“Indeed, he is most attractive, Miss Annabelle. Perhaps he has a wife who thinks so, too.”
Annabelle’s face fell with ludicrous suddenness. “Do you think he is married?”
Christa felt a bit ashamed of her comment, “It’s possible. Many of the mostgalantmen are married. They can be as outrageous as they wish, for they have nothing to lose and much to gain from their flirtatiousness.”
Annabelle looked so woebegone that Christa said encouragingly, “You can ask your brother if he knows of Sir Edward. Then if he calls on you this autumn, you will know if you wish to distinguish him above your other suitors.”
Annabelle giggled, once more diverted by the delightful thought of her becoming much sought after. Sir Edward was wonderfully handsome, but there was an abundance of time and opportunity ahead of her.
* * *
True to his resolution, Alex called on his sister the next morning as she was completing her toilette. Christa admitted him with a very proper bobbed curtsy, but under her demure facade he sensed the bubbling amusement he remembered from their journey across London. It was as if she saw all life as a game, and it was one of her most appealing qualities.
He smiled at Christa and said cheerily, “Good morning, Belle. If you have no objections, I’d like to visit with you. It should be interesting to observe a few feminine mysteries.”
Annabelle laughed from her seat at the vanity. “Surely my big strong brother knows his share of feminine secrets.”
Alex chuckled as he seated himself and Christa silently poured him a cup of tea from his sister’s breakfast tray. He noted approvingly that she placed a basket of crescent-shaped rolls near to hand—he liked a woman with a good grasp of basics. Alex also liked a woman with a delightfully impertinent derriere, and Christa qualified splendidly on both counts.
He broke and buttered one of the feather-light rolls, then sighed blissfully. “Belle, how have you earned such a delicious breakfast? Nothing like this is served downstairs.”
Annabelle turned to face her brother as Christa resumed styling her hair. “Christa said I would like them, and asked Monsieur Sabine to make them for me. Are they not delightful? They are called croissants.”
“Remind me to double Monsieur’s salary. Whatever I pay him, it isn’t enough,” Alex said as he reached for another croissant, this time spreading it with orange marmalade.
Returning to his sister’s earlier remark, he said, “Actually, Belle, my experience with feminine secrets has been limited. Since I went into the navy at fourteen, I’ve completely missed the normal social education. Fashionable ladies with their fans terrify me. Why, I don’t even know how to dance.”
Annabelle pursed her lips in concern. “How strange—I never thought of that. I’ve always dreamed of your exotic adventures, and never thought of what you were missing. Since you must lead me out for the first dance at my ball next autumn, you will have to take lessons. Jonathan could use some, too—he has always resisted learning! Surely there must be a dancing master in Ipswich who will come out to the Orchard.”
Alex’s first reaction was to retreat from this threatened female folderol, but then he paused, and a gleam came into his eye; this situation might work to his advantage. “We’ll need a second female to make up two couples. Christa, do you dance?”
His quarry raised her eyes from Annabelle’s hair and she said demurely, “But of course, Lord Kingsley. A lady’s maid must be able to do everything her mistress does.”
“And she must do it better, so that she can teach it?” Alex asked teasingly.
“A lady’s maid is never more proficient than her mistress,” Christa said firmly. “Except for things like starching and cleaning, which no proper lady would have knowledge of.”
“Do you ever tire of being discreet, Christa?” he asked.
Her gray eyes opened wide. “Not at all. It is a skill that I have only lately learned, so it has the charm of novelty.”
Alex laughed aloud, then addressed both of the girls. “While we are on the subject of the beau monde, is there anything we should be doing now about the ball? I haven’t the vaguest idea how one goes about organizing such things.”
Annabelle looked uncertain. “I’m afraid I don’t either. Lady Serena never included me in any of her entertaining plans, and Aunt Agatha wouldn’t have had people in even if we hadn’t been in mourning.” Her eyes brightened and she said hopefully, “Christa, have you ever been involved in planning a ball?”
“But of course,” her maid answered calmly. “It is not so very difficult a task. We must choose a theme, something to make it special—perhaps a Turkish fantasy, or a Roman feast, or a field of flowers. Then a list of the guests you wish to send cards to, and we confer with Monsieur Sabine about the refreshments. And you will need a very special gown. Mme. de Savary will take care of that.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Annabelle said admiringly.
Christa laughed. “It is simple in theory, but complicated in practice. At the last hour one always finds that the flowers are faded, or that the kitchen cat has gotten into the lobster patties, or that half the guests are not speaking to the other half. It is what makes entertaining such a delightful task. One never knows quite how things will actually transpire. Nonetheless, we shall contrive.”
She paused a moment, her hands automatically patting the last of Annabelle’s ringlets into place as a flash of memory pulled her away from the present.We shall contrive. It made her think of the d’Estelle family motto,Vaille que vaille, which meant “Come what may” or perhaps “At all cost.” Christa had been raised with that ideal, and she hoped her ancestors would approve of how she was contriving. She might no longer be a lady, but she was doing her tasks well.
Her attention was brought back to the present by Annabelle’s carefully nonchalant description of her meeting with Sir Edward Loaming the day before. Christa could not resist a small snort as her mistress recounted Sir Edward’s manifold perfections.
Alex glanced at Christa quickly, then struggled with fair success to suppress a chuckle. Obviously the maid was not as impressed as the mistress. He thought Sir Edward sounded like a coxcomb, but he said obligingly, “I’ll ask around, Belle. If he is respectable, there is no reason why he can’t call next autumn.”
He stood to leave, stretching his muscular frame like a lazy jungle cat before leaving the room. Christa watched his departure with a frustration so intense it was physical. To members of the ton, being acceptable meant having birth and fortune. Neither alone was enough, so she was forever exiled from that charmed circle. She knew the ways of the world she had grown up in—a penniless countess might be an object of pity, but without beauty, wealth, or family backing, she was scarcely better than a tradesman’s daughter.
