by Joyce Alec
“Yes?” she said, ignoring Lord Allerton completely and moving toward the footman. “You have a message for me, I think?”
“Miss Jones?” Lord Allerton queried, coming after her. “What is it?”
She silenced him with a look before returning her attention to the footman. “What message is it?”
The footman inclined his head, his gaze a little to one side. “I have received a message from one of Lady Fossett’s staff,” he said in a low voice. “The message is to tell you that all is as you expected. Your passage to America is set for tomorrow and has already been fully paid.” Bowing quickly, he looked at her as though he expected her to ask him more questions, but she could say nothing. With a slight wave of her hand, she sent the footman away, before turning to face Lord Allerton.
He was looking at her with such an expression of confusion that she wanted to applaud him for his excellent playacting. This was all as he had intended, she was sure of it. Not everything made sense as yet, but one thing was quite clear: Lord Allerton did not want her to stay.
“Your passage to America?” Lord Allerton repeated as the duchess came to stand by Alice’s side. “What do you mean, Alice?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You cannot pretend any longer, Lord Allerton. The truth is out.”
“Truth?” he echoed, looking startled. “I speak honestly when I say I have no understanding of what you are talking about, Alice!”
Holding his gaze and feeling her heart tear asunder, Alice let herself speak with more honesty than ever before.
“I came here reluctantly, not certain of what I would find. Now, I find myself standing before the man I have come to love, only to find that he has been nothing but a deceiver and I nothing but a fool.”
“Alice,” Lord Allerton whispered, his eyes rounding. “Please, I—”
“You gain something from my return to America,” she stated, interrupting him. “What is it?” Her throat was aching painfully, but she forced herself to stand stock-still, looking at him without blinking and seeing the strain on his features. “You have not wanted to tell me, but I insist that you do so now.”
Lord Allerton shook his head, sorrowfully. “I—I will be given a small amount should you decide to return,” he answered, lowering his gaze. “I did not want to tell you for fear that you would think I wanted you to go.”
She did not believe him. “And it would be enough to help you regain some financial standing, I am sure,” she said tightly. “And what if you decided that we would not suit and sent me away? Would you be given any recompense then?” Seeing him shake his head, Alice felt her heart twist with agony. “Then the notes are from you. The passage to America was paid for by you. All along, you have been trying to pretend that you care for me, whilst secretly hoping I will depart from England and leave you alone. Then you will have some financial gain, as well as the hope of marrying an English rose instead of an American who does not fully understand society and all its rules.” Tears began to pool in the corners of her eyes, but Alice forced them away. “You have not wanted me as your wife since the day you first saw me, but you have needed my money. This, then, is how you have gone about it. You have chased me away whilst pretending you care for me. And fool that I am, I have been taken in.”
Making to turn away from him, Alice was astonished when Lord Allerton caught her arm, pulling her back toward him.
“I have done nothing,” he said firmly, looking down into her eyes with such steadiness that she wanted to believe him. “I do not know what you are speaking of, Alice.” His hand gentled on her arm, his other hand reaching up to brush against her cheek. “I care for you. If you were to leave England, then I do not know what I would do.”
Her heart twisted again, longing to believe him, longing to trust him, but the memory of how Lady Fossett had looked when she had read the note forced her to consider things again.
“I promise that I have done nothing to push you away,” he said softly as the noise of the crowd and the music of the orchestra seemed to fade. “I want you to stay here. I want to marry you, Alice.”
“Then why did you not tell me of the arrangements between you and my father?” she asked hoarsely. “Why were you not honest?” Her vision began to blur with tears, seeing the tenderness in his face and finding herself struggling between belief and doubt.
“Because I was afraid you would leave,” he told her, his words filled with sincerity. “And that was the very last thing I wanted you to do.”
Alice drew in a long breath, a single tear falling onto her cheek. Her mind was filled with confusion, her heart torn between one thing and the next.
“So, you have told her, then?”
The hard voice of Lady Fossett interrupted their moment, forcing Lord Allerton to drop his hand from Alice’s arm.
“She is to go back home, it seems,” Lady Fossett continued. “It was well thought of, to make that plan, Lord Allerton. Although quite how you have managed to convince her to go, I cannot quite understand. After all, I have done my utmost to prove that to her, but she would not listen.” The spite in Lady Fossett’s voice matched the ugliness in her expression, and Alice was forced to step back. “I do not think any will mourn your departure, Miss Jones. In fact, this Christmas will be one of the most joyful we have had in some years, I am quite certain!”
Alice could bear no more. The pain that had been brought to her by Lady Fossett’s harsh words only added agony to her already broken heart. Turning away, she felt the duchess’ hand around her shoulders, leading her away from Lady Fossett and away from her betrothed. This was the end, she was sure of it. There could be no marriage between herself and Lord Allerton. There was too much doubt, too much confusion, too much pain. It was all at an end.
11
“She is being utterly ridiculous.”
Charles gritted his teeth, waiting until his aunt had climbed out of the carriage before he allowed himself to say a single word. He had been thrown into disarray by the way that Alice had left the ballroom, confused by what she had said and not understanding in the least about any of these ‘notes’ that she had mentioned. As for the passage to America, he had never even dreamt of arranging such a thing and certainly could not even think who might have done so.
