Ruined by Rumor

  At the note of condemnation in his voice, Roxana gave him an encouraging smile. “But that’s normal enough. It must have been flattering, after years of being only the younger son.”

  “Oh, it was.” He took a deep breath. “The problem is, I liked it so much, I wonder if I didn’t wish Kit into his grave.”

  The room was quiet for a moment, his words hanging in the air between them. “Well, of course you didn’t, Ayersley.”

  He’d noticed the hesitation, however, and clearly read the look of unease on her face. “Ah, you begin to understand. It’s an unnatural thing to hope, in however remote a corner of the heart, that one’s own brother should die. I’m not so perfect after all, am I?”

  “But you didn’t actually hope he’d die. You wanted him to recover. You were as broken-hearted as anyone when he didn’t.”

  “I was.” He grimaced. “Yet even when he died, I couldn’t help questioning my own feelings. How much of that heartache was genuine, and how much was only for show? Even I couldn’t tell.”

  Roxana moved to sit on the edge of his desk, one hip resting on the polished mahogany, and reached over to set her hand on his. “That’s simple human nature, Alex. Even grieving over Kit, how could you fail to appreciate the change in your own circumstances?”

  “I know, but…”

  “But what?”

  He turned his hand over to clasp hers, and did not answer for the space of several seconds. “I envied him so much, when he was alive.”

  Roxana sensed what an effort of will it had taken him to admit such a thing. Envy his own brother? Covet Kit’s blessings, to the point of harboring a secret wish he could have them for himself? With Alex’s overdeveloped sense of responsibility, he wouldn’t easily forgive such a failing in himself.

  She tightened her hold on his hand. “Well, of course you envied him. He was your elder brother, and something of a hero to you. But it’s not your fault he died.”

  “I know it isn’t.”

  Roxana frowned. The words were straightforward enough, but Alex spoke them as if they meant just the opposite.

  He looked down at their clasped hands and sighed. “It’s just—to Kit, everything in life was a lark. School was little more than one long cricket game, Broadslieve was simply a fine place to hunt, and as long as there was a party to attend or a pretty girl to flirt with, duty could always wait. Before he fell ill, I used to watch him laughing and joking his way through life and imagine all the good I might do if only I were in his place. In fact, it was something I asked God in my head, and more than once. Why couldn’t you have given it to me? I would have appreciated it more. I would have used it more wisely.” He looked away. “And then…God gave it to me.”

  For the first time, she had a glimpse into his thinking. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required. He’d quoted that verse on the day he’d driven her home from the vicarage in his curricle. No wonder he dedicated himself so wholly to his work, and took every one of his responsibilities so seriously. No wonder he practically agonized over every word he spoke. He truly believed he had to be perfect. Nothing short of perfection could atone for having wished himself into his brother’s place.

  Roxana shook her head. “I don’t believe for a moment God makes those kind of bargains. Your brother’s death had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t a reward or a punishment. It was simply one of those tragic turns life sometimes takes.”

  “That may be, but I still wish I hadn’t envied him so much.”

  She wanted more than anything to say something that would make him feel better, but of course she was no great philosopher, so she simply said the first thing that came into her head. “Be glad you envied Kit. Don’t you see, it means he had a good life. It means even though his time was short, his days were happy.”

  Alex gave her a curious look, as if the thought had never occurred to him before.

  They sat in reflective silence for a time, their hands clasped. When at last Roxana let go and got to her feet, bringing the moment to an end, Alex leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting. “Well, at least now you know I’m not perfect.”

  He’d spoken with more than a hint of irony, but vulnerability lurked behind the words.

  “No, I don’t suppose anyone is really perfect. But I like you just the way you are.” Impulsively, she leaned across his desk and kissed him before turning to go.

  “You know,” he said just as she reached the door, “that’s the first time you’ve ever kissed me.”

  She turned back to him in surprise. “I’ve kissed you before.”

  “You’ve kissed me back. But that was the first time it was your own idea.”

  “Was it really?”

  Their eyes met, and he gave her a tired smile.

  She left him to his work, wondering how many of the walls in their marriage were as much her doing as his.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hail wedded love, mysterious law, true source of human offspring.

  —John Milton

  Alex was checking the population figures in his report when a discreet rap on the study door made him look up. “Yes?”

  Oliver poked his head in. “Am I interrupting?” His eyes swept over the stacks of books and papers on Alex’s desk. “Never mind. I can see I am. I’ll come back later.”

  Alex tossed his pen down. “No, stay. I could stand to break off for a few minutes. The numbers are starting to swim on the page.” He sat back, frowning slightly. “I thought you were promised to Sherbourne Park for dinner.”

  Oliver shrugged. “I am, but I doubt I’ll be missed if I’m late.” At Alex’s quizzical look, he leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “How well do you know Miss Sherbourne?”

  “Well enough. She’s a neighbor, and Lady Ayersley’s close friend. Why, is there some problem?”

  “Not really a problem. I just wonder if I’m making a nuisance of myself. Whenever I talk to her, I seem to take one step forward and two steps back.”

  “I believe she’s rather shy.”

