Heaven Sent the Wrong One (19 page)

Even now, in his golden years, he still looked handsome, with a full mop of perfectly groomed silver h
air, which she assumed must have been blond at one time. His attire was impeccable and his build slender, though his gait reflected his advanced age and he supported himself with an exquisitely carved, gold cane. He had hazel-colored eyes, but Alexandra suspected that they must have been green at some point. Without provocation, the duke's neatness, scholarly interests, and deportment reminded her of the one person she would rather forget.

Alexandra shook herself away from the memory. She was being ridiculo
us. Why couldn't she focus on anything except Andrew? Yesterday, she cried like an imbecile when she saw the stable groom's golden retriever because its coat reminded her of Andrew's hair! The day before that, she bawled in the dining room—in the middle of luncheon—because the indentation on the bottom of the apple she was eating reminded her of Andrew's dimples! That morning, she almost gave Cook an apoplexy when she wept over the breakfast kippers—because she suddenly remembered that they were Andrew's favorite.

Dear God, she would soon go mad if this foolishness did not stop.

"Are you alright, my dear?" The duke asked.

She realized she had stared blankly into space and the duke must have noticed her remoteness. To salvage the situation, she asked without
much thought, "Your Grace, if you will excuse my indelicacy—but I'm wondering why you never married?"

The duke chuckled from his chair. "Ah yes
—the inevitable question." He gripped his cane and stood up, ambling his way to gaze into the fireplace. "Forgive my coarseness, but when I was younger, there was never a shortage of women at my behest. Marriage simply never appealed to me—I did not have enough time to indulge in romance. I was too preoccupied with my travels. There were too many adventures to embark on, too many things to discover, too much wealth to make. Before I knew it, my heyday had gone by and most of the ladies who would have me were only after my title and my purse."

"You never had anyone? Perhaps
—someone more special than the others?" Alexandra pressed with avid interest.

"You are
—a romantic, my dear Lady Alexandra," the duke glanced sideways at her. "Very well. Once—long ago—I fell in love with the beautiful Lady Marjorie."

Alexandra gaped at him. "My mother's sister?"

"Your aunt," the duke smiled wistfully, turning his gaze back into the dancing flames in the fireplace. "But I was too young and a fool. I left and traveled the globe. I made her wait too long. By the time I returned, I learned that her father had wagered her to that cur, James Huntington, the Marquess of Waterford at the time. He and I were enemies and he had always wanted what was mine. He forced her to marry him by threatening to confiscate her father's estate as payment for the gambling debts her father owed him. I didn't hear the news until it was too late. The mail was incredibly tardy in the faraway places I journeyed. They wed a fortnight before my arrival in England."

"My God," Alexandra whispered. "I never knew."

"It's old history," the duke shrugged, and from where she sat, Alexandra could see the slight bump on his throat go up and down. "In a lifetime of triumphs, it's my only deepest regret."

"I'm sorry," Alexandra said softly.

"Don't be," the duke shifted to look at her. "Marjorie is probably turning in her grave because I've elected to propose marriage to you—her niece—who is forty-two years my junior." His weathered face broke into a grin.

Alexandra couldn't help but share his wry humor. True
—their age difference was outrageous, which prompted her to ask, "But why now, Your Grace? And why me?"

"If we may have some privacy," the duke glanced at her maid knitting in the corner.

Though it was considered inappropriate, Alexandra nodded her permission to take her leave.

Polly hastily gathered her yarns, curtsied, and lef
t the room.

The duke made his way back to his chair. "As you are well aware of, I am the last of the Strathearns. Upon my death, the Dukedom of Redfellow will pass on to my cousin, Blake Norton, who is next in line. However, I do not intend to see the affl
uence I've worked hard for, to simply land in the hands of a wastrel like Blake. The man is irresponsible and a gambler. He reminds me of James. He will plunge the dukedom into perdition if he inherits the title. The only way for me to save the dukedom is to marry and produce an heir. But I must select a bride whom I can trust—and I like you. You remind me of my Marjorie." The duke regarded Alexandra intently. "I don’t have much longer to live, Lady Alexandra. I could feel it in my bones with every passing day. Allow me to be blunt—my frail condition prevents me from begetting an heir."

