The Forgotten Marriage

by Ellen Fitzgerald

“I see that she is a scheming harpy,” Barbara cried.

  “Barbara, please control yourself.” Lady Barrington’s fingers dug into her daughter’s arm.

  Her sister-in-law moved forward, saying pacifically, “Please, I think we must adjourn to the library, where this situation can be better discussed.”

  “Yes, you are right, my love,” agreed his Lordship in a shaken voice. He put his hand on his niece’s arm. “Come, Barbara, my dear.”

  She remained where she was, her eyes blazing, “I cannot see that there is anything to discuss. Would Lucian have wed a woman of her stamp when he was betrothed to me?”

  “Barbara!” Lucian protested. “This young woman, whoever she is—”

  Timothy spoke over him, “I will thank you not to refer to my sister in this disparaging manner.”

  “Please,” Lord Barrington said. “We will go to the library.” He put a compelling hand on Barbara's arm, saying in a voice that brooked no refusal. “Come, my dear.”

  “Very well!” Barbara’s face was flushed and her green eyes were narrowed, giving her something of the look of an angry cat. “We might as well get to the bottom of this sorry intrigue.”

  “Barbara”—Lucian gave her a quelling glance—“let us hear what they have to say before we reach any conclusions, please.”

  “You may need to reach a conclusion,” she retorted, “but not I. You cannot believe you were wed to this—this—to her, can you?”

  ‘‘I do not know what to believe,” he responded unhappily. “Save that, if I am, I have acted dishonorably.”

  “Dishonorably?” Alicia put a thin hand to her bosom. “You ...” Tears filled her eyes and she closed them quickly, unwilling to let this stranger view her anguish.

  “And where did you learn to act so convincingly? On the stage perhaps?” Barbara glared at Alicia.

  “Barbara! Anyone can see that this girl is sincere,” Lucian said.

  “Because she can produce a tear or two? Any Covent Garden whore can equal that feat and raise her price by the doing of it.”

  "Barbara!” Lucian and Lord Barrington spoke in unison. Barbara, her head held high, turned on her heel and stalked into the hall. She was followed by her mother and, after a second’s hesitation, Lucian.

  “My God,” Timthy muttered, “if . . .”

  “You will come with me, please.” Lord Barrington turned his cold gaze on Timothy and Alicia.

  Motioning to an aghast Sir Charles to remain behind, Octavia moved to Alicia’s other side and amid curious stares and muttered comments from the assembled guests, they followed Lord Barrington. “My dearest Alicia,” Octavia murmured, “I beg you’ll not let anything that creature says disturb you. You can see what she is.”

  “If I were in her position—” Alicia began unhappily.

  “If you were, I’ll warrant you’d listen before you delivered yourself of all those gratuitous insults.”

  “But did you hear her?” Alicia whispered. “She said she was-—was betrothed to Lucian when—”

  “I do not believe it,” Octavia interrupted. “There might have been such an understanding at one time, but I find it impossible to believe that Lucian would have acted so dishonorably. Do not forget what I told you about the Duke of Pryde, whom she lost. It might well be that when Lucian came back in this unfortunate condition ...” She paused as a servant held open the library door and, coming inside, added in a low voice, ‘‘I will tell you what I think later.”

  The library was large and comfortable but dimly lit. At Lord Barrington’s order, the servant lighted candles in several candelabra, including a pair on the mantelpiece, where a long mirror caught their light.

  Indicating a group of chairs, Lord Barrington said, “I suggest we all sit down and discuss this most unfortunate matter.”

  Barbara moved to a couch and said to Lucian, “Sit by me, my love.”

  He shook his head. “I think I—I should prefer to stand.”

  “Your leg, my dear,” Lady Barrington said quickly. “You must not put any undue strain upon it.”

