The Bad Luck Bride

by Janna MacGregor

  Within minutes, he reached the main entrance. The young groomsman, Charles, attended his own horse and the stallion Claire had prepared to ride at the posting inn. When Alex reached him, he swung off Ares and handed the reins to the young man.

  Charles delivered a short bow.

  “Is Lady Pembrooke inside?” Panic wasn’t an emotion he had much experience with, but his throat clenched as if stuffed with cotton.

  “I believe so, my lord.” He looked down and shuffled his feet. “Beggin’ your pardon, I don’t mean to overstep, but I followed her here. She didn’t want any company, but I didn’t know how familiar she was with the estate. Yesterday, Lady Pembrooke was pleasant and free with her kind words. Today, she is quiet. I thought you should know.”

  “How do you mean, quiet?”

  Charles’s face reflected worry as he rushed the words. “She didn’t speak to anyone and never smiled. She gave me instructions last night what horse to saddle and what time she’d leave. This morning, I asked if she wanted me to accompany her. She rode off without a word.”

  Alex turned and walked straight into the house. Damnation, he had to take his time and make her feel welcome and secure with him. One fact was certain. Once he found her, he’d not let her go.

  Alex walked straight through the entry. He made quick work of the massive staircase that led to the family quarters. With a methodical system, he opened each door. Every room and each piece of furniture lay entombed in Holland cloths, as if in mourning.

  When he encountered the first bedroom, he scoured every conceivable hiding place. Without a sign of another living soul, he continued his search, thoroughly examining every inch of the upstairs. His mind’s paralysis allowed him to survey the surroundings as if disconnected from the moment. One by one, he made an orderly sweep of the second floor.

  When he descended the staircase to the main floor, a soft mewling sound broke the eerie silence. With a quick turn, he proceeded past the library and the study. He walked across the grand ballroom.

  He exited near the rear and continued into a narrow hall, well lit by floor-to-ceiling windows facing north. Alex stepped briskly into the entrance of the portrait gallery.

  Claire lay huddled on the floor in front of a large portrait.

  The sobs grew more distinct. He didn’t hesitate or announce himself as he ran the length of the long hall. His footsteps echoed through the room as his boot heels hit the wood floor.

  She bowed her head while whimpers broke the silence. Curled into a tight ball, she held her knees, taking up as little space as possible. She didn’t acknowledge him, nor did she start or protest when he picked her up in his arms.

  “Oh, Claire,” he murmured. “What has happened to you?” His head fell back, and he closed his eyes. She was safe. He carried her to the nearest sofa and sat down. She fell to his chest in the manner of a small child who needed rescuing from the world.

  Powerless and not knowing what to do or how to offer comfort, he held her tight to compensate. She had told him she hadn’t been to Wrenwood in fourteen years. He should have known—she was here for her parents. Soon, the need to say something came from a place deep inside him.

  “I’m here,” he whispered. He cleared his throat. She didn’t seem to care. “Sweetheart, I have you.” Alex bent and kissed the top of her head and gently held her to his chest. He studied the portrait and rubbed her back for what seemed like hours.

  She didn’t stop weeping until physically spent. She took a big breath and shuddered in his arms. Quiet filled the hall. Alex leaned against the sofa. His shirt and waistcoat were soaked and stuck to his chest. The muscles in his arms ached from holding her. Once he had found her, his worry receded. Anyone who rode a large stallion had to be an accomplished rider. Any blistering fool would have figured out she wanted to come here to grieve.

  Several moments passed before Claire broke the silence. With her face splotched and her eyes swollen and bloodshot, she looked as if she’d gone thirteen rounds with Lucifer. He pushed the hair that had fallen loose behind her ear and rested his hand on the back of her neck. The gentle slide of his thumb across her cheek wiped away the remnants of her tears. Touching her softness was as essential in that moment as the air he breathed. More important, he wanted to give assurance he would not abandon her as she leaned her face against his hand.