"You mean
—you no longer can—" Alexandra felt the rush of warmth in her cheeks.

"Correct," the duke interjected solemnly.

"I-I-I—" Alexandra grappled for the right words to say in her embarrassment, but none would come forth.

"My Lady," the duke gazed at her with the fondness one might see between a parent and a child before continuing, "As my wife, even without an heir, you will inherit all my un-entailed properties and monies
, the sum of which is staggering. However, if we secretly adopt a child and present him as my heir, both of you will be entitled to the totality of my bequest. The Dukedom of Redfellow is one of the most powerful, prosperous dukedoms in England. I ask that you allow me to offer it to you in honor of your Aunt Marjorie—the only lady who should have been my duchess."

Alexandra stared at the imploring countenance of the man before her. For the first time in all the years she'd known him, she saw him with a fr
esh set of eyes. "Is this your atonement for what happened between you and Aunt Marjorie?" she asked in a low voice.

The duke's mouth curved upwards at the corners. "It is my only salvation," he said with glittering eyes.

Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle floating in Alexandra's head snapped into place.

Here was a man who longed for a wife and an heir, and here she was, in search of a protector for her baby and herself. If she had a boy, he would be destined for a magnificent future as the Duke of Redfello
w. If she had a girl, she would hold the prestige of being a duke's daughter. And if the duke so desired, she would be agreeable to adopt a son as her own, to be the heir.

Alexandra's heart began to pound in swift staccatos in her chest. It is possible. It
can be done.

God had finally answered her prayers.

The miracle couldn't be more blatant than what was in front of her.

With renewed hope, she composed herself and ventured, "Your Grace
—I am honored to accept your offer. But first—I must confess."

The Law of Karma

Newport, Rhode Island

United States of America

Four years later

A
llayne Carlyle gazed upon the stretch of blue ocean from the veranda of the Ellery mansion as the sun set in the horizon. The sound of crashing waves on the breakers chorused with the cries of seagulls, gliding back and forth with their wings extended, intently scanning the waters for signs of a good meal.

A pang of homesickness lanced in his chest. The vista, familiar sounds, and air tainted with the scent of brine reminded him of Cornwall, the one place in the whole world he could call home.

It had been too long—years—since he had seen his family and friends. He missed them terribly and though they constantly wrote, asking to visit him, he repeatedly declined their requests.

His need for isolation was as desperate as his need to leave everything behind that reminded him of
England. He needed to escape the profound loss and the envy he felt, every time he witnessed the unconditional love his friends found in their wives. The necessity to distance himself became crucial, for he could no longer bear the false hope that always led to sadness, whenever a tall English beauty with dark hair and eyes sailed past.

Ah
—yes ... Anna. After all these years, he still thought of her from time to time—though now, the pain had subsided and his heart had become numb. The memories of that springtime in Bath no longer tormented him body and soul. He had learned to accept things as they were and had reconciled with the circumstances he could not amend.

In that moment of reprieve, when the torrential storm ceased and the sun broke through the cloud
s—he met Marion.

Allayne turned his gaze towards the archway leading into the ballroom. Everyone who was of social importance in the exclusive circle of America's wealthiest gathered to chat, drink, and dance at the ball hosted by the Ellerys.

A stunning woman dressed in a breathtaking creation of shimmering royal blue silk, tossed her head back, and laughed at someone's remark. The only child of American shipping tycoon Sam Ellery, Marion was an heiress of fabulous wealth and connections—his ideal match. Someone he was certain would never covet him for his wealth and birthright.

She swiveled in his direction and blew him a kiss with a saucy wink.

Allayne chuckled and returned the gesture.

Dull moments never existed when he was with Marion. Full of life and
laughter, she charmed him with her lively personality, beauty, and kindheartedness. Her vibrant companionship kept him on his toes and made him laugh, casting away his desolation. Her radiance filtered through his gloomy days and parted the darkness that for so long, occupied his heart.

In a way, she reminded him of
—

Allayne swiftly severed that train of contemplation. He must not revisit the past nor compare Marion with Anna. In fact
—did he not purposely gravitate towards women whose physical attributes were totally opposite that of Anna's—so he could make the process of forgetting her, easier?

