by Gayle Eden
Jo’s face crumpled and she pulled away, falling onto the bed. “I loved him, Alex!”
“I know. I know.”
“I’ll never have him now. He’s gone forever.”
“Maybe not.”
“Yes. He may as well. I am twenty and four, Alex. I don’t have forever to wait—and he didn’t say anything save some polite tripe that sounded so…so… polite.”
“What he felt for you is what spurred him to end this, Jo. I believe it is what he is leaving for.”
“If he could not say it, then it will fade. In time, it will fade. Men cannot be faithful and he is…. He’s so…”
“Yes.” Alex stroked that auburn hair.
She sat there for an hour until Johanna simply laid there, red eyed and staring out the window. She left her and went in search of Val, who had already tried to soothe Jo, having asked Van Wyc about the conversation between himself and Auttenburg.
“How is she?” Val asked looking up from her book. She was in the library.
“Hurt. Angry.”
Val sighed and lay the book aside. “Jo has always been spirited and a flirt. This is the first time a man has put her through so many emotions. I don’t think she realized she was in love with him, until it was too late.”
“Yes. Likely not.” Alex sank down in one of the chairs.
Val had her hair up and braided today, dressed in simple skirt and blouse, yet she looked so much better for their stint at Hawksmoor. She went on, “She will eventually pretend to be all right for our sakes. For the world’s sake. But I don’t see her getting over him very easily.”
“Nor I.” Alex reminded herself she needed to write that letter to Adam, and stood, murmuring, “I’ve some things to do in the study. Perhaps we will coax Jo into a walk in the morning. Being locked in that room is not like her. Jo needs to rant and to cry a bit.”
“Yes.”
Alex went to the study and sat behind her father’s desk. With quill and paper, she stared into space an hour, trying to form what she would say. She did not want to say bluntly, Edmund and I are lovers. She did not want to bring Edmund into it. Thus she began writing, explaining that her intent was never to lead a man on to the point of marriage. She confessed to her own confusion, her respect and care of him, her fears she was not the right woman for him, should he desire more.
Alex took too long writing a simple page. Every word was difficult, and because she did not know what she and Edmund had beyond passion, it was impossible to bring that into the explanation.
She apologized, wished Adam well, and hoped to be his friend when all was said and done.
It was late when she sent it off to village to make the post. She climbed the stairs later, feeling as if it was the right thing to do, but hoping Adam’s feelings would not be hurt. She could no more define where she and Edmund were headed, if anywhere beyond lovers, than before. They simply had too few of those moments where Edmund was the more intimate and less guarded man of society, to speak of it. She was fine with what it was—or so she told herself. Nevertheless, she felt adrift in some sense too, having such strong feelings for a man like Edmund, to the exclusion of anyone else.
* * * *
A commotion below, in the middle of the night, sent Alex bolting out of bed. She scarcely got her door open, before a caped Edmund came striding through.
“Get dressed and pack a bag.”
“I beg your—”
“Do it, Alex.”
Shoving her curls out of her face, she got a look at his inflexible visage. “I will not. I—what is this ab—”
“—Get your mistress dressed, and pack her a bag,” he growled at Molly who had emerged from somewhere in the house, her nightcap crooked and tying her robe belt.
“Edmund! What is all this about? Just where do you intend to drag me off to—” Alex grabbed Molly’s arm to stop her whilst glaring at Sotherton.
“Gretna green.” He yanked a paper out of his pocket and tossed it toward her. “We are the talk of London.”
“I don’t care—” She made to pick it up.
“I do,” he snarled. “And you will be dressed and be downstairs in ten minutes. If not, I will do it myself. And you will come along with me, if I have to tie you in the coach myself.”
“How dare you! I will not. My father—”
“Your father knows very well where I am. Ten minuets, Alex.”
He left, slamming the door behind him.
