by Brianna York
“Is there something in particular that you wished to speak with me about, Dartmoor?” Marcus said then, “Or are you simply here to destroy the peace and solitude of my dinner with mindless social chatter?” Marcus cocked a brow at the other man inquiringly over the rim of his wine glass as he waited for Dartmoor’s answer.
Slightly off-balanced by the other man’s bluntness, Dartmoor held silent for a moment. Then, deciding that perhaps he was dealing with another man who appreciated directness and who was completely disinterested in any human being on a personal level, he said, “Are you very close to His Grace, the Duke of Dunsaney?”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed slightly and he set down his wine glass slowly. “As close as anyone else is I suppose,” he replied cagily.
The waiter arrived with Dartmoor’s drink, and he leaned back slightly to allow the man to place it before him. Once the servant was gone, he picked up the glass of wine and swirled the liquid a bit, watching it catch the light. “I was given to understand that you had grown up with him,” Dartmoor said nonchalantly.
Marcus leaned back in his chair, his dinner forgotten. “That is the truth, yes,” he answered.
Dartmoor’s eyes left the wine and rose to meet Marcus’s. “Perhaps you can help me with an inconvenient situation that has recently arisen with regard to the Duke.”
“Such as?” Marcus asked, one brow flying higher than the other again.
Dartmoor smiled in a manner that was chill and somehow lightless. “I shall be blunt with you. I intend to reclaim something that the Duke has which is mine. I had a plan that has gone awry. I need help in formulating a new one. Perhaps you would be willing to supply such assistance as I require?”
“Perhaps if you tell me what it is that you are after I may be of more assistance,” Marcus returned.
“I am after the very heart of the man. I wish to take away his soul.”
Marcus regarded the other man across the expanse of painfully white linen for a long moment. Those two sentences so accurately reflected his own feelings with regard to his childhood friend and distant relative that he wondered how he could ever have dismissed as insignificant such a valuable ally. “I believe that I may be of assistance to you,” Marcus answered. “But I will require compensation for my efforts.”
Dartmoor nodded. “Of course. A soul so expansive will no doubt yield a great many opportunities for personal compensation.”
Marcus smiled for the first time at his companion. “What do you wish to know?”
∞∞∞
An hour later Dartmoor bounded down the front steps of White’s, smiling lightheartedly. He climbed into the hackney waiting for him and gave the direction of his house. He settled back against the cushions, feeling profoundly relieved. The information that the Earl had provided him with would allow him an even better vengeance than he had originally planned. He had always fancied Lady Alexandra, and it had always rankled that the stony-faced puritanical Baron Tyndale should win her hand. He grinned maliciously at the thought that the Baron would not be marrying her tomorrow morning after all.
Twenty-Three
S
he was to be married today. Alex drifted toward consciousness with a soft smile on her face. She was to be married this very morning. She stirred, and stretched luxuriantly. She brushed up against Forrest’s sprawled form, and then shook her head in utter disbelief. She had never before been able to properly imagine waking up in such a fashion, but she had to admit that there was something rather wonderful to it. She decided through closed lids that it was eight o'clock or so. It took an effort of will, but she managed to slit her eyes open. “Good Lord!” she gasped.
Rosalind Fenton stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Alex intently out of huge hazel eyes. "Finally. I thought you'd never wake up."
Alex stared at her, dumbstruck. "How did you get in here? How long have you been in here?” Something more to the point occurred to her then. “Why in the world are you here?" She made to get up, remembered herself, and slumped back against the headboard, drawing the bed sheets up to her chin in a reflexive wish for propriety. "Well Rosy?"
She cocked her head to one side like a bird. "I climbed the trellis. I was afraid that the ivy wouldn't hold me up, but it did."
Alex sighed and rubbed at her eyes. "That doesn't answer how long and why."
Rosy looked down at her slim hands where they rested on the dark wood of the bedframe. "I've been here for maybe half an hour. What is he doing here?"