  “Alex…” She squeezed her eyes shut. Sorrow lined her face as she grimaced in pain.

  He tightened his hold on her face. No one in the area knew much about the accident and her parents’ passing. The estate had closed immediately after the duke’s and duchess’s deaths. “Tell me what happened that night.”

  She trembled in his arms and took a few moments to answer. “I’ve never spoken of it, not even with Uncle Sebastian.”

  Alex allowed Claire to lead. She should decide what information to share. He watched her face for any sign she’d crumble again.

  Claire was strong, and her determination did not surprise him. She stood and walked to the family portrait. “When I was five, my father wanted our portrait done before any more children were born. My parents didn’t conceive easily. It took three years before another child was on the way after my birth, and my mother lost the pregnancy early in her confinement. Uncle Sebastian teased they were trying too hard to produce an heir. My parents’ retort was their toil had its own rewards.”

  “No truer words were ever spoken.” His response garnered a faint smile from his wife.

  “When I was older, I loved to hear that story over and over.” Claire returned her gaze to the portrait. “My father thought the artist captured both my mother and me perfectly. At least that’s what my uncle tells me. My father had an exact copy painted, a gift for my mother.”

  Alex stood and walked to her side. “Where’s the original?”

  Claire took a deep breath. The strain on her face was agony, but she kept the tears at bay. “The portrait’s home is at the Langham family seat, Falmont. It isn’t displayed in consideration for me. As a child, I suffered nightmares. My aunt thought it best to keep it in storage. That’s part of the reason I’m here. I want my father and mother to take their rightful place in the history of our—” Claire wrapped her arms around herself. “Because of me, there is not a single trace of my parents at any of the Langham residences. It’s as if they didn’t exist.”

  Raw emotion broke across her face. She was in such pain. It made him want to punch something, anything, to take away her suffering.

  “Wrenwood is where I belong, where I don’t forget who I am. It was my mother’s and my grandmother’s. I want my daughter—” Her breath hitched, and she bit her bottom lip. “But now … perhaps it’s best to put it to another use.”

  Alex took her hand in his and concentrated on the portrait. Indeed, the detail and coloring were lifelike. Claire, the little girl in the painting, was holding her mother’s hand. With a slight smile, the duke was a handsome fellow with an air of authority. The artist caught the gentleness in his eyes as he looked at the two ladies in his life.

  By far, the most captivating person in the portrait was the duchess, who was radiant with warmth. The classic beauty looked directly at the artist. Her happiness was readily apparent in her eyes. It was easy to see the love between the duke and duchess. The emotion between the couple was laid bare for all to see, an intimate moment shared by a loving family.

  Claire was the spitting image of her mother, except her hair was darker than her mother’s red locks. She had displayed the same contentment as the duchess the night of Lady Hampton’s dinner party.

  Taken aback by the portrait and its effect on him, Alex turned to Claire. “Will you show me the others?”

  Claire walked to the next portrait. “These are from my mother’s side. Beside our portrait is my grandfather.”

  Alex studied the man carefully. A big bruiser of a Scotsman with a twinkle in his eye looked back at him. He was dressed in the traditional plaid and kilt of the Clan MacDonald, mounted on h
is horse with his gun tucked under his arm. In his hand he held a hip flask similar to the one on Claire’s nightstand the night of their arrival at Pemhill. Rubies surrounded the neck, but the engraving was not identifiable in the portrait.

  “Who was your grandfather?”

  “Farlan MacDonald. His friends called him Mac. He gave the flask in the portrait to my mother when she married. He told her there was no argument a drink of good whisky couldn’t set to rights. When I married you”—Claire closed her eyes and swallowed—“I brought it with me, hoping it would help us. I like to think my mother would have shared the same words with me on the eve of our marriage—” When her voice cracked, she faced the window.

