by Syrie James
“I’ll wait for you out here,” Mrs. Gill encouraged. “Be of stout heart, Miss Atherton. Give that mother of yours a piece of your mind!”
“I will,” Alexandra promised.
The café was abuzz with the sounds of conversation and tinkling silverware, as ladies in fashionable dress sipped tea and ate finger sandwiches at tables draped in white linen. Scanning the crowd, Alexandra saw her mother and Madeleine seated halfway down the room. Her mother’s elegant white lace blouse and mulberry-colored jacket strained across her full bosom, as she barked at her daughter across the table.
At the sight of her sister, Alexandra’s heart turned over. Madeleine, her chestnut hair twisted up beneath a midnight-blue hat, frowned silently as she stirred her tea, looking paler and thinner than the last time Alexandra had seen her.
Alexandra quickly made her way to their table, steeling herself for battle. “Hello, Mother. Hello, Maddie.”
The two women stared at Alexandra, stunned into momentary silence.
“Alexandra!” her mother cried at last. “How . . . what . . . well! Well!” Her eyes darkened with anger and her jaw tightened. “So. You’ve come back at last.”
“Lexie!” Madeleine leapt up and threw her arms around Alexandra. “Oh, Lexie! How I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, Maddie. So much.” Alexandra returned the embrace with fervor, then pulled back to study her sister. “Let me look at you. You’re as beautiful as ever, but far too pale. Are you enjoying the Season?”
Madeleine shrugged. “Not at first. I didn’t want to come, didn’t want to leave Vassar before the end of term. I felt I had no right to be here, it was your place, your clothes. But . . .” Madeleine paused, then rushed on: “But where have you been? We’ve been so worried about you!”
“Yes, where have you been all these weeks, Alexandra?” her mother demanded.
“Apparently, I’ve been in Switzerland. For my health.”
Her mother frowned haughtily. “I had to give some explanation to the press.” Indicating an empty chair at the table, she commanded, “Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand, Mother. I have a friend waiting. I won’t be long.”
“What? After all this time, you think you can just say hello and leave? I won’t hear of it. You will sit down and tell me exactly where you’ve been and who you’ve been with.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“You will, and you’ll do it now.” Her eyes were calculating. “There’s not a moment to waste. The Season will be over in six weeks, but if people believe the Switzerland story, you still have a chance to find a match. Viscount Shrewsbury is out of the running, unfortunately—he chose that dull cow from San Francisco. But he’s only one fish in the sea.”
“Mother,” Alexandra said forcefully, “let me make one thing absolutely clear: I am not marrying anybody. I only came here to let you see for yourself that I am alive and in one piece, and to say good-bye to Maddie.”
“Good-bye?” Madeleine repeated sadly. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Home,” her mother scoffed, as she rose abruptly. “You will come back to the hotel with us, now, where we’ll discuss your future in a civilized manner.” Waving her hand, she cried to one of the servers, “Boy! You there! Bring us the bill at once!”
The server scuttled off to the back. Alexandra shook her head, turning her full gaze on her mother.
“I would have gone home weeks ago, if I’d had the money. But I have it now. I’ve already bought my ticket, and I leave tomorrow.”
“This is absurd.” Her mother was incensed. “Why are you so set on going home? What do you mean to do when you get there?”
“I hope to go back to Vassar. After that, I’ll find a job.”
“A job?” Her mother was horrified.
“Yes, a job.”
“Lexie!” Madeleine’s eyes shone. “How thrilling.”
“This is unheard of. You’re the daughter of a multimillionaire. You’re an heiress. You will not embarrass me by working for a living.”
“I’m sorry if that embarrasses you, Mother. But the truth is, I’ve been working to earn my living the entire time that I’ve been gone.”
Her mother looked aghast. “Doing what? And where?”
“I was a governess at a country estate.”
“Dear Lord,” her mother exclaimed with disdain, fanning herself with her hand. “A governess.”