  “Your leg?” Alicia echoed, and might have said more had not her brother pressed her arm. She flushed, realizing that her inadvertent expression of concern was ill-timed. The man she had once called husband would not be in need of her pity. Her head was beginning to throb and she felt . . . But she was not sure what she felt. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. The happiness she ought to have been experiencing was in abeyance. Lucian was not dead, but in a sense, the man she had known and loved might as well have been dead. And had he proposed to her while he was still engaged to this proud, chill young woman—is that why he had insisted on keeping their nuptials a secret? No, she could not believe that. Dick Seeley had known and he would not have lent himself to anything so dishonorable. She could not imagine Lucian acting in such a manner, either, and judging from his shock and, she thought wryly, his horror, nor could he! She stole a look at his face and flushed as she found him staring at her.

  “My leg, ’twas broken. I received a ball through it. It grazed but did not shatter the bone and—”

  Barbara’s eyes were flashing again. “I beg you’ll not vouchsafe any more explanations, Lucian. I’ll warrant that one knows all about your wounds—leg and head. I’ll warrant she has done copious research on your condition.” She glared at Alicia. “And where is your proof that you were wed to my fiancй? Did you bring your marriage lines? But those are easy enough to have made and—”

  “Barbara,” her uncle interrupted at the same time that Timothy stepped forward to confront her. “These exclamations only impede the explanation that we all wish to hear.”

  “Yes, my dear,” her mother said. “Please listen to what this young woman has to say.”

  “Very well,” Barbara flashed. “But I warn you, I'll not believe a word of it. Coming here at a time like this . . . ’tis outrageous!”

  Alicia confronted her. She was trembling, but she said steadily enough, “I agree that our arrival is ill-timed but my friend”—she cast a look at Lady Octavia—“did make an effort to see Lucian and was turned away by his butler. And—”

  “I wonder why!” Barbara interrupted.

  “The why of it”—Lady Octavia moved toward her—“is that Lucian’s butler probably did not count me among his friends, since we had met in Brussels and the man did not know my face. Given Lucian’s condition, I quite understand his reasoning. He did not want him confused.”

  “And,” Alicia said with a grateful look at her friend, “I had learned that an announcement concerning your betrothal was to be made at this ball, supplementing that which appeared in the Morning Post. I thought to save you both further embarrassment.”

  “And consequently used this means so that all the ton has witnessed our meeting and is whispering and speculating? I fear. Miss Whoever-you-are, that you have failed in your objective.” Barbara glared at her.

  Alicia lifted her chin. “I am not Miss Whoever-you-are.

  My legal name is Alicia, Lady Morley. My maiden name is Alicia Delacre.” Turning away from Barbara, she moved to Lucian and thrust out her left hand. “I am sure you will recognize this ring, my betrothal ring.”

  He stared at it and paled. “Yes, my c-crest. I thought it was lost upon the battlefield.”

  “And could it not have been lost?” Barbara shrilled. “We have all heard about those human vultures that comb the battlefields searching for what they can pilfer from the corpses.”

  “Barbara!” Lucian’s shocked cry topped similar protests from everyone present. “I must ask you not to level these cruel charges at this young woman.”

  “Madame,” Timothy said through clenched teeth, “if you were a man, you would answer for this slander.”

  “Please, sir.” Lord Barrington, visibly shaken, stepped forward. “I must crave your indulgence for my niece. She has, you must understand, suffered a cruel disappointment.” Lucian had taken Alicia’s hand and was staring at the ring. “I gave you this?” he
questioned.

  “Yes, and this one as well,” she affirmed through trembling lips. “My betrothal and my wedding ring.” She touched the wide gold band, trying not to remember his words at that time, trying not to look at this concerned and obviously distressed, even horrified stranger.

  “When did these happy nuptials take place?” Barbara demanded.

  “On June eleventh,” Alicia said.

  “You can prove that?”

  “She can prove it and I, too, can prove it, since I was maid-of-honor at the wedding.” Lady Octavia said. With a glacial look at Barbara, she added, “I trust you will not dispute my word, Miss Barrington.”