Allayne observed Marion as she crossed the room to join him. She was young and petite, with flaxen hair and pale blue eyes. A far cry from the statuesque, willowy, d
ark-haired, dark-eyed Anna.

"What's with the long face?" Marion twined her arms around his waist and tilted her lips up
—an unspoken request for a kiss.

Allayne bent down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. He had discovered that American women were not
as prudish as their British counterparts when it came to expressing either their affection or opinion—whether in private or in public.

"I missed you, that's all," he said, bestowing her with a rare dimpled smile.

Her eyes softened and she reached up, dipping a forefinger in one of the two deep indentations on his cheeks.

Allayne flinched. Anna used to do just exactly that.

He wrapped his fingers on Marion's wrist and brought her hand to his chest instead, a subtle hint that he disfavored being touched in that manner. Not long ago, he inadvertently slighted her feelings by expressing his aversion against her kissing his dimples—which she somehow found very appealing, just like the way Anna used to—

"Something's bothering you." Marion's cheerful countenance
subsided into a slight frown.

Allayne gazed at her lovely face. Everything about her was luminous
—from her hair to her skin, down to the vivacious personality he had come to adore. She was a diamond of the first water—belonging to a family widely respected amongst the social elite of New York. Her list of prominent suitors was impressive—and though he was not one of them, for some reason, she gravitated towards him.

Her father, whom he met a year ago when he had been looking for a Trans-Atlantic freight pro
vider that could transport their tobacco imports from America to England, encouraged the match. He took his daughter with him to their meetings, invited him to dine at their grand home in New York and watched with delight from afar as his friendship with Marion bloomed into something more.

"It's time for me to go home," Allayne said, quietly.

The joy drained from her eyes. "To England?" she asked, in a small voice.

"Yes," he replied, observing the swell of devastation as it tarnished her beautiful visage.

"I ... I—see." She swung away from him, but Allayne caught her arm and turned her towards him once again.

The shimmer of tears brimmed in her eyes.

Allayne tilted her chin and wiped the drop of moisture that slid down the side of her face with his thumb. Marion was the sweetest girl on the planet. One need not doubt her sincerity. Her emotions were so transparent; her feelings could easily be read. She always wore her heart on her sleeve and loved with complete honesty—without conditions—the very kind of love he had been searching for, all these years.

"Come home with me," he heard himself asking.

Marion's mouth formed into an 'O'. "W-What?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I was thinking
—" Allayne tucked the wayward strand of hair that had escaped her immaculate coiffure behind her ear and cleared his throat. "I think—perhaps it's time for my family and friends to meet my future wife."

She stared at him with a stunned expression on her lovely face. "Truly?"

"Truly," Allayne reiterated.

"Oh!" Marion th
rew herself into his arms and showered his face with kisses. "I love you so much!" she exclaimed in her usual effervescent manner, attracting a few glances in their direction.

Allayne couldn't help but laugh and share her exuberance. Marion was perfect for
him in every way—a woman suitable to someday become his viscountess. He could not be more grateful for such a wonderful creature.

He leaned forward as she clung to him in a tight embrace. Marion had driven away his demons and taught him to feel
—to become human again. She was a godsend, an angel heaven sent—to rescue him from himself.

And this time around, he knew nothing could go wrong. He sincerely hoped
—nay, wanted,—to believe,—that finally, after all the pain and heartbreak, at last,—he had found the right one.

~

Sidmouth Abbey

Country Seat of The Duke of Redfellow

Devon, England

Alexandra kneeled on the freshly-cut grass of the family plot next to the estate's private chapel and set a bouquet of red roses before the gravestone of her husband, Henry Gabriel Strathearn, the seventh Duke of Redfellow.

She wiped away the lone tear from the corner of her eye. Henry had been dead for a little over a year and a half now, but she still missed him. His devotion during the most trying time of her life helped h
eal the broken pieces of her heart, and the loss of the genuine friendship they had shared during their short marriage left her feeling disoriented, devoid of an ally, and a guiding hand.

"Please don
’t cry, Mama," the little boy standing next to her said.

