Chapter Ten
If Alex had forgotten how much he despised society, he was soon reminded of it a week later. It was a warm Thursday evening in St James' Square. An earlier bout of spring rain had cleared the usually smoky London sky, so that from the window of the carriage, Alex was able to see a spectacular sun setting over the rooftops.
His gaze was aimed upward, in appreciation of the heavenly sky, as if he looked out at ground level, he would most surely scream.
Traffic.
Dozens of carriages were snaking their way around the square, at a speed slower than a funeral procession, all headed in the same direction: the Duke of Hawkfield's residence. Not for the first time, Alex turned to his sister and grumbled; "It would be far quicker if we just got out and walked."
"Don't be silly, dear," Phoebe, Lady Thackery sighed. "Nobody arrives on foot to a ball, it's not the done thing."
Alex was about to retort that he did not give a fig for the "done thing", when he caught sight of Hestia's pale face. She was seated beside Phoebe, wearing an expression that one might expect to see on a man condemned to death and not a young girl on the way to her first ball. Having a great antipathy toward balls in general, Alex emphasised with her feelings, though he knew that Hestia's fears ran deeper than his own misgivings, which were purely down to his own impatience with the feckless members of the ton.
Tonight was the night that Hestia Stockbow was to meet London Society, no wonder the poor girl looked pained, for her arrival in London had been talked about by all and sunder --even warranting a column or two in the papers.
After seeing all the furore over her arrival in town, it had been decided by his sister and Miss Deveraux, that the best way to introduce Hestia to the beau monde, was as the close friend of some of society's most powerful people. The Duke and Duchess of Hawkfield, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Everleigh had been rallied to the cause, each couple promising to let it be known of their fondness for Miss Stockbow.
Phoebe, who was herself married to an Earl, had taken Hestia under her wing in a way that Alex could not dare have hoped for. Hestia had been deposited at Lord and Lady Thackery's home a week ago, after a long trip from Cornwall, to live under Phoebe's care until the necessary paper-work was in place for the wedding. Alex had been loathe to part with his intended just for proprieties' sake, though his rather bossy older-sister had shot down his declaration that he too would stay at Thackery Hall until the wedding.
"For heaven's sake Alex," Phoebe had admonished, "Use that brain of yours, the one that everyone is always harping on about. Miss Stockbow has enough black marks against her name, without the rumour that you are living together in sin circulating. Besides, the sight of your grumpy face in the morning would put me off my breakfast."
"Don't fear, Miss Stockbow," Alex had said, ignoring his sister's barbs, instead addressing Hestia; "You shan't be left here for long."
"Actually, I think I'll rather enjoy my stay with your sister," Hestia had responded, evidently delighted to see someone speak down to him. At the time, Alex had rather regretted leaving Hestia under Phoebe's bad influence, but having seen her tonight, he had to concede that his sister had done a marvellous job with the young lady who would be his bride.
Gone was the hideous bonnet and the dowdy dresses, replaced instead by an elegant chignon and a dress of sapphire blue, that clung to her every curve. For the first time in his life he wished that he knew more about women's fashion, so that he could commission a modiste to make a hundred dresses for Hestia, all in that same soft, puffy material.
She was like a cloud come to earth for one night, he decided, not caring that this was a ridiculously sappy thing for a man who had been to war to think.
The carriage trundled on, eventually arriving at the front steps of Hawkfield House, the imposing, three-story residence of the Duke and Duchess.
"It would have taken us five minutes by foot," Alex grumbled again to his sister, as a footman opened the door, for his own home was just around the corner on the equally affluent Duke Street.
Phoebe ignored him, instead tucking Hestia's arm under her own as she marched up the steps to the front door. Alex followed, reluctantly deciding that he had done enough grumbling for one night. Tonight was about Hestia, about making sure that she had the smoothest possible entry to society as was possible. It was not an opportunity for him to display his famous impatience.
The ballroom of Hawkfield House was packed to bursting, which was an impressive feat, as it was one of the largest ballrooms in all of England. A slight hush fell over the crowd, as their arrival was announced, and Alex saw several people craning to get a better look at Hestia. His protective instincts kicked in, and he was filled with a need to shield her from view.
Don't be ridiculous, he chastised himself, there's no point in taking her out, just to hide her away. Indeed, Hestia appeared to be handling the attention rather well. She walked a little before him, her shoulders back and her head held high. As they made their way past the crowds, Alex heard a few people exclaiming how pretty Miss Stockbow was.
"I suppose it's true that men lose all their senses at the sight of a pretty face," a nasally voice whispered loudly as they passed, "For Falconbridge must have near lost his mind, if he intends to sully the line by marrying the girl."
Alex whipped around, to see who had spoken, but all he saw were curious faces staring back at him. He hoped that Hestia had not heard, though judging by the stiffness of her shoulders, she had.
"There you are Hestia, dearest."
It was Jane, dressed in a dove grey gown, which complimented her creamy complexion and rosy cheeks. The future Duchess of Hawkfield bestowed two kisses on Hestia's cheeks and drew her towards her conspiratorially.
"Everyone is so glad you could make it. Come, my Lord, my Lady, Lord Payne's parents and the Duke and Duchess of Everleigh are awaiting your arrival."
Alex followed a step behind as Hestia was led toward the two Dukes and Duchesses. There were few among the ton who could claim an association with either family, to be so publicly welcomed by both was quite the coup d'état. Olive, Duchess of Ashford smiled warmly as Hestia was presented to her.
"How wonderful to meet you again, Miss Stockbow," she said loudly, so that the shameless earwigs standing nearby would overhear. "I am so looking forward to renewing our acquaintance, now you are back in town."
"And I yours, your Grace," Hestia mumbled, her cheeks pink.
