“Almost unheard of.”
“Almost,” Alexander acknowledged, with a nod.
“There was that Earl who married a scullery maid.”
“Donhugen,” Julius said, with a nod. “But that was Scotland.”
“Indeed,” Alexander took another drink.
“He was stripped of his title by his parents,” Julius said.
“At the very least, you are free from that possibility.”
Julius nodded. His parents had died several years ago. The flu had got them both. Julius had been much changed since then. Much more resistant to discussions of this nature. Discussions of feeling.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Alexander asked, carefully.
“You don’t understand,” Julius said, with a shake of his head. “She said no.”
“What? But-”
“She’s a maid, yes, I know.”
“Why would she know? This would change her life.”
“She must dislike me so much that no amount of wealth or rank could persuade her,” he said, with a bitter smile.
“Julius, I am sure that-”
“No you are not,” Julius cut him off, sharply. “You are not sure of anything. Do not give me false comforts.”
Alexander blinked at him. He didn’t speak again, but gave his friend some space. Julius went to his study and did not return to the drawing room until later that evening. When he did, they did not speak of the subject again.
They played a game of cards in silence.
“My Lord,” a servant said, from the doorway. He bowed.
“Come in, Tomas.”
He had a letter in his hand. “I have some letters from the Riversdale estate.”
“Sent on by my mother,” Alexander concluded. He rose and retrieved them from Tomas, who bowed once more and left.
He sat to open them.
“Did you not tell anyone you were staying here?” Julius asked.
“My mother knows. I asked her to send on any letters that went to the house.”
The first three were of little importance. Distant relatives wishing him well in all his endeavors as the Marquess of Riversdale.
The fourth and fifth letters were from Eliza.
My Love,
Where are you? Why have you not come, as you always do? Has my mother upset you? You need only say and I will rectify it.
I keep thinking of our plans and it makes me miss you awfully. It is difficult to imagine our future when you are not here to assure me of it.
Do come.
Faithfully,
Eliza
The other letter she’d written was as follows.
Alexander,
You still have not come. And I will admit that I am beginning to lose my patience. I have to wonder what sort of man would stop visiting his fiancé without any word.
Must I contact your parents and send word to them that I have not heard from you in almost a week now?”
I will do so if I must. It does, after all, give me cause for worry. And that is all it is, Alexander. Worry for you.
Consider what you would like me to do. I will not send word to your parents if I hear from you.
Sincerely,
Eliza
He felt her anger lingering between the words, though she’d clearly done her utmost to reign it in. And the barely veiled threat of telling his parents was a low he hadn’t expected her to sink to. He clenched his teeth and put the letter aside.
The sixth letter in the pile was not from Eliza.
When he opened it, he knew who had written it straight away. Not from the handwriting, but from the faintly sweet smell that came off the paper.
He knew that smell very well indeed. It haunted his dreams.
“It is from Lady Marianne,” he murmured, as he unfolded it.
“What does it say?”
Dear Lord Redmond,
I have not seen you. And though I have tried not to, I want to see you.
I am afraid that I have hurt you and I want – more than anything – for you to know that I did not run that night because of you.
It was because of me.
What I want to say to you I cannot say by letter. So I ask you to come to the house. I ask you most ardently.
Please come, my Lord.
Yours faithfully,
Lady Marianne
He read the letter again, then let it fall to rest in his lap.
“What does it say?” Julius asked again. He was leaning forwards. “Does it say anything about Miss Cole?”
Alexander looked up at him. “No, my friend,” he answered. “I’m sorry.”
His face sank a little and he leaned back into his seat. “Then what is it about?” He asked.
“Lady Marianne has asked to see me.”
Julius nodded. “Does she indicate why?”
“Not exactly. She only writes that she can’t say it by letter.”
“Then you must go.”
“Do you think it wise?”
“You will regret it if you don’t, Alexander.”
That was true. And he was already full of regrets. He couldn’t stand another. Nodding with resolve, he stood and went to get his jacket. “Do you want to come?”
Julius shook his head. He hadn’t stood. He reached for his drink and took a swig. As Alexander watched him, he realized that the pair of them had been drinking too much. Something he would rectify when he returned. If not for himself, then for Julius.
Before Alexander left, he took the remaining bottle of whiskey. He tipped it out onto the public path and stashed the bottle in a bush so that Julius would not find it.
