Alex pulled the covers down and opened one eye to peer above the fabric. She could see her mother standing in the sunlight, regarding the gardens below with a critical eye. Recognizing the expression on the duchess’s face, she groaned and pushed the covers back, sitting up in bed. “Oh, no. You’re going to assign me a task.”

The duchess turned to face her daughter. “A task, indeed. But a task I think you’ll find intriguing.”

Alex cast a quizzical look at her mother and waited. A smile broke across the duchess’s face. “Dress. Then meet me to break your fast in the morning room.”

Alex watched skeptically as her mother swept gracefully from the room without offering a single hint of what she wanted. For a brief moment, Alex considered ignoring the edict and going right back to sleep, but her curiosity—and her hunger—got the best of her. With an exaggerated sigh, she rose.

By the time she entered the morning room to meet her mother three quarters of an hour later, Alex’s hunger had overcome all other emotions. She burst through the doors, already moving toward the sideboard where the morning meal had been set. She was several paces into the room before she became aware of her surroundings and slowed to a halt.

There were flowers. Everywhere. In every shade and shape imaginable, blossoms covered tabletops and bookshelves. There were posies perched on the duchess’s writing desk, vases balanced on plant stands, and even three bouquets that had been placed on the marble floor in front of the room’s fireplace. Turning in a slow circle, Alex took in the room before settling her gaze on the duchess, who, despite being seated as regally as any queen, was smiling quite foolishly.

“Good Lord,” Alex spoke in amazement.

“Language, Alexandra. Ladies do not use that phrase. Your father and brothers have had too much influence on you.”

“Mother, admit it’s appropriate in this situation. You’ve cleaned out every hothouse in Britain!”

“Not I, daughter.” The duchess did not move from her seat. “They. Every one of these blooms arrived with a card from a suitor.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “Suitors of whom?”

“You know quite well that you took London by storm last night. Just as I expected you would.”

A rumbling sound erupted from Alex’s stomach and she was reminded of her hunger. Ignoring the smug expression that had taken over her mother’s visage, she moved toward the sideboard and filled a plate with pastries and freshly sliced fruit while she took a deep breath and considered her next course of action.

“Mother, I cannot imagine what I could possibly have done to encourage the attentions of even a fraction of these ‘suitors.’ In fact, I went out of my way to avoid encouraging them.”

She picked up a calling card from the blossoms that had been precariously perched between the breakfast trays and read the message. “Viscount St. John? He’s got the intelligence of a goat. If this is an indication of the kind of suitors I’ve got simpering after me, it speaks to a significant problem with my perceived quality.”

“Alexandra, there are some forty bouquets in this room alone, and I’ve had several posies sent to the upstairs parlor because of space constraints here. I feel confident that there are several notes from gentlemen who are not dull-witted.” The duchess held up a stack of cards, which she had obviously collected prior to Alex’s arrival. When she began to read them aloud, Alex collapsed onto a chaise nearby and grazed on her breakfast while commenting on the senders in question.

“Lord Denton. He’s very well appointed, and a marquess.”

“And doesn’t fail to mention both the money and the title at any opportunity.”

“Arrogance isn’t a terrible trait in a male, Alexandra.”

“It is when the male in question is a crashing bore as well.”

The duchess sighed and flipped to a new card. “Simon, Lord St. Marks.”

“Mother, I will not be matched with someone who is a half a foot shorter than me.”

Another sigh from the duchess. “Lord Wentworth. He’s first in line for a dukedom.”

“So is Will; I wouldn’t marry him either.”

“What about me? Good God. Is it a funeral?” Alex was saved from her mother’s quelling look by the arrival of Will, whose dry question earned him the irritated glance.

Alex popped a strawberry into her mouth and chewed thoroughly before speaking. “No, although that might be preferable to what it actually is.” She spread her arms and indicated the flowers throughout the room. “These”—she paused for theatrical emphasis—“are all from my adoring fans. It seems I’m quite the rage.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste, Scamp.” Humor laced Will’s tone.

Alex threw her older brother a scowl and would have held it to increase the drama of the moment had she not been interrupted by the arrival of Lord Blackmoor. While most of London would have agreed that it was highly improper to pay a house visit before noon, Gavin was more family than guest, and his entry garnered no surprise. Smiling at the duchess and bowing low over her hand, he remarked wryly, “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t arrive with flowers—they would have tipped this room’s décor into the realm of the excessive.”

The duchess returned his smile as Will and Alex laughed aloud. “Your presence is ever so much more a treat, my lord,” Her Grace said, “although I will venture a guess that you’re here for breakfast more than you are for a glimpse at Lady Alexandra.”