“The kiss,” Louisa said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned in, eyes gleaming.
Genny appeared a beat later, uninvited but clearly expected, holding a copy of the Morning Gazette like a prize snatched from a lion’s den. Alexandra groaned and sank further into her cushions, already bracing herself for the dramatics to follow.
“I brought proof,” she said cheerfully.
Alexandra groaned. “Tell me it’s on the back page next to the millinery advertisement.”
“No,” Louisa said with a grin that bordered on gleeful. “Front page. Column two. Headline. Lady A.P. and the Earl of Langley, a Rainy Rendezvous to Remember.”
Alexandra buried her face in her hands.
“They even included a poetic description,” Genny added. “‘Their figures embraced beneath the sheltering boughs of an ancient oak, passion written plainly upon their soaked silhouettes.’ Truly stirring."
“It sounds like a dreadful gothic novel,” Alexandra muttered, imagining herself locked in a crumbling manor, pacing draughty halls with a candelabrum and sighing dramatically while haunted by poor romantic decisions.
“It sounds like a glorious scandal,” Sophia chimed in, entering with a tray of scones and absolutely no intention of pretending to be surprised.
“Father is going to throttle me,” Alexandra said, recalling how his voice had boomed through the drawing room after the prior evening, all thunder and disbelief. Her stomach sank at the memory—he’d never quite known what to do with her, the unpredictable daughter with wind in her hair and rebellion in her spine.
“Already tried,” Sophia replied, biting into a scone. “Mother had to remove him from the breakfast room. He was sputtering like a kettle."
Alexandra sighed and slumped back into the settee.
“Well,” Genny said, sinking into a chair, “you did kiss him.”
“I didn’t plan to.”
“But you did kiss him,” Louisa pointed out.
“Yes. And I may never hear the end of it.” Alexandra blew out a breath and pressed her eyelids closed. What an untenable mess.
* * *
At the Berkshire townhouse, Lord Redford waved the same issue of the Morning Gazette in front of Magnus’s nose.
“You have achieved what few men ever dream of,” he said solemnly. “A full column devoted to your scandalous behavior and not a single mention of a duel."
“Thank heavens for small mercies,” Magnus muttered.
“They compared your kiss to a tempest. A tempest, Langley! Are you courting the lady or auditioning for a role in a romantic opera?”
Magnus ignored him, eyes fixed on the page. His jaw was set, brow furrowed.
“They’re calling for a proposal,” James added.
“They would.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Magnus stood and poured himself a brandy. “I’m going to speak with her father.”
James blinked. “Voluntarily? Are you feeling well?”
“If I wait, he’ll come to me with pistols at dawn."
Simon, lounging with a muffin in hand, added, “He might still. But at least you’ll look noble in your obituary.”
Magnus ignored them both as he moved to the sideboard.
