“You are an artist?”
Alex smiled at the thought. “Indeed not. I don’t create heroic scenes from history like Fragonard, nor do I capture the likenesses of important people like Gainsborough. I merely record, as faithfully as I can, the nuance of detail and color in such everyday things as flowers,” she explained. “To me, the simple elements of the natural world have an inherent beauty as special as any face—” She stopped abruptly, as if afraid she had revealed too much of her feelings.
He didn’t reply but regarded her thoughtfully.
Strangely enough, he said nothing more for the rest of the dance, and yet Alex found it a comfortable silence. She was almost sorry when the music came to an end.
“Oh, I do hope Mr. Simpson and Mr. Heppleford are in attendance tonight.” She glanced around the crowded room. “I wish to ask them a question concerning a certain lily …” Her voice trailed off as she continued to search the crowd.
Branford’s height gave him a better vantage point. “I believe Mr. Simpson is over there by the tropical greenery.” He guided her through the crush towards a cluster of potted palm trees near the entrance to the card room. “He is with an elderly, rotund gentleman who appears to be wearing a rather outdated wig.”
Alex smiled. “That is Mr. Heppleford. He is quite interesting despite his odd appearance. I think you would like him, sir.”
Before the earl could answer, she slipped between two couples and quickened her steps.
Branford hesitated,then hurried to follow her.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” greeted Alex as she fixed her two friends with a smile. “How nice to see you here. At least I shall be assured of some intelligent conversation for the evening.”
As he came up behind her, Branford deliberately cleared his throat.
“Oh!” Alex grimaced in contrition, though a spark of mischief glinted through her lowered lashes. “Of course, I didn’t mean …”
Mr. Simpson stared wide-eyed, first at her, then at the earl, mesmerized as if waiting for a snake to strike its helpless victim.
Branford threw back his head and let out a laugh. “I shall endeavor not to bore you excessively during the next waltz.”
Alex smiled. “You are teasing me, Lord Branford.”
“Which you richly deserve.”
“Is this the author of the descriptions of Riverton?” inquired Mr. Heppleford in a reedy voice. He exhibited none of the wariness of his other colleague regarding the earl. “You have promise, young fellow. If you will apply yourself to the subject, we may make a botanist of you yet.”
Alex’s smile broadened. “Mr. Heppleford is president of The London Botanical Society.” A pause. “Mr. Heppleford, this is indeed Lord Branford.”
The two men bowed politely to each other.
“Mr. Simpson you already know,” she added.
Branford nodded, aware that the man still looked nervous around him.
“Now, milord, I have a question concerning the symmetry of the east gardens at Riverton,” began Heppleford. “Mr. Simpsonis under the impression …” He paused to sample a lobster canapé and take a glass of champagne from a passing footman.
“Alex!”
A tall young man, perhaps a few years her senior, approached before Heppleford could continue. Branford noted that the fellow was dressed fashionably enough, but the cut and material of his evening clothes clearly indicated his lack of title and wealth.
However, the earl noted that the fellow himself was not nearly as plain as his dress. He had well-chiseled features, gold-flecked brown curls, and expressive chocolate-dark eyes—which lit up with a warm glow as he smiled at Alex.
“Hallo, Charles,” she said, looking equally pleased to see him.
The earl was quick to observe that the fellow held her outstretched hand a trifle longer than was called for by polite convention. He also couldn’t help but notice that Alex’s smile was quite radiant when she was truly happy to see someone.
For some reason, he felt a flash of irritation … which he quenched with a long swallow of champagne plucked from the tray of a passing footman..
Alex quickly introduced the newcomer to him as Charles Duckleigh.
Branford responded with a frosty nod.