She feigned a smile for her son, three and a half-year-old Gabriel Alexandros Strathearn, the eighth Duke of Redfellow. Because of his young age and as his mother and guardian, Alexandra had assumed all the responsibilities of running the vast dukedom unt
il her son reached his majority. The burden was intimidating and enormous. Thankfully, her husband's keen foresight anticipated the inevitable and thoroughly prepared her to manage all his estates prior to his death.

The little boy kissed her cheek. "There.
Feel better, Mama?"

"Yes
—" Alexandra blinked back her tears. "I feel better now. Thank you, sweetie."

"I miss Papa," he leaned his cheek on Alexandra's shoulder. "Can't we visit him in heaven?"

"I'm sure he misses you too," Alexandra said—and meant every word. Henry loved Gabriel as his own and in spite of his old age, spent every minute of his time doting on her son. By the time Gabriel turned two, he was presented to the King, establishing his birthright as the next-in-line to the dukedom.

Alexandra kiss
ed the top of his head. "Heaven is too far and our horses can't fly." She pointed at the overcast sky. "But, if you look up there and wave, I'm sure Papa will see you through the clouds."

Gabriel brightened and happily waved both hands tow
ards the sky. "Look Mama!" he exclaimed in excitement, as a ray of sunlight peeked through the clouds and bathed them in its warmth. "It's Papa! Papa saw me!"

"Yes, he did," Alexandra gave him a hug, watching his eyes widen in awe as the sunbeam intensifie
d, while she choked back tears.

He looked so much like his father, with the same honey-blond hair, curly-lashed green eyes, and deep dimples on either side of his cheeks. Sometimes she wondered if God's reason for creating a miniature version of her lost l
ove, was to punish her for that one night of transgression and remind her to never again yield to temptation.

Even though it had been years and her longing for Andrew had dulled into a tolerable ache, she could never erase his image from her heart
—not when his living portrait in the form of their son, constantly brought back the memories of happier days when nothing mattered—except falling in love.

Alexandra drew a shaky breath and released Gabriel from her embrace with another kiss on his forehead. She sto
od up, brushing away the dirt from her gown.

"Come, we have to go," she took his hand in hers and led him to the long winding path where the footman waited with their horses.

"Are we really going to the big city, Mama?" Gabriel asked, as the footman hoisted him unto his docile pony.

"Yes, we are," Alexandra replied as she mounted her horse. "You still want to go to all the London Museums and see Uncle Jeremy and your cousin Edward, right?"

"Oh, yes, Mama! I do! I do!" Gabriel grinned.

Alexandra laughed at h
is enthusiasm. Gabriel always looked forward to spending time with his Uncle and cousin, who provided the only male companionship for the growing boy. He looked up to his cousin Edward like an older brother and adored his Uncle Jeremy immensely.

Thankfully
, they reestablished contact years ago, before she married the duke—when Jeremy unexpectedly showed up with an older gentleman at Weston Court to purchase a thoroughbred from her father's stables. They primarily corresponded by letter, until she sent him an invitation to her wedding. The attendance of Jeremy, together with his charming wife and son, initiated the visits to each other's homes.

In one such visit, approximately a month after the wedding, Jeremy asked about her sojourn in Bath. It turned out th
at the older gentleman whom he accompanied to purchase the horse from her papa, the Earl of Weston, was Viscount Rose—Mr. Carlyle's father. Apparently, her papa devised the match with the viscount.

Jeremy expressed curiosity on what transpired in Bath and
she stated her lack of attraction and interest in the viscount's heir—who, to her mortification, also turned out to be his wife's Cassie's brother. And while she apologized profusely for her gaffe, Jeremy merely raised a dark brow—whether in bewilderment or amusement—she could not tell. Luckily, he did not pursue the subject—for she was itching to ask if he knew Mr. Carlyle's valet—and almost gave herself away.

"Mama, can I sleep over at Cousin Edward's house?" Gabriel's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Alexandra considered his suggestion for a moment before answering, "Of course, sweetheart—but, first—we have to ask if it's alright with your Aunt Cassie."

She understood Gabriel's eagerness. Following her husband's funeral, she went into mourning and confined
herself at Sidmouth Abbey. Though she often corresponded with Jeremy, she tactfully refused his invitations to come to Waterford Park, feeling the need to deal with her grief in seclusion, until she was fit for company. It had been a year and a half now since they last saw each other—and it was time.