you did such a wildly naughty thing, Lady Alexandra, I would know you had come down with a terrible fever,’ Emily said.
Alex took another chocolate. ‘Oh, I don’t know. If I married Jimmy now, there would be no need for a Season. I could live near here at his nice, quiet manor house, and read all the time and ride out with the local hunt in the autumn. Heaven.’
‘Oh, Alex, a Season will be fun!’ Emily said. ‘Think of the gowns, the dances, the tea parties, the theatre. The strange people we can laugh at in corners.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Diana declared. ‘Your father actually wants you to go into business with him, he doesn’t care if you marry. It can all be a lark to you.’
Alex gave her a sympathetic nod. They all knew Di wanted to be a writer, but her parents were much more conventional than Mr F. and wanted Diana to marry suitably. As did Alex’s parents, of course. But to the Duke and Duchess, suitable meant another duke, if an eligible one could be found, or an earl at the least. Maybe even a German prince, as all the English ones were taken.
The thought filled her with terror. She recalled, just for an instant, that boy she had known so long ago, a poor crofter’s son who’d looked like an ancient king, who’d smiled at her with the warmth of the sun. Until their painful parting. How long ago that seemed now. How impossible.
‘Alex’s Season will be the loveliest of all!’ Emily said. ‘You’re the goddaughter of the Princess of Wales, her own namesake. Just think of all the grand people who will come to your parties.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Alex muttered. It was true the Princess was a good godmother, always sending splendid presents for birthdays and writing sweet letters, and Princess Alexandra would want to help make Alex’s debut a success. But it only made Alex want to run away even more.
Diana squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t think of it now, Alex darling, it’s all so terribly far away. You might marry Jimmy Wilkins in the meantime! But here, have another chocolate and tell us what you’re reading.’
‘The Ghosts of Wakefield Forest, of course,’ Alex said, happily obeying the order to have another treat. ‘It’s so thrilling!’
‘Have you got to the scene where Arabella meets the Count?’ Emily asked.
‘Not yet and don’t tell me!’ Alex said with a laugh. Em did tend to get carried away by her enthusiasm for stories and give away endings. ‘Did your father send more books this week?’
‘No, but he did send these.’ Emily pulled a pile of fashion papers from the bottom of the hamper.
‘Oh, this one’s from Paris!’ Diana cried happily. She grabbed one to pore over the sketches. She loved fashion and was always knowledgeable about the latest trends. ‘Are these the new sleeves for summer? How cunning. Look at this ribbon trim.’
‘Yes, and the hats are enormous compared to last year. Father is quite worried the costs will be ridiculous, with all these feathers and flowers. Alex, you must tell the Princess to start wearing small, plain bonnets immediately.’
Alex laughed. ‘I’ll write to her tomorrow.’ She scanned one of the papers, caught by a sketch of a grand building. All of five storeys, with classical statues of goddesses at every corner and as many windows as Hardwicke Hall gleaming. ‘Gordston’s Department Store is opening a new branch in Paris?’
Emily made a face. ‘Yes, and Father is furious! Mr Gordston seems to beat him at every post lately. The man seems unstoppable.’
‘Even my mother loves Gordston’s hat counter and she always said she would never buy ready-made,’ Alex said. She tried not to sigh when she recalled she had once known a Gordston, too, in those golden days in Scotland. Memories were always so sad now.
She read over the breathless descriptions of the new Paris store, its marble floors from Italy, its gilded lifts operated by young ladies in red-velvet suits, its shocking new cosmetics counter. It was just as giddy in writing about the store’s owner and his ‘godlike face’ and ‘intoxicating laugh’, hinting about his romances with actresses and countesses and American heiresses.
‘Is he really as handsome as all that, Em?’ Diana asked. Emily was the only girl at school who had ever met the notorious Mr Gordston.
Emily’s head tilted as if she contemplated this question carefully. ‘He is—interesting.’
‘I think he sounds like a character in a novel,’ Diana said. ‘So dashing! So rich. Maybe I’ll meet him in London and marry him instead of some dull diplomat or clergyman or army officer like my parents hope.’
‘You would be much happier with the officer,’ Emily said firmly. ‘Now, here, girls! Eat up before we have to sneak out again.’
Alex turned the page on the paper and froze in shock. There, staring up at her in a grainy black-and-white image, was Malcolm. Her Malcolm, from Scotland, the one young man she could never quite forget, despite the terrible way they’d parted. Gordston’s was not owned by some unknown Scotsman after all. He was at a racetrack, standing near the railing with a lady in trailing lace and one of those enormous feathered hats. She gazed up at him adoringly, while he gave a half-smile into the distance. So tall, so gorgeous, so utterly unapproachable.
She read the headline.
The delight of every lady’s eye!
She read on.
But is the handsome millionaire ready to take the plunge with Lady Deanston? She looks ready, but our sources say he never will be. Although a titled lady at his side could only improve his standing in society…
Malcolm was the owner of Gordston’s? The famous man about town, with all the most beautiful ladies in love with him? Alex was surprised, but not really shocked. He had always been special indeed. The wonder was he had ever looked at her at all, with such sophisticated ladies just waiting for him out in the world.
Afraid she might start to cry, Alex carefully folded the paper and set it aside. She had never told even Emily and Diana about Malcolm. He was her own little secret, to be taken out and looked at like a precious jewel when everything got too overwhelming. And now he was the Malcolm Gordston, further away from her than ever. Maybe one day she would talk about him, but not soon. She didn’t even have the words.
Alex lay back on their picnic blanket and listened to her friends’ laughter, their chatter about new French fashions and the relative merits of different chocolates. There, with the night gathered close beyond the curtains and silence in the schools’ halls, they were tucked away in their own warm, safe little world. How she loved it here at Miss Grantley’s, where she was only another young lady among her friends, only Alex! If only they could stay right there. If only she could be just Alex for ever. Alex who remembered her very own Malcolm.
‘I wish this would never end,’ she said. ‘That we could go on this way always.’
Emily and Diana lay down beside her. ‘We can’t stay at Miss Grantley’s for ever,’ Em said, touching her hand. ‘But we will always, always be friends.’
‘Are you sure?’ Alex whispered, all too aware of how fast things changed in the world beyond the school gates.
‘Oh, yes,’ Diana declared. ‘No matter where we go, or what happens to us, we will always have each other.’
London—spring 1889
Alex glanced over her shoulder as she tiptoed down the stairs of Waverton House. She held her hat and gloves, hoping she could stuff them behind a potted palm or one of the statues glaring down from their niches, if someone should see her. The enormous house was quiet—for the moment.
Her mother, the Duchess, was