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RODERICK CARSTAIRS
“I don’t
believe it!” the unshakable Sir Roderick uttered, staring
at the laughing young woman before him, his expression
almost comical as he tried to absorb the fact that the
prim, proper peagoose Hawk had married was one and the
same with the young woman standing before him, wearing
tight buff breeches that were more physically alluring
than the lowest-cut ballgown he had ever seen. Moreover,
her blue-green eyes were dancing with laughter as she
watched his shock register. “I’ll be damned –“ he began,
but Alexandra’s low, throaty laughter, which he had never
heard before, interrupted his exclamation.
“No
doubt you will be,” she said with sham sympathy, walking
toward him with the easy natural grace of a young athlete.
“And if you aren’t, you ought to be.
“Why
ought i?”
“Because
you have made me an object of considerable ridicule here,
which I partially deserved. However, perhaps you could
consider making amends, so that you could spend eternity
in a more comfortable climate?”
“I
gather you are blaming me for you lack of . . . er . .
shall we say, popularity?
“I am
blaming myself. I am asking you to help me change
matters.”
“Why
should i?”
“Why, to
prove you can, of course.”
“Shall
we discuss our strategy later – say, tonight, when I
arrive to escort you to the Tinsley’s ball?”
“You’ll
help me then?”
“’Nothing is too high for the darings of mortals – we
storm heaven itself in our folly’ That is a quote from
Homer, I believe.”
“Horace”
“You’re
right.”
***********
How easy
it had been, Alexandra thought with an inward smile four
weeks later as she stood, surrounded by a crowd of friends
and admirers. At Melanie’s advice, she had ordered a whole
new wardrobe in bright pastels and rich primary colors –
gowns that emphasized her figure to advantage and
flattered her vivid coloring. Beyond that, she had only
needed to ignore many of the duchess’ strictures on
appropriate demeanor and, instead, to say virtually
whatever came to her mind.
Roddy
had done the rest, by appearing in public with her and
putting his stamp of approval upon her, along with giving
her some pithy advice that included instructing her to put
herself on good terms with Jordan’s former paramours, Lady
Whitmore and Lady Grangerfield: ‘Given your excruciatingly
naïve remarks about your husband’s imaginary virtues,” he
had informed her as he escorted her to the first ball,
‘and your absurd compliments to his former paramours’
beauty, there is nothing for it but that you must be seen
to be on friendly terms with those ladies. Society will
then assume that, rather than being an utter nitwit –
which you were – you are instead a young lady with a
heretofore unappreciated, highly developed sense of
humor.”
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