He is right. I cannot keep this charade up. While Miss Evans is my priority, Lady Frances has done nothing to deserve the position she is in. She is a mere pawn in her father's plans. It is rather a shame that Hendley would not be able to take her as a wife, for he seems to genuinely care for her.
“Hendley, you are correct in your summary of this situation I’m in. I have allowed myself to become entangled in the most unfortunate quandary. You must know that when I agreed to the courtship, I had every intention of following through. Despite my apprehension about marriage, I know my duties well. I would have wed Lady Frances. It wasn't until I met Miss Evans that I became lost.”
Maxwell shook his head.
“Hendley, she is what I always wanted, even though I did not know it myself. The spark, the passion I feel when I am with her, when we speak. I never experienced such pleasure at the mere presence of another. I never knew it was possible to be so consumed with desire for someone. I dream of her; I think of her constantly.”
“Your Grace,” Hendley’s demeanor softened as the words poured out of Maxwell. “I suspected all along you were rather enamored with Miss Evans. As for Lady Frances, it is obvious not just to me but to her that you do not have any desire to pursue the courtship and would not have agreed to it if not for pressure by your mother.”
Maxwell knew this was true as well. He shook his head.
“What am I to do, old chum? I do not know. I thought I would court Lady Frances and wed her against my true desires and that would be that. I would have fulfilled my duty as she would have hers, despite it causing us both a measure of misery. But now, the whole affair is all the more complicated because of…” He paused and dropped his head into his hands. He heard his friend move and suddenly felt his hand upon his shoulder.
“Gatterlen, I hate to see you in such anguish. However, it appears the solution is simple. You must put an end to it. Either commit to the courtship with Lady Frances, truly commit without hesitation and without doubt while knowing fully well what the future will be with her as your wife, or break off the courtship and accept that if you pursue relations with Miss Evans the result will be…unpredictable.”
Maxwell sighed and straightened his back. He leaned against the wall behind him.
“You are right, my friend. I cannot let this carry on any longer. I must make a decision. But what to do?”
“You know fully well what you should do.” Maxwell and Hendley both twisted their heads around at the voice that called out from the darkness. Within a moment, Lord Chatterley had stepped from the shadows, a cup of ale in hand. He took a heavy gulp from it before proceeding to sit on the bench across from the two men, one leg casually pulled up on the bench.
“I saw the way you look at her, the matchmaker. I saw you when Lady Chatterley and I indulged in a private dance. You are not the only one with a keen eye, Hendley.”
Have I been so obvious in my affections? I thought I had done my utmost to hide it from the world, and to only allow her to see.
Chatterley wasn’t done yet. “Gatterlen, simply follow your desire. I have been lucky and found that the woman who was chosen for me was my perfect match, and that we were compatible in our status in society. I do not wish to think what would have happened had she been a commoner, or worse, had I been in the position of Lord Hendley, a noble with his dibs not in tune.”
“Thank you, Lord Chatterley, very charming to point out my undesirable station in life.”
Chatterley waved his hand dismissively.
“Hendley, no need to be embarrassed. I am simply illustrating for our friend here that I am quite sympathetic to this tangle you find yourself in. Alas,” He addressed Maxwell directly. “You must simply make a choice. Follow your desire, or follow society’s demands.”
Maxwell sighed.
“I wish to wed Miss Evans, to make her my wife. But I fear the consequences.”
“Do not fret the consequence. You are in a much better position than Lord Hendley. You are one of the most well-respected Lords in the House of Lords as well as one of the richest. If anyone can overcome a scandal, it is you. And consider the alternative. Would you rather continue as you were and ruin Miss Evans? I am rather protective of the lady, for she has provided me with more happiness as I ever could have wished for. I shall not see her reputation be harmed.”
“Chatterley is correct,” Lord Hendley chimed in.
Maxwell smiled. “I cannot imagine a life without Miss Evans by my side, as inconvenient as it may be. Tomorrow, I shall tell her that I have decided to call off the courtship. In fact, I shall tell Cladborough right now!” He got up, a sense of purpose surging through his body. However, as he stood, he felt the world tilt in the most unexpected manner as he fell back down onto the bench.
“Perhaps it may be better to wait until morning, when the port and ale has left you and you are in a better condition to break the news to the Earl. And Miss Evans,” Chatterley commented while taking another swig of ale.
“You may be correct, Chatterley. I shall wait. No need to rush the news to the involved parties tonight.”
Having made his decision to break off the courtship and convince Miss Evans to be his bride, Maxwell felt his spirits lift immensely. With his mood much improved, he joined his friends in a drink of ale, entirely unaware of the consequences his decisions would have for all involved.
* * *
The following morning, Maxwell woke bright and early with a smile on his face. It was a little before six in the morning and he was scheduled to meet with Lady Frances and Miss Evans in a couple of hours. However, he knew the planned walk would not take place, as he would be on his way toward a content future with Miss Evans, should she agree to it.
