Even if she had no children of her own.
She'd been sensible to insist on this small hiatus, she decided. Two days without Sam was exactly what she needed to regain her equanimity.
After the program was over, in an effort to repress any further ill-starred fantasies, she threw herself into the reception as though she were personally responsible for everyone's good cheer. She spoke to each child and teacher, helped ladle out the punch, handed out cookies and sandwiches, gave a short speech before the prizes were awarded, and flitted from group to group with a nervous energy that didn't go unnoticed.
In search of normalcy, feeling the need to escape her thoughts, she immersed herself in the full gamut of activities.
Her mother remarked on her restlessness as they left the building. "I'm not sure you're required to bring happiness to every last person in that school. You looked positively giddy today."
"I like to make people happy. Is that a crime?" Alex's tone was defensive. "And if you don't mind, Mother, I'm not in the mood for chastisement."
Mrs. Ionides surveyed her daughter. "Did the viscount put you in poor humor?"
"No, Mother, he didn't. If you want to ask me something, just ask it. There's no need to beat about the bush."
The two women stood at the curb before their waiting carriages.
"He'll never take you home to meet his family." [8]
Her mother's remark struck a nerve regardless of the fact that Alex had no wish to meet Sam's parents. "It's not a problem for me," she said.
"They look down on families like ours."
"I understand; it's their loss. But you don't want to meet Ranelagh either, so you're hardly one to take offense."
"I never said that."
Alex softly exhaled. "If not precisely in those words, you've insinuated as much in every nuance of our conversations since I met him. Or would you like me to bring him to dinner?"
Her mother opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.
"There, you see."
"Your father wouldn't allow it."
"Should I ask him?"
"He's very busy right now," Euterpe replied stiffly.
Alex smiled faintly. "Don't worry, Mother, I won't be bringing Sam to dinner. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."
"With him, I suppose."
"No, alone. Does that make you happy?"
"If you married Constantine and gave me grandchildren, I'd be happy."
"How about just the grandchildren without the marriage?" Alex offered lightly. "How would that be?"
"How dare you even suggest such a thing! Your father will hear of this, young lady… such absolute foolishness! I'm going to pretend you never said anything so outrageous. I told your father his leniency toward you would-"
Her mother was still sputtering when Alex stepped into her carriage.
Alex went directly home, fatigued after her sleepless night, weary in spirit as well-totally unsure of what had been until yesterday clear and unequivocal goals in her life.
The moment she closed the front door, she began undressing, leaving a trail of clothing behind in her passage to her bedroom. When she reached her bed, she dropped onto the mattress in a sprawl, pulled a cover over her, and within seconds was fast asleep.
In the days since she'd met Ranelagh, she'd barely slept, and while he may have been accustomed to a schedule of continuous sex, she was not.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Already experiencing withdrawal symptoms, Sam couldn't have slept had a gun been put to his head, and knowing he had to keep busy if he were to last two days without Alex, he went to Eddie's house, dragged him out of bed, and insisted on his company.
They'd played eighteen holes under an overcast sky and, against Eddie's protests, began a second eighteen midafternoon, despite a light rain falling.
At the third hole, with the wind picking up, Eddie tossed his club at his caddy and hotly declared, "I'm done, Sam. If you have to keep your mind off the lovely widow by wearing yourself out on the golf course, I don't have to be part of your damned abuse. Not only did you wake me up at the crack of dawn-"
"It was eleven."
"As I was saying-the crack of dawn, not to mention you've dragged me up and down this damned course for hours without so much as a drink."
"I can't drink."
Eddie spun around, his gaze incredulous. "You're dying."
Sam handed his club to his caddy and waved the two lads away. "I'm not dying," he said calmly, "but I sort of promised Alex I wouldn't sleep with anyone for these two days, so I want to stay sober." He shrugged. "In the interests of caution."
Sam's explanation had done nothing to diminish Eddie's incredulity. Wide-eyed, he said, "You may not be dying, but you're obviously delirious. What do you mean, you promised her not to sleep with anyone?"
"Just that."
"You mean you're sleeping alone tonight?"
Sam nodded.
"And tomorrow night as well?"
"Yes."
Eddie softly whistled. "Damn, she must be good. How long has it been, Sammy, since you spent two nights alone?"