“For the first time in my life, I found something I’m really good at, that I enjoy. I want to do something meaningful with my life, Mother, and teaching seems to me an excellent way to accomplish that. I want to get my degree if I can, and then I intend to seek a position as a teacher or perhaps a headmistress at a school in New York.”
“You are talking nonsense, Alexandra. I won’t allow you to throw your life away in this fashion. You will do as we planned. I will announce that you’re back from Switzerland, your health fully restored. You will immerse yourself in the final weeks of the Season, and we’ll find a titled man for you. Otherwise—and hear me now, for I won’t repeat myself: I will speak to your father and see to it that you are disinherited. You won’t get a single penny from either one of us, and we will never see you again.”
Madeleine gasped in dismay. “Mother! You wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“I can, and I will.”
Alexandra let go a sigh. “If that’s the way you want it, Mother, so be it. I know what it’s like now to be without Father’s name and money to provide for me, and you know what I discovered? Being poor is not the end of the world. I was forced to support myself. And I rather liked it.”
“You’ll be a poverty-stricken spinster, then? You would willingly give up your inheritance and the joys of marriage and motherhood, for what? To be indentured to teach the brattish offspring of total strangers for the rest of your life?”
“If I could do it all—if I could marry a man I love, raise a family, and find a way to do something else with my talents and abilities beyond being a wife and mother—I would. That would make me very happy. But I won’t marry just for the sake of a title, or to make you happy.”
“You are a foolish, foolish girl, Alexandra,” her mother snapped.
“Maybe so. But I’d rather be foolish and content, than miserable and married to the wrong man.”
“Hear hear!” Madeleine cried, taking Alexandra’s hands in her own and squeezing them.
“Madeleine Atherton! Sit down this minute.”
Madeleine flushed but remained standing, and continued to hold on to Alexandra’s hands.
“Maddie,” Alexandra said softly, “do you want to come home with me? If you have ten pounds in your purse, we can travel together.”
“Don’t put stupid ideas into your sister’s head. I have control over Madeleine’s money. Don’t think I didn’t learn my lesson with you. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay exactly where she is.”
A moment passed. Then Madeleine said, “I’m sorry, Lexie. I know how much this means to Mother, and I don’t mind trying. Just last night, I met someone.” Her blush deepened.
“Oh. I see.”
“I doubt anything will come of it,” Madeleine quickly added. “We barely exchanged two words. But . . .”
“Well, Maddie darling,” Alexandra replied with a warm smile. “If he’s a man of any sense, he’ll recognize what a prize he’s found in you. I just hope he’s worthy of you.” She wrapped her arms around her sister and held her tightly. “I love you, and wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“You too, Lexie,” Madeleine whispered in Alexandra’s ear. “Be safe. Be happy. And please write.”
“I will,” Alexandra promised.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thomas dug in his heels, pushing Merlin as fast as the horse would go across the meadow. The wind whipped cold and fierce against his cheeks as he galloped along, trying to lose himself in the pure rush of speed.
&
nbsp; He’d been riding like this every morning for two days straight. Hoping it would help him get past his fury, help him forget.
But he couldn’t forget. She was hundreds of miles away now, he’d never see her again, yet he saw her every single moment in his mind. He couldn’t forget the sweetness of her laugh. The deep huskiness of her voice. Her unique turn of phrase. The way she looked with the sun shining on her hair, surrounded by a field of bluebells that matched her eyes. The tenderness on her face as she read to his sisters. Her smile. The soft wantonness of her mouth as she’d returned his kisses. The way she’d felt, her body nestled against his, when he’d made love to her. An act they’d come very close to completing.
He had tried to rid his mind of these memories, but he could not. For the past two days, he’d found himself wandering the hallways of Polperran House, his pulse quickening at the sound of every footstep, wishing that it were hers. In her room, he’d found all the clothes he’d bought her hanging in the wardrobe, a visible reminder of her former presence there.
