Light to Valhalla

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Sealing wax was not in plain sight upon the marbled desktop.

  “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, yanking open the top drawer. Nothing. “Does no one in this house have basic letter writing supplies?”

  He rifled through the second drawer and then the third. He yanked a sheaf of papers out and jammed a hand even further back in the drawer, but stopped short when he caught a glimpse of the rumpled pages.

  Abandoning his quest for wax, Alex peered more closely at the missives. In total disbelief he stared down at the packet of letters clutched in his hand. His letters. All the letters he’d written to Charley after their wedding.

  The anger inside him swelled, grew taught, and snapped. For one horrid moment Alex saw pure red. This was the final straw. The final act of betrayal. “Mother!” He stormed from the drawing room, letters wadded in his fist.

  “Alex?” Regina’s voice returned from the front hall. “What is this about?” She rushed around the corner, deep charcoal skirts swishing busily around her feet. “Hastings just informed me that there has been another accident. I—”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Alex thrust the ribbon bound pages out for her inspection.”

  Regina stopped short, flicking a startled gaze between Alex and the papers.

  “I found these letters in your desk.”

  Understanding followed by guilt flickered through his mother’s face as her eyes shifted from the wad of letters to Alex.

  “Mother?”

  “Really, dear, I have no idea what you could be referring to.”

  Dear? His mother never called him dear.

  She took a tiny step back toward the main hall, but Alex refused to be deterred and quickly followed. “You’ve been keeping these?” he pressed. “Why?”

  Regina’s eyes narrowed as though contemplating whether or not to tell him the truth. Finally she shrugged. “You deserve better.”

  “Deserve better…” Confusion swirled through his head, intensifying the ache throbbing behind his temple. “Speak sense for once, mother. Charley was good enough for Richard. How is it any different with me?”

  Her face hardened, eyes narrowed with familiar menace. “You would never understand. You’re just like your father.”

  Ignoring the familiar barb he moved onto the next question eating at his brain. “Did you have anything to do with Charley’s accident?” He advanced on his mother, holding her eyes to his with a cold glare. “Someone intentionally damaged her saddle and she was seriously injured heading out for a ride this morning. Dr. Carson is seeing to her now.”

  Regina gasped, thoroughly affronted. “Y-you think I’d harm her? You cannot be serious.”

  “I am deadly serious. Did you have Charley’s girth strap tampered with?”

  True hurt lit his mother’s eyes. “I will not hear any more of this… this… utter nonsense. I admit to keeping a few letters, but murder, Alex? Do you think so little of your own mother?” Without waiting for an answer she swept regally past him, head held high.

  With a heavy sigh Alex slapped the letters against his palm, unable to fully decipher or discard his mother’s bizarre behavior. He walked across the hall back into his study safely stowing Charley’s letters in the bottom drawer of his desk beneath a pile of ledgers.

  He ambled back to the hall and hailed Hastings. Handing the butler the letter he said, “Find some sealing wax and then have this delivered to the magistrate with all possible haste.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Ever efficient Hastings took the note and turned crisply away.

  “And, Hastings?”

  “Sir?”

  “Make mention of this to no one. I want to be informed of any suspicious staff behavior.”

  “Of course.”

  Alex sighed and returned to his study to await the physician, mind whirling with the events of the morning.

  Not an hour later the good doctor appeared in the hall with a pleasant smile on his fatherly face. “As far as I can tell your wife is absolutely fine, my lord. A few bruises but nothing that won’t take care of itself.”

  “Thank the Lord for that, Doctor.” Alex pumped the man’s hand. “And thanks to you for coming so quickly.”

  “No trouble at all, my lord. I don’t believe any harm came to the child your wife is carrying either, but,” the doctor shrugged, “it may be too soon to tell. If you have any concerns don’t hesitate to send for me.”

  The walls collapsed in on him with suffocating force. Alex stumbled back, yanking at the cravat tightening like a noose around his throat. Charley’s pregnant? Alex did nothing but stare dumbly at the physician for the full space of a minute. And she didn’t tell me?

