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“I will,” Alexander said.
“Thank you.”
He offered her his arm and steadied her as she entered the carriage. When she was seated, he stepped back, and the footman closed the door. He waited until the vehicle started around the water fountain toward the drive, then he turned and headed up the steps and into the house.
“Ah, Alexander!” His mother spotted him across the hall and came sailing toward him. “I was hoping to catch you.” She stopped a few feet distant, her gaze settling upon his wet boots. “Where on earth have you been?”
“To the pond,” he said succinctly. “Is there something I can do for you, Mother?”
She frowned at the trail of wet footprints behind him before raising her eyes again. “I believe the servants have all the preparations for the picnic well underway, but I wished you to know that the response to my invitations has been excellent. I am expecting a large crowd tomorrow.”
She looked so pleased Alexander did not have the heart to tell her how little he had thought on the event. “That is good news indeed.”
“Yes.” She smiled happily. “Especially as some are coming from a considerable distance to join us.”
Alexander could not identify the problem exactly, but he had the distinct impression that things had just taken an unanticipated turn for the worse. “A considerable distance? But I thought your picnic was specifically designed to welcome in summer with your neighbors.”
“Oh, it is.” Lady Bloxley waved away his concern with a flick of her hand. “All the local families will be here. But this year, I thought to include a few families from a little farther afield. They are all close enough to make it a day’s journey.”
Alexander’s apprehension was mounting at an alarming rate. In theory, London was a day’s journey from Bloxley Hall. “Who else have you invited?”
“Let’s see. I have heard back from the Pinnocks, the Moorefields, the Ballards, and the Tanners. They all plan to be here.”
Forcing himself to remain calm, Alexander folded his arms. “And am I to understand that it is no coincidence whatsoever that every one of those families includes an eligible young lady?”
“A small detail, but one that should be immensely helpful to you now that you are actively seeking a wife.” She gave him a stern look. “You gave me your word, Alexander.”
“I gave you my word that I would begin courting, not that I was willing to be the grand prize at your picnic.”
“If you do not believe that you are the grand prize at every Society event, you have your head in the sand, my boy. You are an earl, you are wealthy, you are handsome, and you behave as a true gentleman. Believe me, that combination is in short supply.”
Alexander released a frustrated breath. “Could you not add ‘capable of making his own match’ to that list, Mother?”
“No, because quite honestly, I am not sure that it is true.”
“Oh, it is true,” he said firmly. “And I refuse to be a pawn in your—or anyone else’s—grand matchmaking game.”
“I am only trying to help, Alexander.”
He shook his head, refusing to allow her to escape rebuke so easily. “No, Mother. You are trying to force your will upon mine, and you have raised the hopes of half a dozen young ladies, giving no thought to the fact that I will be the one required to dash those hopes in public.”
His mother’s haughty façade slipped a fraction, and she suddenly looked tired. “They each have much to recommend them.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Alexander said. “And they will each unquestionably make some gentleman a fine wife. But I have already associated with each of them enough to know that that gentleman will not be me.”
“And yet, tomorrow—”
“If you will excuse me, Mother”—Alexander would listen to no more—“it is long past time that I changed out of these wet boots.” Without waiting for a reply, he crossed the remaining portion of the hall and started up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time.
He focused on keeping his breathing even. He could not remember ever having slighted his mother before. Indeed, if his father were still alive, no matter Alexander’s age or size, he would receive a tongue lashing, at the very least. Then again, if his father were alive, perhaps his mother’s meddling would have been curtailed before it reached this point.
The thought of spending all afternoon juggling the attention of five or six females with whom he had little to no interest in conversing made him feel physically ill. Knowing that the mothers of each of those young ladies would be watching him like hawks the entire time made him want to avoid the event altogether. But after having been absent for this very reason for so many years, he had actually begun looking forward to seeing it through Asher’s eyes—experiencing it the way he had when he was a child—and to spending time with Jane.
He came to an abrupt stop halfway down the landing. He wished to spend time with Jane. In fact, his desire to be with her was so strong that he was willing to attend the picnic despite the nightmarish complications that awaited him there. Is that why he had refrained from telling his mother that he would be absent after all? He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to analyze his feelings. When had he gone from looking forward to her letters to looking forward to being with her? Talking to her and learning from her had rapidly become the bright spot in his days.
Alexander experienced a moment of panic. Is this what falling in love felt like? To want to share everything with one special person—the happy and the sad, the good and the bad? To want to be near her no matter if he was in a crowded room or sitting on a log beside the pond? He took a few more steps, reached for the door handle of his bedchamber, and opened it.
His valet was waiting inside and assessed the state of his boots in one glance. “A fresh pair of stockings and shoes, my lord?”
