“My goodness, that sounds awful. May I come in, Dr. Trevellian? Is she all right? How do you feel, my dear? I feel simply terrible at being angry with you for being late.” The Dowager sat on the bed beside Alison and patted her hand. “Where did you go, dear? Anthony said you had already left when he returned home. He was quite disturbed to discover your cloak in the library.”
“I…don’t remember,” Alison said. “I must have been confused and wandered a bit.”
“Well, we’re all glad you’re home safely. Dear Zara sends her regards. And Anthony really was distraught. He blamed himself for not arriving before you left.”
“I’m sure I’m grateful for his concern,” Alison said, feeling the ice spread over her face. “Milady, would you mind terribly if I slept? I feel so weak still.” It was true, but she didn’t think she dared sleep, if she were going to find those dreams there.
“Yes, sleeping is a good idea,” Dr. Trevellian said. “Your body has essentially experienced most of the illness at an accelerated rate. It’s a draining experience. The longer you rest, the sooner you’ll be back to normal. And it might be a good idea not to have any visitors for a while, other than perhaps Rowenna.” It took Alison a moment to remember that was the Dowager’s given name. She really wasn’t well yet.
“Oh, of course, my dear. Are you hungry? No? Have Belle let the servants know when you’re ready to eat. Sleep well.” The Dowager patted her hand again and withdrew.
Dr. Trevellian packed his things into his bag and made to follow the Dowager, then stopped with his hand on the door. “May I tell you something you may consider impertinent?”
“I imagine you’ve already seen most of me during my treatment, so I can’t imagine what more you might consider impertinent,” Alison said with a wry smile.
The doctor didn’t smile back. “You said…certain things…in your delirium I could not help but overhear. I want to assure you I won’t share your secrets with anyone, including the Queen. But I think you could do worse than to confide in her.” He nodded and left the room.
What did I say? She must have talked about Anthony’s betrayal. She believed she could trust Dr. Trevellian not to speak, but…what did he think Zara might need to know about? The thought of telling anyone, even the Queen, about the humiliating wager made her freeze up again.
What was she going to do? Confront Anthony? Let him mock her further? She didn’t understand what he was doing. It was…how long had she been ill? What day was it? At the most, if it was still the same afternoon, there were only four days until Wintersmeet; when did he think he’d have the chance to seduce her, particularly if she was going to be confined to bed for at least a day? Was he really so confident of his hold over her? And whether he lost or won, would he or Bishop publicize the wager? She pulled the pillow over her head. She was too frozen to cry. She’d let him touch her breasts, considered letting him do more. Let him into her heart when she should have known he was no different from the rest. She almost wished Dr. Trevellian had let her die.
She ought to tell Zara. It was impossible that she knew about the wager. Nor could his mother, come to think on it. Zara would be furious to hear her brother had made such an infamous wager…but, really, what could Zara do about it? Whether or not he won was irrelevant. The fact that he’d thought it acceptable to seduce her for the sake of a bet wouldn’t change. He’d already humiliated her. Betrayed her, after he’d promised he wouldn’t.
A knock at the door heralded Belle’s entrance with a handful of sealed notes and envelopes. “Quite a lot of people wish you well,” she said, handing everything to Alison. It warmed her frozen heart. Notes from former dancing partners, and the Dowager’s card-playing friends, and there was even a tentative message from Edwin. So daring of him, she thought. Surprisingly, Zara sent a few lines of comfort and well-wishing. She hadn’t realized how many people cared what happened to her.
One message, sealed with the North family sign and shield, she set aside, then, when she’d opened all the others, she returned to it and turned it over and over in her hand. He’d written her name in his carelessly graceful handwriting, so familiar to her from all the invitations he’d sent. Three times she started to break the seal, three times she stopped herself. She finally threw it into the fire, unopened.
Chapter Fourteen
“Marianne, I think your dress is the nicest,” Simone said. “I love how the bodice fits.”