"Don't make it sound so unusual. I spend time at my country home and at my hunting lodge and I don't necessarily have female guests."
"But your pretty maidservants draw straws for you, if I recall. Or doesn't that count?"
The viscount had the grace to look disconcerted. "You've made your point. But I'll manage just fine for two days."
"Provided you don't drink and you wear yourself to exhaustion on the golf course."
"Something like that," Sam said with a grin.
"Well, I'm going to the clubhouse and get myself a brandy before I die of a chill." Eddie offered his friend a sardonic glance and began walking away. "Since you're in love, you may watch me drink."
Sam caught Eddie's arm and brought him to a standstill. "For the record," he said carefully, "I'm not in love."
"Good. Then you won't mind joining me at Hattie's tonight. She has a dozen new ladies in from Paris-your favorite type, as I recall."
"Maybe some other time."
"Bloody hell! I don't believe it!" Eddie made a cross with his forefingers as though warding off evil spirits. "I bloody hope whatever you have doesn't contaminate me."
"Alex is very nice. That's ail."
"Really. Nice. I hadn't heard you refer to sex as nice before. Tell me how it's nice. Tell me what the hell she has, Sammy. Come, come, aren't we old friends? Describe this fucking rarity"-he grinned-"or rare fuck, because I'm all ears."
"Not a chance."
"Are we going to hear wedding bells?" Eddie mocked.
"What do you think," Sam said brusquely.
"Thank God. It would shake my principles to the core."
"You don't have any principles."
"Well, it would scare the hell out of me."
As it turned out, the men didn't stay long at the clubhouse. Eddie wasn't able to change Sam's mind, and after a period of cajoling and grumbling, he gave up trying to coax Sam into having a drink, and they returned to London.
"I hope you come to your senses," Eddie said as he exited Sam's carriage. "Do you think you should see a doctor?"
"I'm not sick, but thank you for your concern."
"It's not concern so much as a matter of survival. I don't want to think this could happen to me." He shuddered.
"I'll keep my distance," Sam promised with a faint smile. "Give my regards to the girls at Hattie's."
"I'll tell them you're in love."
"Tell them whatever you want."
And that casual reply more than anything alarmed Eddie.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It wasn't a good night for Sam. He tossed and turned, rose a dozen times to have a drink, decided against it in each instance, finally dressed before dawn, and rode out to the site of his new golf course to keep his mind off what he couldn't have for two more days yet.
Watching the sun rise from the crest of a hill, he surveyed the broad green sweep of land that would one day be as perfect a course as man and nature could devise. But rather than the usual sense of satisfaction such contemplation provoked, he instead felt distrait and edgy.
[8] By the late Victorian period, the process of assimilation-the marriage of land and capital, gentry and haute bourgeoisie-was clear for all to see and new money was calling the shots. "Nowadays," observed the Countess of Cardigan, "money shouts and birth and breeding whisper!"
But of the three props that supported the ruling elite-money, land, and title-it was the possession of a hereditary peerage that was the clearest determinant of class and the most obvious focus of ambition. In the mid-Victorian period, the House of Lords remained a difficult hurdle for new money. Not until the 1880s did both Liberal and Tory governments surrender their patronage to the market. By 1890 the proportion of business and commercial families achieving peerages was twenty-five percent and rising. Between 1886 and 1914 about two hundred new peers were created, at least half from nonlanded backgrounds.
This rise of the bourgeoisie to titled status did not occur without resistance. Many of those in power were offended by "the rustle of banknotes," and native English gentry took affront that social control of London "is now divided between the Semite and the Yankee." Anti-Semitism ran high, as did mockery of the "trans-Atlantic Midases," referred to as peltry or pork kings. But by 1899, the peerage included fifty American ladies; by 1914 seventeen percent of the peerage and twelve percent of the baronetcy had an American connection, frequently through marriage to an heiress. "Failing the dowries of Israel and the plums of the United States," noted Escott with realism, "the British peerage would go to pieces tomorrow."
I became aware of the disdain directed toward American heiresses not only in the memoirs of numerous heiresses who had been treated abominably by their husbands' families, but in particular while touring the Duke of Roxburghe's family seat in Kelso, Scotland, when I was researching