the world pass by. Now that they were safely out of sight, he had straightened. He rested his chin on his hand, his thoughts once more consumed by how drastically his life had changed since he became duke. He had always known it would be a challenge, and he’d always enjoyed a challenge. But now he worried that this might be the first challenge to break him. The first challenge he would lose. 

“Alexander?” Stewart said. “Wentworth? Are you listening?”

“What? Oh!” Alexander turned, pulled out of his doldrums. “Sorry. I seem to find myself lost in thought more and more often these days. What were you saying?”

“You remember my cousin, Lady Chelsea Hurtle?”

Alexander narrowed his eyes, sifting through the list of names he had stored in his mind. “I… think so,” he replied. “Red head? Button nose? Pretty little thing? I think you pointed her out once, though I haven’t actually met her.”

“That’s the one,” Stewart said with a nod. “Though she far prefers strawberry blonde.”

“What about her?” Alexander shifted to look more directly at Stewart, his interest piqued. 

It was not the woman herself that interested him, of course. He’d been far too scorned by love to even think of the fairer sex in that way. He couldn’t deny there were dark times, when he was alone, that he missed the touch of a woman. It had been too long since he’d felt soft hands against his bare flesh, and the memory of it stirred something within his loins. But this was not one of those times. 

No, his curiosity was more thanks to the sparkle in Stewart’s eye. The man was excited about something, and Alexander wondered why. 

“She’s getting married. To Lord Leming.”

“The short one?” Alexander replied, his eyebrows high on his forehead, not quite believing what he had heard. 

Stewart snorted with laughter. “That’s the one, but she likes him regardless of his stature. And he’s a pleasant chap by all accounts. I approve of the match, certainly, as does her brother.”

“That’s good,” Alexander replied. “But what does this have to do with me?”

“Well,” Stewart began. “I am heading to Hampshire for a few weeks to help with the preparations.”

“You mean to help with the celebrations,” Alexander corrected. 

Stewart snorted again. “And isn’t that better?” Alexander shrugged, conceding the point. “My point is that perhaps you ought to join me. I’ll wager it’ll do you good. Chelsea and her friend have already been there a week—you know what brides are like, so very excitable—and my aunt and uncle will be joining them shortly. I’d like to arrive before them if possible, so that we can enjoy a little peace and quiet. What do you say?”

Alexander fell silent for a moment while he considered Stewart’s suggestion. He was sick of London and all the bad news it had to offer. Some time away might give him the time and space to think and plan his next move. 

Eventually, he turned to Stewart with a smile. “Yes,” he said. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”