The Duke and Duchess of Hawkfield were no less gracious and, once the introductions were finished, instructed Hestia and Alex to enjoy the festivities.
"I cannot allow Miss Stockbow leave, until she promises me a dance," the Duke of Everleigh called. "I am certain she will be much in demand for the night."
"Yes," even though he knew that Everleigh was only trying to show kindness, Alex felt himself bristle with indignation; "She will be busy dancing with me."
"Though of course, when my brother can be persuaded to leave Hestia's side, she will be delighted to dance with you, your Grace," Phoebe interjected swiftly, with a sharp elbow to Alex's ribs to silence him.
He glowered, but kept his peace, for he knew that Phoebe was right to chastise him for his ill manners. He could not expect Hestia to have a successful launch into society if he did not allow her to speak to anyone bar him. After the wedding, he thought, they would have all the time in the world together. Perhaps he would take her away, down to the small estate he owned near Penzance, and they could spend some time alone together, away from prying eyes.
His sister stole Hestia away soon after, leaving Alex to moodily stalk the periphery of the ballroom. He nodded at the many familiar faces he passed, though engaged none in conversation. A familiar fop of blonde hair, however, drew him from his reclusive state.
"Pierre," he called, clapping his fellow academic heartily on the back, "This was the last place I was expecting to find you."
"It is the last place I expected to be," the Frenchman replied with a weak smile, "However the Duke kindly invited me last week, when he paid a visit to Montagu House to check on our progress."
Alex could not help but note the tone of disapproval in Dubois' voice as he spoke of their shared project. Since meeting Miss Stockbow, Alex had been rather neglecting his work on translating the Egyptian steele, and it was clear that the French man was annoyed.
"I know I have not been very helpful," he offered an apology with a rueful grin, "But I inherited a ward, then found myself a bride and all thought of translation simply left my head. Once the wedding is over and done with, I'll be back to my old self."
"Yes," Dubois lowered his voice to a whisper, so low that Alex had to lean in to hear him. "Do you think she knows where the missing piece of the stone is, this Stockbow girl? Is that why you're marrying her?"
His question shocked Alex for two reasons; the first being that he had forgotten Dubois knew of David Stockbow's connection to the missing stone, the second being that he himself had been so overcome by feelings for Hestia that her connection to the missing piece of stone, hadn't even registered.
"I have not yet asked her," he replied truthfully, which made Dubois sigh with irritation.
"For goodness sake, just ask the girl. She must know where it is! What's the point of having her as your wife, if she doesn't lead you to the stone?"
Alex felt slightly uncomfortable at Dubois's insinuation that he was only marrying Hestia in the hope that she might reveal where --or if--her father had hidden the steele. Dubois's words perfectly showed his focused determination to decipher the mysteries of Egyptian hieroglyphics, at any cost. In fact, Alex was certain, if Dubois had stumbled upon Hestia before he had, that the Frenchman would have married her instead of him.
"Must dash, old fellow, my sister is beckoning for me," Alex offered apologetically, hoping that Dubois would not look over his shoulder and find that Phoebe was doing no such thing. Alex pushed his way through the throngs of people, to where his sister and his intended stood, deep in conversation Lady Caroline, Lord Payne's sister.
"There you are," Phoebe called brightly, as he arrived at her side. "You're just in time for the first dance of the night."
Indeed, the orchestra, who had been warming up, struck up the first notes of a Quadrille just as Phoebe finished her sentence. Alex would rather have shared a more intimate waltz with Miss Stockbow, but he chivalrously took her hand and led her out onto the floor.
"I have never danced in public, my Lord," she whispered, her petrified eyes darting to and fro, as though plotting an escape route.
"But you know the steps?" Alex questioned.
She nodded and he gave her an encouraging smile; "That's all that is required, I swear. Everyone will be too wrapped up in themselves to pay you any heed."
This was, in fact, a bare-faced lie; Alex knew full well that the whole room was watching as he and Hestia joined three other couples, for the set dance, though he wasn't about to share that with her. The dance was a lively number, and soon Hestia's face was pink with exertion and excitement. As the music came to an end, Hestia's hand was holding Alex's and he silently marvelled at how perfectly they fit together.
He led her from the ballroom floor, heading through the crowd toward his sister, who was chatting animatedly with friends by the bowls of ratafia. Alex had a sneaking suspicion that her animation was partly fuelled by the sweet alcohol, for she seemed even more exuberant than usual.
Hestia, who had appeared relaxed after their energetic dance, suddenly stiffened beside him. Alex glanced at her with concern, following her frightened gaze to where a tall man of about forty, with a shock of floppy, blonde hair stood.
Lord Bleakly, Viscount Havisham --Alex recognised him from White's, though he had not thought of the familial connection that the Viscount shared with his betrothed.
The whole room seemed to have noticed Hestia's discomfort and were watching gleefully, to see what would unfold. Would the Viscount snub his niece? It would be the talk of the town for weeks, if he did.
Havisham paled, as he sighted his niece. Alex witnessed a multitude of emotions flicker across the Viscount's face, until he finally settled on a look of resignation. He said a quiet word to the gentleman he had been conversing with and ambled over to the Marquess and Hestia.
"Delaney," he called, in a voice slightly louder than was usual, which Alex assumed was for the benefit of the listening crowd. "My congratulations. I wish you and my niece every happiness for your shared future together."
As the two men briefly clasped hands in an awkward handshake, Alex swore he could almost feel a rush of air, as the crowd sighed with disappointment: there would be no scandal to discuss the next morning. That Lord Bleakly did not actually talk to his niece, nor even glance at her, and instead directed his words at the Marquess, was neither here nor there. As the night drew to a close, Alex happily decided that Hestia's launch had been a resounding success, and that things could only get easier from here on in.