“I’ve given you what I consider most valuable to myself. My time.” He meant it sincerely, but she wasn’t moved.
“Time doesn’t sparkle. You cannot put it on your wrist or around your neck. You cannot show it to your friends over tea and have them admire it. That is what I want, milord,” she said, giving him a doe-eyed look.
“And that would make you happy? Trinkets?”
“It would be a good start.”
Alex turned back to the bookshelves. “What if I gave you a book?”
“No. I have no use for the books. I find it a chore to read, and all those letters on the page make my head hurt looking at them. I learned to read because I had to, and that was enough.”
I could say the same for a thousand things in my life. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he responded. “I’m hoping we can find something in common. It helps with conversation.”
“I would be happy to talk about the things I want. That could be my conversation.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He moved to the settee to sit beside her, and she pulled a sliver of her dress out from where he’d sat on it, smoothing it. He pressed his lips inward, but continued, “Why don’t you tell me? What things would make you happy?”
She took a long breath in and closed her eyes. “Where do I begin? Well, there are the things every young woman wants. A fine home to show one’s wealth, filled with servants to do one’s bidding. Of course, many jewels and clothing for the entertaining—my head is happy with the thoughts of them.” She stopped, a secretive smile curving her thin lips. “There are many others. Little things, like a grand carriage with the horses beautiful and a place in the city.”
Alex tried to keep his eyes from bulging at the list she presented. Nevertheless, he had been a fool to ask. Plus, what she wanted wasn’t unreasonable. Not in her world. It was what she’d been promised and what had lured her into this particular arrangement. He sighed and scratched his head, then jokingly said, “Perhaps I should capture the moon?”
She clicked her tongue and rolled her dark eyes skyward. “I grow tired of this talking when you don’t tell me the things I want to hear.” She rose from the settee and swished toward the door. “I must go and change my gown for supper.”
Alex stood as well. “Why? Your dress is fine.”
“Fine will not do.” She sighed harshly. “If I come into a room and everyone is not immediately captured by my appearing, it was not the correct choice.”
He studied her for a moment. She was a stunning girl, and once or twice he’d allowed himself to wonder what it might be like married to her. Would she demonstrate any affection? Would she want to be touched? It was hard to envision, seeing how she reacted any time he came in contact with her clothing.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his father or mother show any warmth toward each other, and in his mind, a marriage like that would be torture. But it was moments like this, when Lady Lucia showed such vanity, that he found it impossible to imagine spending a lifetime in any marriage. Inviting the possibility of love into the equation was ludicrous. Confident women he found alluring, but Lady Lucia’s lack of humility had the opposite effect.
“I see. Well, then, by all means don’t let me keep you.” He bowed. “I look forward to seeing you at the evening meal, and I’m sure you will, as always, be thoroughly captivating.”
Charles’s head popped around the library door. “I heard the word captivating, so I assume the two of you must be speaking of me.”
Lady Lucia jumped at his voice. She scowled at him and hissed something too quietly for Alex to make out, but regained her composure and moved past Charles.
“I don’t mean to frighten you away, milady; I only came to pass on juicy gossip to old Alex here. Please don’t leave on my account.”
“I assure you, I do nothing on your account.” She brushed past him on her way out.
“And lest you forget,” Charles continued, his voice louder, “those who leave the room are the next in line to be gossiped about.”
“Charles, don’t tease her,” Alex warned, returning to the bookshelves.
“But, Alex, she’s like a cat and I hold the yarn. You can’t expect me to pass up a little entertainment, now, can you? I’m sure she’s enjoying it just as much.”
“You’ll enjoy it a little less when her claws come out,” Alex said, his head tilted to read a title in the stacks.
“So what’s keeping you locked in this stuffy old room? It’s glorious outside. We should be hunting, or riding, or wreaking havoc with the locals. What do you say?” Charles flopped down on a stuffed chair and threw his boots on the table in front of him.
“Maybe in a little while, Charles. I’m trying to find a book.”
