Alexandra

by Lauren Royal

  “Mr. Nesbitt.” Lady Rachael nodded graciously, though her eyes remained on Griffin. ”It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Tristan executed a small bow, hiding his amusement. “The pleasure is mine, my lady.”

  “Mr. Nesbitt is Lord Hawkridge now,” Griffin informed her. “The Marquess of Hawkridge.”

  “Of course.” She finally turned to Tristan, her expression a mixture of apology with curiosity and a touch of alarm. “How could I have forgotten?”

  Clearly she’d remembered the scandal. Tristan wished she’d go back to staring at Griffin.

  “Let me escort you to my sisters, Lady Rachael,” Griffin interjected. “You came to visit them, didn’t you?”

  “I came to see you, as your butler has informed you.” She lifted her reticule off one of the ornate iron treasure chests. “Shall we discuss this somewhere private?”

  “Very well,” Griffin said and guided her up the staircase, his feet obviously dragging.

  Tristan had a quiet laugh at his friend’s expense. “I shall arrange for refreshment to be brought to you in the study!” he called after them lightly. And with that, he took himself off, leaving Griffin to the mercy of his sultry cousin.

  There were no servants hovering about, so Tristan made his way toward the side door that led to the household offices and kitchen, hoping to find Boniface, or perhaps the housekeeper or cook. Then, hearing footsteps and feminine voices drifting from the quadrangle, he turned back.

  Boniface reappeared from nowhere and opened the door to admit Alexandra, Juliana, and Corinna. “Welcome home, my ladies.”

  “Good afternoon, Boniface,” they chimed in chorus, belying the gray day in cheerful straw bonnets and pale pastel dresses. Walking dresses, Tristan presumed, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what made them such. They were high-waisted and slim-skirted, like all the other dresses he’d seen them wear this summer.

  “Lord Hawkridge,” Juliana said in surprise. “Have you and Griffin returned already?”

  “No, he’s a mirage,” Corinna quipped.

  Juliana laughed. Alexandra didn’t.

  “What have you there?” Tristan asked, indicating the baskets they all carried.

  “Lemon cakes,” Juliana said. “Or what’s left of them.”

  “We’ve just come from the village,” Corinna elaborated. “We were visiting with the infirm.”

  “All of the tenants and villagers look forward to our sweets,” Juliana boasted. “Would you care for one?” Her gaze flicked from him to Alexandra and back as she reached into her basket and handed him a cake. “They’re reputed to cure melancholy.”

  Did he look distressed? “How kind of you, then, to bring some to the ill.” He bit into the confection and smiled, wishing Alexandra would say something. “I was just on my way to procure some refreshment for your cousin, Lady Rachael. Perhaps she’d enjoy some of these.”

  “Rachael is here?” Corinna squealed. “Where is she? Did Claire and Elizabeth come along as well?”

  “I don’t believe she brought her sisters with her. She’s with Griffin, in his—”

  “Griffin?” She frowned. “Whatever does she want with him?”

  “Oh, it has to do with some flooding on her land. I think.” He laughed, remembering the way they’d interacted. “Has Lady Rachael previously shown an interest in your brother? Or he in her?”

  “A romantic sort of interest?” Juliana looked intrigued. “She was little more than a child when he left for Spain.”

  “She’s not a child now.”

  “Of course she isn’t.” Juliana handed Alexandra her basket. “Take this, will you? We’ll see that refreshments are brought to the drawing room for when Rachael is finished with Griffin.”

  After a silent moment, she nudged Corinna with her elbow.

  “Oh, yes,” Corinna said. “Do take mine as well.” After shoving her basket at Alexandra, she followed Juliana upstairs.

  Alexandra shifted the three baskets awkwardly. “Well,” she said as her sisters disappeared.

  One word, Tristan thought. It was a start. “They do have a habit of leaving the two of us alone together, don’t they?” Doing his best to appear nonchalant, he polished off the rest of the cake.

  She crossed to one of the iron treasure chests, set down the baskets, and turned away to busy herself combining the remaining sweets into one of them. “They mean well.”

