Ruined by Rumor

by Alyssa Everett

  “For heaven’s sake, would you just stop?” He dashed away tears with the back of his sleeve. “I’m already ridiculous enough.”

  “But it’s true! I was only worried about you. I don’t care about George.” How easy it was to dismiss George Wyatt. Wasn’t he the man she’d waited five years to marry, the romantic ideal she’d always mooned over? Yet at that moment, the only thing that mattered was the ravaged look on Alex’s face.

  Alex stood. “Very convincingly said. Unfortunately I know how you really feel about him.” He stepped around her, pacing over to stare out the window. “There was nothing ambiguous about the way you cried on my shoulder the night he broke it off, or all that sighing you’ve been doing since he left tonight.”

  “But I wasn’t thinking of him tonight!” She climbed to her feet, her chest tight with distress. “And that night he broke off our engagement, I realize now I must have been more shocked and ashamed than truly heartbroken. I’d already begun to have doubts about marrying him.”

  Alex turned and gave her a cold, hard look. “How convenient for you that after waiting five long years, you fell out of love with him just as he decided to throw you over.” His tone was acid, and he wore a sneering expression completely unfamiliar to her.

  The world was crashing to pieces around her. “Alex, please don’t look at me that way. I’m not sure I ever wanted George in quite the way you think. From the very beginning, I never liked it when he kissed me.”

  He looked as if he wanted to hit her. “Don’t lie to me. You couldn’t take your eyes off him when he walked in tonight. And I know what I saw, that day I happened on the two of you kissing in the church.” His angry stare bored through her. “So what about the rest of it? On our wedding night, all those nerves and that maidenly gasp of pain—was that just an act you put on? Was it even my child you miscarried last week?”

  Was it even… All the blood drained from her head. Surely he didn’t really think she’d betrayed him with George? Surely he didn’t think she’d lost George’s baby? She had to set a hand on the bedpost to keep her knees from buckling. Even then, she wanted to vomit. This wasn’t the Alex she knew, saying such cruel things.

  But she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. “I was wrong not to tell you I’d talked to George in the village that day. I admit that. But I haven’t been unfaithful to you. What you said a few minutes ago, about how I must think you dull or worse, and how in marrying me you’re like the foolish husband in some farce—Alex, none of that is true. You’re a good man. I admire you.”

  “Yes, I’m good and you admire me.” He spat out the words as if they were insults, his face coldly furious. “When was the last time a woman sighed over a man because he was good? I’m used to being second best, Roxana. I was second to Kit in everything until the day he died. But I will not be second to George Wyatt, not with my own wife and not under my own roof. We’re married now, and there’s not much we can do about that, but there’s no law requiring us to inflict ourselves on each other. You’ll stay here while I go back to London. You can live at Broadslieve or go home to your mother at Riddlefield or even run to George Wyatt’s bed for all I care, though God help you if you try to foist his bastard off as mine. But let’s call a halt to this now, before we waste any more time on this stupid, ill-conceived sham of a marriage.”

  Roxana took a step back, flinching as if he’d slapped her. She knew he’d only married her to save her from disgrace, and she’d worried he couldn’t be happy with the way things had turned out, but she’d never thought to hear him put it so bluntly or so harshly. “But we haven’t even been married three months,” she said in witless distress.

  “I should never have married you in the first place.” He stormed to the connecting door and yanked it open. “I can’t even look at you anymore.”

  He strode into his room, slamming the door behind him so hard that a miniature on her bedside table fell over, and for the space of two or three seconds, she was too startled even to draw breath.

  * * *

  Tight-lipped, Alex rapped on the door to his secretary’s rooms. When Oliver didn’t answer within the space of ten seconds, he pounded.

  “Yes, yes, I’m coming. Do you have any idea how early it—” The door opened to reveal a scowling Oliver belting a dressing gown over his nightshirt. When he saw Alex, his scowl changed to a look of blank surprise. “Oh. Excuse me, Lord Ayersley. I didn’t know… Is there some emergency?”

