Page 14 of Dropping the Ball

Lady Gladys came to mind. The woman was neither agreeable, patient, nor particularly nice. Bernadette had sensed that Alden wished for the two of them to become friends, or at least to be cordial acquaintances, but after her initial attempt, Bernadette had seen that would not come to be. Further, she had clearly seen that Lady Gladys had designs on Alden. She had appeared displeased, to say the least, at the idea of Alden’s ball.

She would have to write to Hethersett about it all.

“Rachel, what do you know of Lady Gladys?” Bernadette asked as the maid helped to style her hair once she was dressed.

“That one?” Rachel laughed. “I only know what’s important to know. She threw Lord Alden over for his friend when they were young, and now she regrets choosing the wrong man.”

Bernadette hummed in agreement, ignoring Rachel’s impertinence. “It is as I suspect, then,” she said. “Do you know whether Lady Gladys will try to interfere with the ball?” she asked next, even though what she truly wanted to know was how susceptible Alden might be to Lady Gladys’s charms. She could not say why it rankled her to think of the two of them together, since forgoing the ball and marrying Lady Gladys would save Alden a great deal of time in dodging his family’s curse, but it did.

“I wager she’ll try something,” Rachel said, finishing her hair and stepping back. “Though what that will be, I could not say.”

That was all Bernadette needed to know. She would be as much on her guard around Lady Gladys as she would have been with the alligators.

“Thank you, Rachel,” she said, standing and smoothing her hands over her skirts. “I believe I am armed with the necessary knowledge to continue on with the task I’ve been given.”

Rachel smiled warmly at her. “I’ll see if I can’t conjure up a few more arrows, in case you need to use them against Lady Gladys,” she said with a wink.

Bernadette appreciated Rachel’s help. It was enough to help her put Lady Gladys out of her mind entirely as she took herself downstairs to the breakfast room.

To her surprise, Alden was waiting for her at the table, already devouring a thick slice of buttered bread, when she arrived.

“Good morning, Lady Bernadette,” he said, rising to his feet as Bernadette made her way to the sideboard to fix a plate for herself. “You’re looking quite well this morning.”

“As are you,” Bernadette returned the compliment. “I am surprised to see you here instead of conversing with the workmen, as you were earlier. I must confess, I was surprised to find workmen in the house so quickly.”

“I hope you do not mind,” Alden said, moving around the table so that he could hold a chair for Bernadette once she was at the table. When he returned to his own seat, he said, “The work must be done as swiftly as possible so that the ball might take place and the curse can be averted.”

Bernadette’s head spun over the way her spirits could soar so high, then crash so low, all within the space of a few sentences. As exciting as it was to see so much work undertaken so swiftly, the arrival of the ball would mean Alden would choose his bride, and her services would no longer be required. She had only just met and become fond of Alden, and the thought of ending all that was surprisingly grim.

“I do not mind at all,” she said, pretending to be as cheery as ever. “I am impressed that you are able to accomplish so much in such a short space of time.”

“That is what everyone said when I built the terrarium,” Alden said with a cheeky grin and a wink. “It is what my colleagues on the scientific expeditions I undertook said of me as well. I havenever seen the point of allowing time to stand in the way when you so clearly know what you desire in life.”

He paused for a moment, holding the second piece of toast he’d just spread with jam in midair, studying her with a curious look.

The air between them felt charged for a moment before he took a breath and went on with, “Do you not think so?”

Bernadette laughed and poured herself some tea. “I have always hoped for that sort of outlook on life, but I have found it rather more difficult to accomplish as a woman.” Much to her dismay.

“But you are an Oxford Society lady, are you not?” Alden asked. “I was under the impression that you lot were the authoresses of your own destinies.”

Bernadette tried not to sigh. “I have authored my own destiny in that I have built a reputation for planning the very best parties, my lord. I have a comfortable income from my enterprises.”

“But?” Alden asked, clearly sensing all the things Bernadette had not and could not say.

Bernadette pretended to be coquettish instead of letting the disappointment she truly felt over the way fate had cheated her show. “But women are still women, and in every kingdom but Mercia, their fates are all but sealed, according to the whims and dictates of their parents.”

“And what have your parents dictated for you?” Alden asked, his blue eyes alight with interest and amiability.

Bernadette hesitated, sipping her tea to delay any answer. She liked Alden very much. He was exactly the sort of interesting, unusual person to whom she had always been drawn. Her sensual self was most definitely intrigued by him. Under other circumstances, much different circumstances, she might have attempted to flirt and win his regard, and perhaps more. He wasthe sort of man she felt she could confide her deepest secrets in, and not only would he keep them, he would find a way for her to muddle through her troubles.

“Many years ago, my father, a well-respected nobleman of East Anglia, decided that he wanted to bring our entire family up in the world,” she began, fighting to stop her voice from wavering. Her heart pounded with the anxiety of confessing her story, and she had to put her teacup down so as not to accidentally spill its contents as her hand began to tremble. “He had very particular ideas about how that might be accomplished,” she went on.

Before she could say more, before she could confess her troublesome situation, one of the workmen arrived in the doorway, accompanied by Mr. Smythe.

“Your lordship, we have a problem,” the workman said, looking deeply agitated.

“A problem?” Alden swallowed his last bite of toast, wiped his face with his serviette, and stood. “What sort of problem, Mr. Starkey?”

---