A Most Unconventional Courtship - Louise Allen Mills & Boon Historical

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      ‘Of course, my lord.’ The man shut the drawer and hurried out. Chance opened it again and lifted out the neckcloth, letting the soft fabric drape over the back of his hand. Soft, like her skin. Fragrant. Somehow he imagined her hair would smell like this, of sunshine and herbs and the sea air.

      Alessa had been snatched out of her rightful place by a father who, however courageous, seemed to have been unconventional to a fault, and now she was being kept there by her own stubbornness. He could not believe that her English relatives would not want her. There must have been some falling-out over the French wife and Alessa was refining too much on the stories her father would have told her of that.

      He folded the neckcloth and was standing holding it, deep in thought, when Alfred came back into the room. Hastily, Chance stuffed it into his pocket. Carrying a lady’s handkerchief around was one thing, one’s own neckcloth quite another.

      ‘The Peerage, my lord.’ Alfred laid it on the desk. ‘Dinner is at eight. Shall I have your bath fetched at seven?’

      ‘Yes, thank you.’ Chance was already thumbing through the thick, red book. He found Henry, Lord Blackstone. The name rang a faint bell: someone in the diplomatic service possibly. He ran his finger down the entry: Married to Honoria Louisa Emily Meredith, only daughter of the late Charles Meredith, 3rd Earl Hambledon and his wife the late…

      Impatient, he flicked forward to the entry for Hambledon. Edward Charles Meredith was the fourth Earl, married and with a large family. His father had been less prolific: one daughter—Lady Blackstone, his heir Edward and one other son.

      ‘The Honourable Alexander William Langley Meredith,’ Chance read out loud. ‘Alexander.’ And Alessa had said that her real name was Alexandra. He studied the entry, but it showed no marriage, no date of death. It was as though the Honourable Alexander had vanished into thin air. ‘Or into the Ionian islands with his scandalous French wife and his daughter.’

      Chance dressed for dinner with care. He had not got off to the best of starts with Lady Blackstone and now much depended on the degree of diplomacy he could exert.

      Sir Thomas had loaned him an elegant silver-topped ebony cane and Chance considered that with its aid he managed to cut not too ridiculous a figure as he limped out on to the broad terrace overlooking the bay. It made a charming setting for the Residency dinner-party guests to assemble.

      Sir Thomas, easily distinguishable amongst the gentlemen with his bald head fringed with pure white, came over to greet him. ‘My dear fellow! Do you find yourself in less pain this evening? Yes? Excellent, excellent! Now, I think you have met everyone except Lady Blackstone and Miss Blackstone.’

      Her ladyship acknowledged the introduction with an inclination of her head and a gracious smile. It appeared she was going to pretend that she had not already met the Earl in bare feet and shirt sleeves. Miss Blackstone giggled and blushed. Chance, who would have expected nothing else from a young lady at a fashionable London dinner party and thought nothing of it, now found himself making unfavourable comparisons with another young woman altogether.

      ‘Are you taking a Greek tour, Lady Blackstone?’ Chance enquired once Sir Thomas had taken himself off.

      ‘My husband is on a mission in Venice—he is with the Foreign Office, you understand. Frances and I are joining him for the last few months of his time there.’

      Corfu was certainly not on the obvious route from England to Venice. Chance risked some further fishing. ‘How imaginative of you to take this route,’ he observed. ‘So many people would have gone direct to Venice—from Milan, perhaps.’

      Lady Blackstone smiled tightly and Chance recognised discomfort, for all her poise. Oh, yes, she is hiding something. Just so long as it is not a flaming affair with the Lord High Commissioner…

      ‘It seemed such a good opportunity. I am sure Frances will never have the chance to see the classical sights again.’

      Not that there were any classical ruins to be seen on Corfu—Chance knew that perfectly well, and so would any educated English traveller. ‘Will you be staying long, Lady Blackstone?’

      Again, a hesitation. ‘I am not entirely certain; it seems such a charming island, and Lord Blackstone is most anxious that Frances gains the most benefit from the tour.’

      Chance was saved from comment by the butler announcing dinner and the polite scrimmage while partners sorted themselves out. Charming Corfu might be, but surely Lord Blackstone would consider the artistic merits of Venice of more educational value to his daughter, and she would most certainly find far more in the way of balls and company to entertain her there.

      He offered his arm to Lady Trevick. ‘I was just speaking with Lady Blackstone, your daughters must be delighted to have a houseguest of their own age.’

      ‘Indeed, yes.’ Lady Trevick took the seat at the foot of the table and waited while Chance sat at her right hand. ‘Although I am not sure how long they will be staying. Lady Blackstone has some family connection with the island, I believe.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Chance put polite indifference into his tone and began to discuss the plans for the new Residency that Sir Thomas had mentioned. At the other end of the table, Lady Blackstone sat next to her host, his secretary, Mr Harrison, on her left. She appeared to be asking him questions. Chance accepted a dish of salmon and tried not to think about Alessa, but the name Alexandra Meredith kept running through his mind.

      He looked up and saw Frances Blackstone looking at him. Her hair was up in a fashionable style, her gown was silk, a pearl necklace and pearl earbobs glowed against her pale skin. What would Alessa look like in that gown, her hair coiffed, her throat circled with jewels?

      He smiled at the thought and Frances blushed rosily as she dimpled back, thinking the smile was for her. Careful, Chance admonished himself, or you’ll find yourself with the wrong cousin.

      It was only much later that evening, as Alfred eased the tight swallowtailed coat off his shoulders, that the import of that thought struck him and he swore softly under his breath.

      ‘My lord?’

      ‘Sorry, Alfred. I was thinking about women.’

      ‘Indeed, my lord? An endlessly fascinating subject, if I might be so bold.’

      ‘Endlessly.’ One could puzzle for hours over why one was attracted to a green-eyed, mercurial widow who was anything but encouraging.

      ‘The island is famous for its handsome women,’ Alfred persisted, shaking out the coat. ‘And they are most…hospitable.’

      ‘I have encountered island hospitality.’ Chance limped over to the bed and allowed the valet to gently remove his shoes.

      ‘And, of course, there are a number of eligible young ladies, if your thoughts are turning to less er…recreational relationships.’

      ‘I am not looking for a mistress on Corfu, nor for a wife, Alfred,’ Chance said repressively. ‘I was just thinking about women in the abstract.’

      ‘Of course, my lord, forgive me. Does your lordship require assistance with the rest of your clothing?’

      Damn his tact. Chance had no intention of confiding in his valet. ‘Thank you, no. Just pass me my dressing gown.’ He was not at all sure there was anything to confide about, come to that. Only Alessa was beginning to preoccupy him, and he was uncomfortably aware that he was feeling proprietorial towards her.

      The solution was to solve the riddle of her birth and restore her to the bosom of the woman he was increasingly certain was her aunt. Then he would not have to think about her at all, he would have done his duty and he would have restored things to the state they should be in. As this would normally have gratified him greatly, it was a puzzle why it now seemed to give him very little peace of mind.

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