His sister’s second husband had come from a good family: it had been his only worthwhile feature. “Granted, any man might mistreat a wife.”
“Or perhaps a poor man might be more appreciative of a rich wife, and try to please her,” Edwina countered. “Or maybe not. Perhaps you’re quite right and Loxleigh is a cruel man who sees easy prey, and perhaps his sister is part of his cruel lie when she takes long walks with Alice and they laugh like children, or go to the theatre together. I don’t know. But I don’t want to tell Alice that a gentleman who respects her and a lady who is her friend are deceiving her if I don’t know it for a fact. Prove it and I’ll listen.”
Hart shoved both hands through his hair. He’d felt entirely justified in his defence of Alice before, and he was sure—almost sure—he was right about Loxleigh, but as ever, the backwash of losing his temper took ground from under his feet. He had overstepped, and he knew it. “All right. But give me a little more time, and don’t let Alice accept him if things come to that. If he is honest, he’ll understand her family’s caution.”
“Alice is her own mistress, as you well know. She doesn’t require my consent.”
“But she listens to you because you are her mother,” Hart said. “Give me time, please. I wouldn’t forgive myself if she was trapped by a cozener, and nor would you.”
“I will give time if you give tolerance,” Edwina returned. “Which is to say, you will be civil to Loxleigh. If you need to apologise to him—”
“The devil I will!”
“—then you must do that, and if you cannot behave you must stay out of the way. I won’t have Alice sitting alone because you prowl around snarling at her friends.”
“I do not snarl.”
“Of course you do.” Edwina gathered herself and rose. “I shall go to Alice. Can I assure her that you will not spoil her best acquaintance in London?”
“Edwina—”
“Can I, Hart?”
“I’m damned if I’m apologising.”
“Don’t swear. Can I assure Alice that you have not ruined her friendships?” Her tone was militant.
Hart pinched the bridge of his nose. It looked like this round would go to Loxleigh.
Chapter Five
Three days later, Hart was elegantly dressed, and in an extremely bad mood.
The aftermath of that disastrous afternoon rolled on. He had sought a quiet word with Alice, sitting miserably alone in the drawing room after all the shouting, and asked her point-blank if she inclined to Loxleigh. After all, this would be a lot of fuss about nothing if she were simply enjoying a flirtation.
Unfortunately, Alice had blushed hotly and mumbled that he was very pleasant and his sister was delightful. Hart had to take that as a yes, because Edwina had chased him out of the house at that point.
He had gritted his teeth and sent Loxleigh a curt note saying that his temper had driven him into unwary expression. He could not bring himself to apologise properly, and he didn’t want to phrase it in any way the man could wave around as proof of vindication. Loxleigh had returned an entire paragraph of waffle in a neat if schoolboyish hand, indicating that he respected Hart’s concern for Miss Fenwick and was prepared to overlook his unwarranted implications as expressed in private. The implication of ‘don’t say it in public’ was very clear. Hart threw the paper on the fire with a curse.
He spent the next couple of days working on the problem. He had no idea where the Loxleighs were from, and Alice couldn’t remember the name of their village if she’d ever been told, so that line of enquiry would likely take some while to pursue. He started it anyway, asked Evangeline Wintour to keep a very close eye on the man at her tables, and wrote to his lawyer and his brewery manager in Aston Clinton to discover if anyone had been asking questions.
Maybe he was wrong. It had to be faced. Maybe the Loxleighs were just what they seemed—charming, remarkably attractive people who wanted to make good marriages. If they were of adequate birth, one could hardly hold limited means against them, still less ambition to improve their circumstances.
That didn’t make him like Loxleigh’s practised smile any better. A clever, ambitious man could do as he pleased with an impressionable girl, and he was determined Loxleigh would not have that chance. And therefore when the fellow invited Alice to make one of a party at Astley’s Amphitheatre, Hart had said he’d escort her.
Hence his bad mood, and his attention to his dress. He didn’t generally make an effort with his appearance—there was little point—but Loxleigh had made him feel conscious of his carelessly tied cravat and crumpled coat. So he had summoned Spenlow, the man of the house who valeted for him in London, had a close shave, ensured his clothes were freshly pressed and his shirt-points starched, and put more effort into his cravat than he could recall doing in years. He still looked like a scowling brute at the end of it, but at least a smart one.
The performance began at half past six. He joined Alice and Edwina for a small collation at five o’clock to keep the wolf from the door and took Alice to Westminster Bridge in a carriage.
She was glowing with excitement, eyes bright. Hart hoped to hell that wasn’t about seeing Loxleigh. “Looking forward to tonight?”
“Oh, yes.” She beamed at him. “Everyone says it’s a marvellous performance. There are equestrian exercises and a Lapland scene and magical tricks and a harlequinade and a minuet danced by horses!”
“Good God.”
“How do you think they teach horses the minuet? Because I find it awfully difficult and I have a dancing master. And only two legs.”
“It could be worse,” Hart offered. “It could be a Scotch reel.”
That set Alice off laughing, and they arrived at Astley’s in good spirits and great charity with one another.
The party was made up of Giles Verney, escorting Miss Jennifer Verney, his niece; Mr. and Miss Loxleigh; the feather-headed Miss Florence Jocelyn; and Miss Jocelyn’s fiancé, a pointless young man named Mowbray. Miss Loxleigh welcomed Alice with great warmth. Hart bowed civilly, including to Loxleigh, who bowed back, face neutral.
The box held eight, in two rows of four. The four ladies sat together at the front. Hart, who had no interest in dancing horses, sat at the end of the back row with Giles.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, without preamble.
“Escorting Jenny, of course. I have squired her to several events this Season, as you’d know if you ever took Alice anywhere.”
“I’m here now,” Hart protested.
“I’m glad to see it. If you’re looking to come out more often, I will cheerfully give you a list of my movements in the hope of your company. These things are a great deal less trying with someone to talk to.”
That was a lure. Giles, as Hart knew well, had no need of support on these occasions; he was trying to draw Hart out into society, for his own sake as well as Alice’s. If only his gregarious friend would grasp that Hart found social drawing-out only slightly less unpleasant than the same process applied to teeth.
The equestrian exercises took place to much cheering and applause. They were followed by two musical pieces, which lost Hart’s attention entirely, though Alice and Jennifer seemed delighted by them. The rest of the party shifted around a little. Miss Jocelyn rose to talk to her fiancé, and Giles hastily excused himself and took her place next to Miss Loxleigh. She turned with a smile that painters would have wept to see, and Giles leaned in, speaking to her in a low voice. Miss Jocelyn and Mowbray then disappeared to obtain drinks, or possibly privacy, which left Loxleigh and Hart together in the back row.