Louise Allen - A Most Unconventional Courtship

Not that there were any classical ruins to be seen on Corfu—Chance knew that perfectly well, and so would any educated English traveller. ‘Will you be staying long, Lady Blackstone?’

Again, a hesitation. ‘I am not entirely certain; it seems such a charming island, and Lord Blackstone is most anxious that Frances gains the most benefit from the tour.’

Chance was saved from comment by the butler announcing dinner and the polite scrimmage while partners sorted themselves out. Charming Corfu might be, but surely Lord Blackstone would consider the artistic merits of Venice of more educational value to his daughter, and she would most certainly find far more in the way of balls and company to entertain her there.

He offered his arm to Lady Trevick. ‘I was just speaking with Lady Blackstone, your daughters must be delighted to have a houseguest of their own age.’

‘Indeed, yes.’ Lady Trevick took the seat at the foot of the table and waited while Chance sat at her right hand. ‘Although I am not sure how long they will be staying. Lady Blackstone has some family connection with the island, I believe.’

‘Indeed?’ Chance put polite indifference into his tone and began to discuss the plans for the new Residency that Sir Thomas had mentioned. At the other end of the table, Lady Blackstone sat next to her host, his secretary, Mr Harrison, on her left. She appeared to be asking him questions. Chance accepted a dish of salmon and tried not to think about Alessa, but the name Alexandra Meredith kept running through his mind.

He looked up and saw Frances Blackstone looking at him. Her hair was up in a fashionable style, her gown was silk, a pearl necklace and pearl earbobs glowed against her pale skin. What would Alessa look like in that gown, her hair coiffed, her throat circled with jewels?

He smiled at the thought and Frances blushed rosily as she dimpled back, thinking the smile was for her. Careful, Chance admonished himself, or you’ll find yourself with the wrong cousin.

It was only much later that evening, as Alfred eased the tight swallowtailed coat off his shoulders, that the import of that thought struck him and he swore softly under his breath.

‘My lord?’

‘Sorry, Alfred. I was thinking about women.’

‘Indeed, my lord? An endlessly fascinating subject, if I might be so bold.’

‘Endlessly.’ One could puzzle for hours over why one was attracted to a green-eyed, mercurial widow who was anything but encouraging.

‘The island is famous for its handsome women,’ Alfred persisted, shaking out the coat. ‘And they are most…hospitable.’

‘I have encountered island hospitality.’ Chance limped over to the bed and allowed the valet to gently remove his shoes.

‘And, of course, there are a number of eligible young ladies, if your thoughts are turning to less er…recreational relationships.’

‘I am not looking for a mistress on Corfu, nor for a wife, Alfred,’ Chance said repressively. ‘I was just thinking about women in the abstract.’

‘Of course, my lord, forgive me. Does your lordship require assistance with the rest of your clothing?’

Damn his tact. Chance had no intention of confiding in his valet. ‘Thank you, no. Just pass me my dressing gown.’ He was not at all sure there was anything to confide about, come to that. Only Alessa was beginning to preoccupy him, and he was uncomfortably aware that he was feeling proprietorial towards her.

The solution was to solve the riddle of her birth and restore her to the bosom of the woman he was increasingly certain was her aunt. Then he would not have to think about her at all, he would have done his duty and he would have restored things to the state they should be in. As this would normally have gratified him greatly, it was a puzzle why it now seemed to give him very little peace of mind.

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