“Again with the books,” he grumbled. “Take a break—enjoy the day.”
“I am. And the book is not for me, so quiet your criticisms.”
“Who for, then?” Charles ran a hand along his cheek and jaw, fingering his blemishes.
“A friend.” Alex bent to pull out a leather-bound volume.
“A friend? Julian? Certainly not Hugh,” Charles said. “What friends have you here apart from the three of us?”
“It’s no one really,” Alex said, leafing through the pages. “Just the young girl down in the stonemason’s cottage.”
Charles leapt from his seat. “You mean the one from your engagement party? The one whose hand you were holding?” His eyes glistened with mischief. “And to think, I was the one delivering gossip today, not hearing it.”
Alex quickly shut the book. “I wasn’t holding her—”
Lady Lucia burst into the room, red and furious. “How dare you! No wonder you’re not interesting in me!” Her face was a storm erupting in front of them, her eyes glittering and black.
Charles broke out in a sly smile. “Listening at the door, milady? That hardly seems befitting of your station. Could you not get a scullery maid to do your dirty work?”
“Be quiet, Charles.” Alex turned to Lady Lucia. “I wasn’t holding anyone’s hand—well, not in the way he thinks,” he said, motioning toward Charles. “There’s nothing to get upset over, milady, and you shouldn’t have been listening in on our conversation.”
“I heard what I needed to hear. You have been giving gifts and courting another woman.”
Julian and Hugh appeared at the door behind Lady Lucia. “Who’s giving gifts to another woman?” Hugh asked, his eyes hungry.
“Alex wants to give a book to that stonemason’s daughter,” Charles said, smirking.
Alex turned and gave Charles a daggered look to quiet him.
“Miss MacDuff?” Julian said coolly. Alex moved his gaze to meet Julian’s and felt a flush of heat.
“She has a name,” Lady Lucia hissed, “and you all know it.” Her jaw grew square and tight.
Alex felt a rigid knot developing in his stomach, and he tried taking a moment to think before talking, but Lady Lucia turned on his friends in a flash.
“You all knew about this,” she accused them. She moved closer and jabbed a finger at them. “You have been keeping this a secret and allowing him to make foolish of me.” She whirled on Hugh. “You, I can understand. You play all day with the women like they are toys. And you”—she pointed a long finger at Charles—“think it all great fun the way your friend acts.” She turned to face Julian. “But I thought you might have been better than the rest of them. You seem to have . . . What is the word? Intelligenza . . . a brain.” She scowled at him, dared him to deny the accusation.
“Lady Lucia,” Alex began, his voice calm, “you are gravely mistaken. There has been no infidelity. My friends have kept no betrayal hidden from you. I give you my word.”
She scanned each of them, bitter vitriol displaying itself in her eyes. An exaggerated “Humph!” accompanied the whirl of her gown as she stormed out of the library.
They were silent as they listened to the swishing skirts of an angry woman making her way down t
he hall. When at last it was quiet, they looked at Alex. His own jaw set firm, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Well, thank you very much for that.” Running a hand through his hair, he heaved a sigh. He felt Julian’s eyes press into his skull.
Julian surveyed him skeptically. “Are you telling me there is no truth to this, then?”
“Of course not. Apart from having the desire to help someone, I’ve done nothing. One can hardly be accused of something sordid there,” Alex snapped.
“Are you sure your desire is truly to help and not have?” Julian’s gaze was unconvinced.
Alex felt the color rising in his cheeks and fought to keep the flush from showing. “This conversation is over, Julian.” He walked out the door and leaned against the cool wooded wainscoting just outside.
“Oh, I don’t think it is,” he heard Charles sing gaily.
“Why would you say that?” Julian said.
“He’s taken the book.” His voice was smug. “And perhaps it’s only me, but I wouldn’t give just anybody Shakespeare’s sonnets, wouldst thou?”