  Moving closer, he watched her in the large, rectangular looking glass that hung above the treasure chest. “What do you expect they’re hoping will happen?” He kept his hands clasped behind his back.

  Though her cheeks went pink, she met his eyes in the silvery surface and answered in her forthright way. “I expect they think you might kiss me again.”

  “I won’t,” he said quietly.

  “I know,” she said and lowered her gaze.

  Since spotting him riding to their door earlier that morning, she’d endured a riot of emotions: surprise, happiness, annoyance, confusion. Confusion reigned supreme. She’d been looking forward to the ball, to meeting new—eligible—young men. In the past month, she’d thought she’d succeeded in relegating Lord Hawkridge to that role in her life labeled friend.

  But seeing him this morning had cured her of that illusion.

  Youthful stupidity could be her only excuse. And perhaps madness. Yes, that would cover it. She whirled round, knowing he stood close behind her. Their height difference meant his lips were at her eye level, and she remembered they had been softer than she’d expected. A lock of his hair had flopped over his forehead as usual, and she reached to sweep it away.

  He caught her gloved hand. “That won’t work this time.”

  “I know,” she repeated.

  Their hands dropped together. Slowly his fingers moved up her arm until he was touching bare skin. “You don’t want me to kiss you, do you?”

  “Of course not,” she said quickly.

  “Good,” he said. “Because I cannot be with you, Alexandra. I cannot be with anyone.”

  She couldn’t be with him, either—not and live with herself. But surely there were ladies who didn’t have families to consider. “Do you mean to never have children? Not even an heir for Hawkridge?”

  He wrapped his fingers lightly around her elbow. “I don’t believe that to be my fate.”

  “Fate.” She narrowed her eyes. “You believe God’s plan for you involves spending the rest of your life alone?”

  “That appears to be the trajectory I’m on. I’ve accepted it. One cannot be happy without accepting one’s fate.”

  He certainly didn’t look happy. “Perhaps He needs you to pull your own weight. Is it so wrong to hope for more? To work for more?”

  “Of course not.” He seemed to realize he’d been holding her arm, and let go. Stepped back. “But it’s wrong to expect more as your due.”

  She remembered how, after completing university, he’d felt he had no choice but to work for his uncle. And now, it seemed, he felt he had no choice but to accept loneliness as his lot in life.

  Thinking about that made a lump rise in her throat.

  “I don’t believe in accepting,” she told him. “Or settling. I believe in striving for the things you want.” He looked startled when she moved closer and grasped one of his hands in both of hers.

  But he didn’t pull away.

  “Promise me,” she said, “as your friend, that you won’t stop trying to be happy.”

  “I am—”

  “Promise me.”

  He didn’t. Instead, following a tense silence, he leaned closer and kissed her on the forehead. Then he withdrew his hand and quit the room.

  EIGHTEEN

  RACHAEL WAS more businesslike than he remembered, Griffin thought, standing behind the safety of his heavy desk. She stood opposite with one hand planted on a cocked hip, her silly little reticule dangling from her wrist.

  Why on earth didn’t girls wear pockets?

  H
e picked up her letter and stared at it, then looked back to her. “When I got this, I was picturing you as a schoolgirl with a plait hanging down your back.”

  She raised one arched brow. “I never wore plaits.”

  He certainly couldn’t picture her wearing plaits now.

  The lavender dress she wore was made of some light fabric that clung to her figure. Her eyes were large and the color of a cloudless sky—a hue Corinna would describe as cerulean—and beneath that startling blue gaze, she had full lips. Her chestnut hair was done up in a ladylike style, but the loose tendrils around her face weren’t tightly curled as was fashionable, instead falling in soft waves that hinted at thick, luxuriant tresses.

  He had never seen a girl in a day dress manage to look so…he couldn’t think of the right word.

  “Did you bother reading that letter?” she asked in a voice much huskier than Griffin remembered.

  He swallowed. “Of course I read the letter. I invited Lord Hawkridge here as a result. He’s assisting me in rectifying the problem.”