“Well you, as usual, look radiant in white,” Marianne said. “Alison, don’t you think Simone looks wonderful?”
“She does,” Alison said. “I think we all look amazing. Just think how many jaws will drop when we all enter together.”
“They will certainly drop if you go dressed as you are now, Alison,” Elisabeth said archly. “Do you plan to put your gown on, or are you going to go in nothing but your corset and petticoat?”
“I’ve been distracted by how lovely your gown is, Elisabeth,” Alison lied. “Please excuse me, ladies.”
She returned to her room and contemplated the gown hanging from the wardrobe door. It was a dream of white silk and silver gauze, with a square-cut neckline, a fitted waist and silver train. She planned to wear her mother’s diamonds with it.
She’d bought it for Anthony.
She’d thought how much he would love to see her in it.
She’d considered letting him take it off her.
It was no consolation he’d lose his bet, though she was still confused about what he thought he was doing. She hadn’t seen him since that afternoon when her world had frozen and cracked into a million glittering pieces. He’d sent two more messages. She’d burned both unread. She would have to see him tonight and she had no idea what she’d do, or what he planned to do. She wished she didn’t have to go to the ball. Dr. Trevellian hadn’t done her any favors by healing her so quickly. Death by pneumonia would be a good excuse to get her out of this nightmare.
She’d decided she had to tell Zara. Unfortunately, the Queen had been too busy to see her, had sent a polite note inviting her to dinner sometime after the first of the year. This wasn’t something Alison wanted to entrust to a letter. She wanted to face Zara and know the Queen hadn’t played any part in her humiliation.
She sighed, and slid her gown over her head, and had Belle fasten it up, all those tiny buttons along her spine. She clasped her mother’s diamonds around her neck and let Belle do her hair atop her head with a single ringlet falling over one shoulder, as she’d worn it that fatal night she’d told Anthony she loved him. How he must have rejoiced to hear that, sign that his seduction was working. She felt herself go blotchy from the memory.
“Milady, are you all right? Only your skin is—”
“I know, Belle. It will pass. How do I look?”
“Beautiful as always. You’re going to break hearts tonight, milady.”
Only the one. Only my own.
She rejoined the other women and felt a moment’s pleasure at Elisabeth’s jealous expression, then hated herself for her spitefulness. “Oh, my dears, don’t you all look simply beautiful!” the Dowager said. She embraced each of her ladies in turn, holding Alison a little longer than the others and whispering, “I predict you will have an evening you will never forget, my dear.” Alison made herself smile. The Dowager was almost certainly right.
They arrived late on purpose, the Dowager wanting her ladies’ entrance to make an impression on as many people as possible. Alison didn’t see the Prince. She didn’t look for him either. Her frozen mask made it difficult for her to smile, but thankfully it wasn’t necessary; her hand was claimed for the next dance immediately, a country dance in which she went down the line so often she had no chance to speak to or even smile at her partner. After that she made an effort never to be without a partner. Anthony was going to find her eventually, and this was simply delaying the inevitable, but it gave her the illusion that some things, at least, were under her control.
She knew it was him before she saw him, k
new the touch of his hand as he took hers, standing behind her. She put on a frozen smile before turning to meet his blue-eyed gaze. His smile was much warmer than hers. “If I had known how popular you would be, I would have secured my dance a long time ago,” he said, leading her out to the center of the ballroom.
“It’s the glamour of having been so ill, I suppose,” Alison said, trying for a light tone. “I had no idea how many people cared about me.”
“Including me. I was worried about you. You didn’t respond to any of my messages. I can’t believe I took so long to come home that day. I’m so sorry.”
“You only did what we’d agreed upon. And I’m well now, so no harm done.” Not from the illness, at any rate.
“If you’d wandered the streets much longer, we might not be able to say that. When I think of how ill you might have become…Alison, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
His expression of worry and sorrow was extremely convincing. He’s good. He’s very good. Maybe I shouldn’t blame myself for believing him. No, I should have known better. So many times, so many men, why did I think he was any different from the rest?
