my suitor.” She smiled firmly. There was some old sadness, thinking of Owen and their dreams now. “I promised her that I would take care of this family. I made a serious commitment to the care and welfare of my sisters and my father.”
“The commitment you are speaking of only heightens my admiration for you, Miss Bolton.” He hesitated. “I have the impression that you loved this gentleman.”
She nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“You are a paragon, Miss Bolton. But why are you telling me this?”
“How direct might I be?” She sat up straighter.
“As direct as is necessary.” He flushed, suddenly seeming dismayed. “Are you about to tell me that you remain committed to the deathbed vows you made to your mother?”
“I will look after my sisters and my father until I die—although I hope my sisters will be wed well before that day.” She smiled.
He slowly nodded. “I see. My intentions are honorable, Miss Bolton.”
“That is what Edgemont indicated.”
He held her gaze. “Do you know why I suggested your sisters accompany us tomorrow night?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“Because it seemed to me that it would make the evening more pleasant for you—less awkward—but it also seemed to me that two such young ladies should be given the opportunity to get out and be seen.”
Her heart sped. “That is so kind of you.”
“I consider myself a kind man—and a generous one. If my suit progresses as I hope it does, you will not have to carry the burden of caring for your family by yourself.”
Alexandra gasped. Tears came to her eyes. She was speechless.
But now she knew. He had means, his suit was a serious one, and he would be generous with her family.
“I have admired you for years, Miss Bolton—from afar, and very respectfully.” He spoke thoughtfully now. “I never dreamed my wife would die so suddenly—she was in such good health until her final illness. I mourned her deeply.” He paused, grim for a moment. “But she has died, and a year has gone by. You remain unattached—which bewilders me.” He met her gaze. “I am of a very solid character, Miss Bolton. I am a dependable and honorable man. I am certain things will work out to both our satisfaction, if you give my suit a chance.”
“I will give your suit all the respect and consideration it deserves,” she somehow said. She could barely believe this was happening. Her sisters were going to have futures outside of Edgemont Way. It seemed like a miracle.
He stood, as she did. “Shall we walk outside?”
Alexandra took his proffered arm. “It will be my pleasure to stroll with you,” she said.
But as they left the house, she glanced over her shoulder. Corey and Olivia were standing in the doorway, their expressions grim with dismay. Then Corey turned and stormed into the house.
ALEXANDRA TENSED as the squire’s brougham queued up in the circular drive before Harrington Hall. It was a beautiful evening, and the sky was stained pink above the high gray stone roof of the mansion, with fingers of pink and peach drifting across the magnificent gardens and grounds. A fountain stood in the center of the drive, its waterworks a lavish display, bursting a dozen feet into the air. But she was exhausted, having stayed up the entire night to finish repairing and restoring dresses for herself and her sisters. In fact, she’d been sewing without interruption since Squire Denney had left her yesterday afternoon.
Of course she was tense, not excited, now. And her tension escalated. She, Olivia and Corey sat facing backward, toward her father and Denney, so she had to crane her neck to look outside. The coaches ahead were large, luxurious broughams, with perfectly matching horses and liveried coachmen, and the gentlemen and ladies alighting were in the finest tails and ball gowns. Even in the dusk, Alexandra saw jewels glinting from the ladies’ throats and ears, and from the gentlemen’s hands. She’d almost forgotten how wealthy the peerage was. She looked down at her bare fingers, her green satin gown. The fabric should have shone, but it had been hanging in the closet for too many years. No one wore dresses with full sleeves above the elbow anymore, but there had not been enough time to alter her own dress—she’d altered the sleeves on Olivia’s and Corey’s gowns, instead. Her skirts were too full for the current style, as well. At least, she thought grimly, her gown still fit.
“That is a beautiful dress,” the squire said, clearing his throat.
Had he read her thoughts? Was she being transparent? She somehow managed to smile at him. His eyes had been shining yet again when he’d arrived to pick them up and escort them to Harrington Hall. Alexandra did not think she looked well—she was pale from her efforts to properly garb her sisters, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. He hadn’t noticed, obviously. And maybe he didn’t see how old—and old-fashioned—her dress truly was.
Olivia took her hand. Her eyes were sparkling with the kind of excitement she generally reserved for her paintings and sketches. She had never looked prettier. Her long tawny hair had been pinned up in curls, and she wore one of their mother’s pale ivory ball gowns. Their gazes met. Alexandra was so proud of her.
“You do look beautiful,” Olivia whispered.
Alexandra squeezed her hand. “So do you—and so does Corey. We are going to have a lovely evening—all because of the squire.”
Denney beamed. “I hope so,” he said.
Alexandra glanced at Corey. Her eyes were huge as she stared out of the carriage at the arriving guests, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement, too. She was almost as tall as Alexandra, and only a bit slimmer in build, and the pale blue watered silk was stunning on her. It was far too adult for someone of sixteen, but there hadn’t been anything else in Alexandra’s closet. Corey looked eighteen, at least, and terribly beautiful.
Alexandra felt a pang. Corey and Olivia had never been out in society, not like this—and though she did not want to blame anyone, there was one person to blame. She reminded herself that their father was no longer himself. Elizabeth Bolton’s death had crushed him, leaving him with no passion but drink and gaming, and no spirit to challenge that passion. Did it matter? Her sisters deserved more, and maybe something good would come of this night for them. The gentlemen present would have to be blind not to notice them.
Suddenly hoofbeats sounded, as if an army was approaching. It was almost their turn to alight, but Alexandra turned, as did her sisters, the squire and Edgemont. A huge black coach, pulled by six magnificent blacks, red-and-gold crests emblazoned upon its doors, passed them, clearly cutting to the head of the line. As it did so, gravel sprayed their carriage.
Alexandra stared after the magnificently attired footmen, in red-and-gold livery, pale stockings, patent shoes and long, curled white wigs. She felt her tension increase. She reminded herself that when Elizabeth Bolton was alive, she had been to a few high-society fetes. Being nervous was absurd. Would anyone really care about their sudden appearance in society, or that they wore older clothes? But now she worried, and not for herself. She did not want her sisters ridiculed tonight.
The huge coach had halted, though she could not see who had gotten out. But she thought she glimpsed a tall, dark figure striding through the crowd,