  “In what way?”

  “We’re diverting the water back to the river by means of pipes and a pump. The new system should be in place by Thursday.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Why? Because I’m flooding your brother’s land.”

  “I meant, why did you begin irrigating in the first place? Have we not enough rain on this all-fired island?”

  “I’m attempting to save my brother’s vines.”

  When her forehead crinkled, even that looked intimidating. “Vines?”

  “Grapevines. I’m raising grapes to start a winery. Or perhaps I should say Charles was raising grapes, and as his successor, I’m doing my best not to kill them.”

  “Oh.” She sobered. “I was sorry to learn of Charles’s passing.”

  “So was I,” he said dryly.

  She licked her upper lip, watching him speculatively. “You don’t fancy being the marquess?”

  “Given the trouble I have sustaining the lives of mere grapes, you may pity the unfortunate tenants who rely on me for their keeping. Sit, please,” he added, indicating one of the leather wing chairs.

  She did, setting her reticule on the small table beside it. He sat, too, with some relief, as he’d begun wondering if his knees might give out.

  He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers, watching her over them, his jaw tense. He found himself idly wondering if she’d lick her lips again.

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” he said.

  “It’s been two years.”

  “That doesn’t mean it cannot hurt.”

  Rachael turned her face to the window. “I haven’t cried in forever,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Thank you for making me start now.”

  Even though she’d turned away, Rachael could tell that Griffin kept looking at her—no, she decided, staring at her. Whyever was he doing that? As far as she was concerned, he was an irresponsible scapegrace, and she very much would have liked to be offended by his staring.

  But somehow, she didn’t mind.

  Three years in the military had changed her cousin. The rowdy, ungainly youth she remembered had grown taller and sturdier. His eyes were still a pure leaf green, but the face around them had gained a weathered, authoritative quality that fascinated her.

  In a cousinly way, of course.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to bring up old feelings.”

  “It’s time I dealt with them,” she admitted, still gazing out the window. “None of us have, if you want to know the truth. We lost Mama and Papa so quickly—a road accident is such an unexpected shock. Even the staff seems loath to believe they’re gone. A chambermaid cleans their rooms every day just the same as if they still lived there. Nothing of theirs has been touched.”

  “If keeping part of them with you makes you feel better—”

  “It doesn’t, not really. It just keeps us from moving on with our lives.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve decided to empty their suite before Noah comes home in September. He was still living at school at the time, and it never occurred to us to move him into their rooms. He was too young at sixteen to take on an earl’s responsibilities.”

  “You were only seventeen,” Griffin pointed out.

  “But I felt much older than Noah, being the first child. And I knew the care of the estate better than he did, so it made sense for me to take over for him while he finished growing up.” She finally turned back to her cousin. “Now, though, he’s eighteen, and it’s time for him to come into his own. The master suite should rightfully be his. It’s time to let go. They’re only things, anyway, right? Not so significant.”

  She couldn’t believe she was asking for his opinion, his approval. Griffin, of all people.

  But the tightness in her throat eased when he gave her a gentle, crooked smile. “Yes, they’re only things. You won’t forget your parents, Rachael. You can keep some of their more special items…and regardless, they’ll always live in your heart.”

  She had to blink back the tears again. “When did you get so wise?”

  “Oh…” He pulled out a very old sapphire and gold pocket watch that she remembered had belonged to his father. “About two minutes ago.”

  He’d always been able to make her laugh.

  NINETEEN

  “RACHAEL!” Alexandra and her sisters rushed across the drawing room to welcome their cousin.

  “Whatever did you want with Griffin?” Juliana asked after they’d hugged.

  “It’s not important.” Graceful as always, Rachael slid onto a sofa. “He’s already solving the problem.”

  “We’ve been wondering when you’d return.” Alexandra sat beside her. “How was the season?”

  Rachael shrugged. “I’m still unmarried. Not for lack of offers, mind you,” she added with an arch smile.

  Sitting next to Juliana on the opposite sofa, Corinna frowned. “Were none of the gentlemen suitable?”