And then he rode to the Purcells’, with the letter feeling heavy in his pocket.
Chapter 21
Lady Marianne Purcell, Daughter of the Baron of Westlake
It had been just over a week since she’d last seen Lord Redmond. Since anyone had. And none of them had had any word. Which meant that, put simply, living at Westlake was insufferable.
Eliza had a tantrum every hour. Father, the only rational presence, avoided the house like the plague. And mother’s mood depended wholly on Eliza’s. Which was horrendous at best.
One afternoon, when mother asked again if Eliza had heard from Lord Redmond, Eliza had screamed and thrown her glass at the wall.
There were many such incidents over the course of the week. And Eliza’s rage often turned on Marianne. When she handed a letter to a servant so that they could send it for her, Eliza intercepted it.
“What’s that?”
Marianne blinked at her. She’d never been a good liar, but it had never truly counted until now. “It is a letter,” she said, frowning as if she didn’t understand the question.
“Who is it addressed to?”
“The only person I ever write to,” Marianne answered. “Lilia.”
“Lilia?” Eliza snatched the letter from the servant’s hand and Marianne fought a flinch. Her heart was beating hard in her throat. “This isn’t Lilia’s address. Whose address is this?”
“Her uncles,” Marianne remarked, quickly. “She is staying with him for a few weeks.”
Eliza stared at the letter suspiciously. Marianne half expected her to tear it open. And if she did… if she read it… what could Marianne say in her defense?
Nothing.
At last, she thrust the letter back at the servant and stomped away. Marianne breathed at last. From then on, she’d have Becky send any letters she’d written to Lord Redmond. Though she hoped she wouldn’t have to write anymore.
She hoped he’d come.
It was two days more before anything happened and Eliza’s anger turned to temperamental desperation.
One night, she wailed at Marianne. Wailed at her that it was her who’d ruined her chances with Lord Redmond. “You’ve turned him against me, haven’t you? Haven’t you?” She screamed.
She’d cornered her in the drawing room.
Marianne felt certain that she
was going to hit her. She’d backed her up into one of the shelves.
“Eliza,” she said, in a jilted rush. “Please-”
Her sister lifted her hand and Marianne closed her eyes. But it did not come down on her. When she opened her eyes, she saw her upraised arm poised above her.
And her father holding tight to her wrist.
She breathed a gentle cry and ducked under Eliza’s arm.
“Go to your room, my darling,” her father said, in a sad but steady voice. “I will speak to your sister.”
She took a few steps back, then turned and ran to her room. Once there, she threw herself down on the bed and wept. Maybe Eliza was right. The truth was that Marianne didn’t know why Lord Redmond hadn’t come back.
Perhaps he was too embarrassed, after Marianne had run from him.
Perhaps he had decided he didn’t want to marry Eliza. But if that was her doing, then she was glad of it. She wouldn’t play a part in trapping a good man like him into a marriage with Eliza. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
For a while after that, she heard Eliza screaming. And occasionally, she’d hear the gentle, tempered tones of her father trying to reason with her. He never lost his temper. He never raised his voice.
After an hour, she couldn’t stand the noise anymore. She went downstairs quietly. The sun was setting and she wanted to be outside. Where the angst of the house couldn’t follow her.
She went down the path towards a small grove of trees not too far from the house. In the middle of the grove there was a tree she’d liked to climb when she was younger.
She hadn’t climbed it in years.
But when Marianne saw it, she wanted nothing more than to climb to the top and pretend to be a bird or a fairy as she’d done when she’d been a child.
To spend a few moments amongst the leaves and the branches. To just forget the real world and all its bleakness.
So she set about climbing. Her body remembered the way. All the grooves and dips were the same as they’d always been. Perfect places to plant her toes so that she could pull herself up.
She climbed through the branches like a true wood nymph, until she found the branch she’d always sat upon. It was high enough to give her a good view. And the branch was thick enough to be comfortable and feel safe.
She put her forehead against the trunk of the tree as she sat, hugging it with one arm to keep herself steady.
Marianne could see the house from this tree. That’s why she liked it. Because she could see the house, but it was so far away that it felt like the people inside couldn’t reach her.
The only person who knew about her penchant for this tree was her father. The only person she trusted not to disturb her. His presence was always a welcome one.
“That is rather high,” came a voice from below.
It shocked her, making her grip the trunk tighter. She looked down, peering through thick branches and leaves.
