“She is beautiful,” Cavendish agreed. “Or would be, if she didn’t have such a sour expression all the time.”
“Perfect.” Owen called for the footman. He needed that glass of brandy immediately.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alexandra stood outside her sister’s bedchamber and steeled her resolve. She took a deep breath. Then another one. Speaking with Lavinia was never pleasant, but Alexandra had to get answers to her questions before she decided upon the appropriate tactic. Namely, did Lavinia have any sort of regard for Lord Owen Monroe? If she did, Alexandra couldn’t possibly interfere with their courtship, as disappointed as she might be. But if she didn’t—and Alexandra highly suspected she didn’t—then she would be free to use whatever means at her disposal to thwart their parents’ plan.
Please, please don’t have a regard for him.
Alexandra clutched her sweaty palms together to still their trembling and forced herself to knock.
“Come in,” came her sister’s short, cranky voice.
Alexandra slowly turned the handle and pushed open the door to Lavinia’s opulent bedchamber. It was decorated in a variety of shades of pink silks and satins with large white bows, fluffy down pillows, pink striped wallpaper, and paintings of pink flowers on the walls. Lavinia sat at her silver-mirrored dressing table in front of the looking glass, preening like a peacock.
For the thousandth time, Alexandra thought how beautiful her sister was. Lavinia’s complexion was white as milk. Her hair was dark brown with a slight curl. Her nose was patrician, her eyes crystal blue. She looked like a perfect doll. A tall, willowy, thin, gorgeous doll. The exact opposite of Alexandra’s middling height and curviness, with plump cheeks and brown hair and eyes. Alexandra sighed. Life was simply not fair.
Lavinia wasn’t all bad, of course. She’d been a sweet little girl. Or so a vague memory told Alexandra. But then she’d taken ill, and all that had changed. It wasn’t her sister’s fault, exactly, that she could be so unpleasant to be around. She adored her horses in the country and she was quite well read. Mostly books about knights and damsels, but still, someone who loved to read as much as Lavinia did must have some redeeming qualities as far as Alexandra was concerned.
Lavinia’s beleaguered maid, Martha, was painstakingly rubbing cold cream onto her mistress’s small hands. Alexandra rarely administered cream to her hands, and she certainly never asked her maid to do it. She’d never subject poor Hannah to such ministrations. Lavinia, however, rarely lifted as much as a finger for her own care unless she was forced to. And that on a very rare occasion indeed.
Alexandra made her way into the room with a smile on her face. She’d learned long ago that it was always best to approach Lavinia casually until one determined what sort of mood she was in. Alexandra hoped for the best today. At least Lavinia hadn’t raised her voice or thrown anything yet. That was a success.
“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked in as cheery a voice as she could muster.
Lavinia closed her eyes and relaxed into her seat, wiggling her shoulders back and forth. “What does it look like I’m doing, you dolt? Having my hands creamed, obviously.”
The smile temporarily dropped from Alexandra’s face. Despite her calm façade, it seemed her sister was already in a fine temper. Too bad. Alexandra studied her stonelike face in the looking glass. Poor Lavinia. She’d always been given precisely what she wanted precisely when she wanted it, but still she wasn’t happy. Alexandra doubted anything could make her sister happy. Though she desperately hoped it wasn’t Lord Owen Monroe.
“Oh, yes. I see,” Alexandra replied, redoubling her efforts to be cheerful and replacing the smile on her face.
Lavinia cracked open one ice-blue eye and stared at her. “What do you want? You never come into my bedchamber.”
Not if I can help it. “I came to tell you something,” Alexandra replied in a conspiratorial voice, hoping to intrigue her sister. Lavinia liked nothing so much as gossip.
Lavinia’s second eye opened. She narrowed both of them on Alexandra through the looking glass. Aha. There was unmistakable interest there.
“Tell me what?” Lavinia’s voice curled through the air like smoke.
Alexandra sauntered over and took a seat on a tufted cushion near the wardrobe not far from her sister. “Just something I overheard … about Lord Owen Monroe.”
Lavinia’s eyes snapped shut again. “Ugh. I couldn’t care any less if I tried. Lord Owen is a complete scoundrel. I can’t imagine what Mother was thinking, inviting him to the ball tomorrow night.”