Her sketchbook was on the dressing table, and he’d turned to the drawing he’d made of her. A likeness that seemed so real, it almost felt as if she might leap off the page. He’d buried the sketchbook in a drawer, then had sneaked back in the dead of night to reclaim it, setting it on the dresser in his own room, where he could gaze at it whenever the mood struck.
The mood struck far too often.
How could he still think of her with any kind of affection, after what she did? Was he deluded? She had lived in his house for weeks, pretending to be a poor governess, while all that time she was the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in America. How could he have been so blind as not to notice? How could he have been so foolish?
He galloped up the rise in the road, arriving at the crest of the hill in view of Trevelyan Manor and the coastline beyond. He wondered if Saunders were home. Thomas hadn’t spoken to his friend in two days, since that awkward moment when they had encountered Miss Watson . . . no, Miss Atherton . . . on the lawn, and Saunders had made it clear who she really was.
Suddenly, Thomas felt desperate to speak to someone about his torment. Perhaps Saunders could help lay the situation to rest.
Upon reaching the manor house, Thomas handed his reins to a groom and was soon admitted inside. Saunders greeted him with a firm handshake and led him to a quiet room at the back of the house.
“I am so sorry about the other day,” Saunders said, pouring Thomas a brandy before they both sat down. “I fear I opened Pandora’s box.”
“So you did, and not a moment too soon.”
“I have been hoping to hear some word from you. What is the result? Did you and Miss Atherton come to an understanding?”
“An understanding? I should say not. I sent her packing.”
“You sent her away?” Saunders stared at Thomas in dismay.
“On the next train to London.”
“But why? You said you love her.”
“She lied to me, Saunders.”
“Yes, but did she explain why she did it?”
“She claimed her mother was set on marrying her off to some viscount in London, and she had to escape. She found herself with no money, she said, but did not tell me her real name for fear I would send her back to her mother. She accepted my offer of employment to earn her fare to America.”
“Who is the viscount?”
“I have no idea.”
“Wait. I read about it the papers. What was his name?” Saunders thought for a minute, then gave a gasp of disgust. “Dear God. I remember now. It was Viscount Shrewsbury. I thought it an odd choice for a woman like her. I have met Shrewsbury. If Miss Atherton was about to be wed against her will to that bastard, I do not blame her for running away.”
Thomas tried not to let Saunders’s reaction sway him. “That does not excuse her giving me a false name, and pretending to be a governess to my sisters.”
“Is that what she did, Longford? Did she really pretend to be a governess?”
“Yes. She—”
“From what you told me, she performed the job rather expertly. ‘Best governess my sisters have ever had,’ I believe you said. She loves your sisters, you explained, and your sisters love her.”
“What is your point?”
“My point is, Is what she did really so terrible? It seems to me that she started out desperate and got caught up in a lie which was difficult to undo. She was probably afraid to tell you. And no wonder: look how you reacted when you found out.”
Thomas took a swallow of brandy and frowned. “Why are you sticking up for her? After pretending all that time to be someone else, do I really even know her? She betrayed my trust, as surely as Elise Townsend betrayed it.”
“Now hold on, you cannot compare her with Elise Townsend. I do not know Miss Atherton as you do, but the word in town was that she was a class act, an intelligent, fascinating woman. Elise was the antithesis of that. She was—pardon my French—a self-centered, scheming bitch. Miss Atherton had a reason for keeping her identity a secret. Maybe she took it too far, but . . . did she say she was sorry?”
“Yes.” An uncomfortable heat rose to Thomas’s throat and he tugged at his necktie, wishing he could pull it off.
“Did she say she loves you?”
Thomas nodded, his eyes on the carpet.
“Do you believe her?”
“Yes.” The admission erupted from somewhere deep in his belly, like a soft, hoarse cry. “She said she hoped to marry me. To use her father’s fortune to help restore Polperran House and Longford village.”
“And you have a problem with that?” Saunders asked in disbelief.
“What do you expect me to do? Forgive her?”