EIGHTEEN
“IT DID NOT GO WELL. I DOUBT HE HEARD A WORD I said,” Alex murmured, leading his mother to a chair in the conservatory. A short walk in the garden was nearly more than she had stamina for, so they would speak here, surrounded by the late fall greenery, the ivy vines and philodendron weaving in and out of the lattice screens around them.
“Well,” she said, lowering herself onto the broad limestone garden bench, “if you mumbled then as ineloquently as you did just now, I can sympathize, and wouldn’t blame the man for refusing you. Chances are he didn’t hear a word you said.”
Alex sighed and sat next to her. “I requested he give some regard to who I am. That was all. I was not unreasonable. I did not refuse. I simply . . . asked.”
“What did you ask for, Alex?”
“Consideration.”
The duchess looked at her son with weary eyes. “What is it you want, Alex?”
He turned to her and said, “I’m not entirely sure, but I know that which I do not want. I do not want to sit in Parliament. I do not want this marriage. I do not want . . .” He waved his hand about. “This. This life,” he finished lamely.
His mother raised a hand and let it rest on his arm. “I suggest you think very carefully. For some choices, once made, cannot be undone.” She drew in a long breath and rose from her seat. “I must go in to rest now, Alex. I shall see you this evening. But think on it in great measure. A divergent course is often a lonely one.”
He helped to steady her on her feet and made a slight bow as she turned to leave the glasshouse. Slowly, he took a few steps backward, moving toward the exit closest to the stables. His foot clipped something beneath him—a shiny boot of fine Moroccan leather. Alex looked up to see both Julian and Lady Lucia sitting on the opposite side of the screen from where he’d sat with his mother. And the faces of two people who’d heard the entire conversation. Apparently, this time, his words were unmistakably clear.
The look on Lady Lucia’s face was thunderous as she swept past him, leaving without a word. Julian’s expression was less revealing; he was excellent at keeping his emotions in check. Another feature his father surely admired.
“Is it us?” Julian asked. “Are we so dull that we cannot provide you with enough excitement?”
Alex shook his head. “It is not that, Julian. It is not excitement that I seek, but fulfillment. They are fruits from two different trees.”
Julian cast a hand to sweep the vista in front of him. “Just look, Alex. You have an entire orchard in front of you. How can you ignore what is ripe and right here for the asking? You are handed the Garden of Eden in a basket at your feet every morning as you wake.” Julian looked skyward with frustration. “You absolutely cannot throw it all away—certainly not at this point. Not when your father is depending upon your support. The garrison is rising before our very eyes for a reason. Because we live in dangerous times! The estate needs you, Alex. This place is your past, your present, and most important, your future. And it would be churlish of me not to mention how mine is inextricably interwoven with yours.”
Alex settled back in his chair and said quietly, “The road before and behind you matters little if you can push to follow the path that calls from within.”
“I beg your pardon?” Julian said, his face unreadably stiff.
“It’s nothing,” Alex brushed off. “I’m simply repeating advice someone wisely offered me recently—about wrestling with my fate. It’s given me pause for thought.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed with his reply. “Funny, the sentiment rings recognizably familiar to me as well.” He suddenly leapt from his chair. “May I suggest we go for a hunt? Yes, a tour about the grounds on horseback is always the thing that sets you straight, Alex. What do you say? A bracing breath of fresh air? It will clear our heads and have a tremendous good effect on these ridiculous notions of yours to dismiss the treasures at your disposal. I shall see you in the stables in an hour.”
It would be an impressive structure when finished, Alex supposed. He brought his horse closer to the garrison’s building site, admiring the framework taking shape and envisioning the architecture once complete. But the reason for its existence managed to tarnish any pleasure he might have found in it. He was about to turn his horse around and leave the worrisome thoughts behind when he spotted Miss MacDuff traversing mounds of stone and great beams of wood, a basket in her hand and a contented smile upon her face.