Alex glanced at Forrest’s sprawled form, grateful that he had not woken up. "Forrest is here with my permission, Rosy. Now, if you will go downstairs, I shall…”
Rosy looked perplexed. “But this is your room, Alex.”
Alex suppressed a groan at her innocence. Most eighteen-year-olds had some basic concept of life after marriage. However, most eighteen-year-old girls didn’t climb the trellis to enter the room of her favorite adult either. "I know that, Rosy.” She was not yet quite awake enough to decide what exactly to do with the girl.
Rosy frowned at that.
“Whatever did you want to see me about that couldn’t wait until the next ball that we attend together, or, at the very least, for a proper meeting in the parlor later this morning, Rosalind?” Alex asked then.
"What time is it, dear?" Forrest asked without opening his eyes, his voice sounding a bit rusty.
"Around eight of the clock, I think,” Alex replied, smiling fondly at him.
“Time that we should be up then,” Forrest murmured. He stretched luxuriantly, yawned, and then opened his eyes to stare up at Alex. “You should not have allowed me to sleep in so late,” he admonished her, reaching up with one hand to tuck Alex’s hair behind one ear.
“I should never do something so inconsiderate as that,” Alex assured him, pressing a quick kiss to his brow. “I only just awoke myself.”
“Well, I suppose that I should get dressed,” Forrest announced, rolling over and starting to slide from between the sheets. It was then that he caught sight of Rosy. “Damnation! What is she doing in here?”
“She climbed the trellis, husband,” Alex replied as if that explained all.
Forrest felt a brief rush of pleasure at the sound of “husband” on Alex’s lips that was chased away too quickly by his confusion at Rosy’s presence. “Um, well Rosalind, a good morning to you and all that, but aren’t you leaving soon?”
"But I’ve only just gotten here!" Rosy exclaimed, obviously affronted. “And you are not Alex’s husband yet. Not until after the wedding.”
Forrest closed his eyes, not quite willing to accept Rosalind’s presence as a fact this early in the morning. He sighed, directed a momentary rueful look at Alex, then said, “Wake me up when she's gone." He flopped back onto the pillows and curled up, feigning sleep.
Alex laughed aloud, tipping her head back to regard the ceiling for a moment while she tried to control herself. When her gaze returned to Rosy, however, she burst into further gales of laughter. She glanced at Forrest and saw that he was smiling in spite of himself. Never a boring moment, she thought with an acceptant mental shrug. "Goodnight Rosy," she said to the room at large, and settled back onto the soft pillows, drawing the covers up to her chin.
Rosy stared back and forth between the two of them her hands on her hips, at a complete loss. All of her plans had gone so completely awry. She had come here to see Alex, and not only was Baron Tyndale in Alex’s room and completely underfoot, but they were sleeping and ignoring her. The nerve!
"Alex? Are you awake yet?" It was Matthew’s voice, and Alex managed somehow to suppress her laughter despite the fact that it was threatening to bubble to the surface again.
“Come in, brother,” Alex called out.
The door creaked open, there was a pause, then, "Dear God! Rosalind!”
Forrest couldn't help it. He dissolved into a rare fit of laughter. He heard Alex laughing next to him, and opened his eyes to regard Matthew where he still stood in the doorway
.
“Forrest?” Matthew said next, his jaw was slacked open a bit as he stared from Rosy to Alex and Forrest in bed.
"Don't ask, Matthew," Forrest advised. "I myself do not completely understand."
Rob, who was passing by in the hall, heard Matthew’s shout and decided to find out what was wrong. "Matthew? What is going on in there?"
"Come on in and join the circus," Forrest invited, despite Rosy's rapid head shaking that must have meant no. "Catch her!" Forrest called out, seeing Rosy's sudden move to flee from whence she had come. His trance-like confusion broken, Matthew leapt after her and caught her easily. He turned her about to face to center of the room. "Good work man!" Forrest praised, laughter lurking in his voice. "We can't have her escaping."