  “I do not—” Barbara began.

  “Barbara,” Lucian said, “though I cannot remember her,

  I do not believe that this young woman is lying. I must have known her once—and well.”

  “Well?” Barbara inquired coldly. “I am inclined to doubt that, Lucian. Everyone knows the manner of women with whom lonely soldiers consort when they are a long distance from home.”

  “Good God, Barbara!” Lucian stared at her in an amazement mixed with horror while Timothy, his fists clenched, moved forward again, only to have Lady Octavia catch his arm as Lucian continued, “I scarcely know you!”

  Lady Barrington put a hand on Lucian’s arm. “I am afraid my daughter is so greatly shocked and so deeply disappointed that she is not aware of what she is saying.”

  “I do know what I am saying,” Barbara said. She glared at her uncle, who had directed a quelling look at her. “I am quite sure that poor Lucian was trapped into this—this sham of a marriage. How could he not have been? Our understanding was a matter of years. We were children together and fell in love even before we knew what the word meant.” She moved to Lucian’s side. “Is that not true, my dearest?”

  “Yes, it is true.” he said miserably. “It is entirely true. I have no excuse.” He shifted his weight and an expression of pain crossed his face.

  “Sir,” Alicia said swiftly, “I think you must sit down. If your leg has been hurt, it is essential that you rest it.”

  “Very wifely!” Barbara commented sarcastically. “Barbara,” Lady Barrington muttered, “that is enough.”

  “I think,” Lord Barrington said, “that we must have further discussion on this matter, but not this evening. My niece is understandably upset as you, too, must be.” He bent a not unfriendly glance on Alicia. “May I name a time when we might all meet again?” His gaze shifted to Timothy.

  “Why must we have a second meeting?” Barbara demanded. She turned on Alicia. “Why may we not settle matters now? How much do you want? Whatever the price for an annulment, we’ll pay it and have done.”

  Alicia turned white, but before she could respond, Timothy confronted Barbara. “You think—you dare to imply that my sister wants money.’’

  “No!” Lucian turned to Barbara. “You cannot mean what you just said, my dear. This girl—I must have had a great regard for her, else I would not have married her. ’ ’

  “I have told you what I think about that.”

  “And I will tell you, Barbara, I have been in many battles. I have been lonely and far from home and I have not been minded to marry any of the women who have comforted me at such times, nor have they been of the caliber of this girl,” Lucian said hotly. “I am sorry to be so frank, but it seems I have no choice. Anyone can see that she is no schemer.”

  Barbara flushed and looked down. “I—I am sorry, too,” she managed to say. “You do speak reason, Lucian.” She turned toward Alicia. “I pray you will accept my apologies, Miss, er, Lady Morley. My uncle was quite right. We must meet on the morrow when we are all calmer and have had more time to reflect upon this matter. I hope you will agree to that?”

  “Yes, I will agree to it,” Alicia affirmed.

  “And I.” Lucian sounded even more weary.

  “Tomorrow it is,” Lord Barrington said on a note of relief. “May we say at three? You may come here. Is that agreeable with both of you?” His glance took in Alicia and her brother.

  Timothy, receiving an almost imperceptible nod from Alicia, said, “Yes, my Lord, it is agreeable.”

  “Lucian?” Lord Barrington looked at him.

  “It is agreeable with me, also,” he said in a low voice.

  “Very good.” Lord Barrington had another glance for Timothy, “Might I know where you can be reached, sir, in case of any change in our plans?”

  “We are at Grillons Hotel, my Lord,” Timothy responded.

  “Ah, yes, well, I suggest we part company now.” Lord Barrington turned to Lucian. “You’d best go home, my boy.

  I will say that you have been taken ill—a happenstance that will, of course, delay the announcement.”

  “The announcement,” Barbara whispered. “Oh, Lucian!” She gave him an anguished, yearning look and, rising swiftly, hurried from the room.