He pulled alongside her and dismounted his horse. “Good afternoon, Miss MacDuff. You appear in good spirits. Could it be you have been gifted further workings from the men of Cambridge?”
She attempted to hold in her smile with meager success. “No, milord. Today is nothing more than a series of riddles.”
“Wordplay, you say?”
“Numbers. Mathematical puzzles, actually. I’ve just brought the men their lunch and have triumphantly beaten them in deciphering a string of puzzles they wagered I’d fail to solve.”
“Undoubtedly a grave error on their parts, for I would never place a wager against your skills with the fresh understanding that pure determination stands behind them.” He gave her a congratulatory smile. “Perhaps you would indulge me with a peek? I’ve always enjoyed unraveling enigmas.”
Miss MacDuff tossed aside the linen cloth that covered the basket and pulled out a roll of coarse brown paper, ink smears marring the surface. Alex unrolled and studied it, following the quill markings that showed the complicated equation and the ingenious cipher she used to resolve it.
“Ordinary arithmetic leaving you wanting?” he asked, handing back the scroll.
She smiled contentedly, looking over her shoulder to the garrison. “It was their assignment—and there is nothing ordinary about any of these men.” She wheeled back to face him, her eyes suddenly wide. “I only meant they are simple men who are stuck with someone who needles them for knowledge.”
He considered her curious reaction. “Yes, Miss MacDuff. I would wholly agree. It is you who is the extraordinary one.” He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a glove, then looked about on the ground. “I thank you for sharing the puzzle. It’s one I’ll not forget. But I am late for an appointment, and now fear I will compound my tardiness.” Alex looked beneath his horse and finally up to Miss MacDuff’s confused face. “I have lost a glove. Ah, well, perhaps this will be my puzzle to solve by the end of day. Good afternoon,” he said, mounting his horse and giving her a wave.
Jenna chased the afternoon sun, trekking to the lake and pastures beyond Withinghall. She walked alongside Esthwaite waters, to the old stone church, which sat embedded into the side of a grassy hill, moss-covered steps leading to its entrance. Behind the old building was a graveyard, its gardens unkempt. The trees were barren of leaves, and the old winter grass was withered and yellowed. But there was solace here, soberly offered, undisturbed, and it called to her.
The sun gave its wate
ry winter light grudgingly at this time of year, a subtle appearance, a hastened departure. The winter solstice was a difficult day to weather as her mother had died on it thirteen years ago, and because of it, the numbing gray hours left her fragmented. Yet it marked another beginning: the methodical plod toward longer, brighter days, which restored her source of strength. And the men helped her through it.
She thought of the family she had now, their curious observations, their science, their illuminations. She’d begun to appreciate their bond, and fierce love for family, friend, and sovereign. It was an easy path to be led along when one’s teachers were so devoted. But a new question formed in her mind, struggled there. These men were exactly where they wanted to be. Where did she belong?
A figure in black caught her eye, a dark crow in clothing. Mr. Finch rested against the side of the church, his eyes closed in deep reverie as he took in the scent of something he held to his nose.
Jenna narrowed her eyes and mindlessly leaned forward to see.
It was a glove.
It was Lord Pembroke’s glove.
A twig snapped beneath her boot, and she pulled back with a gasp. Mr. Finch’s eyes flew open and he whirled to stand at attention. Their eyes met and Jenna watched the young man’s expression go from one of panicked surprise to one of disagreeable realization.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. He quickly shoved the glove into a pocket within the fold of his cloak and glared at her.
Jenna stepped back, resting a hand on the stone wall, aware she’d trespassed on a very intimate, private moment, but there was nothing she could do. “I was only . . .”
“Grave robbing? Or are you merely looking for fresh supplies?” He eyed her hand on the stone wall.
She blanched and snatched it away, wrapping it protectively with the other. “I am not, sir, and I take offense at your suggestion of thievery.”
He snorted. “It’s hardly a far-fetched charge, as it appears you are attempting to snatch Lord Pembroke’s attentions away from where they once were focused.”
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