"Hell’s bells!" Rob whispered, his expression stricken as he stared at the scene before him. He glanced in apprehension at Matthew, but Alex’s brother appeared to have surrendered to the inevitable and was chuckling gently.
Fighting not to laugh aloud, Matthew felt relief that he could smile down at Rosy, who looked mutinously back at him. "Rosy! What are you doing here?"
“That's what everyone wants to know," Rosy said sullenly. "Why doesn't anyone ask the Baron what he's doing in here!"
Matthew looked at Alex, mirth bubbling in his eyes as he tried to look stern. Alex felt a small pang of happiness at seeing her brother shaken from his despondency. "That is a question that did enter my mind, but I think that your presence, Rosy, is far more extraordinary.”
Rosy scraped the toe of her kid boot across the carpet, back and forth as she said in a muffled voice, "I wanted to, that's why. I climbed the trellis, and without getting very dirty, either."
Alex fought down another laugh, a gesture echoed by Matthew and Forrest. "Well, if the rest of you will excuse us for now....” she hinted broadly.
“Come Rosy,” Matthew commanded the girl, taking her shoulders and steering her toward the door.
"I will be down shortly,” she assured Rosalind before the girl disappeared into the hall ahead of Matthew. Matthew winked broadly at her, and Alex gave him a grin in return that made him smile widely.
"A good morning to you both,” Rob said, a knowing smile on his face before he too slipped from the room and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
"Should I expect every morning to be this exciting?” Forrest wanted to know, rolling onto his back and propping his head up with his clasped hands. “She is a peculiar girl, isn’t she?”
Alex chuckled and shook her head. "Rosy is a permanent fixture in our lives, I am afraid. She is so fond of us that it would be cruel to treat her with the decorum we are supposed to oppress her with.”
Forrest chuckled at that. “I do believe that I have fallen in love with the wisest woman in all of England.” He half-rose and kissed her quickly, then kicked back the covers and stood, stretching luxuriantly.
Alex lounged back in bed and watched Forrest with pleasure as he moved about the room, dressing himself efficiently. Once he was dressed, he came to stand beside the bed, looking down at her. He stood for such a long time staring at her with luminous eyes that seemed drawn inward while still seeing her too clearly, that Alex said, “I assure you that I will still be here in a couple of hours, Forrest.”
He smiled slightly and nodded. “It is hard to believe at times that you are here at all. It always seems to me that there cannot really be someone so perfect as yourself.” He reached out and brushed a loose strand of her hair back off her forehead.
She smiled fondly at his uncharacteristic whimsy. “I am really here, perfect or otherwise,” she answered.
He nodded and smiled contentedly at her. “I am a very lucky man, Alex,” he said quietly, bending over to kiss her. A gesture of that sort from a man such as Forrest could be nothing but possessive and authoritative. Alex felt his worship of her person in his lips and she reveled in the power she could exert over him. He drew away from her regretfully. “I believe that it is considered bad luck for me to see my bride before the wedding ceremony,” he informed her wryly, “so I think I shall hie myself off for a ride so that you have the proper chastity of privacy whilst you dress. Matthew told me that I could ride Apollo today in honor of our wedding.”
“That was terribly generous of him,” Alex replied. “I think that he loves that horse more than he loves anything else on earth. He must be terribly pleased to be rid of me.”
Forrest rolled his eyes at that. “Fustian,” he told her, leaning over and kissing her softly. “Now, I’d best be off before your abigail comes in and discovers me here.”
Alex smiled at him naughtily. “Convention be damned.”
Forrest laughed aloud at that. “Whether that is your sentiment or not, I am still going.” He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled a bit slyly. “We both know that no dressing of any kind would be occurring if I should stay.”
Alex chuckled in reply to such logic. “You are correct as always, my love.” She watched him cross the room and open the door. He halted with one foot over the threshold and turned back for one last look at his bride-to-be, a charming and boyish smile on his face. Alex rejoiced at the youthful look on his face and smiled in reply to such apparent joy.
