Ruined by Rumor

by Alyssa Everett

  Before Roxana could find an escape—and really, what could she do with George heading purposefully in her direction, flee headlong across the room?—he sat down beside her on the sofa, giving her his old flashing smile. She should have been flattered. The earlier soaking had left his wavy blond hair in romantic disarray, and even if he hadn’t looked so dashing, what girl wouldn’t want to be singled out by the only man in the room? Even so, as George settled himself on her left Roxana couldn’t help checking the door, hoping Alex was close behind.

  George inclined toward her, propping one arm along the back of the sofa. “How are you?” he asked in an avid whisper. “I heard you’d been ill.”

  She wished her miscarriage weren’t general knowledge. “I’m feeling better now.”

  “You certainly look it. What a sight for sore eyes you are, and how desperate I’ve been to see you! It was worth the indignity of being thrown from the saddle.”

  She glanced at his arm where he’d rested it carelessly on the back of the sofa, almost encircling her shoulders. “Your injury seems much better.”

  “What? Oh, yes. I expect it’s only bruised.”

  She was still puzzled by his sudden appearance. “George, what were you doing on the road outside Broadslieve?”

  “Nothing at all, of course—” he said quickly, and then, as he took in her skeptical gaze, a guarded look came over his face. “Why, what did you think I was doing?”

  “I don’t know. Surely you didn’t come out here just for my birthday, did you?”

  How conceited the question must sound, but George simply blinked at her, his handsome face gone slack, before breaking into a grin. “Ah, your birthday! So you’re on to my little game. Guilty as charged. I knew there was a chance I might not get in to see you, but how could I let such an occasion pass without at least making the effort?”

  “Well, that was…most thoughtful of you.” Roxana wasn’t sure how she felt about this mark of favor, or even if she ought to believe him. Would a man really ride out in the pouring rain on such an errand? And why did she have the feeling his interest in her faded as soon as she was out of sight?

  A stir at the doorway announced the arrival of the other gentlemen. They filed in, Alex in the lead. Suddenly self-conscious about how close to her George was sitting, Roxana straightened.

  George glanced at the newcomers and broke into a chuckle. “I don’t think that husband of yours is very happy about my attendance. He’s glaring daggers at us.”

  Roxana looked to Alex again, only to find he’d joined her mother and Mrs. Downing and was standing with his back to them.

  “He was,” George said, sounding strangely happy about it. “He had a downright murderous gleam in his eye.”

  Even if Alex had been facing them, Roxana couldn’t imagine him looking murderous. So George was only teasing, then. The jest left her oddly deflated. The whole joke hinged on Alex’s lack of a possessive interest in her, and she didn’t want anyone, George least of all, making sport of her marriage.

  Rather than show it had bothered her, however, she played it off in the same light fashion. “Well, naturally. Now that you’ve come to rescue me from his nefarious clutches, I’m sure a brute like Ayersley will demand pistols at dawn.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Alex, a smile pasted on her lips—and this time he was looking at them, though he quickly turned away.

  George grinned. “I’ve faced worse than dueling pistols. As soon as you’re ready for me to carry you off, just say the word.”

  Even George’s attempts at flirtation weren’t as diverting as they’d once been. “I appreciate the offer, though I don’t expect to be taking you up on it any time soon. Ayersley and I are leaving for London in three days.”

  “Are you? I’m headed there myself the day after tomorrow. I’ve been back and forth to London several times these last few months, attending to personal business.” George leaned in confidentially, his smile gone. “I wish you luck.”

  At his tone, a prickle of unease ran through her. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing.” He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s probably just my imagination running away with me. I doubt that girl is any threat to you.”

  “What girl?”

  “My point exactly! Ayersley has probably forgotten all about her—the beauty in Town he was so madly in love with, I mean. You told me about her at our engagement ball, remember? But I suppose he wrote her when you married and explained it was over between them.”