  “I don’t mind shyness. I like shyness. And she’s very pretty.” Oliver sighed. “But, well, I’m only a private secretary…”

  Alex cocked a brow at him. “Only?”

  “Make no mistake, Lord Ayersley, I like what I do, and I’m happy to be in your employ. But if she’s set her cap for a man of property…” Oliver shook his head. “I don’t suppose there’s any way for a sweet, soft-hearted girl to tell a man such a thing, except to quietly discourage his advances.”

  “And you want to know if that’s why you’re making so little headway. I don’t suppose you’d care to ask Lady Ayersley for her advice?”

  “Not really. They’re such particular friends, I’m afraid it would be tantamount to making a declaration. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

  Alex rubbed the muscles in the back of his neck. “I wish I knew what to tell you, Oliver, but if you’re looking for advice on what ladies really want, you’ve come to the wrong place. How did Alexander Pope put it—‘Woman’s at best a contradiction still’?”

  “Pope never married, did he?”

  Alex laughed. “No, I’m quite sure he didn’t.” He reached for his pen again. “Was that what you wanted to see me about?”

  “No, no—I have an actual piece of news.” Oliver straightened. “I’ve been looking into poor Polly Whitehead’s predicament, verifying the story she told her mother, including the dates. Didn’t Lady Ayersley once mention that before Major Wyatt returned to Derbyshire, he spent some time settling the affairs of a fallen comrade?”

  “Yes, a Lieutenant…” Alex racked his brain to retrieve the memory. “Lieutenant Hoke.”

  “That’s what I thought. I just received a letter from the Adjutant-General’s office. Do you know where Lieutenant Hoke’s family hails from?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  Instead of enlightening him, Oliver scratched his jaw in a contemplative gesture. “Wa
sn’t there a young lady of this neighborhood who recently found herself in a delicate condition? A gentleman’s daughter—Miss Hammond?”

  “Yes, but what does—”

  “She spent some time in Brighton, I believe, shortly before her family learned of her condition.”

  Alex gave a weary sigh. “Oliver, take pity on my tired wits. What does any of this have to do with Major Wyatt?”

  “Wyatt’s friend Lieutenant Hoke hailed from Brighton.”

  It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “You mean—”

  “I can’t be sure yet. But isn’t it an interesting coincidence?”

  * * *

  Roxana awoke the next morning to gloomy darkness and the sound of rain. Outside her window, the sky was the color of lead, and water streamed in rivulets down the windowpanes. When she climbed out of bed too quickly, a wave of nausea hit her. She stumbled to the washbasin, only to be racked with dry heaves.

  She sank down dizzily on her bed. The way her life had been going, rushing to the washbasin was probably the most excitement she would have all day.

  Her abigail came bustling in, radiating indecent good cheer. “Good morning, my lady. What a storm we’re having! What would you like to wear today? The blue mull, perhaps?”

  Roxana stood and drifted to the window. “The blue mull will be fine.” What did it matter? It was clear she would not be going anywhere today, not to the dower house or to Riddlefield or even for a stroll outside. The rain was coming down in sheets, and gusts of wind rippled the grass and set the trees to swaying.

  Mary opened the wardrobe. “The blue it is, then. His lordship likes you in blue.”

  The confidence with which she said it made Roxana smile—but it was a skeptical sort of smile, one that had more to do with Mary’s blind faith in her appeal than with any real hope her abigail was right. Alex was hardly likely to notice what she was wearing. He’d not only missed dinner the night before but also failed to come to her room. She’d stayed up late waiting for him, intending to tell him about the baby, but heaven only knew when he’d come upstairs. It was the first night they hadn’t slept together since the wedding. Clearly, the honeymoon was over—if they could be said to have had a honeymoon at all.

  After breakfast Roxana wandered to the drawing room to watch the storm from the tall windows there. Leaning against the window frame, she stared out at the driving rain. Would Alex stop coming to her room altogether once she told him about the baby? She had the depressing suspicion he would.

  She sighed and rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window pane.

  A soft stir behind her made her turn. Alex’s setter, Leander, came padding into the room. Normally he kept to the study with his master, but it was clear he had recently been out in the rain, for his coat was still damp in places. He trotted over to greet her, wagging his tail and pushing his cold nose into her hand.

  “Why, it’s Dinah’s papa.” She stroked his head, giving him a sorrowful smile. “What a handsome fellow you are.”

  Leander rolled over onto his back, presenting his belly for her to rub. She got down on one knee. “Good dog.”

  “He likes to be tickled under the chin.”

  She whipped her head around. Alex stood in the doorway, watching her. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I was just passing by.”

  Her heart did an eager little flip-flop. “You’re not disturbing me. I’m only surprised to see you wandering about the house in the middle of the day, that’s all.”

  Dressed in a conservative blue coat, he looked strikingly handsome. It was strange—not so long ago, she had found his neat, buttoned-up appearance too unassuming to be attractive. Now she could hardly take her eyes off him. When had that happened?

  Alex smiled and took another step into the room. “I was supposed to meet with a gentleman about endowing a new subscription library, but the weather appears to have prevented his coming.”

