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  “Of course,” Anthony said dryly. Alexandra said nothing, but stood rooted to the spot.

  His grandmother glowered at him and directed her last remark to Alexandra. “I’ve never admitted this before, but I am superstitious. It seems to me that things which do not begin well rarely end well, and your wedding to Jordan— well, it was such a sad, inauspicious little affair. A large church affair will be just the thing. Society will be all agog over it, but it will give them something better to remember than all the talk about you that preceded it. Three weeks from today should do very well, indeed.” Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door, effectively cutting off any attempt by Tony or Alexandra to argue with her.

  When she left, Alexandra clutched at the back of a chair for support and slowly turned to Anthony, who was grinning at the closed door. “She’s actually more ruthless than I ever realized,” he observed with a mixture of affection and exasperation as he turned to look at Alexandra. “Hawk was the only one she couldn’t wring out with one of her looks. My father was terrified of her, so was Jordan’s. And my grandfather—”

  “Tony,” Alexandra interrupted miserably, drowning in guilt and confusion. “What have I done? I had no idea I was bringing disgrace down on us. Why didn’t you tell me I was spending too much on gowns?” Shame engulfed her as she suddenly saw herself with new clarity, leading a frivolous, expensive, aimless life.

  “Alexandra!” She turned and stared blankly at his grinning face as he said, “You have just been subjected to the most massive dose of guilt, coercion, and emotional blackmail that I have ever seen anyone hand out. My grandmother didn’t miss a trick.” He held out his palm, smiling reassuringly, and Alexandra placed her hand in his reassuring grasp. “There is nothing wrong with her health, you are not sending us down the road to financial ruin, and you assuredly are not jeopardizing the Townsende name.”

  Alexandra was not much reassured. Too much of what the duchess had said had often occurred to Alex herself. For more than a year she had been living with people who treated her as part of their family and who kept her in a manner befitting a royal duchess, when she was neither. At first, she had silenced her conscience with the knowledge that the dowager duchess truly needed her companionship in the months after Jordan’s death. But of late Alexandra had not been much of a companion to the elderly lady; there never seemed to be time to do more than wave to one another when their carriages passed on the street or they met one another on the stairway, leaving for their individual entertainments. “The part about Marbly was the truth though, wasn’t it?” she asked miserably.

  “Yes.”

  “Marbly doesn’t fancy himself in love with me like some of the younger dandies do. I can’t think why he’d have tried to abduct me.”

  “My grandmother has an interesting theory on that subject. It has to do with little boys and toys. Ask her about it sometime.”

  “Pray, don’t talk to me in riddles!” she pleaded. “Only tell me why all this is happening.”

  Tony gave her an abbreviated version of the entire discussion he had just had with his grandmother. “The fact is,” he concluded, “you’re simply too desirable for your own good and our peace of mind.”

  “What a rapper!” she chuckled. “There has to be more to it than that.”

  “Exactly how much are you enjoying the Season?”

  “It’s everything you said it would be—exciting and elegant and the people are so—elegant—exciting, and I’ve never seen such, such elegant carriages and phaetons or such—”

  Tony’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You’re impossibly poor at lying.”

  “I know,” she admitted ruefully.

  “Then suppose we stick to the truth, you and I.”

  Alexandra nodded, but still she hesitated. “How do I like the London Season?” she repeated, seriously considering the question. Like all the well-born young women in London during the Season, she slept until midmorning, breakfasted in bed, and changed her clothes at least five times each day for a round of morning calls, promenades in the park, parties, suppers, and balls. She had never been so frantically busy. Yet as she went about the occupation which was supposed to consume her every waking hour—that of enjoying herself—one question kept tolling relentlessly through her mind. Is this all there is? . . . Is there nothing more?

  Unable to face him, Alexandra walked over to the windows and then said, “The Season is all very amusing, and there is diversion everywhere, but sometimes it seems as if everyone is working very hard at playing. I will miss London when I leave it, and I know I will look forward to returning, but there’s something missing. I think I must need work to do. I feel restless here, even though I’ve never been so busy. Am I making any sense?”

  “You have always made sense, Alexandra.”

  Reassured by his gentle tone, Alexandra turned around and faced him squarely. “Alexander Pope said that amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think. I don’t entirely agree with that, but as a goal in and of itself, I find the pursuit of amusement, well, a little unsatisfying. Tony, do you never weary of this ceaseless round of aimless amusements?”

  “This year, I’ve scarcely had time to go about.” Shaking his head, he made a sweeping gesture with his hand and said wryly, “You know, I used to envy Jordan all this—his houses, his lands, all his other investments. Now that they’re mine, they’re like jewels that weigh a ton; they’re too valuable to neglect, too huge to ignore, and too heavy to carry. You can’t believe how diverse his investments are or the time it takes me to try to figure out when to do what with each one. When Jordan inherited the title at twenty, the Townsende holdings were respectable but not vast by any means. He increased them tenfold in seven years. Jordan worked like a demon, but he had time for amusements, too. I can’t seem to strike the proper balance.”

  “Is that why you’ve been neglecting the ladies, who plague me to distraction, trying to discover where you plan to go next so they can be there?”

  Tony laughed. “No. I’ve been neglecting them for the same reason you neglect your beaux. I’m flattered, but not interested.”

  “Hasn’t any young lady suited you in all these years?”

  “One,” he admitted, grinning.

  “Who was she?” Alexandra promptly demanded.

  “She was the daughter of an earl,” he said, his expression sobering.

  “What happened to her,” Alexandra prodded, “or is it too personal to discuss?”

  “Not at all. It isn’t even a unique story. She seemed to want me as much as I wanted her. I offered for her, but her parents wanted her to wait until the end of the Season before accepting an unpromising catch like me—a man of respectable birth, good family, but no title and no real fortune. And so we agreed to keep our feeling for each other a secret until the end of the Season.”

  “And then what?” Alexandra asked, sensing instinctively that he wanted to talk about it.

  “And then someone with a title and a fortune and a very elegant address paid her passing notice. He stood up with her at a few balls, called on her a time or two—Sally fell for him like a rock.”

  Alexandra’s voice dropped to a sympathetic whisper. “And so she married him instead of you?”

  Tony chuckled and shook his head. “To the nobleman, the interlude with Sally had been nothing but a stupid, empty, meaningless flirtation.”

  “It—it wasn’t Jordan, was it?” Alex asked, feeling a little sick.

  “I’m happy to say it was not.”

  “In any case, you’re better off without her,” Alexandra announced loyally. “She was obviously either very mercenary or very flighty.” One of Alexandra’s warm, entcancing smiles touched her soft lips and she laughed with sudden delight: “Now that you are the most important duke in England, I’ll bet she regrets turning you away.”

  “She may.”

  “Well, I hope she does!” she exclaimed, and then she looked guilty. “That is a very wicked way for me to fe