  “I’m leaving for London.”

  Oliver blinked at him. “You mean—now?”

  “Yes, now. Do you think I’d be standing here at your door with my hat under my arm if I meant later?”

  At his angry tone, Oliver’s brows rose nearly to his hairline. “No, sir, I—I simply thought you weren’t setting out for two more days.”

  “Well, I’m leaving now.” Alex thrust the letter he’d written at him. “Be good enough to give this to Lady Ayersley when you see her.” He was so furious, it was all he could do to choke out her title.

  Oliver took the letter, wearing a look of confusion. “Isn’t Lady Ayersley going with you?”

  Oliver had been at dinner the night before. He had seen her with Wyatt. He must know as well as Alex did how she’d been playing him for a fool. “I would hardly be leaving a letter for her if she were.”

  “But—”

  Having said all he came to say, Alex turned on his heel and stalked out to the stables.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For it so falls out

  That what we have we prize not to the worth

  Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost,

  Why, then we rack the value; then we find

  The virtue that possession would not show us

  Whiles it was ours.

  —William Shakespeare

  Roxana let herself out of her bedroom the next morning with a feeling of trepidation. After the shock of their quarrel had faded enough for her to pull her wits together, she’d gone to the door to Alex’s room and knocked. He hadn’t answered, though she’d heard his footsteps in his room. She’d tried the doorknob, but he’d locked the door.

  “Alex, please let me in so I can talk to you,” she’d called through the door, but if he’d heard her, he’d given no sign of it.

  Finally she’d sighed and turned away. He needed time for his temper to cool. They could discuss matters in the morning.

  But before she reached the breakfast room, she discovered Mr. Dean waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, holding a sealed letter in his hand.

  “Good morning, Lady Ayersley.” He was as correct and businesslike as ever, but he looked decidedly ill at ease. “His lordship directed me to give you this message.”

  “Thank you.” She hoped he didn’t notice the way her hand trembled as she accepted it.

  Mr. Dean bowed and strode away. Standing on the bottom stair, Roxana broke open the seal and unfolded the page.

  Madam—

  I am leaving straightaway for London, and should be gone by the time you receive this. You may make whatever excuse you like for my early departure. When you have decided where you wish to live, do me the kindness of writing to advise me of your whereabouts.

  Ayersley

  Her hand was shaking outright by the time she reached the signature. Heedless of her surroundings, she sank down on the cold marble stairs and buried her face in her hands. She’d never felt such a crushing ache in her chest before—not when George had jilted her, not even the day her father had died.

  Oh, God. He hated her. Alex, who never hated anyone, the picture of patience and civility, now couldn’t even write to her without loathing dripping from every word. He’d left without even telling her goodbye, just so he wouldn’t have to spend another second in her presence.

  Crumpled at the foot of the stairs, Roxana began to sob. She didn’t care if the servants found her crying, or if Mr. Dean did. She didn’t care about anything but Alex. Why had she never realized b
efore how important he was to her? She loved him, and now he wanted nothing to do with her. And the worst part was, he must have cared for her once, at least a little, or he would never have felt so betrayed.

  Yet somehow she had ruined it all, dreaming her schoolgirl dreams of George, keeping her meeting with him secret. For the space of several minutes, she sobbed brokenly.

  She had no notion how long she might have gone on crying if Fanny hadn’t arrived at her front door. Whether the servants discreetly pointed her in Roxana’s direction or she simply heard her weeping and took it upon herself to investigate, the next thing Roxana knew Fanny was kneeling beside her. “Roxana! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  They were close friends, but Roxana could hardly tell Fanny her husband despised her and had deserted her that very morning. With an effort, she pulled herself together enough to answer. “It’s nothing.” She wiped tears from her cheeks and refused to meet Fanny’s eyes. “It’s just—Ayersley left for London this morning, and I miss him.”