  Alex stepped back from the portrait and pulled her closer, her hand still clasped in his. He’d not let go anytime soon. “Sweetheart.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve seen a likeness of my parents since their death. I almost forgot their faces.” Her defeat was complete as she let out an unsteady breath. “Can you imagine a child forgetting her parents?”

  Alex kept her from leaving by taking her into his arms. He held her close for a moment before he lowered his face to hers. “You haven’t forgotten. You’re here to remember. Next time, I want to be with you.” He put his arm around her waist and escorted her back to their mounts without another word spoken between them. A sense of calm—dared he think it, let alone say it?—a sense of family had settled over them.

  Without asking Claire’s preference, Alex directed Charles. “Take the marchioness’s horse back with you to Pemhill. Inform Mrs. Malone and Aileen we’ll be home shortly.”

  Alex would be damned if he’d let Claire ride home without him. His judgment proved sound. She swayed before him, but he caught her before she fell. In one smooth flow of movement, he swept her into his arms and lifted her onto Ares. He followed, then settled her between his legs.

  He reached around and embraced her by placing both hands on the reins. The position of his arms kept her secured and steady. Holding her close calmed the torment that had gripped him this morning. He whispered into her ear, “I’ve got you.”

  Claire didn’t answer.

  He gave a nudge, and the horse took a leisurely pace to Pemhill. Why he felt such strong emotions toward Claire in such a short period of time was beyond explanation. Her dignity and vulnerability led him to reconsider his perceptions. Whatever he thought, there was no denying she felt perfect in his arms.

  Mrs. Malone and Aileen met them outside when they arrived at Pemhill.

  “Ach, the poor lass.” The maid gently petted Claire’s hair after Alex helped her dismount.

  “Mrs. Malone, will you see to the marchioness’s comfort?”

  The housekeeper escorted Claire inside while consoling her in a quiet voice.

  He turned to Aileen. “I’d like a word with you.”

  The maid’s eyes widened.

  “Aileen, earlier, I didn’t realize—” Alex looked toward the house as Claire entered. “If I caused you concern, it was unintentional.”

  Aileen studied him without a hint of embarrassment. “I’ve served Lady Pembrooke since she was thirteen. I know the difficulty she faced in that trek to Wrenwood. I begged her to allow either you or me to accompany her this morning. She was perturbed at my insistence. It was a blessing you were there.”

  Alex softened toward the woman. Her concern was heartfelt. “It was fortunate I arrived when I did. The next time she decides to travel these hills and valleys to face her grief, I expect you to inform me. If I had escorted Lady Pembrooke, perhaps her pain might have been lessened.”

  Aileen bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I will, my lord, only if she does not ask otherwise. I mean no disrespect to you, but I owe my allegiance first to her.”

  “Do you think my interest in Lady Pembrooke’s well-being is in conflict with your allegiance?” His body tightened as he waited for the answer.

  The maid boldly surveyed him as if she were judging his worth as a husband. “My mathair always told me some things are best not shared unless you’re willing to halve them.” With that cryptic phrase, the maid left to see to her mistress.

  Later, Claire sent word she was not feeling well and would not be joining him for dinner. Every morsel on the light tray he’d requested tasted like burned paper. He pushed it away and tried without much success to finish his work in the library.

  He leaned back in his chair as a pang of sympathy hit him square in the chest. Claire’s grief was raw and overpowering—too strong for an event that transpired fourteen years ago. His own with Alice had faded somewhat, still present, but not disabling. His plans for how to avenge her death had given him another avenue to focus his attention on instead of his own misery.

  Aileen’s words about sharing halves took on a new meaning. Under normal circumstances, he would never pry into Claire’s daily activities. After today, it had become impossible to ignore them.

  Something about Claire left him unsettled. He never expected such affection in his marriage. What he did expect was convenience. Ideally, they would have children until they had the mandatory heir and another. If there were daughters in between, Claire would have something to do when they made their debut in society. Nevertheless, after the male heirs, Alex assumed they’d discreetly go their own ways. After such a short time with her, he would never agree to that arrangement.