  “No, he—I doubt there was any reason for him to write. It can’t have gone very far between them, or he would never have offered for me.”

  “No, no, of course not…”

  “He told Mama he didn’t think matters would work out between them.” Why did she feel the need to explain Alex’s loyalties?

  “There, you see? I’ve been fretting over nothing. Just because he was hoping to marry the girl doesn’t mean he still has feelings for her.” George shrugged one shoulder in a negligent gesture. “After all, he doesn’t seem at all eager to go back to London, does he?”

  The odd thing was, Alex did seem eager. But that was only because Parliament would open soon, and politics meant so much to him. Wasn’t it?

  “I hope I haven’t said the wrong thing.” George dropped his voice to a half whisper. “You know me—I always speak my mind, whether it’s wise or not. I’m sure there’s little reason for concern. Heaven knows a fellow like Ayersley can’t be much in the petticoat line.” He ran his eyes over her speculatively. “But, just in case, remember that if things should go awry, you can always count on me. Shall I call on you while I’m in Town—just one country neighbor looking up another?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Come now, no one there would think anything of it. Most married women have cicisbeos to squire them about. It’s considered perfectly unexceptionable…”

  He kept talking, but Roxana wasn’t really attending. She had never stopped to consider that, just as she crossed paths with George from time to time, Alex’s old love might be waiting for him in London, sure to encounter him in the same circles where they’d first met. If he still had feelings for her…well, Alex would never willingly hurt her, but the mere thought of his wishing he could be with some other girl made her stomach hurt.

  “Are you all right?” George asked. “You’ve gone pale.”

  “I’m fine.” She rose to her feet. “Would you excuse me? Here’s Jennings bringing in the tea things.”

  The rest of the evening slipped by at a crawl. Roxana did and said everything that was called for—pouring tea, prevailing on Captain Sherbourne and Mrs. Downing to sing, even steering Fanny into a conversation with Mr. Dean. But she did it all only half-aware, her thoughts not quite focused. She had to keep telling herself she was the hostess and this was her birthday and she needed to smile and make everyone feel welcome—but another voice kept saying, yes, perhaps that’s why Alex spent so much time in London, and why he seemed so happy and said those nice things the day she’d asked when they were going to Town, and why the closeness between them had vanished with the miscarriage. He was still in love with that girl in London.

  If she hadn’t been grappling with the loss of the baby, she might not have been so quick to give in to her own misgivings. Or perhaps if Alex had not been increasingly distant as the night wore on, so quiet and withdrawn, her anxiety might not have got the better of her. But the loss had shaken her, and he was increasingly distant, and every time she glanced at him, worry nagged at her a little more.

  Outside, the rain stopped, just as Mr. Sherbourne had predicted it would. The guests ordered their carriages, the gathering began to break up, and each party left in turn. George pressed her hand and whispered “happy birthday” with a melting look as he followed the Downings into their landau, but the polite smile she gave him in return was an absent one. Despite her hopes, her birthday party had not cheered her at all.

  Alex st
ood beside her on the front steps, seeing the last carriage off. As it made its way up the long drive to the gatehouse, the awareness it was the last time she would set eyes on most of their friends and family until they returned from London only dragged her spirits lower.

  “You should go up to bed,” Alex said. “You look exhausted.”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I feel—”

  “Please, Roxana. Indulge me in this one thing.”

  She wasn’t sleepy, but she’d grown so dispirited now that the party was over, she nodded and headed up to her room. Once there, however, rather than ringing for her abigail she sat on the edge of her bed, hugging one of her pillows. Such a mix of emotions swirled inside her—sorrow for the baby she’d lost, confusion over George’s unexpected appearance at her party, but most of all a nagging uncertainty about her place in Alex’s life—she couldn’t make herself start moving.

  A knock on the connecting door startled her out of her reflections. She tossed the pillow back into place. “Come,” she called in the firmest voice she could muster.