“Be off with you,” she said teasingly. He chuckled, nodded and slipped into the hall, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Alex lay in bed for another few minutes, her eyes on the pillow that had so recently supported his head and on the sheets that lay in a disordered heap suggesting his presence and his absence at the same time. She savored the feeling of a moment in time reached and earned and hers to simply enjoy. Finally she rose and slipped into a dressing gown before ringing for her abigail.
She heard the door open as she rummaged through her box of hair pins. “I think we should do my hair up first,” Alex said without turning around.
“I suppose it would be fitting if I were to do the honors on your wedding day.”
The voice was Matthew’s and Alex turned eagerly toward the sound. She hesitated a moment before speaking, assessing her brother’s mood. She detected a haunted quality to his expression and a rigidity that spoke of pain in his bearing but his eyes were no longer blank and dead.
“Thank you for saving us from Rosy’s questions,” she said, stifling a giggle.
Matthew managed a lopsided smile. “She really is the most damnable girl sometimes.” He narrowed his eyes for a moment, “Although she did ask a rather pertinent question with regards to Forrest’s presence in your bed this morning.”
Alex felt herself blush in spite of herself. “Oh bother! We are to be married today in any case. No one would have known were it not for Rosy’s grand entrance this morning.”
Matthew held up his hands pleadingly. “Peace, sister. I meant only to tease you.”
Alex subsided a bit ruefully. “I know. I suppose I’m prickly because I’m nervous.”
Matthew frowned slightly and crossed the room to pick up her hairbrush. He motioned for her to sit and began drawing the brush through her long, red hair. “Whatever do you have to be nervous about? You two love each other. This is just the final step in that process.”
Alex nodded gently, her face thoughtful. “I suppose it is rather daunting to be permanently bound to another human is all.”
Matthew’s hands went still. “At least one of is going to get the chance to experience that.”
Alex felt a pang of guilt and turned around to take her brother’s hands in hers. “Oh, Matt, I’m sorry to bring this up. It was thoughtless of me.”
Matthew shook his head firmly. “Nonsense. This is your day to be happy and I will not let my own troubles ruin it.”
Alex smiled fondly up at her brother, then rose to draw him into a hug. “You are the very best of brothers. I am so blessed.”
Matthew pressed his sister close to him, feeling tears stinging his eyes. “It is I who have been blessed. I will miss you filling the empty spaces in my life.”
; “I will not be that far away, you know,” she reminded him, a distinct note of tearfulness in her voice.
Matthew squeezed her tighter, then drew back. “I know that. Now, let’s get your hair dressed.”
Twenty-Four
M
atthew ran his fingers under his black lapels, flicked out his tails, then straightened a few rebellious curls.
"You look smashing, Matthew," Dobbs said companionably, sounding distinctly fatherly to Matthew.
Matthew managed a thin smile at his valet's reflection, and straightened his stickpin. It was a gold horseshoe with tiny emerald chips serving as nails. "Thank you, Dobbs. I remember when my father gave this to me," he said, running his fingertip over the smooth surface of the tiny pin as he spoke.
Dobbs nodded. "Your father loved the Dunsaney colors, the heritage, everything. He was rightfully proud of all that they stood for. He was a wonderful man, Matthew. I wish he could be here today."
Matthew glanced at the man who had always been there for him, regardless of the circumstance, and smiled. He frowned suddenly. "I always hated to disappoint him."
"I doubt that you did so with any great frequency," Dobbs contributed, closing the doors to Matthew's armoire. "Your father once told me that he had not known what it was to love until each of his children came to be.”
Matthew smiled suddenly, his melancholy fading somewhat. “Thank you, Dobbs."
Dobbs smiled and nodded solemnly. “There is no reason that you should blame yourself for things that are outside of your personal control.” Matthew’s expression darkened somewhat, and Dobbs regretted his comment. He watched his employer carefully as he finished tidying up the room. Finally, he decided to satisfy his curiosity. “What happened to cause Miss Dartmoor to suddenly change her mind?”