  “My lord, are you feeling all right?”

  “Shh-er-fine, Doctor. Thank you, again, and I’ll inform you if any further concerns arise.”

  Lost and adrift Alex bid the doctor farewell and strode up the stairs with a heavy heart. He had no idea what to make of the news or how he was supposed to react. Part of him wanted to be excited, while other parts of him were bogged in the mire of his botched marriage. Should he bring the subject up or give Charley time to tell him?

  He pondered the predicament, wondering if life could get any more muddied, and slipped into her room. She lay cocooned in the bed sheets, face white, brilliant red hair contrasting with the more pallid color of her skin and the linens. In an instant fear consumed him. Fear for Charley. Fear for their unborn child, but more than anything… Fear of losing her.

  “Alex?”

  “I’m here, love.” He covered the distance of the room in three strides and dropped at her side. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired.” She yawned. “Very, very tried.”

  “Sleep, sweetheart.” He brushed the hair from her forehead, pressing a light kiss upon her brow.

  “My saddle broke.”

  “I know. Jefferies found a deliberate cut in the leather.”

  Her eyes flew open and she shuddered. “I don’t understand this, Alex. Who would want to hurt me?” She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Will this never be over?”

  “Not to worry, love. I’ll protect you, I promise.” He shifted closer to her on the bed, gathering her in his arms, holding her for a long moment. “I’m going to see the magistrate as soon as I leave here.”

  Her arms tightened around his neck. “Don’t go.” She wiggled onto her side, dragging his arm across her middle. “Stay with me for a while.”

  Alex swallowed around the lump perpetually stuck in his throat, and stretched on the bed beside her, snuggling her against his chest. He needed no further urging and would stay for as long as she allowed. Tension eased from his weary body. Holding her was so right. So perfect. He could never live without her.

  He tilted his face into the curve of her neck and slid a possessive hand over her still flat belly. Excitement eclipsed some of the fear plaguing his spirit. It was so hard to believe a baby lay in there. A tiny spark of life created in love, to be loved. He envisioned his wife flushed and happy, round with their growing child, and he ached with joy and hope. He wanted to be there for every moment.

  The realization of all he’d miss if he rejoined his regiment hit him with a pang. He’d miss the birth of his child. First steps, first words. He’d already missed everything with Jack. Hadn’t even known the boy existed.

  Jack.

  Alex sat abruptly, looking to the door. He’d scarcely laid eyes on the lad since his arrival at Coverstone House, had merely entrusted him to the care of a nurse, and set off to make some sense of life.

  Alex rose carefully from the bed, leaving a slumbering Charley to her rest. He quietly left the room and trudged down the hall to the old nursery. He hesitated outside the door. Would Jack be frightened of him? Perhaps the boy was sleeping and Alex should just leave him be.

  “Coward,” he muttered. “Afraid of a two foot tall child.” Squaring his shoulders he drew a steadying breath. There came a time when a man must face all his demons, and in the fac
e of yet more impending fatherhood the time to face Jack had most definitely arrived.

  Alex twisted the knob and swung the portal open. His heart quite literally fell out through the bottom as he fell in love for the second time in his life. There, sitting at the miniature wooden table, upon a miniature wooden chair, was the miniature person he called his son.

  His son.

  Panic and pride surged through Alex, and he had to grip the doorjamb to keep from crashing to the floor.

  My son.

  By the powers those words were growing on him, but he didn’t have the first clue how to be a father. Not a good one anyway. He’d never had anything more than a piss poor example, and in the back of his mind he’d always had a picture, an illusion, of what his children’s lives would be like—a mother to buffer his downfalls was foremost on that list. Instead he found himself completely alone in the endeavor.

  The little boy looked up, uncertainty and more than a little fear in his huge blue eyes.

  “Hullo, Jack,” Alex said, throat clogged with emotion. He moved slowly into the room, kneeling before the child, and extending a hand palm up.