She will be certain to agree, will she not? There seems to be no reason for her to turn me down. She feels what I feel, after all. No. I shall not fret. Indeed, I shall go see her right now. Yes, I will go to her chambers as soon as I am dressed!
The decision made, Maxwell called for his valet to dress him. He chose the finest garment he had for the occasion. Once dressed, he left his bedchamber and walked to the other end of the house where the guests were staying. Maxwell still had trouble comprehending his mother’s decision to move Miss Evans to the scullery maid’s quarters. What an uncouth decision to make. He could only imagine her face when he presented her with the fact that he’d decided to comply with her wished and wed–the matchmaker!
He was about to ascend the stairs to the guest bedchambers when James, the Estate Steward came rushing down the hall, coming from the direction of Maxwell’s rooms.
“Your Grace! Your Grace!”
“Yes, James? Whatever is the matter?”
The older man was out of breath and held a note up in the air.
“I requested your valet inform me when you arise, however, he failed to do so. There is a matter we must address.”
“Yes, James, certainly. I will ensure Mr. Thomas speaks to the valet regarding his tardiness in informing you. Now, what is the emergency that has you rushing the halls as though chased by Napoleon’s forces?”
James, having caught his breath, and regained his composure, handed the notice to Maxwell.
“It is from the matchmaker, Miss Evans. She departed in the night and asked that I deliver this once you awoke.”
Maxwell’s heart dropped. “Departed? Whatever do you mean?”
James shook his head, “I do not know why. Mr. Thomas informed me that a messenger arrived for her late in the night and she arranged for a coach to take her to London. She left this notice for me to give to you.”
Maxwell took the note and opened it. It occurred to Maxwell that he had never seen her handwriting before. It was beautiful, curved and pleasing to the eye. The message inside, however, was anything but.
Your Grace, it is with regret that I must depart in such a hasty fashion. I have received news that my friend, Mr. Holmes, has taken ill once more and is in grave condition. His brother already arrived f
rom Oxford and called for me to come at once. I apologize that I will not be able to fulfill my chaperoning duties this weekend. I will send news. I have arranged for Lady Frances’s maid to accompany on your walk this morning, unless of course the Dowager Duchess or the Countess of Cladborough would rather take the role of chaperone.
The note was signed simply with her name.
“She returned to London to attend to a friend who has taken ill,” he said this without taking his eyes of the note. Suddenly all the elation and happiness he’d woken with drained from him. She was gone and he did not know when he would see her again.
What am I to do now? I must speak with her at once. I must let her know I am ending the courtship before she finds out from another party! What if she is to return here and my mother or Lady Frances see her before I can explain? No. I must speak to her first.
He turned to James.
“Please inform the Lady Frances that I have taken ill and cannot join her for a walk this morning. Extend my deepest apologies to her and let her know I shall see her at dinner.” Maxwell turned on his heel and broke into a run as he made his way back to his chambers.
Chapter 27
Alexandra had set out from Kent at four in the morning after receiving the devastating message about Mr. Holmes. How could he have taken ill again so quickly? He had been doing so well and even opened the shop again a week before she departed for Hawthorne Hall. She would not have gone had she expected him to take a turn for the worse.
In fact, his brother had left several days before and returned to Oxford thoroughly satisfied with Mr. Holmes’s recovery. Of course, one could never know, given Mr. Holmes’s age. She had to admit, she had been in a rather elated state after her dance with the Duke. The thought had horrified her at first, for she knew it would only further complicate the situation and the feelings she tried so hard to surpass.
Yet, her desire to be near him had won over and she’d agreed to the dance. She could not deny it anymore. Her heart had danced along with her feet and she’d felt alive. The glorious moment had lasted even after she’d left the courtyard and returned to her bedchamber. So intense had the feeling been that it carried over into her sleep and she’d dreamt of their dance and of the possibilities that the freedom of dreams could afford her.
Of course, the moment the butler had knocked on her door and delivered the message, everything had stopped. The dreams, the happiness, the elation. It was replaced by devastation and worry.
* * *
Thanks to the butler and the Estate Steward, she had been able to secure a carriage to London, despite the late hour. She had been on the road for an eternity, or so it seemed. Time stretched when one was awash with worry. Alexandra watched as the moon began to fade from the sky in the distance. Soon the sun would rise and bathe the landscape in its warm promise.
At last, the city came into view. It was still dark, but the sky had begun to change colors. By the time they reached her house on Foxberry Lane, the sun had risen, though it was a gloomy day and fog hung heavy over the streets of London.
Once the carriage stopped, she exited and rushed to Mr. Holmes’s house. In the message, Mr. Holmes’s brother had told her he would leave the door unlocked, so she would be able to enter without waking Mr. Holmes, should he be asleep.
