Lady Chisholm’s eyebrows launched. Uncertainty flickered across her features.
“It was the word they used to describe you in the gossip sheets,” Lady Chisholm finally admitted. “Forgive my little jest. But it’s part of the reason everyone is so eager to meet you this evening.”
“Ohhhh.” Alexandra gave a merry laugh and laid a gentle, friendly hand briefly on her arm. “I’m so sorry. I used to enjoy reading them, but suppose I got out of the habit after I married. Because when I think of how Magnus nearly died in battle...” She sucked in a sharp breath and squared her shoulders. “Well, the world is dangerous enough as it is, and after he nearly died all I wanted to read was kind and gentle things. The gossip pages are often witty, but they’re so seldom kind. Was it at least amusing, what they wrote, if it wasn’t kind?”
She gazed at Lady Chisholm hopefully.
Lady Chisholm pressed her lips together, nonplussed, and a trifle suspicious.
Alexandra radiated innocence at her.
“It was a drawing.” Lady Chisholm’s voice was rather subdued. “A Rowlandson drawing.” As if that answered the “was it kind?” question, which, frankly, it did, and they both knew the answerwas “no.” She cleared her throat. “The article mentioned there was a bit of a to-do with a carriage, and...” She cleared her throat again, and added, somewhat hopefully, “Jail?”
Alexandra frowned. “Oh,Rowlandson.Thatrascal. I’m not certain what’s meant by a to-do with a carriage, but it’s almost an honor if Rowlandson chooses to draw a person, regardless of the circumstances, don’t you think? But if I may share something with you, Lady Chisholm, entirely in confidence?” She leaned forward. “I know that Magnus looks like a fortress, and it’s true he’s very protective of me. I can bear just about anything on his behalf, but do think any sort of unkindness toward me would hurt him, and that troubles me so. Doesn’t it seem like such a shame to cause pain for a hero who has already been so gravely injured?”
She gazed earnestly up at the countess.
Who stared back at her, speechless and clearly officially disarmed.
“You are right of course.” Lady Chisholm sounded thoroughly chastised. “A shame, indeed.”
“And I wonder if the newspapers are making things up out of whole cloth because Magnus has been away for so long, and I have been in England with my family, and no one has had a chance to see us together. But he’s back now. I think they will discover the reality is much better, if also much less exciting.” Alexandra smiled sweetly.
“I understand completely.” Lady Chisholm was briskly earnest now. “Leave it to me, Mrs. Brightwall, to make certain no one brings up the topic to you again while you’re our guest. They will need to answer to me.”
“Thank you so much. Oh, Iknewyou would be thoughtful. You have that look about you.”
“Have I?” Lady Chisholm, about whom such a thing had never before been said, was enchanted.
And then suddenly Lady Chisholm’s head tilted way back to look up, which was how Alexandra knew Magnus had appeared behind her.
A light warmth hovered briefly at her back. Magnus’s hand.
Ridiculously, her breath hitched in surprise. Of course he could touch her. He was her husband.
But his hand didn’t linger against her. Unless one counted the tingle left behind. She found herself focusing on it, in order to make it last longer.
Lady Chisholm beamed at him.
“You must be so proud of your husband, Mrs. Brightwall.”
“Oh, indeed. It’s almost too much pride to bear,” she agreed.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the corner of Magnus’s mouth twitch toward a smile.
“And how fortunate you are to have a wife who is such a credit to you, Colonel Brightwall,” Lady Chisholm added generously. “How proud you must be of her.”
And a little shadow moved over Alexandra’s heart at the notion that Magnus might be forced to lie right in front of her. Of a certainty he could not truly be proud of her.
“I overheard her extolling my virtues to you a moment ago, Lady Chisholm, and I likewise cannot take credit for her charm. Only for recognizing it immediately.”
Thusly he adroitly avoided answering that question.
The orchestra had begun playing the Sussex Waltz, and couples were moving out onto the floor.
He turned to her. “Mrs. Brightwall, I wondered if I may have the pleasure of this dance?”
Her heart accelerated oddly. She had never danced with him. “Of course, sir.” She curtsied whimsically.
