“Of course you did not mean to be late. You weren’t thinking clearly—I doubt you were thinking at all. It is Sara’s birthday, Randolph.” He hoped he was not being too harsh, but Randolph was too often reckless, and that worried him.
The boy flushed now. “I will apologize to Sara.” He glanced at his sister, and his eyes widened. “You have turned into a beauty!” he exclaimed.
Stephen was amused, and he saw that Sir Rex was, too. As Randolph hurried over to his sister, Sir Rex said, “I have spoken to him many times, but I am afraid my advice falls on deaf—though young—ears.”
“He has assured me that he is careful and discreet,” Stephen said.
“Thank you.” Sir Rex sighed. “I cannot recall a male de Warenne who was not notorious for his philandering until the time he was wed.” And Sir Rex gave him a look.
“Well, then Randolph is following in the family tradition,” Stephen remarked. But he turned away, uncomfortable, wondering if he was included in the generalization. In a way, he hoped not. He considered his amorous liaisons rather routine, for a bachelor like himself.
Suddenly Stephen saw Edgemont hurrying through the crowd, and he quickly realized that the man was staggering drunk. He glanced around with some concern, but Miss Bolton was nowhere in sight. That was when he saw the dowager duchess entering the ballroom, and she was not alone.
The fact that his mother would be escorted to such an affair was hardly unusual, but he instantly saw that this was not a routine matter. The man on her arm was tall and golden, with a presence that was positively leonine. And his mother, he realized, was radiant—as if deliriously happy. In fact, she had never looked better.
Julia Mowbray, the Dowager Duchess of Clarewood, was one of the strongest and most courageous women he knew. She had devoted her entire life to the cause of advancing his interests, at great personal cost and sacrifice. She had suffered greatly at the previous duke’s hands. A dowager for fifteen years, she had decided not to remarry, and he had applauded that decision. Now, he was concerned.
“Who is accompanying the dowager duchess tonight?” he asked sharply.
“I believe that his name is Tyne Jefferson, and that he is a rancher from California.”
“Are you certain?” Was his mother romantically interested in Jefferson? “Is he wealthy? Does he come from a good family? He looks rather savage.”
“You should calm down. Julia is a strong and sensible woman. Fortune hunters have been sniffing about her for years, and she has eluded every single one of them.”
“So you think he is a fortune hunter!” Stephen exclaimed.
“No, I do not. I have heard that he has some business with your uncle, Cliff.”
“I believe introductions are in order,” Stephen said. The dowager duchess was a very wealthy woman—and she was his responsibility. He did not care for this liaison. He was worried. “Excuse me.”
Julia was strolling across the ballroom with the American. The consummate diplomat now, as she had once been the consummate duchess, she paused before each party, making certain to politely introduce Jefferson, who looked to Stephen to be unperturbed by the entire affair. He barely spoke, but he watched Julia closely, with obvious interest. Stephen approached them from behind.
Jefferson sensed him immediately and turned. Stephen smiled coolly at him. As he discerned a challenge, Jefferson’s gaze narrowed.
Julia whirled. “Stephen!” She took his hands and kissed his cheek. “I am so glad you are here. This is Mr. Tyne Jefferson, and this is my son, His Grace, the Duke of Clarewood.”
“I am honored, Your Grace,” Jefferson drawled. But Stephen knew from the American’s tone that the man was not awed by him, or even impressed. “Mr. Jefferson. And are you enjoying my country?” Stephen returned, smiling. He gestured at the lavish room. “I imagine you do not attend many balls in California.”
Julia stepped closer to Stephen and sent him a look that said very clearly that she was becoming angry with him.
It didn’t matter. He had to protect her from disaster and heartache, at all costs.
“No, we don’t have balls like this in California. The scenery here is quite a welcome change, as well.” Suddenly Jefferson looked at Julia, the gaze direct, and she flushed.
Stephen was briefly shocked—and uncharacteristically speechless—by how obvious her feelings were for this man.
“I am enjoying my stay here,” Jefferson added. “And I very much appreciate being invited to attend this ball.”
Julia smiled at him. “It would have been remiss of me, sir, not to invite you to join me.”
Stephen glanced sharply at her. What was she thinking? He turned back to Jefferson. “And what brings you to Britain?”
The American seemed amused. “A personal matter, actually.”
He had just been told to mind his own affairs, and he was not pleased about it. “Sir Rex told me that you have some business with Cliff de Warenne.” His uncle—Alexi’s father—had built up a global shipping empire over the years.
“Stephen,” Julia said swiftly. “I know you wish to become further acquainted with Mr. Jefferson, but we have only just arrived. There are still a number of introductions I wish to make.” She was firm.
Stephen knew he must stand down—for now. But he would begin an investigation of the man, and tomorrow, first thing, he would summon Julia to Clarewood to find out what she was doing by promoting an acquaintance with such a man. “Perhaps I can be of some help in your business affairs, for not only am I on good terms with the de Warenne family, I am well connected throughout the realm.”
“Nice of you to offer,” Jefferson said, mockery in his tone but his expression as cool as a cube of ice. “And I’ll definitely think about it.”
Julia gave him another warning look, but Stephen barely saw it. He wasn’t sure he had ever encountered such arrogance, and in spite of himself, he felt the dawning of a grudging respect for the American.
“HERE, A SIP OF TEA will undoubtedly help,” Squire Denney said with concern.
Alexandra smiled gratefully at him, aware that she was still being stared at and, at times, whispered about. She had not dreamed of such a reception to her first social event in nine years. No one had spoken with her since they had arrived at Sara’s birthday party other than her sisters, her father and the squire. She had done her best to pretend that all was well—she did not want to distress the squire or, worse, chase him off. But surely, once he realized what was happening and what society thought of her, he would flee.
They’d been at Harrington Hall for about two hours, and her headache was so bad now that she’d finally confessed to feeling a bit under the weather. Denney was being kind. She had the feeling that compassion was a large part of his nature. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the tea and knowing he’d gone out of his way to find a hot cup at this hour.
She took a sip. She felt as if she had been standing in that corner of the ballroom forever, but it was only nine o’clock.