That was, until Lady Fossett had appeared and made some of the most horrible remarks that Charles had ever heard. The look on Alice’s face as she had turned away from him had been an expression of grief, of torment, and of a broken heart.
Charles was determined to set it to rights.
“Well, I am safely back at least,” Lady Fossett finished, hurrying into the house. “You may return home now, Allerton. I shall be quite all right—although I think it very foolish indeed that Miss Jones has gone to stay with the duchess. There is no need for her to have done so. I would have been more than able to take her to the docks myself.” With a small smile, she shrugged and looked toward the door, clearly expecting him to go back through it and into his carriage so that he might return home.
Charles did no such thing.
“What did you do, Aunt?”
His voice bounced around the hallway, making him fully aware of just how grave he sounded.
“What do you mean, Allerton?” Lady Fossett asked, as though he were nothing but an imbecile. “I have done nothing wrong at all. Now, I must retire to the drawing room for my nightcap and then I will make my way to bed. I am very tired. Good evening, Allerton.”
“I will accompany you, of course,” Charles muttered, following his aunt with heavy footsteps as the heavy front door was closed tight. “There is more to say.”
“I hardly think so,” came the tart reply. “You are being quite foolish, Allerton. All is as it should be.”
This statement made Charles’ stomach knot tight. Striding in after her, he slammed the door closed on the startled footman, who had come with a silver tray bearing Lady Fossett’s nightcap. Lady Fossett turned around to face him, her eyes wide and staring—and,
for the first time since they had begun to discuss matters, Charles saw that her face bore not even a hint of a smile.
“I want to marry Miss Jones,” Charles grated, taking a few steps closer to his aunt. “You have been dismissive of her, cruel, and utterly thoughtless since the day she arrived.”
Lady Fossett tried to shrug, although her laugh was high-pitched and tight. “That is because she is not worthy of you, Allerton. She is not even from England. Her manners are quite lacking and—”
“You and I were both wrong in our lack of consideration and compassion for her,” Charles interrupted angrily. “At least I was able to right my wrong, thanks to the guidance and advice of the Duke of Sussex—but you have been quite determined to stay your course.” He advanced toward her again, one hand outstretched, one finger pointed directly at her. “So I will ask you again, Aunt, what is it you have done?”
Lady Fossett’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. She said nothing, her voice seemingly gone from her.
“What did you do to Alice?” Charles demanded, becoming more and more convinced in his own mind that his aunt had, in fact, had something to do with these notes and Miss Jones’ passage to America. “What are these notes that Alice spoke of?”
“I wrote none of them,” Lady Fossett squeaked, her eyes wide and staring. “That was entirely his idea.”
Charles let out a long breath as Lady Fossett exclaimed aloud and clamped one hand over her mouth. She had given herself away entirely, it seemed, and now all that was left was to determine who, precisely, had helped her in her scheme. Disgust rose within him like a great swell, his lip curling and his eyes narrowing.
“Whose idea, Aunt?” he asked angrily as she sank down into a chair. “Who helped you with this scheme?”
Lady Fossett’s hands now shook terribly as she tried to clasp them together in her lap, her eyes darting from one place to the next. Clearly she had not thought that she would ever have to reveal her part in this, but had done so in an entirely accidental manner.
“Who, Aunt?”
She squeaked again, her eyes flaring wide as she pressed one hand to her mouth again. Charles wanted to rail at her, wanted to shout so loudly that the room shook so that she might tell him everything, but instead he forced himself to remain utterly silent, glaring at her furiously.
And then, it came to him.
“No,” he breathed, staggering back just a little. “No, it cannot be. You cannot have worked alongside my brother!” He watched her closely, seeing how the color drained from her face, how her eyes flickered—and he knew he had stumbled on the truth. A cold hand grasped at his heart, sending waves of icy water coursing through him. He could not breathe for a moment, hardly able to believe that this was true. And yet the truth was staring him directly in the face and he was entirely unable to turn away from it.
“He wanted to punish you for what you had done to him,” Lady Fossett said, her words falling over each other in her eagerness to get them out. “You refused to help him any longer, refused to give him the money he needed, and so he wanted to make sure you had as little as he. Prestwick did not want you to have any sort of happiness. That was why he—”
“He came to you to beg you for help, is that it?” Charles asked darkly, his hands curling into fists. “He needed money. I had already refused to give it to him and so he told you about all of his troubles.”
Lady Fossett swallowed hard, her fingers twisting this way and that as she held them in her lap. “I—I did not know what to do,” she stammered furiously. “I had already told you that I thought this American was not at all suitable for you, and when I met her, then I knew that she would not do well for you. Her manners, her lack of propriety, her speech!” She threw up her hands, as though this was reason enough for what she had done. “And so, I called your brother back to meet with me again.” Her voice grew so quiet that Charles could barely hear her, his anger growing so hot that his blood began to roar in his ears. “And he devised a way to have her gone from here of her own volition.”
“I thought he did not want me to have any sort of happiness,” Charles grated, not fully understanding. “If Miss Jones returned of her own accord, then I would have some financial return.”
