“Yes.” Alex’s response was lost in the crowd as Ella pushed through. She sighed and muttered to herself, “You know, for someone so observant, Ella, you can be rather oblivious when you want to be.” She turned back to Blackmoor and spoke up, “If you are here to scold me, I assure you it’s unnecessary.”

“I’m here to tell you that I’m leaving. If you would care for transport home, you should say your good-byes.” His voice was cool and distant.

She briefly considered refusing him and asking the Marquess of Langford to bring her home, but she knew that would make Blackmoor even more irritated, and she wasn’t in the mood to push him any further.

“Very well, my lord”—she made her voice as cool as his own—“I shall only be a few minutes.”

The two rode home in stony silence, neither interested in forgiving or forgetting the events of the evening. When the carriage arrived at Worthington House, Blackmoor, ever the gentleman, exited the carriage to help Alex down from the vehicle. Once on solid ground, Alex offered a quiet, “Thank you, my lord.”

He did not respond, except to offer a short bow, at which point she turned and entered the house, closing the door behind her and not waiting to see if he returned to the carriage or not. She thanked the night footman who had been waiting for her return home, and relieved him of his duties so that he could find his bed. Just as she’d done that, her mother’s voice spilled into the foyer from the library. “Alexandra? Is that you?” And, with a sigh, Alex went to find her.

“Indeed, ’tis I, the princess returned from the ball,” she quipped as she threw herself into a leather chair, kicked off her slippers, tucked her feet up under her, and began unbuttoning her elbow-length gloves.

Her mother and father were seated in identical chairs in a ritual she had witnessed hundreds of times before. When one of the children was out of the house and expected back late, they would stay awake and keep each other company as they waited for the child who was due home. Her father would nurse a glass of scotch while her mother read, but they always ended up chatting. Alex had fallen asleep on the floor of the library to the sound of their discussions countless times as she was growing up. As difficult as her evening had been, it comforted her to join them.

Her father spoke first, his rich voice gently questioning, “That doesn’t sound like the response of a young lady home from a thoroughly amusing evening.”

“Was the ball not enjoyable, my love?” This from her mother.

“The ball itself was lovely,” Alex shared, peeling one long sheath of satin down her wrist and off her hand, draping it across the arm of the chair. “Nicola was gorgeous and entertaining as ever, and Lord and Lady Salisbury were…well, Lord and Lady Salisbury.” The last drew a smile from both her parents.

“If that’s the case, why are you so subdued?” her father queried, teasing. “Did some oaf step on your toes during a quadrille?”

Alex offered him a half smile she didn’t quite feel. “I wish that were the case. No, if you must know, Blackmoor and I had a falling-out.”

“Whatever about?” asked the duchess.

Sighing, Alex focused entirely on her glove as she tugged each satin finger from her hand. “Well, everything was fine until I danced with someone of whom he did not approve.”

“Who?” The duke perked up.

Yanking the glove from her hand, she waved it in frustration. “Freddie Stanhope! Thoroughly innocuous Freddie Stanhope.”

“I thought Stanhope and Blackmoor were friends?” The duchess looked to Alex’s father for confirmation. He didn’t speak as Alex continued.

“So did I, until this season. Will, Nick, and Kit seem to enjoy Freddie’s company as much as ever, but Blackmoor thinks him a rogue and not to be trusted around females. Especially me. Which is ridiculous, considering Freddie and I have been friends for ages.”

“It is rather strange. I’ve always rather liked young Stanhope,” said the duchess.

This elicited a laugh from His Grace. “I imagine that’s exactly why Gavin thinks the way he does. For generations women have ‘rather liked’ the Stanhope men.” Turning back to Alex, he asked, “Has young Stanhope been inappropriate in your presence?”

“Never,” Alex spoke vehemently. “To the contrary, Freddie’s been a capital friend—certainly a bit of a rake—but harmless. After all, I’ve known him for years and he’s very close with Nick. We just have fun together and Blackmoor seems out to ruin anything that seems to entertain me. He takes his role as surrogate brother too seriously, and tonight he overstepped his bounds, leaving me a touch—”

She stopped and returned to working the fabric of her skirts. Her voice quieted as she finished her sentence on a whispered, “—incensed.”

The duke laughed at the sheepish way she spoke her final word, but her mother did not seem so amused. “Oh, Alexandra,” she spoke knowingly, “what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Alex’s face and tone were the combination of perfect defensiveness. “He started it by implying that he was my keeper…as though I were some animal! He doesn’t trust me to know what’s best for myself or how to care for myself, and so I told him exactly what I thought!”

“Intriguing,” spoke the duke, his tone laced with amusement. “In private, I hope.”

“Well—you see—that’s the problem.”

Alex felt a blush rising as her father laughed out loud and her mother gasped, “Alexandra Stafford!” The duchess spoke to her husband sharply. “This is because you are too lenient with her.” Turning back to Alex, she queried, “Where did you ‘tell him exactly what you thought’?”