As such, it was surprising that she could not enter. Perhaps his brother had meant the back door. Alexandra walked around the back and tried to kitchen door. During Mr. Holmes’s illness she had often found the kitchen door unlocked. This was done so concerned neighbors could drop off dishes and tokens for the man’s recovery without having to bother the family. Today, however, the back door was also locked.
She stood and looked at the locked door. How curious that his brother should have forgotten to leave either door open for her. Perhaps it had slipped his mind after sending the message. This was a stressful time, after all. Or perhaps the worst had happened. Perhaps since the messenger had arrived to deliver the news Mr. Holmes had… She could not bear to think of it. No. She had to get inside and check.
Suddenly, a thought came to her. She had a key. Mrs. Holmes had given it to Alexandra’s mother long ago and it was still inside the wooden desk in the office, along with all the other spare keys. She would use it. If Mr. Holmes was alive but asleep when she entered, she’d simply leave and return later. However, she’d have to make sure first.
* * *
Alexandra left and rushed towards her house in haste. She let herself in and made her way to the office. It was dark inside the house, for the fog had increased and cast the day in a gloomy, unpleasant light. The sky had further been darkened by clouds and she knew it would soon be pouring with rain.
She lit a candle and sat it down on the desk. After rummaging around in the drawer for some time, she came upon the box containing the extra keys. Each key was meticulously marked in her mother’s neat handwriting. It stung to see her script again after so long. Oh mother. How she missed her. Alexandra was thankful her mother was as neat as she was. She found the key labeled ‘Holmes’ with ease and clutched it in her fist.
She blew out the candle and set out toward the front door when suddenly she felt herself being grabbed from behind.
“Oh faith! Let me go at once!” She yelled out before someone clutched their hand over her mouth, silencing her. An arm wrapped around her waist and she was being lifted. She grabbed at the hand in front of her mouth and attempted to pull it away so she may scream for assistance, but the man’s grip was too strong.
He carried her into the hall and turned her towards the kitchen as her feet were set back on the ground. Immediately, she kicked and struggled landing a blow to the intruder’s chin. It did no good though, even as his grip briefly loosened amid an array of swear words. She soon discovered that her situation was more dire than she’d first thought.
A second man stepped out from the darkness of the hallway and grabbed her by the legs. The brutes carried her into the kitchen. They deposited her on the wooden chair she kept in the corner of the room. Thought there was more light in the kitchen, she still could not see well enough to make out who they were.
She could only see their shapes. One was tall and broad, while the other was shorter and stocky. He’d been the one to snatch her legs up. The taller one let go of her mouth once she was seated and she took the opportunity to yell out at once.
“Shut it, ye wench!” the first man said in an accent she thought was meant to sound Scottish but wasn’t. It sounded more like someone English desperately trying to sound like a Scot.
“What do you want from me? I have no money. I am a simple woman trying to make a living. If it is riches you after, you have come to the wrong house!”
“Shut ye trap! I cannae hear meself think for yer constant yapping!”
The fake Scot tossed a piece of cloth to the taller man.
“Shut her up, will ye?”
The other man shoved the cloth in her mouth and secured it with a second, longer piece he’d pulled from his own pocket. Once tied, it prevented her from spitting it out. She continued to struggle on the chair trying to break free, but before long, the Scottish fellow produced a rope and the two men tied her to the chair. The wrapped the rope around her shoulders, stomach and all the way down around her legs until she was tied up in such a manner movement was near impossible.
Unable to escape, she instead scanned them intently, hoping she might recognize them somehow. They were dressed in dark, simple clothing; their faces were hidden beneath capes that were pulled all the way down to cover their faces. In addition, they each had their faces hidden with silver masks. Even if the light had been better, she would only have been able to see their eyes.
What do they want from me? I have nothing of value in the house, not even any jewelry that is worth anything, other than my mother’s locket. I hope they are not brutes, looking to use a woman for unsavory purposes. What shall I do?
She did not have to worry for long, for as soon as she was
tied up, both men stepped in front of her.
“Don’t ye be tryin’ nothin’ funny, ye hear?” The fake Scot waved a knife in front of her face. She nodded and he backed away.
The taller one, she noted, carried a pistol that had previously been stored in a leather holster on his waist. Both the pistol and the knife were made of fine, expensive material. No, these were no ordinary footpads. These men had a mission.
“Now here, listen up! We got a message for you,” the tall man finally spoke. He did not have the same fake Scottish accent but sounded like a regular Londoner with a slight cockney drawl. The short guy elbowed him.
“Ye, ye,” he said as if to remind the tall guy to disguise his voice. The tall one shook his head dismissively and focused his attention on her.
Perfectly Mismatched With The Duke (Historical Regency Romance) Page 18