  “Hi.” The boy set his toy block on the table and tentatively laid his hand in Alex’s palm. Alex gulped. The child’s miniature, milky skin lay in stark relief against the tanned flesh of his battered, calloused palm. Everything about Jack was so tiny and fragile, so completely innocent, in complete opposite of him. Not a single scar marred the boy’s soft skin and Alex would give his left arm to see nothing ever did. This was his child. His son. A piece of the brothers he’d lost. He sat, humbled by the perfection before him. In this moment nothing in the world could be more important than spending time with Jack. All Alex wanted was to wrap him in his arms and protect him from the world.

  “I’m your Daddy.”

  * * *

  Sunlight peeked through the window shades, warming Charley’s face. Reluctantly she woke, wanting nothing more than to hide in the blissful oblivion sleep offered. Out of instinct, and more than a little secret longing, she stretched her arm out, reaching for Alex, but found nothing more than cold, empty sheets. He’d left. Heartbroken, she sighed, and finally sat. She hated this loneliness.

  Charley slung her legs around the edge of the bed and raked her fingers through her hair. A stack of folded papers on Alex’s pillow caught her eye. She lifted the packet and tilted them into the sliver of sunlight peaking through the curtains. “Oh, my.” A hand flew to her mouth. Letters… to her… from Alex?

  Another loose note sat on top of the pillow.

  I found these missing letters this morning. It seems my mother’s been intercepting our correspondence for some years now.

  All my love,

  —Alex

  P. S. Meet us in the nursery at seven o’clock.

  Charley ran her fingers over the bold script, a measure of her faith restored.

  Us?

  Intrigued, Charley smiled and glanced at the clock before scooping up the dated letters and cozying into the pillows to read. She leafed through the pages, glancing at the dates—seven letters in all, most from 1810 and two from early 1811. Ensured the letters were in proper order—she’d hate to read them out of sequence—she turned to the first and hungrily devoured the lost words.

  Dear Charlotte,

  I was most pleased to receive a letter from you today. After the debacle of our wedding and my deplorable behavior before and after I had assumed you’d wish me to hell and be done with it. Yours is the first word to arrive from home, and a much needed distraction from the unending boredom of camp. I do hate to be left with my own thoughts overly long. Word is my regiment will be moving into Spain soon…

  Each letter was much the same, fairly brief and outlining the events of day to day life. One lamented the loss of fifty pounds in a card game while another spoke of a torrential rainstorm lasting the better part of a week. Little personal emotion or flowery words existed in the correspondence but Charley wouldn’t have expected more from Alex. As the letters progressed, the pages became shorter and further between until they dwindled into nothing. No doubt because he believed she did not wish to hear from him.

  A lump formed in her throat. So much misunderstanding… How much of the turmoil lingering in the back of her mind for three years could have been prevented if she’d received just one of these notes?

  * * *

  A little before seven o’clock Charley paused outside the nursery door, heart hammering, and smoothed a hand along her skirts. Soundlessly she peered around the corner of the door and the sight meeting her gaze warmed her heart until she thought her chest might swell and burst. Alex sat in the wooden rocking chair, a book rested on one thigh, Jack sleeping on the other. There was something undeniably attractive… sensual even… about a strong man cuddling a child. Unwittingly she put a hand to her belly.

  As though sensing her presence, Alex looked up, gaze soft and full of peace. Their eyes locked and he smiled, waving her in with his free arm.

  With the words of his long forgotten letters fresh on her mind she obeyed the unspoken command, reminiscent of a bygone day and ready for a little peace between them.

  “Charley, I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to my son,” he whispered, shifting the sleeping boy into the crook of his elbow. “Jack, here fell asleep before our scheduled rendezvous so he’ll have to meet you later.”

  She laughed, sashaying forward, relaxing because he was so obviously relaxed. “Quite alright. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d already been spending time with his son for quite a while.

  Alex leaned back, lids at half-mast. “I could get used to this,” he murmured, smoothing a hand over Jack’s blond hair. “Being a family man.”

