Authors: Janet Kent
Hard lines etched Chadwick’s
brow. “You have known Louis all your life. And the marriage will not be
immediate. He will have to apply for a license, and we must plan the wedding.”
“I meant before you give your
permission to Louis,” Alicia clarified, fear lacing her voice with panic.
Chadwick closed his eyes.
“Alicia, I warn you–”
“Papa, please.” What could she
say that might convince him to let her wait? “If you… if you will allow me
some time to accustom myself to the idea before you make any agreements with
Louis, I shall force myself to be open to the… proposal. I wish a chance to
assure myself I am not surrendering to a life without love. Two months to determine
whether we suit. That’s all I ask.”
“You had opportunity enough to
search for suitors, Alicia. You frittered away twenty years walking in gardens
and reading romance novels.” A vein pulsed in Chadwick’s temple. “There is more
at stake than you.”
Alicia’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t
had twenty Seasons, in any case, and the two that she did have had been
abbreviated by events outside her control. The unfairness of his statement
caused hot tears to sting her eyes.
“Why am I at stake at all? Am I
but a burden to dispose of, a creature unworthy of finding love?”
“Enough.” Chadwick placed his
hands on the desktop and stood so quickly that his chair scraped across the
floor. “If I wish to be rid of you, daughter, I will not be obliged to grant a
single day’s concession, much less two months. Return to your room and remain
there until you have gained control of yourself.”
No longer trusting her runaway
tongue or the sharp look of warning in her father’s hazel eyes, she
straightened stiffly, stepped backward into the hallway, and marched down the
corridor and up the spiral staircase without another word.
Nearly knocking over a small
Chippendale table at the top of the steps in her hurry, she strode to her room
and threw herself face down on the bed. No. She would not allow herself to cry.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the rose-colored cloth covering her
canopy bed. Tears threatened to escape. With a sigh, she swung her legs off the
side of the bed and sat up, putting her elbows on her knees and her head in her
hands.
Louis did come around several
times a week, but Alicia doubted his reasons had anything to do with her. He’d
been Papa’s only friend for a while now, and he lived near enough to make
Chadwick House an easy ride. Over the past years, Louis seemed to catch her
father’s fever for finding rare antiquities, although his taste ran to the
tasteless.
Oh, why couldn’t she have found a
suitor by now? Someone dashing, charming, romantic…
She dreamed of a prince to carry
her to his palace, a knight to rescue her on his noble steed, or even a dashing
gentleman with caring eyes, leaping from his curricle with open arms, ready to
clasp her to his chest in a passionate embrace.
Louis scarcely fit the image of a
fairy-book suitor. Alicia grimaced. He always sported the biggest cravat, coats
with the longest tails, the most mincing of steps – no, there was no way she
could go through with it! She could never persuade her heart to love Louis in a
month’s time, or even a month of Sundays.
According to the law, she had the
right to refuse. After all, she might very well become a baroness in her own
right someday. However, the law also gave her father the right – and the power
– to make her life miserable if she openly defied him. And although Louis
inspired no passion in her heart, there were others who found his fixation with
foppishness enchanting, and his conversation stimulating. Though she couldn’t
technically be forced to marry, an objection of “But he doesn’t love me!” would
engender nothing but contempt from her father and confusion or laughter from
her peers.
Alicia kneaded her temples with
the tips of her fingers. What had Papa said? She should trust he knew what was
best? Perhaps, since this was her first concrete marriage offer, he felt Louis
was her last hope before she placed herself irrevocably on the shelf. Humph.
Better a hopeless spinsterhood than a loveless marriage.
Frowning, Alicia turned to stare
out her darkened bedroom window. All was not lost. Surely she could convince
Louis that his matrimonial objectives would be better served elsewhere. She
only needed a plan.
* * *
It was there on the sideboard
when the first rays of dawn slanted through the windows. Just a small folded
square, the missive seemed harmless enough.
Ian knew better.
He recognized the hand that had
scratched “Mr. Ian Morrissey” in an angular scrawl across the outer edge as
belonging to an old friend. An old, old friend. Ian closed his eyes briefly,
but opened them as soon as images of battle began to play on the backs of his
eyelids. The war was over. What could Caspian want?
His arm reached out in a slow, reluctant stretch
toward the note. When he’d gone to bed, scant hours earlier, the sideboard had
been empty save for a single vase filled with flowers. He’d slept through the messenger’s
early-hours visit, and had wakened with the sun, in a fine mood and eager to
start the day. He planned to take his horse for their morning ride along
Heatherley’s vast fields.
Heaven knew what Caspian planned.
Ian propped one elbow behind him
on the sideboard, leaning backward with one shiny boot crossed atop the other.
His horse would have to wait. With careful movements, Ian opened the paper and
smoothed out the creases.
“Stop worrying. Nothing to do
with Whitehall. Accept the Montgomery’s invitation. I’ll explain when you get
to London. Yours, C.”
A sheet of ice encased Ian’s
stomach. Droplets of sweat formed on his brow. Less than twenty words, but
Caspian only needed one to provoke such a reaction.
London
.
He despised the City and all it
represented, including the frenetic atmosphere of the marriage mart known as
the Season and the attitude of the
haut ton
in general. He couldn’t
comprehend why Caspian hadn’t come to Heatherley to speak with him.
Ian’s country home was far from London, and he had no desire to leave. No desire to dance until the wee hours of the
morning and worry about whether his cravat was folded in a perfect
Trône
d'Amour
. More than that, he had no wish to see how long the memories were
for the
cause célèbre
of his family’s past or to face ill-concealed
animosity toward his half-Irish heritage.