Alex went to the paper and picked it up, and soon was groaning. She saw the bold words, Rakehell’s daughter. Quickly scanning the piece, whilst Molly was yanking out clothing, then stuffing a bag, she knew that such details of when she had been intimate with Edmund could only have come from Sonja’s personal diary.
“Bloody hell.”
Molly came over ignoring her protests, and skinned her out of the night rail, helping her on with a brown silk gown and carriage coat. She half dragged Alex to the vanity and did something with her hair before perching a hat on it.
“Come along, Milady. Time is up.” Molly hefted the bag herself and went to the door.
Alex followed, forming her arguments as she did so, only a step behind Molly when they reached the landing. By then Jo and Val were in their robes, standing with Edmund, as well as a shirtless Van Wyc. It appeared Edmund have already given them an explanation.
“Edmund. I—”
He turned and took her arm. “Not another word, Alex.” He took the bag from Molly and headed for the door.
“I cannot believe my father condones this! We can explain! I can talk to him, Edmund. He will—”
“We are adults, Alex. I am an adult and this is my decision.” He had her down the steps and yanked open the coach door, hauling her up and in.
“This is a mistake, Edmund!” She wailed in frustration.
He climbed in and shut the door, sitting across from her uttered grimly, “I am worn thin, Alex. I have been on the road or without sleep for more than a week. I’ve stated my intention, and that is the end of it.”
Alex glared at him. He folded his arms and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. In moments, he was asleep. Fuming, she formed her next argument for when he was awake.
She did not care about gossip and talk. She was not going to—
Alex groaned. Auvary! Dear Lord, there was no way the post had reached him yet. Oh, heavens. This is how he would find out instead of—. Bloody, bloody hell. He and Edmund were friends. He would think the worst of her. He would think that Edmund—
Alex closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could hope he and Edmund had not had words. She was not playing him the fool. Had she not told him she was confused? Still. It was badly done.
It did not take long to reach their destination; at least it did not seem long. As soon as the coach stopped, Alex opened her mouth, but got another glare from Edmund.
At the chapel, once the vows were said, he paid the man a large sum to change the date on the certificate.
“Why?” She asked once they were in the coach again.
“So that it appears you and I were wed all along.”
“Edmund. Does, Adam—”
“All of England knows by now.” He nodded tight jawed. “I explained to him as best I could.”
She winced. “I wrote him. I wasn’t going to mention anyone by name.”
“It’s too bloody late for that.”
She glared at him. “I expect you are blaming me? I was not the one who let this leak out.”
“I am not blaming you, Alex. However, I expect you to be mature about it. Sonja did not deliberately spread it about either. She is having her own problems. She feels bloody awful about it and is more upset than you know, and she begs you will forgive her. As I say, whoever broke into her house, is the one who published our trysts….”
“But to marry me, Edmund, I must—”
“You must trust me on this,” his tone was cold.
Alex thought back to that chat o
n the courtyard. She shivered and looked out. Dawn was breaking. “It is a mistake, Edmund.”
He sighed tiredly. “But ‘tis done and we will make the best of it.”
When they reached Hawksmoor, he set her out and told her, “Expect word from me, soon. Likely, your father will write. Whatever information I feed the papers, I expect you to agree with.”
“I don’t seem to have a choice.”
His amber eyes went over her face. “You’re my wife, Alex. The Countess Sotherton. I expect you to defer to my wishes. I know what needs done.”
She had seen nothing but the arrogant Earl since he had fetched her. Alex was not exactly attached to that part of his character. She may well understand it, but it was not the most pleasant part of him.
“I don’t like having decisions made for me, Edmund. I don’t like being forced or given ultimatums.”
He was climbing back in the coach. He muttered, “It is not just about what you want or like anymore, Countess.” He slammed the door closed and looked at her. “Get familiar with the feeling, you’re my wife now.”
Glaring at the departing coach, Alex was still standing there while the sun rose. When she walked in finally, yanking off her hat, and tossing it on a side table, Val stood at the foot of the stairs waiting.