  Alex entered, still in his evening clothes. “I just wanted to wish you good night.” He took in her appearance, faint frown lines appearing between his brows. “I thought you would have changed for bed by now.”

  “No, I was just sitting here, thinking.”

  He sat down beside her on the bed. “Thinking about what?”

  She would sound silly, telling him how blue she felt and cropping out in jealous questions when he’d done nothing to deserve them. She sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Alex, would you kiss me?”

  A look of uncertainty crossed his face, but he leaned in slowly until his lips met hers. It was a tender kiss, as sweet and gentle as any woman could have wished—but there wasn’t a jot of passion in it.

  Roxana pulled back to search his face, but couldn’t read the expression there. “Spend the night with me, please?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think I should. It hasn’t been that long since the miscarriage.”

  “I’m sure I’ve recovered by now, and Dr. Massey said we could try again.”

  “We shouldn’t rush things—and besides, you look completely done in.”

  “But my head is still so full of the party, I couldn’t possibly fall asleep.”

  He frowned. “Not tonight.”

  She’d never been rejected outright before. She’d been taught most of her life that men took whatever liberties ladies permitted them, and she’d always had a difficult time keeping George at arm’s length. It was a lowering experience, discovering she wasn’t wanted.

  But she plucked up her courage and asked, “Then won’t you at least sleep with me? Just sleep, I mean? I’d rather not spend the night alone on my birthday.”

  He studied her, a worried look in the back of his eyes. “Very well,” he said at last. “Give me a few minutes to change while you do the same.”

  A quarter of an hour later, he returned in his nightclothes to snuff out the candle and slip into bed beside her. Though the fire still glowed in the grate, the November cold lingered in the room. Roxana snuggled closer, as eager for the feel of his arms around her as she was for his body heat, but he lay on his back, so tense and unyielding it was like cuddling up to a stone monument.

  Roxana sighed. Propping herself up on one elbow, she looked down at his face in the semi-darkness. “Is something wrong?”

  “I thought we were just going to sleep.”

  “But I’m not tired.” She leaned in to kiss him.

  She made it a long, patient kiss, her body in its thin nightgown pressed against his, and before long he began to relax and his arms came up around her. She dared to hope he might change his mind. As his tongue fenced tentatively with hers, she slid her hand over his chest, down toward his groin.

  But he broke off the kiss, and an iron hand clamped around her wrist. “Roxana,” he said on a warning note, “don’t.”

  She stared, dismayed and hurt by his tone. It had been ten days since they’d last spent the night together. The bleeding had stopped days ago, and she’d told him she’d recovered. Was she the only one who missed the closeness?

  Then George’s questions about the girl Alex had wanted to marry came flooding back. Was this what life would be like in London—Alex’s attention waning as she stood by, helpless to stop it? Could a marriage of convenience to a wife who’d already disappointed him possibly compete with the love he’d given up?

  She should never have asked it, but Roxana couldn’t help herself. Such a flood of insecurity washed over her, the words simply forced themselves out. “Do you ever wish, when we’re together,” she said in quavering voice, “that you were with someone else?”

  He had already been tense and she could tell he wasn’t happy with her, but at this he went absolutely rigid. Rigid, and deathly quiet. He didn’t move or speak. He didn’t even breathe.

  Then he abruptly pulled away, leaving her cold and bewildered. He sat up on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Roughly, he reached for his dressing gown and drew it on.

  Insecurity overwhelmed her. “Well, do you?”

  “I knew this felt wrong.” His words were clipped. “I’ll be in my own room. Go to sleep.”

  “I can’t.” She sat up. His reaction frightened her. “I’m sorry I said anything, but I couldn’t help it.”

  Still he said nothing. He strode stiff-legged to the connecting door between their rooms. Her heart in her throat, she slipped out of bed and followed him.

  Moonlight streaked the room. She drew closer. He was standing with his hand on the doorknob, his shoulders squared. Hesitantly, she reached out.

