Page 46 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
“We can do it together,” Alexander said at last. “What do you think?”
Hamish considered. “Well, we’ve done plenty of other things together, as old friends. I don’t see why not.”
“I’ll show my brother I’m not a useless fool.”
“Alex, you are too hard on yourself. You always have been.”
He shook his head, gaze aiming into the distance. “I’m the third son and the youngest child. Nobody was ever interested in me beyond my mother, and even she…” he bit his lip. “Even she is being let down by me these days. I have to do better.”
Hamish leaned forward, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much drink.
“Wewilldo it together. We will, I promise.”
“Agreed. Thank you, Hamish.”
“Oh, and for what it’s worth? I like her.”
The hairs on the back of Alexander’s neck prickled. He wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation. Of course, that could be helped. “You… you mean…”
Hamish grinned tiredly. “Miss Atwater, that is. There’s a lot of talk about how she doesn’t have a fortune, and isn’tcharmingenough, but it’s nonsense. I like her a great deal. And, more to the point, I thinkyoulike her a great deal, Alexander.”
He bit his lip. “Lady Caldecott warned me away. She’s too sensible to… to care for someone like me.”
But the scene in the rose garden replayed itself before Alexander’s eyes, the way Abigail’s eyes had widened at him, the way her breath had stuttered in her throat when he leaned near her.
Perhaps…
But hope could kill just as surely as a knife.
“You’ll never know if you don’t try and find out,” Hamish said, grinning wryly. “Come on, the Alexander I know always loved to wager. Take a gamble now and try and win Miss Atwater’s heart.”
***
Alexander tapped on the door to the drawing room, waiting for a response before he entered.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mother.”
“Oh, Alex, darling! Come in.”
Alexander pushed open the door. The drawing room was quiet, with none of the guests around. As far as he could tell, they were all in their rooms, or in the libraries. Outside, rain was starting to patter on the windows, forcing anyone who’d gone out for a walk to hurry back inside.
Mary was not alone, though. Lady Caldecott was sitting on the sofa, reading quietly. She shot him a look over the top of her book, though, which he tried his best to ignore.
Mary got up, pattering happily over to her son.
“There you are, darling! Sit down, let me ring for fresh tea. Are you feeling better? You must have been ill last night, to have retired so early from my ball.”
There was a tinge of hopefulness in her voice. Alexander smiled weakly, trying not to remember the anger in William’s voice as he told him to go to bed.
I hope they did something about the urn in the library,he thought suddenly.The one Hamish threw up into.
“Yes, I felt awful, Mother,” Alexander said. It was not entirely a lie. “But I brought you these to make up for it.”
He produced the bouquet of roses, and Mary gave an exclamation of delight.
Her favourites were the pink roses, so Alexander had gotten only pink ones. There were a variety of shades in the bouquet, adding depth, and he’d picked a good amount of greenery to fill out the bouquet, tying the stems with a smooth satin ribbon.