Heatherley had been in his
mother’s line of the family for generations. It was a spacious, sprawling mansion
in the middle of the country and firmly in his heart. The walls in this room
were a cheery yellow, the windows big and wide to let in the bright sun. Best
of all, Heatherley was a full day’s ride from London – far from dampened
dresses and hinged tongues.
Swearing under his breath, Ian
crushed the letter in his palm and slammed his fist onto the sideboard. He
wished he could toss the missive into the fire and forget it. He wished he
could pretend he hadn’t seen it, or the stiff square of vellum that fell into
his hand when he opened the note.
An elegant script proclaimed an
invitation to the Montgomery’s one night hence for dinner and dancing.
Marvelous.
Scowling, Ian forced his long
fingers to unfurl from around the crumpled paper. He turned, smoothed out the
crinkles with both hands, and studied the words again. No matter how many times
he reread the four concise sentences, he could find nothing to misinterpret in
the strong strokes across the parchment. As always, Caspian was maddeningly
clear in his instructions.
Ian refolded the note and tucked
it inside his waistcoat. He crossed to the bell pull and gave the rope a firm
tug. He shook his head, almost unable to believe he was really going to leave
Heatherley on the command of four terse sentences. If only he didn’t owe
Caspian his life.
London
. Damn.
* * *
Alicia chewed her lower lip. Her
maid had come and gone. She had been dressed in her light pink gown with its
deep rose ribbon, her hair styled in an elegant chignon, everything just so for
what seemed like hours. The first rays of light filtered through her window and
across her lap, but the sight of the Saturday-morning sun did little to salve
the long, sleepless night or her relentless sense of trepidation.
If he and Papa agreed to settle
the marriage contract terms today, Louis would be her only hope for a husband.
Well, without inviting scandal.
She stood with sudden resolve.
She had avoided confrontation for long enough. It was time to stop waiting for
life to happen, and to play a hand in the cards it dealt. Time to discover
exactly how quickly fate intended to spring an unwanted wedding.
Alicia strode through her door to
the staircase and began to descend. She heard the voices before she had taken
her third step.
“I am unconvinced indulgence is
wise.”
The thin whine of her cousin’s
shrill voice reached Alicia’s ear, and her foot froze four inches above the
next step. When she did not immediately hear her father respond, she imagined
him about to enlist help in convincing a recalcitrant daughter to wed.
“Alicia’s willingness in this
matter is imperative, Louis. The church demands it.”
Alicia allowed her hovering foot
to descend the final inches to the next step.
Willingly marry Louis. Hah. Such
naivety might mark her as a hopeless romantic – but she’d always thought one or
both of them would have found true love by now, and thus be already married… to
someone other than each other.
True, she’d never had a flock of
suitors from which to choose, although she lacked neither looks nor money. She
possessed a reasonable dowry, and people often gasped at the extraordinary
likeness she shared with her mother, whose willowy beauty and dimpled smile
became legendary the moment she first set foot in London. Sometimes, she
wondered if the resemblance exacerbated her father’s animosity toward her.
“Willingness,” Louis repeated. He
let loose with a high-pitched cackle. “Hardly a consideration.”
Alicia gripped the banister until
the skin over her knuckles stretched white.
“Courtship is a mere formality,” soothed Chadwick.
“You can see the wisdom of adhering to custom, at least in society’s eyes. How
about one month? And should she decide sooner that you suit–”
“Certainly I can persuade a slip
of a girl. Look at me!” Louis’ voice rose to a crescendo.
Alicia peered over the banister
and bared her teeth at the tops of two familiar heads. If she were a boy, she’d
spit on them. Instead, she slowly inched down two more steps, and the curve of
the staircase brought their shadows into view.
“Excellent.” The superior tone in her father’s voice
rankled. A formality, indeed. Courtship should be… courtship! “She will be
delighted to hear that you will be escorting her about like a proper suitor.”
Like
a suitor, but not really a
suitor. Not a true, smitten, no-coercion-necessary suitor.
She crouched and peered between
the gilded rails. Although not unhandsome, Louis still sported the same frizzy
red hair and hadn’t lost the extra stone or two he had gained over the past
months while he’d been abed recuperating from broken legs. The latest fashions
swathed his tall frame and his squinty blue eyes focused sharply on her father.
The omnipresent odor of his cloying cologne wafted from his waving hands.
Papa strummed his fingers
together. “Best you begin taking her to balls as soon as possible. The month
will fly by.”
Louis’ elbows jutted akimbo as he
slapped his fists to his waist and took a step closer to her father. “What’s
this? I will not cart her to some crush every single night for a month.”
Alicia rested her face against
the bars and tried not to feel slighted. Who would want to waste time wooing an
unwilling wife? No matter. She didn’t want him anyway.
Chadwick shrugged one shoulder as
if he were bored. “Every other night, then.”
Louis stared at him in disbelief.
“Come now, Louis. We agreed on
‘soon’ – we never said ‘immediately’. A month makes little difference.”
Chadwick tilted his head at Louis. “If not a month, then a couple of weeks, so
none can say there was no semblance of courtship. I will withhold my official
permission until two Saturdays from today, after which we will still have
plenty of time for determining settlement arrangements. You can procure the
license the following Monday.”
Alicia gaped. How did her
reprieve shrink so quickly?
A skeletal figure emerged from
the shadowy hall. Great-aunt Beatrix hobbled past them, her crooked frame bent
over her cane. “I’ll chaperone Alicia to soirees myself,” she announced with a
quaver. “She deserves a chance for love.”
At first, Louis didn’t change
expression. After a moment, he nodded to himself. He stroked his cravat with
one hand and left the other perched on his hip. “Every other night for two
weeks?” he asked Chadwick.