She could barely make out the person below. She could only see tiny glimpses of his face, through the leaves.
But she knew the voice.
Her heart gave a solitary thump.
“You came,” she called down.
He didn’t answer, but she could see him moving. And then she heard the rustle of leaves as he pushed past them.
He was climbing.
No one had ever climbed her tree before, besides her.
It was only a few moments before he was seated on the branch beside her. She moved over to accommodate him, which forced her to let go of the trunk.
They were hip to hip.
She looked away from him shyly.
“Your letter sounded urgent.”
Marianne did not say that she knew Eliza had sent him some very urgent sounding letters, which he’d ignored.
But when she wrote, he came. Something in her chest fluttered. It felt like a restless bird was caught inside her. And the closer he was, the more it longed for freedom from its confinement within her body.
“I did not mean for it to seem so urgent, my Lord,” she admitted and wrung her hands in her lap, nibbling her lip. It had felt so very urgent at the time, but now that she was here… she was afraid to say it.
“You had something you wanted to tell me,” he said. “But before you do, I have something I want to say.”
Marianne’s lips parted, but then she closed them. She nodded. Perhaps this would give her the time to muster the courage. Perhaps he was here to call off his marriage with Eliza, which would spare her from having to say it at all.
“I am sorry for… what happened between us when I was last here. I am sorry for kissing you.”
Though her expression didn’t falter, she felt this sinking feeling in her belly. She didn’t want him to be sorry for kissing her. Not for kissing her. Her lips parted to tell him so, but he spoke again before she could get a word out.
“I am to be married to your sister and what I did-” He drew in a shaky breath. “What I did was truly abysmal. That is why I have not visited.” He looked at her. “I was ashamed.”
Her brow puckered softly. The feeling in her gut was getting worse.
“After I kissed you, I felt hollowed out. I felt that I wanted you more than anything in the world.” His voice made her shiver. Hairs rose on her arms. “I went to my father,” he admitted. “And I begged him to release me from my marriage to Eliza. So that-”
Again, he stopped. There was a hopeful, tight feeling in her breast. “So that…?” She whispered. She felt herself leaning towards him, wanting to kiss him. To seal this moment and keep it frozen in time.
“So that I could make a proposal of marriage to you instead,” he concluded. She could see his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He looked away.
“Alexander, I-”
“You don’t need to say it,” he interjected, closing his eyes. “I know that isn’t what you want. I know I was a fool.”
“But I-”
“Please do not speak. Please let me finish.”
She went silent.
“I realized that night, after I spoke to my father, how foolish a wish it had been. I can’t break off the engagement. And I can’t marry you. I have been a weak and self-indulgent fool.”
This time, she did not try to speak. His words had stolen her voice. She felt the color drain from her cheeks and she only stared at him, feeling her world crumpling.
“I came here to tell you that you were right. You’ve been right all along. I have to let you go. I needed my father’s counsel and some time away from this place to realize that.”
At last, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
“I wanted to thank you for behaving with such grace and maturity, despite the strain I’ve put you under. I… I cannot fully express how wrongly I have behaved.”
She started shaking her head, slowly. She looked shell shocked and was blinking dazedly.
“Lady Marianne?” He said, with a frown. “You have not said anything. Are you alright?”
His face was momentarily frozen in her vision, before she heard herself speak. “Yes..” she croaked. “Yes, I’m okay.”
“Do you forgive me?”
She felt just about ready to weep again. She looked down at her hands in her lap. Her smile was wobbly and feeble. “Of course, my Lord.”
She heard his breath of relief. He looked like he was about to reach out and touch her hand. But he stopped himself. “What was it you wanted to say to me?”
What could she say now? “I…”
Her mind was an empty, lonely cave.
“I wanted to wish you well,” she said, slowly. “And to say the same. That I am sorry if I have misled you.” Her voice was shaky.
“No,” he said, with a shake of his head. “You have never misled me. You made it very clear, from the offset, that you would not interfere with my engagement. And you have not.”
He paused to take a breath, then went on. “It is I who has continued to make things complicated between us. At the risk of
breaking my word. At the risk of my family’s reputation. And my own. I have been a damned fool. And it was your resilience and wisdom which revealed that to me. Thank you.”
Regency Diaries of Seduction Collection: A Regency Historical Romance Box Set Page 43