The Bridegroom's Bargain. Sylvia Andrew

in the end Sir Jeremy reluctantly gave in, and by the spring of 1811 Lieutenants Richard Deverell and Johnny Rawdon were serving under Wellington’s command in Spain. Johnny’s ‘couple of years’ stretched to three. The two friends did not finally return to England until the May of 1814—after Napoleon had been defeated and safely confined on Elba.

      Perhaps she was the child Richard had called her, but, curiously, Lexi never doubted that Richard and Johnny would come back safely, was confident that the years would bring nothing but happiness. And, though she missed them, she was determined to make good use of her time in their absence. She had till then regarded the accomplishments expected of the daughter of a wealthy landowner—the ability to dress well, to dance gracefully, to sing, play and draw well—as a waste of time. But she now threw her considerable energy and talent into acquiring every social grace. When Richard returned he was to be astonished, overcome, at the change in her. He would find her irresistible.

      Then, a few months before they were due to return, Lady Wroxford, her godmother, somewhat belatedly remembered a promise made long before to Lady Rawdon that Lexi should have a London season. So Lexi spent the first half of the year with Lady Wroxford in her house in Curzon Street, and was introduced to the polite world. To everyone’s surprise, including her own, she had a modest success. Her determination to learn how to enchant Richard Deverell on his return served her well in the critical world of the London ton, and she soon had a circle of admirers wherever she went.

      Her godmother did more than just keep her promise. A woman of taste and wealth, she had taken delight in providing her protégée with a wardrobe of beautiful clothes that flattered and enhanced her unusual colouring. Unusual was a word frequently used of Lexi Rawdon. She had learned to control the impulsive ways and hot temper that went with her copper hair, had moderated her careless stride of the past into the decorous steps of a young lady of fashion, but traces of the old free grace and high spirits remained. She was not beautiful in the accepted sense, but her glorious hair and sparkling lavender-blue eyes made sure she was noticed, and her frank, open ways, her wit, her ready laughter, kept a constant supply of admirers round her. The fact that the Rawdons of Rawdon Hall were an old and wealthy family was, of course, an additional attraction. Soon Alexandra Rawdon’s name was on the list of the season’s most sought-after débutantes.

      But though Lexi was always polite, she showed an indifference to flattery and admiration that the world found intriguing. The world didn’t realise—how could it?—that Miss Rawdon’s apparent lack of interest in her success was perfectly genuine. Though she was enjoying London life, it was merely an amusement, a distraction, while she waited for one man to return from the wars. Charming, well bred, wealthy, and seemingly not unduly eager to find a husband, Lexi was soon declared to be out of the usual run of débutantes, and most attractive. Before the season was very old she had received several flattering offers.

      And she turned them all down. Lady Wroxford expostulated, accusing her of being difficult to please. Lexi listened meekly, but said nothing. How could she tell her kind godmother the truth? That she was waiting for one man to come to London? That only he, and no other, would ever please her?

      Then at last Richard and Johnny arrived. They came back from Spain, bronzed, fit, no longer boys, but men, toughened by their experiences on the battlefields of Spain, and confident of their power. But to her they were still dear, still two of the three most important people in her world. For a few short months the future looked brilliant.

      The spell of these happy memories was broken, as the door opened and Lexi was brought back from the past to the bedroom at Channings. Someone came in. It was probably Murdie, Lady Honoria’s maid, come to take her mistress’s place.

      ‘Alexandra?’

      Not Murdie. Richard. No one else ever called her Alexandra in quite that way. Besides, she would know his voice anywhere, deep, calm, sometimes tender. Even though her own eyes were closed, she felt his grey eyes examining her, speculating… Her heart started thumping, but she held herself still, pretending to be in a deep sleep.

      ‘Alexandra, open your eyes. We must talk.’

      Why could that voice still enchant her? The temptation to do as he said was almost irresistible, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t give in. Why didn’t he go away?

      ‘Did my aunt upset you again? She’s old, Alexandra. She can’t understand…’ His voice had a wry sort of humour in it as he added, ‘For that matter, nor can I. But I’m not as tired or as angry as she is. Don’t let her put you off. You might even feel better after we’ve talked. And sooner or later we shall have to put the pieces of our lives back together again.’

      Put the pieces back together again? That would take a miracle! Lexi rather thought they were beyond repair. Still without opening her eyes, she turned her head away from him.

      Richard waited for a moment. Alexandra was not asleep. He knew that. But though it was getting more and more urgent for him to talk to her, he was reluctant to force her before she was ready. The events of the past few months had brought her dangerously close to breakdown. He looked down at his wife. Her eyes were still determinedly shut, but the purple shadows surrounding them, and the hollows in her pale cheeks, showed how badly she needed this time of rest and recuperation.

      Perhaps it would help to talk of happier times… He sat down by the bed and thought of her as he had seen her in a London ballroom when he and Johnny had come back from Spain in May 1814. The carelessly dressed child he had known in Somerset had turned into a glowing girl, poised and very much aware of her powers. He addressed the still figure in the bed.

      ‘Alexandra… Do you remember dancing with me in London? Johnny and I had just got back from France after our years in the Peninsula. Napoleon had been packed off to Elba and London was celebrating. Everyone said what a brilliant season it was. Do you remember? London was full of visitors—European royalty, diplomats and couriers, sightseers, and all sorts of hangers-on. There seemed to be far more of them than there were of the soldiers returning from the wars… Johnny and I were two of the soldiers, and I can tell you we felt somewhat outnumbered by all those civilians.’

      He paused, but Alexandra gave no sign that she was listening. He went on, ‘I saw you first at the ball in Northumberland House, I remember. Johnny and I had arrived in London not long before, and had come there hoping to find you.’

      Richard fell silent. The occasion was still vivid in his memory. He had seen Alexandra as soon as they had entered the ballroom, but it had taken Johnny a few minutes longer. The sight of his sister then had stopped him in his tracks.

      ‘There she is!’ he had said in amazement. ‘Over there. Good Lord, Dev, she looks stunning! I would never have imagined she’d turn out so well! Just look at her—if you can. She’s damned near surrounded!’ Richard remembered his own feelings as he looked at the laughing girl on the other side of the room. Tall and graceful, her hair twisted into a shining knot on top of her head, she looked completely self-possessed, and quite at home in the sophisticated world of London society. Though the smile was as enchanting as ever, she looked very different from the girl with the mane of copper hair who had stood on top of the stile and tempted him to kiss her almost four eventful years before. He could still remember the scent of that hair as it had brushed against his cheek, still recall the sensations aroused in him then…

      ‘We’d better go across before she sees us and comes rushing over,’ Johnny had said next. ‘She’s bound to be excited, but it would never do. Not in a ballroom.’

      Richard had known Johnny’s sister better than Johnny had. He remembered saying wryly, ‘Alexandra knows we’re here already. She saw us the moment we came in—or very soon after.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Your sister has grown up, my boy! She won’t come rushing over—she’s waiting for us to join her.’

      ‘Well, I’m damned! Come on, then!’

      Now, more than a year later, sitting by Alexandra’s bed in the aftermath of the disastrous episode in the church, Richard was filled with regret.