Feeling her eyes sting, Alex had no words. She simply ran to Val, and started weeping.
Leading her upstairs, Val sat in her room with her until she fell asleep.
Later that morning, Alex would awaken thinking she dreamed it all—until she spied the folded paper on the nightstand, and the pearl and diamond ring on her finger.
“He’s bloody mad.” She whispered. “We both are.”
Alex jerked her head round when the door opened and a too (recovered and happy,) Jo, stood there. Bonnet still on, she looked like she had ran to the village.
Grinning, Jo came across the room and dumped all the papers and newssheets on the bed. “I bought and begged everything they had! You are the talk of London, Alex.”
Casting her a narrow look, Alex grunted, “Don’t sound so bloody thrilled about it, will you? Unlike yourself, I tried to be discreet.”
Whipping off the bonnet, sitting on the edge of the bed, Jo grabbed Alex’s shoulders with a grin and replied, “But now you are a Countess! The Countess Sotherton, to be exact. It is simply famous, Alex. Famous.”
Curling her lip when Jo released her, Alex shoved the papers, and Jo, back. She crawled out of bed, heading to the washroom. “Go back to your moaning and withering. I’m in no mood for your warped humor.”
“Oh. No. I am over him. Completely over him.”
“Uh. Hum.”
“And, your sudden change of circumstances is the perfect distraction. It is simply delicious! I can hardly wait to get to London.”
Standing in the washroom, Alex put her palms over her eyes and groaned. She had a feeling chaos was just beginning.
* * * *
Two weeks later. A missive from the Marquis arrived.
The letter from her father was not the sort she expected. It was a blunt, and to the point, missive, which read;
Dearest Alex, I offer my congratulations and my support for your marriage to Sotherton. Whatever your reactions now, I am certain it will work itself out for the both of you. I have offered to relay to you the schedule for the arrival of Edmund’s coach. It will be there by week’s end, along with a maid whom her ladyship, the duchess has recommended for you. I have sent your wardrobe to Edmund’s mansion (which of course will be your new residence.) The Duchess of Sommerton has kindly taken the measurements and several gowns await your final fittings, per Edmund’s requests. You will be expected to immediately take your place amid society as his Countess.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Alex groaned again.
Van Wyc will escort your sisters as planned beforehand. Safe journey and all of my love. Yr. father.
“Wonderful.” Alex sucked in her breath and dropped the letter on her father’s desk. The, per Edmund’s request, rubbed her entirely the wrong way.
Even later, as she packed, and prepared to meet that coach, she was preparing for the moment when she could tell Edmund De Forrest to go to bloody hell. Had she been half-awake and had she time to prepare…
Dash it all, she would not be owned by any man!
The rags, the scandal sheets, seemed to be breathlessly waiting for the next scandalous excerpt from Lady Summerton’s diary, but the entries about her and Edmund spawned all sorts of wild and lurid speculation. In truth, Sonja’s entries were not detailed. But even her private thoughts four years after their initial meeting, that the two felt something for each other, made Alex’s cheeks burn.
Alex did not understand Edmund’s actions on this, seeing as how he could be so cold and aloof, so detached in his social role. She expected something different from his coming north, dragging her across the border and wedding her.
Then, the day the coach arrived, that morning whilst Alex sipped coffee and watched the driver set the break, her bags being carried down by footman—it hit her.
She laughed cynically and with a coldness that would have made Edmund’s seem warm.
Edmund was not protecting her reputation by his actions.
He was bloody protecting his own.
* * * *
London Two Weeks Later
The Sotherton Mansion
The residence was, of course, elaborate. With a slew of servants to keep it running smoothly, everything was as formal and as grand as one would expect from the Earl of Sotherton.
Alexandria now referred to as Madam, or Countess, Countess Alexandria, scarcely had time to breathe, since arriving in the dead of night, being hustled inside, up a grand staircase, and to her “chambers” by a housekeeper and maids.