  He had such a nice smile. Alex was not only handsome, but he had the kind of good looks that were only going to grow more distinguished as the years went by.

  “I had to cancel my usual calls for the same reason.” Roxana looked past him. “Where’s Mr. Dean?”

  “I believe Oliver is going over the account books—one of those meticulous and time-consuming tasks that make me thankful I have a secretary.” Alex came to join her at the window. Squatting down on his haunches, he patted Leander. “I missed you at breakfast this morning.”

  “I’m afraid I overslept, thanks to a morning wholly devoid of sunshine.”

  “I nearly did the same thing, after having worked late last night.”

  “At least you would have had a good excuse.” She scratched Leander under the chin. “I haven’t seen it rain this hard in ages.” Glancing up at Alex, she caught him gazing at her with a strange glint in his eyes.

  He looked away quickly. “We could always build an ark, I suppose.”

  “That could pose a problem. I haven’t any notion where to find gopher wood.”

  “Neither do I, I confess. And we’d need cubits and cubits of it.” He examined her quietly for a moment. “You’re looking especially pretty today.”

  “Thank you.” Now that was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps Mary had been right after all, and Alex did like her in blue.

  The dog suddenly sneezed, so loudly and unexpectedly they both laughed. “He must have been out in the rain before,” Roxana said. “I hope he didn’t catch cold.”

  “There’s nothing like the smell of wet dog. At least Leander has the sense to come in out of the rain. Kit once had a dog who was so wretchedly thick-headed he would stay outside all day shivering in the wet, his head hanging and his tail between his legs, the picture of misery.”

  “That does sound rather dull-witted.”

  “This same dog also had the habit of concealing himself, when he knew he’d done something wrong, by hiding his head behind the sofa. We could plainly see the rest of him, you understand, but as long as his head was out of view, he believed he was completely invisible.”

  Roxana laughed again and gave Leander a pat. “When he was a boy, my father had a dog who used to steal shoes and bury them in the garden. Once a neighbor came charging up to the front door, complaining Papa’s dog had run off with one of his new boots. ‘Not my dog!’ Papa protested indignantly. Unfortunately, the dog picked that moment to amble by with the boot in his mouth.”

  She glanced playfully at Alex, only to surprise him in another of those oddly intent stares. This time, his eyes fixed on hers for several seconds before he smiled slightly and looked away. A warm, tingling sensation spread through her.

  The strange feeling left Roxana momentarily flustered. “So, I—I suppose we’ll be heading to London soon for the opening of Parliament?”

  “Yes, in three weeks, unless you’ve some objection.”

  She sighed. “No, I’ve no objection…”

  He tilted his head to study her. “No? That wasn’t exactly the most enthusiastic agreement I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s odd—I always thought it would be so exciting to live in Town.” Roxana shrugged. “I suppose, now that it’s really going to happen, I’m a bit intimidated by the prospect of rubbing elbows with so much town bronze. After all, I’ve spent my whole life in the country.”

  “And what’s wrong with the country? I grew up in the country myself.”

  “Yes, but you have an imposing house in London, and you’re the Earl of Ayersley.”

  “You have an imposing house in London now, too, and you’re the Countess of Ayersley.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” she said, much struck. “I’ve never looked at it that way before. Still, I’m sure there are any number of elegant, sophisticated girls in London, and I realize I’m nothing out of the common.”

  Alex gave her an incredulous stare. “Nothing out of the common? Roxana, you’re beautiful.”

  She laughed. “Thank you, but I know better. However gallant you gentlemen
may be, Mama has always told me, ‘Looks aren’t important, pretty is as pretty does.’ And Tom says I look like a dust mop.”

  “I can only assume your mother didn’t wish you to end up vain. And as for Tom—well, you’ve put far too much stock in the teasing of an older brother.”

  “You really think I’m pretty?”

  But instead of answering at once, Alex studied her face, his eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “I’ve been accused, from time to time, of taking myself too seriously. If that’s my besetting sin, then yours lies in not taking yourself seriously enough. You have a great many gifts, Roxana—a warm heart, a ready understanding and a loyal and generous nature. But perhaps your most disarming quality is that you seem utterly unaware how very lovely you are.” He shook his head. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. “Why, Alex, that may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  He smiled a faint, self-deprecating smile, though his eyes still lingered on her face. “In that case, I wish I’d said it sooner.”

  She laughed, and as they went on fussing over Leander, he told her droll stories about a few of the highly inelegant people he knew in London. Roxana was afraid he would remember some important duty that required his immediate attention and disappear back into his study. Or perhaps Mr. Dean would seek him out, or one of the servants would interrupt them—surely something would happen to pry him away. But, no, he seemed in no hurry to go, and she was certainly in no hurry to let him. Once, as they petted Leander together, Alex’s hand accidentally touched hers, and the simple contact sent such a thrill through her, she had to struggle to keep a betraying quiver from her voice.

  Finally he asked, “So what do you usually do at this time of day?”

  “Well, I visit your tenants. I make calls sometimes, usually to see Mama and Harry, or Fanny, or your mother. Other times they come here. I shop sometimes. I read. If all else fails, I take a nap.”