  “I could to,” she murmured, startled to have spoken the words aloud.

  Alex fixed her with a level stare. “You know the only thing we’re missing?”

  “What’s that?”

  “A baby girl.”

  * * *

  Three days later Charley left her rooms, dressed in a merry pink frock, humming Greensleeves, and in better spirits than she’d experienced in weeks. A snowbird tittered along the windowsill at the end of the hall and Charley smiled, waving at the cheery creature before tripping down the stairs into the brightly lit hall.

  Perhaps Alex would accompany her for a little Christmas shopping today. The holiday was fast approaching and it was probably her turn to suggest an outing. He’d been extremely attentive, inviting her for some small excursion or dinner alone every day. They’d spent a great deal of time together with Jack—he really was the sweetest child—and while she and Alex each danced neatly around discussing any topic of importance, Charley was beginning to see a glimmer of hope for the family life she’d always dreamed of.

  After the deliberate attack on her saddle and quite probably her life, Alex had been attentive and overprotective to a fault. She loved it. And her trust in him was steadily regaining ground.

  In search of her husband she peered into the dining room where remnants of breakfast still sat on the side tables and the smell of cold bacon sent her stomach reeling.

  She meandered down the hall toward the kitchen in search of a cup of weak tea, thinking back to the last time she’d seen him. Yesterday afternoon… a little after three o’clock perhaps? He’d gone to a meeting of some sort… though he hadn’t mentioned what. “Where could he have got off to?” she murmured to herself.

  Mrs. Roark’s voice drifted through the cracked door of the servant’s sitting room. “Lord Coverstone left home before the sun was up this morning, I tell ye.”

  Charley stopped short.

  “Did he now?” another female voice prodded.

  “Oh, aye. Received a missive of some sort and left not five minutes thereafter. Then, when I saw Mrs. Peabody at the market she told me that she watched him enter Chrisington House this very morn.”

  Charley gasped,
hands flying to her mouth. Chrisington House? It couldn’t be. Anywhere but Veronica’s residence. Pain gripped her chest, twisting and wrenching until surely her heart would rip apart. All that newfound trust evaporated. Here she’d believed they’d been making progress that Alex was being truthful and becoming the man she’d dreamed he could be. Now she feared he’d been feeding her more lines, nothing but words meant to placate her so she would remain at his side to keep up appearances.

  A vision of Alex and Veronica locked in a lovers tangle flashed through her mind. She shuddered, and ran down the hall. The brittle click of her shoes sliced through the air like little shards of glass or daggers. She envisioned those shards jabbing into Alex. Not enough to kill him, but painful enough to scar and maim. She stopped short. Listen to her! Apparently pregnancy made her violent. Emotional and violent. But as long as she was violent, she was angry, and as long as she was angry she was not devastated or mourning the loss of her marriage. Tears trembled at the base of her lids, threatening to spill forth, but she blinked them back, dragging a deep breath into her tight lungs. She had shed enough tears for the man who lied to her and snuck to another woman’s bed in the light of day… before breakfast even.

  Damn him. Damn him. Damn him. And just for good measure, damn him, again.

  Charley swiped at a traitorous teardrop making its way down her cheek, and dropped into one of the many decorative chairs lining the walls. She sniffed, battling the defeat and jealousy settling over her with the weight of a thousand stones. Her head thudded against the wall as she sank deeper into the black well of despair. Her mind spun, searching for a reasonable explanation for his presence at Chrisington House. None came to mind. Veronica’s sugary concern the day she’d visited Regina came to mind followed by another vision of Alex kissing her.

  Enough of this. She snapped to her feet so quickly the blood rushed from her head. She could sit here and mope or confront her husband’s obvious infidelity head on. She set off for the front hall, the thought gaining momentum with every step. Oh, yes, she would catch Alex in the midst of his lies if it was the last thing she did. The time had come for answers, and there was only one thing left to do. God give her strength to see it done.