Their proprietresses were smiling with genuine pleasure. “We’re so delighted both of you could join us tonight,” Mrs. Durand said. “Come, let us introduce you, Mrs. Brightwall. And I don’t believe you’ve yet met all of our guests, Colonel Brightwall.”
Alexandra had guessed correctly: both Mr. Delacorte, who was shaped a bit like the letter “D” on legs and had rather dreamy blue eyes and a merry expression, and Captain Hardy—chiseled, handsome, with close-cropped hair and silvery eyes—bowed when she was introduced to them.
The two older women were Mrs. Cuthbert and Mrs. Pariseau. Mrs. Cuthbert’s lustrously gray hair was piled intricately up on her head. Around her throat a string of small, fine pearls glowed. She was a woman who took great pains with nearly everything, if Alexandra had to guess, and the grooves around her mouth suggested she was seldom satisfied with everyone else’s efforts. They were told that Mrs. Cuthbert was visiting London specifically to visit with her old friend Mrs. Pariseau, who was a permanent resident of The Grand Palace on the Thames.
“It’s a pleasure to meet such distinguished guests,” she said to the Brightwalls with the slightest emphasis on “distinguished.” As though she’d been at her wit’s end tolerating the rest of the riffraff in the room.
Corporal and Mrs. Dawson were the young couple. Both had blanched at the very sight of thecolonel, and were now staring at Magnus as if Moses had strolled into the sitting room.
“S-such an honor, sir.” Corporal Dawson managed a bow, but his knees appeared to be about to give way.
“Thank you. Likewise. At ease, Corporal,” Magnus said.
This was almost funny. Alexandra was fairly certain poor Corporal Dawson would never experience a moment’s ease in Brightwall’s presence.
Alexandra was just twenty-seven, but the Dawsons briefly made her feel both ancient and a trifle wistfully envious of their obvious devotion. They would have a lifetime to grow up together. It was so like the marriage Alexandra had imagined for herself.
Mrs. Pariseau was a handsome, compact, curvy widow who had crackling dark eyes and a dashing white stripe in her dark, upswept hair. “I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it is to meet you, Colonel Brightwall,” she said on a fervent hush, after performing a graceful curtsy. “And you as well, Mrs. Brightwall. I hope you will soon discover that we do have a lovely time in this room! We sometimes read aloud—we’ve been enjoyingThe Arabian Nights’ Entertainmentslately—or play spillikins or chess. And sometimes—not lately—we just have an invigorating discussion.”
The “not lately” amused Alexandra. It sounded ever so slightly admonishing. As though Mrs. Pariseau expected better from everyone in the room.
Magnus was right: the characters assembled had the makings of a promising evening.
“I adore spirited conversation,” Alexandra confirmed. “Magnus and I had one earlier this afternoon.”
Her husband shot her a wary sideways glance.
Everyone resumed their seats and Magnus and Alexandra were settled into comfortable chairs near each other. The room was bathed in a flattering light courtesy of a huge leaping fire and a little collection of lamps. None of the furniture quite matched, but this somehow seemed the very secret to the room’s cozy appeal. The pianoforte pushed against one wall strewn with what looked like well-thumbed sheet music suggested occasional musical interludes were enjoyed. On the mantel a large jar occupied pride of place.
“Well! I understand you’ve just spent some time in jail, Mrs. Brightwall,” Mrs. Pariseau began brightly.
Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Durand froze.
Mrs. Cuthbert visibly recoiled. Her head swiveled toward Alexandra. Her eyes had widened to cue ball size.
Her wobbly smile indicated that she was hoping against hope it wasn’t true.
Alexandra, a trifle taken aback, recovered quickly, and smiled sweetly at Mrs. Pariseau.
“Oh, it was nothing. It was a silly misunderstanding.” Alexandra waved her hand airily. “Born of a lark gone amok.”
Magnus stiffened, but Mrs. Pariseau’s questiondidn’t strike Alexandra as malicious or censorious. Mrs. Pariseau clearly just thought jail might beinteresting.
And, well, she wasn’t wrong.
“My dear, no one considers jail a lark.” Mrs. Cuthbert was aghast. She looked around hopefully for approbation.
“Oh, Prudence. How would you know?” Mrs. Pariseau sounded as though she was losing patience with Mrs. Cuthbert. “Jail could happen to anyone.”
This sweeping statement probably wasn’t at all true, but Alexandra appreciated the passionate defense.
And frankly, if spirited discourse was indeed permitted per the rules of The Grand Palace on the Thames, Alexandra decided she was going to have a little fun with Mrs. Cuthbert.
Though she wasn’t going to outright admit to being in jail.
“Did you know”—she leaned forward to address the gathering at large on a confiding hush—“thathairpinsare actually considered a weapon? I’d never before thought of them that way! But in jail, they are. But then, Magnus says anything can be a weapon. And he ought to know.”
She directed a fond gaze at him.