  What surprised him most was the pleasure of her company. He missed her this evening. A visit to her chambers on the pretense of seeing how she fared was a perfect excuse. Hell, she might lock him out after last night, but he’d take the chance.

  Within minutes, Alex tapped on the connecting door to Claire’s suite. Holding a book, he thought he might look less presumptuous.

  “Come in.”

  Leaning around the corner, he asked, “Are you feeling better?”

  Claire nodded. She sat in one of the two chairs facing the fire. She had her legs tucked underneath and a novel in her lap.

  Her chamber was comfortably quiet, with the exception of the occasional pop from the well-tended fire. It was damned difficult to determine if she welcomed his intrusion. She showed no reaction except for her green eyes, which held a glitter of wariness.

  He decided to take the chance. “May I join you for a while?” He held his book in the air, signaling his intent.

  Claire nodded again and went back to reading.

  Alex found their interlude rather cozy. They sat peaceably for a half hour, with neither saying a word. Resolute not to wear out his welcome, he walked over to her chair and delivered a kiss on the top of the head. “Good night.”

  “Before you go, I want to apologize.”

  He knelt at her chair. “Apologize?” He should be the one apologizing, for last night and myriad other indiscretions. The guilt over his actions still burned his insides.

  She twisted her wedding ring several times, then put her book aside. “I received a letter from McCalpin yesterday.”

  Alex took her hands in his and squeezed. He searched her eyes for any indication of what she was about to say. “Is he all right?” The knife slid in deeper. If he had caused McCalpin to suffer because of his bet, he couldn’t think of the consequences. The Duke of Langham’s wrath would be nothing compared with his wife’s pain. He would never survive that.

  She nodded and released a deep breath. “He’s home.”

  Alex closed his eyes and said his thanks to the powers above. “I’m relieved he’s safe.” He took a deep breath. The smell of fire and brimstone flooded his senses. Hell was closing in on him for manipulating her life for his cause.

  “He also said you were never involved with Monique LaFontaine.” Claire swallowed and looked him square in the eye with a steely determination that he recognized had served her well when she was uncomfortable. “My thoughtless remarks when we discussed the settlements impugned your honor—”

  “It’s forgotten.” He couldn’t bear her apology. What she had done was a trifle compared
with his actions. If anyone had cause to ask forgiveness, he did for tricking her into this marriage, for doubting her word. He needed to tell her now before they passed a point that could never be repaired. He attempted to form the words to start the confession, but his mouth and mind warred against each other. All he could offer was another squeeze to her hands. He needed her to trust him more before he exposed the truth.

  Claire released a deep sigh and closed her eyes. “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll retire.”

  As Alex walked through the connecting door, his conscience screamed and kicked at him to stop and give her his confession.

  Thank God he had enough experience to ignore it.

  * * *

  The early morning sun lit the breakfast room in a golden hue of sparkling rays. Claire entered with a lightness that melted when she found the room silent and completely empty.

  One of the under-footmen she’d met the other day came in with a fresh pot of chocolate. “Good morning, my lady.” He quickly held out the chair to the right of the head of the table.

  Claire sat as he pushed the chair in. “Good morning, Benjamin.”

  “Would you prefer tea or chocolate this morning?”

  Claire smiled. “Neither. I prefer black coffee in the morning unless I ask for something else the night before.”

  The young man gave a hard swallow. “I will let Cook know. A full buffet is prepared for when you are ready to eat. May I serve you a plate, my lady?”

  “No, thank you. Do you know where Lord Pembrooke is this morning?” Claire made her tone nonchalant.

  “I’m here. Perfect timing to join you,” Alex called as he strolled into the room.

  The sight of him took her breath away. Fresh from a morning ride, he was intoxicatingly masculine with his windblown hair and his boots all splattered with mud. He gave her a dazzling smile that highlighted his straight white teeth, and Claire met his grin with one of her own.