Virginia Henley (53 page)

Dottie and Alex climbed the stairs together, with Rupert just behind them. Sara was helping Margaret drink a cup of chamomile tea when they arrived at the bedside.

“How are you feeling?” Alex asked gently.

“Your news will be a better tonic than chamomile tea. Alex has become Lady Hatton. She and Christopher were wed this morning.”

Margaret’s face was transformed with joy. “Alexandra, you have made me so happy.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You have made up for the sorrow I caused my own mother, years ago.”

“Fiddle-faddle, Margaret! I loved you no less for your folly. Run along, Alexandra, and pack a bag for London. As Lady Hatton you will need all your very best clothes.”

“I’ll help you pack,” Sara offered, eager to learn all the details of the impulsive wedding ceremony.

“Lord Staines will be staying in Berkeley Square; I believe I shall come to London with you,” Dottie declared. “Christopher and Neville will need all the support we can muster; Nicholas too, of course. The
ton
will be hovering like vultures at this inquest, hoping for a bloodied victim.”

Alex knew she couldn’t bear to talk about Nicholas or the inquest, even with Sara. “I can manage my own packing, thank you, Sara. Why don’t you help Dottie?”

“I shall go home and ready the carriage,” Rupert declared.

“Post haste! None of your usual lollygagging.” Rupert looked highly offended. “I’d have been in London by now, if it wasn’t for the need to transport the females of the family!”

Two hours later, they arrived in Berkeley Square. “Just drop me off, Rupert. Alexandra will wish to go straight to Curzon Street.”

“No, no, I would much prefer to stay here for now, Dottie.”

“Mustn’t cling to me, darling; you’re a new bride. Conquer those nerves immediately. Hatton men aren’t noted for their celibacy.”

Alex blanched. “Christopher will be directing all his time and effort to Nicholas today. He won’t be at Curzon Street for hours.”

“Do come up, then. Rupert, drop your sister’s trunk at the Hatton town house before you go sloping off to join Kit.”

When Hopkins opened the front door, he was surprised. Not that Dottie was joining Lord Staines, but surprised that she had brought Alexandra with her on this rendezvous. Usually, the pair was more discreet. “Good day, Lady Longford, Mistress Alexandra. I shall announce you to Lord Staines.”

“She’s
Lady Hatton,
as of this morning, Hopkins.”

“Lady Hatton, I am delighted at your news.”

Alex pressed her lips together. Hopkins was looking at her with relief that the man who had so recently shared her bed had made an honest woman of her. In hindsight, how fortunate that he had assumed her lover was Lord Hatton.

Neville appeared at the top of the stairs. “Dottie, this is a lovely surprise. I take it you’ve heard the unpleasant news.”

“Not all the news is bad, Neville.” She ran upstairs, spry as a girl. “Alexandra and Christopher were married this morning.”

“This morning? After I left Hatton?”

“Yes.” Alex allowed Neville to enfold her in his arms, and his genuine affection for her gave her a measure of comfort.

No sooner did they go into the drawing room than Hopkins arrived with champagne and glasses. “I thought you would wish to toast the bride, my lord.”

“Pour yourself one while you’re at it, Hopkins.” Neville raised his glass. “I drink to your joy, my dear. I could not be more fond of you if you were my own granddaughter.”

“How do you know she isn’t?” Dottie asked archly.

“There must be something in the air. All this talk of brides and weddings puts me in an envious mood. Why should young people be the only ones to share such bliss? How about it, Dottie: Shall we show ’em how it’s done?”

“Are you speaking of consummation, or constipation, Neville?”

“I’m quite serious, my darling, even though you aren’t.”

“My dear old stoat, are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I am at the age when I realize time is of the essence; I’m not ready to stare up at a wooden lid and hear the dirt hit the box.”

“What a way you have with words, you silver-tongued devil. The answer is yes; how could I possibly resist?”

Alex suddenly realized that her grandmother’s money worries were over. Then immediately she felt guilty for the mercenary instinct. Dottie’s happiness should have been her first thought. She embraced her grandmother. “You gave him the right answer. Oh, I have an engagement present for you!” She went into her bedroom to get the cashmere shawl. The chamber was filled with too intimate, too recent memories of Nicholas, and she left quickly before they overwhelmed her.

Dottie opened the box from Madame Martine’s and lifted out the cream shawl with its black fringe. “Thank you, darling. You know my taste well; anything theatrical delights my
cockerocity
.”

“Mine too!” Neville teased.

Alexandra blushed at the bi-play between the lovers and felt decidedly
de trop
. “I really must go, but before I do, can you tell me anything about Nicholas?”

“He’s at the Wood Street Compter. Your husband arranged a private room for him, and we are trying to set a date for an immediate inquest. Christopher will fill you in on the details.”

“Thank you.” Her throat was too tight to say more. She hugged Neville, kissed Dottie, and left. Alexandra’s immediate impulse was to rush to Wood Street.
You know they wouldn’t let a woman in to see him . . . and if by some miracle you did get to see him, what would you say? That you married his twin?
Her heart plummeted to the same low level as her spirits. Though she felt loathe to go to Curzon Street, she had nowhere else to go. With reluctant steps she walked along Charles Street then turned the fateful corner.

Alex had no key, so she had to knock on the door, dreading the moment when Fenton would open it. She had spent the small hours of Saturday night and Sunday morning here with Nicholas, and Fenton had most definitely not mixed him up with his twin. What in the name of God would the man think of her marrying Kit only three days after changing the sheets on the bed she’d shared with Nick?

When Fenton opened the door his face was inscrutable. “Welcome, Lady Hatton. I took the liberty of taking your trunk upstairs. Would you care for some lunch, my lady?”