Lady Fossett shook her head. “I do not think Prestwick knew of that. But he knew that you would not have her gone from here by your own choice, so he had to ensure that it was she who chose to depart from you.” She began to wheedle, her voice pleading and whiny. “It was for your own good, Allerton. Truly! I did not agree with your brother’s reasoning, but I believed that with Miss Jones gone, you would find someone better suited to you.” She reached out one hand to him. “I was only doing it for your good.”
Charles shook his head, his jaw working furiously. “No, Aunt, you did not do anything for my good. You did it solely for yourself, believing that I would appreciate it in the end, instead of considering my wishes and what I wanted.” His words grew in strength, until his voice echoed across the room. “I have come to care for Miss Jones with such a strength of feeling that I cannot bear the thought of being parted from her! I cannot imagine life without her by my side. This last sennight, I have thought of nothing other than my wedding day. I have always enjoyed Christmas and all the joy and festivities that come with it, but that has paled into nothing this year, given that I can only think of being joined to Miss Jones in matrimony.” Throwing up his hands, he saw his aunt shrink away from him, but he did not hold himself back. Lady Fossett had gone too far. She had done too much, had been selfish and arrogant and hugely unkind to Alice. There was nothing more she could say in her defense that would make Charles listen to her.
“Was it you who arranged the passage to America?” he asked, seeing Lady Fossett give the tiniest of nods. “How could you do such a thing? To treat a young lady who was not only away from home, but trying to find a new life here where she was nothing but a stranger?” His wrath was so great that he had to force himself to grip onto the back of a chair so that he would not take any further steps toward her. “How could you treat her so callously? How could you put such enmity between myself and my bride? Your deception is more than I can bear!”
Lady Fossett let out a sob, pressing both hands to her mouth, but Charles felt nothing but fury.
“You should return to Lord Fossett and to your home,” Charles finished, narrowing his eyes. “I have nothing further to say to you.”
He did not listen to anything more that his aunt had to say, refusing to hear her pleas for his consideration, for his forgiveness. Striding toward the door, he pulled it open and stalked out, feeling more anger than ever before. His heart ached with such sorrow that he could not bear it, wanting to pull it from his chest so that he could not feel such agony any longer. And all the while, he thought of his dear, sweet Alice, who had endured so much from both himself and his family and who had now nothing but a broken heart to show for it.
“I will explain everything to you,” he whispered, walking out the front door and into his carriage. “I will tell you everything, Alice, including the state of my heart, so that you will at least consider staying.” It was all he could hope for, he realized, watching the snowflakes begin to fall all around the carriage as it began to roll away, back home, where nothing but darkness would be waiting.
“The snow is much too thick for the carriage, Lord Allerton.”
Charles wanted to smash his hand down on the study desk and demand that his staff prepare his carriage and horses, but one look at his butler’s face told him that it would be quite useless. The man was not being deliberately obtuse.
“Some of the staff have gone out to find the yule log,” the butler continued, shaking his head. “But they have been forced to walk and I do not expect them back for a good few hours.”
“They should not have attempted it,” Charles muttered, rubbing one hand down his face. “If it is as cold and as wintery as you say.” He saw the butler glance toward the window and Charles followed his gaze. Th
e thick flakes of snow that he had seen last evening were still falling and, given that his mind had been entirely caught up with thoughts of Miss Jones and that he had not even looked out of the window, he presumed the snow must now be very heavy indeed. A long, tortured sigh left his lips as he leaned heavily on the table, trying to work out what to do next.
“I must go to see Miss Jones,” he said firmly, closing his eyes and trying to think of what he could do. “I will walk.”
The butler sucked in a breath, clearly trying not to react but making his dismay obvious, nonetheless.
“The duke’s residence is some distance, my lord,” he reminded Charles, who was well aware that it took a good half an hour in the carriage to reach the duke’s mansion, which was one of the grandest and most magnificent in all of London. “To walk will take a long time and I fear for your safety. The wind has become very strong and is whipping the snow into large drifts—and not a single roadway has been cleared.”
“I must,” Charles insisted, looking up at the butler. “Have the valet prepare my things. I leave within the hour.”
The butler inclined his head. “Of course. I could send a tiger with you, my lord?”
“No.” Charles shook his head decisively. “I will not risk any member of my staff. If it is as bitingly cold as you say, then ensure that those who return with the yule log are given as much brandy as is required to warm them again. And have no hesitation to light as many fires as you wish.” He saw the butler’s look of surprise, which was then swallowed by relief. “But I must go. It cannot be delayed.”
One hour later, Charles found himself taking great strides through the snow. The snow was piled very high indeed and, whilst he was sure there were some working hard to clear the roads, he did not think that they would be able to make much progress given just how thick and fast the snow was falling. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. Snow was expected every year, of course, but this was much worse than anything he had seen before. Gritting his teeth, Charles wrapped his arms about himself and wiggled his fingers, which were already feeling cold despite being encased in gloves. His boots, whilst very well made and of the highest quality, were already beginning to allow icy shivers to reach his toes and he did not think that they would keep out the wet for long.