  “Go to bed,” he said shortly, without looking at her. “Go to sleep.”

  He sounded angry. But Alex was never angry, rarely even impatient. What had she done, asking such a question? She hadn’t meant to offend him, or suggest she couldn’t trust him. Her father had possessed a quick temper and her brother Tom could go off into angry rants, but Alex’s quiet contempt was something new to her. She could only whisper fearfully, “What’s wrong?”

  He turned his face to her and his eyes glittered in the moonlight. “What’s wrong? I thought you would forget him, that’s what. I thought I could make you forget.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. You’ll never stop loving him.”

  Loving him? Alex thought she’d been talking about George? “No. You don’t understand—”

  “I understand all too well,” he said in a flat voice. “But I asked you to marry me and you accepted and it’s too late now for either of us.”

  “I know we’re married. I know that very well!”

  “Have you been pining for him all this time? What an excellent joke on me. I actually thought we were growing closer.” He passed a hand in front of his eyes. “God! What an idiot I’ve been!”

  “No! No, this has nothing to do with George—”

  “I told you to go back to bed. This is not something I can discuss rationally just now.”

  Roxana shook her head. It was the first outright command he had ever given her, but she couldn’t bring herself to obey. “No, you have it all wrong. Please—”

  “You could at least have allowed me my illusions,” he said sharply. “Couldn’t you do that much? I’ve made very few demands on you. You’re free to do exactly as you like. The only thing I’ve ever asked is that you stay faithful to me.” He paced away.

  “I am!” She trailed after him. Oh, she had never seen him this way. It frightened her. “I have been. Please, Alex, I would never—”

  He rounded on her with a face gone hard and cold. “You can give up the pretense. I know you’ve been seeing him behind my back.”

  She drew back in surprise. “What? No!”

  “For God’s sake, why bother lying now?”

  “But I’m telling the truth! I never set eyes on George except from a distance in church. I had no idea he would come here tonight!”

>   “Oh, really?” Alex glared at her. “Do you remember that day in September when you came downstairs bubbling with cheer, asking all those questions about whether I had time to go riding with you or not? I had the uncomfortable feeling you were only making sure I’d be out of the way. And sure enough, I learned soon after that you’d been seen with George Wyatt in the village—not that you ever said a word about it to me.”

  Roxana gulped, wondering who this severe and angry stranger could be. She didn’t know how to talk to him, this Alex she had never seen before. And what could she say, really? He was right. She had met George in the village that day. She had kept it from him.

  When she didn’t reply, his eyes narrowed. “So what was all that sighing about tonight? Now that you’ve had another chance to compare us, am I disappointing you in some new way?”

  “You’ve never—”

  “Is there perhaps some new fault you’d like to add to your assessment of me? I already know you think me dull. Am I a bad lover now, too, Roxana? Am I a trial and an embarrassment to you? Have you found some new reason to laugh at me? Well, go ahead. Laugh.”

  “Laugh at you…” She was too shocked to form a more coherent protest.

  “No doubt everyone else is doing it. I deserve it, a credulous tongue-tied fool, thinking myself good enough to marry the famous beauty. He was urging you to meet with him again tonight, wasn’t he? If only this were a bad stage farce. Clearly I was tailor-made to play the cuckolded husband.”

  Her heart hammered in her ears. “Alex, don’t. It isn’t the way you think.”

  “Do you know what I did when I heard you’d been meeting him? I forgave you! I told myself it didn’t matter, as long as you cared about me too.” He sat down hard on the bed. His shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands. “It makes me want to be sick.”

  Her jaw hung open as she regarded him in horror. “No.” She reached out to set a hand on his shoulder. “You have it all wrong.”

  He shrugged her hand off violently. “I don’t want your pity.”

  She dropped to her knees before him. “It isn’t pity. Oh, it isn’t! I wasn’t thinking of George tonight, I was wondering about you! I was afraid you wanted to be with someone else. You always—”