“No, nothing, thank you.”
Rupert broke the news to him when he brought my trunk!
Alex straightened her back, lifted her chin, and climbed the stairs to the well-appointed drawing room. She sat down and stared off into space. Two hours later, she was still sitting there. Her glance traveled about the chamber.
How on earth will he be able to bear being locked up in the Wood Street Compter?
Then a worse place stole into her mind:
Newgate!

Its horrors were infamous.
What if he’s sentenced to life in prison?
A far worse scenario slipped past her defenses:
What if he is sentenced to be hanged?
A grisly memory of the highwayman they’d seen as children came into her head.
Highwayman!
Nick had done that too! And he’d robbed the Prince Regent! What if it all came out? He was a fearless and reckless rogue who took the law into his own hands to right injustice, but she would never believe he had committed murder. Never.

Alex raised her knees, slipped her arms around them, and hugged them to her chest. Christopher would make sure that Nicholas was set free. She must put her faith in her husband. She suddenly laughed, but it was without mirth. How ridiculous she was to worry over being embarrassed by what Fenton had seen. When her beloved’s life was at stake, how little such things mattered.

 

It was full dark before Nick made his way to Curzon Street. He stabled Renegade, then fed and watered Satin and the two chestnuts. When he praised the stableboy for keeping the place clean, the lad stared at him in amazement; his lordship never praised anyone. Though Nick used his own key, Fenton was in the hall. “Good evening, my lord. Her ladyship is upstairs. Will you require dinner, sir?”

“That would be most appreciated, Fenton.”

His steps were measured as he climbed the stairs, wondering what his reception would be. He found Alex sitting in the drawing room. “Why the devil are you sitting here in the dark?” He moved swiftly to the mantle and lit the candles.

“I didn’t notice.” She blinked at the sudden flare of light.

His eyes swept over her, noting she wore the same sober gray riding dress she had worn this morning when they exchanged their marriage vows. “Fenton will be serving us dinner soon; it will be our wedding supper. Would you like to change?”

“No, I don’t think so. What I
would
like is news about Nick.”

His heart went out to her. Once again he was deceiving her, but he told himself he only had her welfare at heart. As far as the world was concerned, Alexandra was Lady Hatton, and he would do whatever was necessary to make her believe it too since it was possible he would not win over the jury. “He is being held at Wood Street Compter. He’s been moved from a ward to a private room. Neville Staines and Justice Stevenson are arranging for an inquest.”

“Neville already told me these things.”

“You saw Lord Staines?”

“Yes. Rupert brought my grandmother too. We saw Neville at his . . . er, at Berkeley Square.”

Nick knew she had suddenly realized that though she’d told
him
about Dottie’s financial difficulties, Kit knew nothing of them. He watched her hug the information to herself. She was secretly glad that her husband had not married an heiress.

“Dottie and Neville have decided to marry.”

“That is marvelous news.” He gave her a broad smile.

“Nick, I—” Her hand flew to her mouth, horrified at the name that had slipped out. “I am so sorry, Kit; please forgive me!”

“Everyone inadvertently calls us by the other’s name occasionally. Why don’t you call me Flynn, if you find the name Christopher difficult.”

“Lord God, I find more than your name difficult!” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Please try not to be offended. Flynn is a lovely name.”
Kathleen Flynn.
Her eyes dropped to her ring. “How is Nick holding up?”

“After France, Wood Street Compter is a cakewalk.” He smiled to reassure her. “I took him fresh clothes.”

“He will need more than fresh clothes. He will need your support and your help. You must use your title, your wealth, and your influence, as well as your testimony, to gain his release.”

Nick was glad that Fenton announced dinner. At the moment he refused to even consider helping his twin. They moved into the small dining room, and he watched her stare at the food with unseeing eyes. “You must eat something, Alex,” he urged gently.

She raised her eyes to his, and the pleading look she gave him tugged at his heartstrings. “This morning you asked me to trust you. If you will keep your promise to do all you can for Nicholas, I will keep the vows I made to you.”

Neither of them did justice to their wedding supper. When Alex pushed her chair from the table, Nick immediately arose and went to her side. Without looking at him she said, “Will you help me remove my trunk from your chamber? I find that I will need a little time before I can share your room.”

Nick’s heart soared. If she had gone dutifully to his twin’s bed, he would have been devastated.

 

As she requested, Kit lifted her trunk and carried it across the hall into Nicholas’s chamber. Alex watched him set it down at the foot of the bed, then stood stiffly as he kissed her cheek and bade her good night.

The moment she was alone, she was engulfed by memories of the intimacies in which she and Nicholas had indulged with such joyous abandon. She put her hands over her eyes to blot out the images, but this only made them more vivid. His imprint was everywhere, tangible in the room’s furnishings—especially the big bed—and intangibly in the very air she breathed. Alex felt overwhelmed by the feelings and emotions the chamber evoked. Gradually, however, she realized that she could not alter the past, and she knew she would not change it if she could. She was now Lady Hatton, Christopher’s wife, and the memories of Nicholas would have to last her a lifetime.

As if she were in a trance, she walked to his wardrobe and took out his black velvet robe. Then, slowly, she removed the gray riding dress and the rest of her garments. When she was completely nude, she wrapped herself in Nick’s robe, climbed into Nick’s bed, and abandoned herself to dream of her only love.

Nicholas arose early, left the house, and walked the streets of London for five miles, fighting an inner battle over his twin. His initial impulse at Christopher’s revelations had been:
Let him rot!
This ignoble sentiment had been replaced by a more detached attitude, to simply let justice take its course and allow the chips to fall where they may.