A Stolen Heart

“What happened to the Countess?” he asked, abruptly reverting to his earlier subject. “It looked as if she fell.”

“I believe she fainted.”

He frowned. “I trust she was not ill.” He glanced toward the door. “Perhaps I should go see about her.”

“Lord Thorpe and her daughter are with her. I am sure that they will see that she is taken care of.”

“Do you, uh, know the Countess?” he asked.

“No. That is, I just met her.”

“I see. Remarkable woman. Quite a beauty in her day, I understand.”

“I’m sure she was.”

He continued making polite chitchat. Alexandra supposed that the Earl felt he must keep her company since Nicola had left. However, she soon grew tired of the insipid conversation about her life in America and her visit to England. As soon as she could politely take her leave of him, she did so. She strolled around the room for a while, but she soon grew bored with that. She knew no one there except Nicola, and while she liked her, Alexandra felt that she could not hang upon Nicola’s skirts all evening like a lost child. Quite frankly, without Thorpe’s presence, the gathering had lost most of its appeal. She wondered when he would be returning and whether the Countess was all right. Finally she went in search of the group.

She could not find them outside the doors of the ballroom or in the entry hall. When she asked one of the numerous footmen if he had seen Lord Thorpe, he informed her that he had left with the Countess of Exmoor and her group.

Alexandra’s first thought was that he had abandoned her, and she felt a flash of hurt. But she reminded herself that he had told her to wait as he was leaving, and that must have meant that he intended to return. She sighed. She had little interest in hanging about here being bored until Thorpe came back for her. Surely she could leave by herself and go home. After all, it had been only a short distance from her house to this one, a matter of mere blocks, and she was certain that she could find her way. She could walk it easily.

The idea of going home and indulging in a cup of hot cocoa and going to bed grew more and more appealing. Her feet hurt; she was bored; she felt like a fool standing around in the front hall. She made up her mind, then sent one of the footmen for her Paisley shawl. She wrapped it around her shoulders and walked out of the front door, ignoring the rather shocked expression of the footman. Doubtless properly brought up Englishwomen did not walk home from a party, she thought, but Alexandra had little patience for such foolish rules.

It was a pleasant walk. The May breeze still held a hint of coolness, but her shawl combated that. The evening was quiet, as it never was in the daytime. She was used to walking quite a bit back home, and she realized that she had missed it.

She crossed the street and started up the block toward her house. There was the sound of footsteps behind her, walking rapidly. They were gaining on her, and for the first time, she felt a bit of unease. She reassured herself that this part of town was quite safe, but nevertheless, she picked up her pace. Suddenly the sound of the steps stopped. She turned around, surprised, and suddenly a figure burst out from the shrubbery behind her and launched himself at her. They tumbled to the pavement.

Alexandra let out a shriek before he covered her mouth with one hand. They rolled across the ground, grappling, until finally he succeeded in wrapping his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He stood up, jerking her to her feet.

“Dammit! You virago!” he whispered, holding her immobilized from behind. “Go back where you came from. You understand?” He shook her a little.

Alexandra kicked back, the heel of her slipper connecting hard with his shin. The man let out a grunt of surprise and pain, and his arm slackened around her. Alexandra pulled away from him, and he grabbed her, catching her sleeve. It ripped, tearing her dress loose at the shoulder and leaving him with only a sleeve in his hand as she raced away.

Alexandra ran toward her house, screaming, as the front door opened and two footmen stuck curious heads out. They goggled at the sight of Alexandra running toward them. Aunt Hortense pushed them out of her way as she ran onto the front stoop.

“Alexandra!” She hurried toward her niece, holding up her lamp to see, and the two footmen, embarrassed, came running out, too.

Behind her, Alexandra heard her attacker take off in the opposite direction. She swung around to see the dark figure receding down the street. The two footmen gave chase but gave up by the end of the block.

“Alexandra! Child! What happened?” Aunt Hortense wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Did that Englishman attack you?”