  “But I thought you were both staying until the end of the week. And why has he gone without you?” When Roxana merely looked up, bleak and at a loss for words, Fanny supplied her own answer. “Oh, dear! He decided you weren’t strong enough to travel yet, after your recent condition. No wonder you’re upset.”

  It was as good an explanation as any, so Roxana simply nodded and allowed herself a sniffle. “It’s the first time we’ve been apart since the wedding.”

  Fanny took a seat beside her on the bottom stair. “But surely a short wait is for the best. You need to get the bloom back in your cheeks. Ayersley was quite right not to let you take any chances with your health, and you can join him as soon as you’re feeling more the thing.”

  “I suppose.”

  Fanny was only trying to cheer her, but Roxana couldn’t stop thinking how Alex was putting more distance between them with every minute that passed. He didn’t want her, and even if by some miracle she might persuade him to change his mind, she could hardly travel to London on her own.

  “I think you simply need to have a good cry.” Fanny removed her bonnet. “And I don’t blame you one bit. Any fool can see how mad the two of you are for each other.”

  Roxana broke back down into tears.

  “There, there…” Fanny patted her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you miss him all over again. I only meant I wish a man would look at me in the same way Ayersley looks at you.”

  You’re so wrong. Roxana sobbed harder. Alex can’t stand the sight of me. To excuse her weeping, she said brokenly, “I just never thought he would really leave without me.”

  Fanny gave her a sympathetic half smile. “If he didn’t tell you until this morning, I’m sure it was only because he didn’t want to spoil your birthday party.”

  Roxana almost laughed through her tears, but it would have been a bitter, unpleasant laugh. After last night, everything was spoiled—her birthday, her marriage, her entire life.

  Unable to console her, Fanny attempted to distract her instead. “And you did enjoy your birthday party, didn’t you? I must admit, George Wyatt nearly had me giggling last night with his attempts to flirt with you. Was there ever a more determined charmer? I kept thinking, can’t he see she doesn’t care a rap for him now? She’s in love with her husband! But I suppose the major was only trying to ruffle Ayersley’s feathers.”

  At this, Roxana glanced up. “Why should George want to ruffle Ayersley’s feathers?”

  “Well, you know…” Fanny waved a hand in a vague gesture. “There’s all that bad blood between them. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven Ayersley for having thrashed him so badly.”

  Dashing away tears, Roxana blinked at her. “What?” she said stupidly, even more confused. “Ayersley thrashed George?”

  “Back when they were sixteen or so, I mean.” At her puzzled look, Fanny’s forehead wrinkled. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it.”

  Roxana shook her head.

  “You truly didn’t?” Fanny’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “Didn’t your brother ever mention the fight? I remember Edward talked of little else for days.”

  “Tom never said a word about it to me. What happened?”

  “Oh, it was only a youthful scrap. George was teasing one of the village girls, and Ayersley stepped in. They had words, and it turned into a full-blown fistfight. To hear Edward tell it, Ayersley gave George quite a pounding.”

  “Ayersley?” Roxana couldn’t believe it.

  “Well, they were both mere youths at the time. Ayersley’s father made him apologize, if only to keep the peace. I daresay poor Ayersley must be even more embarrassed by the memory than George is. After all, he grew into such a sensible, level-headed gentleman.” She laughed. “Really, can you imagine him brawling that way now?”

  “No.” Roxana could scarcely imagine his having done it as a boy. Was that why George had always been so critical of Alex? Was he carrying a grudge because Alex had shown him up years before?

  The first time George had ever shown interest in her—the beginning of her years of devotion to him—he had swooped in after she’d smiled at Alex, and Alex had not smiled back. George had even remarked on it. When our noble friend over there is done charming you with his eloquence, perhaps you might spare me a dance. Was that all she’d been to him—a pawn in a contest with an old rival? Had George imagined she might have an interest in Alex, and stepped in to keep her from joining the enemy camp?