“You’d go on,” she said with a smile she knew was unconvincing. So did he. He looked surprised, then concerned. “Do you think me that shallow?” he said.
“No,” yes, “I’m just being realistic. You’d find someone else eventually.”
“Alison, I don’t understand. Are you feeling well? You’re not still sick, are you?”
“I feel a little light-headed. Would you mind if we sat down?”
“Not at all.” He took her to a seat and said, “I’ll get you something to drink.”
Alison kicked off her dancing shoes, which were a little tight, realized she’d have trouble getting them on again, then realized further that she didn’t care. She watched the dancers whirl round the room and realized she was a little light-headed. She wished there were a clock in here, or that she had a watch. She would welcome in the new year, then return with the Dowager, pleading faintness. Anthony wouldn’t bother courting her once the deadline was past, and all she’d have to do would be to tell Zara and leave it in her ruthless hands.
“I hope you like champagne,” Anthony said, and handed her a tall glass. She sipped and smiled.
“You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?” she asked archly. “I might be a mean drunk.”
Anthony leaned forward, not smiling now. “Alison, is something wrong? You’re behaving very strangely.”
“I had some bad news recently. I’m afraid it’s left me out of sorts.”
“Is there something I can do to help?” By heaven, he was handsome, and he looked genuinely concerned. She shook her head.
“I’m afraid it’s something I have to deal with on my own. But it’s sweet of you to offer.”
She thought he looked a little relieved. Probably he thought he hadn’t lost his chance to win the wager, though he was definitely running out of time. “Would you like to finish our dance?” he said. “Or, actually, have another one, since ours seems to be over.”
“Oh, we can’t dance two in a row, you know that. Wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression.” She smiled and winked at him, and saw him briefly confused before he smiled and nodded.
“I’ll be back later, then, to claim my dance.” He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “You look so beautiful. I love you.”
It took everything she had to give him a sincere smile. The rest of her froze solid at his words. What under heaven was he playing at? She was suddenly angry. How dare he toy with her like this? Was she really so pathetic, so desperate for love that she’d let him play this game, let him laugh at how easily he got inside her defenses? She put her shoes back on, found another partner and threw herself into the dance, laughing and flirting until she almost convinced herself she was having a good time.
She didn’t see Anthony again until it was nearly midnight. He appeared as if from nowhere like a bad fairy from a children’s tale, smiling and looking at her as if he really did love her. She allowed him to lead her onto the floor and decided to play the game out; whatever he had in mind, she felt she had a right to be there when he failed. Her smile was growing a little tattered around the edges, but Anthony didn’t seem to notice. He seemed entirely too happy for someone who was about to lose a wager.
The dance ended, but when Alison would have reclaimed her hand, Anthony gripped it tighter, leaned close, and whispered, “I want to show you something.” Before she could assent, he’d drawn her out of the ballroom and down a series of passages to one of the older sections of the palace. The stones here were a paler gray than those along the Library passage, and the hall was more brightly lit, but it all radiated the same chill, carried by a draft like the breath of some ancient dragon born of ice. Anthony opened a door only a little taller than Alison was to reveal a room about twelve feet square, its black stones so tightly fitted together that it looked as if it had been carved out of a single block. Narrow, steep stairs of unfinished wood constrained only by a slim iron rail spiraled up out of sight.
A lantern hung on a peg by the door; Anthony lit it and held it up to illuminate the room better. Its light reflected off the myriad rough planes of the stone like flashes of gold. “I’ll go first,” he said, and Alison had to follow him or be left behind in the dark. It was a long way up. Alison’s sides burned, her chest ached, and before they’d gone a hundred steps she was breathing heavily. She tugged at the hem of Anthony’s dress coat and said, “Stop.”