  “Indeed, there were an earl and a baron among them. Worry not, dear, you’ll find no shortage of adoring gentlemen when you head for London next year. It’s only that none of them seemed right…for me.”

  All four of them released heartfelt sighs.

  Juliana poured tea and handed Rachael a cup. “Is Noah getting frustrated?”

  “Noah?” Rachael laughed. “If Noah had his way, I’d never marry at all. Who would run his household while he’s out chasing girls and ignoring his studies? Not Claire or Elizabeth, I can assure you!” She turned to Alexandra. “Who will run your brother’s household when you marry?”

  “Juliana and Corinna.” Alexandra looked to her sisters. “Mama trained us all in the housewifely arts.”

  Corinna paled; evidently she hadn’t considered the ramifications of Alexandra marrying. “But we haven’t the aptitude that you—”

  “We shall do whatever’s necessary,” Juliana interrupted. “Besides, we won’t have to concern ourselves if we find a wife for Griffin.”

  “As usual, Juliana knows what’s best.” Rachael’s eyes danced. “If she wasn’t here telling everyone what to do, the entire world would go to blazes.”

  “Rachael.” Juliana heaved an ever-suffering sigh. “It’s not the thing for a lady to talk like that.”

  Rachael sipped, looking every inch the lady despite her language. “For all intents and purposes, I’ve been an earl for the past two years—with all the aggravations and frustrations thereof. I’m entitled to curse should I care to.”

  Juliana never allowed anyone the last word. “A potential husband may not think so.”

  “I’d have no respect for a gentleman who couldn’t look beyond a spot of unconventional language.”

  Alexandra hid a smile behind her own teacup. “Griffin wouldn’t care about that.”

  “Pardon me?” Rachael’s lovely sky-blue eyes widened. “Whatever compelled you to say such a thing?”

  “Tris. Lord Hawkridge. He t
old us you and Griffin seemed quite taken with each other.”

  “Well, Tris—Lord Hawkridge—is wrong!” A telltale flush stained Rachael’s cheeks. “Why, Griffin might as well be my brother. We grew up together.”

  Corinna passed her a plate of sweets. “You haven’t seen each other for years, though, have you? I’d say you finished growing up apart.”

  “He’s my cousin.”

  “There’s nothing in the marriage laws to prohibit the union of cousins,” Juliana said quite reasonably. “Cousins wed quite often.”

  “I would never marry a cousin.”

  The words were stated with such vehemence, Alexandra’s teacup rattled as she set it back on her saucer. “Whyever not?”

  “Do you remember my cousin Edmund?”

  “The monster?” Corinna asked.

  “Don’t call him that!” Rachael closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and sighed. “You’re too young to remember him. Edmund was a very sweet child. He just…didn’t look normal.”

  Corinna looked shamefaced.

  “He didn’t think normal, either,” Juliana told her sadly. “He couldn’t even really talk.”

  Alexandra poured more tea. “Edmund died very young. It was terribly tragic.”

  “Yes, it was.” Rachael licked her lower lip. “Perhaps you never knew that he was my aunt’s child. My mother took Edmund when her sister died. Aunt Alice’s husband didn’t want his son.”

  “How dreadful,” Juliana said.

  “Yes. Everything concerning Edmund was sad. Aunt Alice lost many children before having him, and the doctors told her that the miscarriages, and poor Edmund’s condition, were most likely because her husband was also her cousin.”

  The sisters were silent a moment. “Her first cousin, I’d wager,” Juliana finally said. “Griffin isn’t nearly so close a relation.”

  “That doesn’t signify.” Rachael bit into a lemon cake and changed the subject. “What does your family cookbook claim these are supposed to do?”

  “Cure melancholy,” Corinna said. “But to look at Alexandra, they aren’t working.”

  Rachael turned to Alexandra. “Are you melancholy, dear?” She seemed relieved to have the attention focused elsewhere. “According to the last letter I received from you in London, you were expecting to soon be engaged. Has Lord Shelton failed to propose?”