  “Barbara!” he exclaimed. He took a step toward the door and stopped, looking about him uncertainly.

  Tears rose in Alicia’s eyes. However, she managed to say calmly enough, “I think 'tis time we also left. Come, Timothy and Octavia.”

  Making their requisite farewells, they too left the room.

  5

  The small china clock on the mantelshelf in Alicia’s bedroom struck nine times. She counted the tings automatically as she had counted eight, seven, and six. And, as before, she paced the floor, wondering what to do and what to answer the man she had called husband when he asked the inevitable question. Undoubtedly, the answer he craved to hear was succinct, a matter of a few words, an agreement to an annulment. And if she were to agree, what, then, would she do with the rest of her life?

  “You are young, my dear; you have yet to see your twentieth birthday,” Timothy had said last night at the end of a discussion in which he had practically assented or consented to an annulment. “ ’Twill not carry with it the stigma of a divorce, my love, and you’ll have all your life before you. Furthermore, there will be a settlement.”

  A settlement! Alicia shuddered. If she were to relinquish her husband, she would be well paid for that act—well-paid and well-fixed, able to marry again. She did not want to marry again! She could not marry again, for who would want someone whose heart had been given away? And yet, were she to remain stubborn and insist on Lucian honoring his vows, he, too, would be miserable. Still, would he be any happier with Barbara Barrington?

  With the thought of Barbara came the memory of their

  days in Brussels. She remembered the first time she had seen him. He had come up the stairs to relieve her of her bundles. She could see his eyes, full of pleasure. And he had been laughing, too. Had he been secretly brooding over his lost love?

  His lost love? The girl must have been lost to him. There must have been some manner of altercation—her intelligence told her so. That Lucian was an honorable man went without saying. It had been very evident last night. He had been in agony over his possible perfidy, his betrayal of Barbara and herself. Also, Alicia thought, there was the Duke of Pryde. Octavia had mentioned that situation again last night after they left. Barbara had been involved with the duke while Lucian was in Brussels. Had they quarreled because of that involvement? Very probably, and Lucian had found her while his heart was still sore from that rejection. She wished that Octavia knew more about the situation. Her friend had had much to say about the encounter of the previous night, but much of it had been vituperative. At the last, she had begged Alicia not to give an inch. “If not for yourself, my love, for Lucian’s sake. Inevitably, he must come to his senses!”

  But would he?

  And what were his senses?

  He seemed to be deeply in love with Barbara Barrington— but that love was two years in the past. What about the present? Dared she assume that the man she had seen last night was not the man she had known in Brussels? She ran her hands through her hair. The situation was becoming more and more complicated. She . . . She paused in her rum
inations. She had heard a tap at the outer door. She tensed. Could it be Lucian?

  “Yes?” she called.

  Effie came in. “If you please, milady, it’s ’er. She be downstairs, an’ wants to know if you’ll see ’er. 'Tis Miss Barrington, milady.”

  Alicia tensed. “Is my brother still out?”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “I . . She paused and came to a decision. “I will see her, Effie. Have her shown into the parlor, please.”

  “ ’Adn’t ye better ...” Effie began, and meeting Alicia’s eyes, she flushed. “Yes, milady.” She hurried out.

  Alicia paused by her dressing table, and looking into the glass, she sighed. The effects of a partially sleepless night were all too evident. There were darker circles under her eyes and her face was even paler than last night, and since she had donned her black garments upon rising, she looked sadly washed out. She grimaced, remembering her refusal to discard her weeds or to take with her any of the garments she had worn before Lucian’s “death.” In effect, she had refused to accept the possibility that he might be alive and she knew the reason for that. She had been so very certain of his love that she could not imagine that he, if alive, would not have gotten word to her. But to dwell on that would do no good. She came into the parlor. She wished that Timothy were there. No, on second thought, she did not wish anything of the sort. It would be better to meet Barbara alone.