Alexandra smiled a little at her aunt’s warlike expression. “No, Auntie. That is, I suspect it must have been an Englishman, but not the Englishman you mean.”

“What happened? You’re all a mess.” Aunt Hortense led her into the house. “Your cheek is scratched.”

“I’m not surprised. Someone jumped out at me.” Alexandra shivered a little, suddenly cold in the aftermath of the excitement. Her nerves were jangled, and she felt stunned and rather fuzzy. Her cheek was beginning to sting, and she felt sore all up and down the front of her body where she had landed so hard on the pavement. Her dress was torn and dirty. She drew in a straggly breath and blinked away the tears that were threatening to pour out.

“Jumped out at you! Exactly where was that man who took you away from here?”

“You make it sound as if he abducted me.”

“I assumed, when he escorted you from your home, that he would return you safe and sound, not abandon you to be set upon by thieves.”

Aunt Hortense steered her into the nearest room, the formal drawing room, leading her toward the blue couch.

“He didn’t abandon me,” Alexandra retorted with irritation. “He had to leave, and I was bored, so I came home by myself. It was only a few blocks. I could easily walk it.”

“Ha! You obviously couldn’t,” her aunt pointed out. “I’d like to know what kind of man would just walk off and leave you at a party! Well, never mind that now,” she went on as Alexandra drew breath to argue. “Sit down here on the sofa. What you need is a stiff shot of brandy.”

Aunt Hortense looked around and caught sight of the clot of servants standing just outside the drawing room door. “You, there, what do you think you’re doing, standing about like a gapeseed? Go fetch your mistress a glass of brandy. The rest of you, take some lanterns and go check the street—make sure that scoundrel isn’t still out there.”

The servants scattered at her words. Aunt Hortense sighed. “No sense, the lot of them.”

There was a gasp at the door, and they turned toward it. Alexandra’s mother stood in the doorway, staring in horror at Alexandra.

“My baby!” she wailed. “What happened? Did they get you, too? Are they attacking us?”

She rushed into the room and dropped on her knees beside Alexandra. Tears gushed down her face as she patted ineffectually at Alexandra’s hair and arm and tried to wipe some of the dirt from her skirts. “Oh, my dear, oh, my dear,” she repeated over and over.

“Mother, it’s all right. No one is attacking us,” Alexandra said, trying to keep her voice soothing. Her mother’s light, frantic touch and words jarred her already frazzled nerves. “Really. It’s all right. It was just an accident. I fell.”

“No. No. They’re coming here. I know it. We have to flee. Get the carriage.”

Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat. The light in her mother’s eyes was alarming. She looked almost mad. “Mother, it’s all right. No one is coming to get us. We are fine. There are plenty of servants, and we are inside the house.”

“You don’t know! You don’t know!” Rhea’s voice rose in panic. “The servants will turn against us! We’ll be helpless!”

“Mama!” Alexandra gripped her mother’s arms. “It’s all right!”

Nancy, her mother’s companion, came hurrying into the room, her feet bare and her voluminous white cotton nightgown billowing around her. “Miz Rhea! There you are! I’m sorry.” Nancy cast an apologetic glance at Alexandra and Aunt Hortense. “I didn’t know she was up.”

She bent over Rhea Ward and pulled the hysterical woman to her feet, wrapping her arms around her in a hug that was both comforting and restraining. “There, there. Nothing’s going to happen to you or to any of us.”

“It’s not?” Rhea turned toward the other woman, hope dispelling some of the panic in her voice. “Truly?”

“I promise you. You know I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you.”

“But the mob—” She cast an eye agitatedly toward the front window.

“There’s no mob out there, ma’am. Listen. Do you hear a mob?”

Rhea paused, her head cocked, listening. “No.” A tremulous smile broke across her face. “You are right. They must have turned and gone somewhere else.”

“That’s it,” Nancy agreed soothingly. “Now, let’s you and I go back to bed.”

Rhea nodded and went along with her docilely.

“Nancy,” Aunt Hortense said as the two of them reached the door, “perhaps it would be best if you slept in Mrs. Ward’s room tonight.”