Saunders’s eyebrows lifted as he darted Thomas a sharp look filled with meaning. “Haven’t you ever told a falsehood to anyone, Longford? Haven’t you ever, even once, lied just a little—even if by omission—to attain something you dearly needed or wanted?”
Thomas froze, the question hitting him straight in the gut. He realized, suddenly, that he had indeed done such a thing, many times over. To every client to whom he had sold a painting as T. Carlyle, and every day he’d stayed under the roof of his good landlady, Mrs. Gill. For two years now, he had been perpetrating a fraud. Was it really that much different from what Miss Atherton had done? Of course, he told himself, he’d had good reason to do so. But then, hadn’t she?
Saunders was shaking his head, his expression making it clear that he’d read the answer to his question on Thomas’s face. “Who are you to cast the first stone, Longford?”
Thomas swallowed hard. “But I promised myself never to marry for money. I will not stoop to accepting a handout from some American millionaire, just because I have fallen for his daughter. . . .” His voice trailed off. The old excuses sounded absurd even to his own ears.
“You. Are. An idiot.”
“I am beginning to think I am,” Thomas said slowly. He reminded himself again how different his life was since Lexie had come on the scene. His newfound relationship with Julia and Lillie. His friendship with Saunders restored. The joy Thomas had found in painting again. It was all because of her.
“It is obvious to anyone with half a brain that you are head over heels in love with her. Would you like to know what I would do, in your shoes?”
“I think you have made it pretty clear what you would do.”
“I will say it, nonetheless, since you seem to need to hear it. I would get your arse up out of that chair and take the next train to London. Follow your heart, Longford! Give up all these stupid prejudices and be happy. Marry for love.” Saunders sighed. “It is more than I expect to do for myself.”
Thomas called for his carriage and packed a bag in ten minutes flat, determined to make it to the Bolton station for the one-o’clock train to London. To his frustration, he arrived just as the train was leaving in a cloud of smoke and steam.
The next train was not due for another two hours,
and it didn’t go direct to London. It was the milk run. He would have to change trains several times. Thomas considered going home and trying again tomorrow, but worried that might be too late. Instead, he sent John home with the carriage and waited.
As he paced back and forth at the station, impatiently biding his time, Thomas worked on his plan. Somehow, he had to win her back. Find the proper words to let her know how desperately he regretted everything he had said and done, and how much he loved her.
But first, he had to find her. He had to take it on faith that she’d actually gone to London. He had given her enough money to pay for her fare back to America, which she had made clear from the beginning was her desired destination. He purchased a newspaper, and learned that a ship was due to depart Liverpool harbor for New York the very next evening. Would she be on it? There was no way of knowing. How would he even find her, at such a busy port of call? He shook his head, deciding to try London first, take his chances that she was in fact there and had not yet left town.
The train was infernally late, causing him to miss his next connection. The train after that broke down, causing another interminable delay. And so it went, making it the journey from hell. The trains stopped running when he reached Basingstoke, and he was obliged to take shelter in a filthy inn, taking the first train out early the next day. By the time he finally reached London, it was half past seven in the morning.
In a city of this size, where to begin looking for her?
She was an heiress. She must know dozens of well-heeled people with whom she could stay. But, he reminded himself, if she did not go to any of them weeks ago in her first distress, why would she turn to them now? He recalled her saying that she had stayed with her mother at Brown’s Hotel. But no; under no circumstances would she have gone to her mother. Instinct told him that if she was in town, she would have gone to one of the few people she felt she could trust: Mrs. Gill.
He grabbed a cab and went straight to Mrs. Gill’s house. Arriving there, he knocked loudly, but received no response. He pounded on the door, calling out. Still nothing. What the devil? He checked his pocket watch. It was just after eight. Mrs. Gill rarely left the premises at such an early hour. Was she out of town? And what of the kitchen maid, Mary? Why was she not in? If Miss Atherton had stayed at this house, Mary would know all about it.