“I’m sorry, love.” Anthony came back down and put his arms around her, supporting her, and she was too grateful for it to push him away. “I planned this before you got sick,” he said, “but the doctor said you’d be well by now, so I thought it would be all right.” He sounded contrite, the lying bastard. If this stairway came out into a softly-lit boudoir with an enormous bed, she was going to kick him all the way back down it.
When she’d recovered, he led on, more slowly this time. The stairwell continued chilly, but Alison didn’t realize it opened to the outdoors until she emerged from the stairwell to find herself at the top of one of the palace towers. In the summer, it would be a garden; right now, at the heart of winter, it was a twisted mass of dead undergrowth and spiny, leafless bushes. In the center stood a brazier larger than Alison could put her arms around, burning with a bonfire that leaped toward the sky as if it wanted to touch the face of the crescent moon. The dead branches twined around its base, forcing it back to earth. Alison thought she’d never seen anything so depressing. Anthony seemed to think it was marvelous. “Do you remember when we drove up to Old Fort and I showed you the fire at the top of Willow North’s tower?”
“This is usually a place where lovers go,” you said. You were priming me to fall in love with you even then. “I do,” she said.
“This is that tower. And this is Willow North’s garden,” he said. “I should bring you up here in summer, when it’s beautiful. I know it’s awful now, but we’re not here for the garden.” He took a deep breath. “This is the tallest tower in the palace, and—” The deep tones of the bell tower clock at the foot of the palace drive began sounding the hour. “—it’s Wintersmeet Day now.”
She could feel the shift of energy as the lines of power changed their alignment in response to the solstice. For the space of three seconds she could feel her bond to her father, and to Patrick and her other cousins, and, more faintly, her connection to more distant relatives, and she knew they could feel her presence here, all those miles away from County Waxwold. If she’d been home, the intensity would have been greater, more powerful, and she wished with all her heart she were home instead of standing at the top of this freezing, dead tower with a man who’d humiliated her for the sake of a stupid wager.
Anthony breathed out, a long, satisfied sound. “That’s the most amazing feeling, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Alison said. Was this what he’d wanted? The new year
had begun. He’d lost his wager. She didn’t know why she was still standing here. She began to turn away, but before she’d moved more than a fraction of an inch, he took both her hands in his.
“Happy Wintersmeet, Alison. I wanted to give you my gift now, just at the first of the year. I hope it was worth waiting for.” He pulled something small out of his waistcoat pocket. “Betrothal rings aren’t in fashion now, but I thought, being who you are, that you might appreciate tradition.” He took her left hand and slid a ring over her middle finger. “Marry me, Alison? And let me shout it from the tallest tower that I love you?”
Alison retrieved her hand from his and looked at the ring. It was set with a dark faceted oval stone that was black in the firelight, surrounded by a ring of small round diamonds. It was beautiful. She held her hand up closer to the light; still black. It certainly seemed real. Absently, she said, “This is an awfully long way to go to lose a bet.”
Anthony went perfectly still. “What?” he said.
Still gazing at the ring, Alison said, “I still don’t understand what you were doing. You were running out of time and you didn’t even try to seduce me again when the first time failed. You had to know I was primed to fall into your bed—after all, it almost worked once.”
She looked up at Anthony. “What were the stakes, anyway? Bragging rights? Or was it money? Come, Anthony, I think I have a right to know what my body was worth.”
He looked as frozen as she felt. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Alison looked at the ring again. It looked good on her finger. Pity it was too beautiful for her to throw it in his face.
“You were very good, you know,” she went on when it became clear Anthony wasn’t going to say anything. “The way you went from being a dissolute drunk to that whole vulnerable act—I’m ashamed to say I believed you. It’s been a long time since I believed the lies any man told me. So maybe that can be a nice consolation prize—you won the heart of Alison Quinn through trickery and deceit. Possibly that’s the only way it can be won.” She added, “I wish I hadn’t let you touch me so intimately. I’m never going to forgive myself for that.”
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