  Roxana wiped tears away. She’d been so blind, thoughtlessly sharing in George’s scorn, laughing at Alex for being dull and joyless when she should have recognized the malice behind such remarks. How could she have given George’s opinions so much credence? If she’d only opened her eyes, she might have recognized Alex’s merits sooner.

  And now it was too late to make amends. You can run to George Wyatt’s bed for all I care, Alex had said. She didn’t want George, and for all she knew, his show of interest in her since her marriage had been nothing but a bid to raise Alex’s hackles. Yet no matter how she might wish to convince Alex her heart belonged to him, by the time he sent for her—if he should ever send for her at all—it would be too little, too late.

  “Well,” Fanny said with determined brightness, rising to her feet and reaching for her bonnet, “I don’t suppose there’s any point in my staying to help you pack today, then, is there? How long does Ayersley wish you to convalesce before you join him in London?”

  “He didn’t say.” Roxana had to fight to keep her voice from cracking. “But stay if you like, Fanny. I could use the company, and I know you were hoping to see Mr. Dean—”

  Mr. Dean.

  Mr. Dean was still at Broadslieve, tying up Alex’s unfinished business, and would no doubt be leaving for London in a few days as planned. If Roxana took her abigail with her to play propriety, or prevailed on her mother and Harry—or, better yet, if she could persuade Fanny to come along—she could travel to London with him. Surely Alex would have to agree to talk to her if she appeared on his doorstep with Fanny and Mr. Dean at her back. And if he would just hear her out—if she could just explain she didn’t want George, she really loved him—perhaps it might not be too late after all.

  Roxana had no idea if it would work, but trying was better than surrendering without a fight.

  She resolutely shut out the memory of Alex’s cold and angry face the night before. “I have a proposition for you, Fanny…”

  * * *

  For the first fifty miles, Alex was in a black rage. There was nothing but anger and jealousy and bitterness. He had opted to ride rather than travel by carriage, since he could travel farther and faster on horseback—and because he’d been too furious to wait for the stables to ready the coach, ordering instead that Hobbes meet him in London with his luggage. With every beat of Pyrrhus’s hooves, an acrimonious refrain pounded in his head. She never cared for me and she never will.

  For the next fifty miles, the jealousy and bitterness remained,
but remorse began to seep past the boundaries of his anger. Alex resisted it. If he didn’t hold fast to a sense of injustice, if he didn’t maintain an unshakable outrage, Roxana would make the rest of his life a byword and a misery. Besides, why should he feel remorse? He’d given her chance after chance, overlooking her meetings with Wyatt. Her birthday had simply been the last straw.

  Her birthday. He’d forgotten it was her birthday…

  He shook his head. The timing didn’t matter. It was the one condition—the one—he’d put on their marriage when he proposed, that she be faithful to him. If she couldn’t do that much they had no business staying together. Did she imagine he was just going to look the other way for the rest of their lives?

  But, little by little, She never cared for me and she never will gave way to a different refrain—Roxana’s ragged voice on the Sunday before their wedding, saying, I’m afraid once we’re married, we’ll both realize we’ve made a terrible mistake. He could almost see her before him, hugging herself with nerves, her face bleak.

  And what had he said? We’ll find some way to make this work.

  He set his jaw and kicked Pyrrhus into a canter. God, he’d been a fool. He should have listened to her then, before it was too late.

  * * *

  “I hope Ayersley won’t be vexed with us for agreeing to this,” Fanny said for perhaps the hundredth time, picking at the fringe of her reticule. “If he considered you too unwell to travel on Tuesday, I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased you set out just four days later.”

  Roxana answered as lightly as she could. “I’m perfectly fine, and I hope he’ll be as happy to see me as I shall be to see him.”

  Please let him be happy to see me. She peered out the carriage window at the outskirts of London. The dwindling November daylight had held their progress to thirty-five miles a day, and since Fanny never traveled on Sunday, they’d been on the road for five long, cramped days. With each hour that passed, Roxana had grown more anxious about seeing Alex. At the inn that morning, she had barely choked down her breakfast, sick with worry about what kind of reception she would receive.