The schedule was not debatable, obviously. Nor was anything that Edmund had arranged before she arrived, and fully expected her to comply with, without complaint. Not—that she saw Edmund in private since her arrival. He was up and at his club when she awoke, arriving in time to escort her to some afternoon event, leaving again and not returning until nightfall.
Thus far, Alex seethed in silence, and played her part. She did not say a word whilst the gowns “Edmund” ordered began to arrive. Nor when the dressmaker awoke her to finish others, he had ordered. They were more elaborate than anything Alex would have chosen, sumptuously gorgeous, as were the capes, fans, shoes, stockings and headpieces. The materials were gorgeous, the colors flattering, and along with the hairdresser— whose job it was to do her hair in fashion setting styles, it gave her the look and dash, befitting a Countess.
Lady Summerton, Sonja, was living in the house, having the use of private apartments. After her profuse apologies, which Alex accepted, they had both set about their public appearances, usually under Edmund’s escort, that Alex realized were aimed to present a united front.
The marriage had run in the papers, causing more whispers and speculation. Alex simply nodded to any questions put to her about their supposed “secret four year courtship” because Edmund gave the explanations.
It was not in Alex’s nature however, to pretend forever, nor, to put on a show for society’s sake.
Whilst the days wore on, and day after day, night after night, she was groomed and dressed and “showed off” on Edmund’s arm, her natural resentment began to surface through the strain.
The particular night they were scheduled to appear at the Ellington’s ball, before heading to the theater, Alex could not even summon up the enthusiasm for seeing her father and sisters there, as she was bathed, dressed in lush ruby silk with faux diamond edge straps. Her curls drawn up with twinkling ruby and diamond pens, lashes darkened, lips salved. Behind her on the bed was a ruby cloak with black lining, long black gloves with faux diamond flowers and vines up them.
She stared at the beautiful image she made, the layers that made her look the Countess, wealthy obviously, feeling that hollow feeling in her gut—that she was being mad
e into what she never wanted to be, looking at a future, playing a role she was adverse to. This was Edmund’s life, this—icy cold surface of pretend smiles, and disdainful nods, of draping oneself in richness, and going through the motions of the social season.
She had not even had time to visit her father or to bookshop with her sisters. She did not get to choose her horse or go for walks in the park.
“His Lordship has arrived home, milady. He says he will join you in the sitting room below, after he has refreshed.”
Alex met the housekeeper’s eyes when the woman had opened her door. Waving away the fussing maids, Alex murmured, “Very well.”
However, once the room cleared, she stood and turned, ignoring the cloak and gloves. Alex went through a sitting room, done in green and cream stripe, and did not bother to knock on the door to Edmund’s chambers. She had never entered it, nor been invited, but she was just tired enough of dancing to his tune—to not care what he thought of her intrusion.
She turned the knob and stepped inside, catching sound of his voice with the valet through a half opened bathing room door, on the other end of the room. The chamber was huge, a combined bedchamber—massive bed and elaborate wardrobe, with a connected sitting area; fireplace, chairs, a chaise. The overall décor was deep amber and black, but the wall of windows arched in light, giving it a warm ambiance.
Kenworth, the valet, stepped through the bathing chamber door, his thin hair in a middle part, and the shaving implements in his hand.
Stopping abrupt, his brown eyes rounded at seeing her. “Milady.”
“Is my husband at his bath, then?” She arched her brow.
“Yes, milady.” He looked over his shoulder and back at her as if he was not sure what to do.
Alex waved toward the sitting area. “I shall await his ablutions then.”
“Very good, milady.” The man sounded uncertain and indeed whirled and went back inside.
As Alex took her seat on the edge of the chaise, her knees together, wrists on them as she clasped her fingers. She could hear Edmund’s voice and though not discern his response. She looked around the room, was doing so still, when Kenworth opened the door again, bowed and scurried out of the chambers.