“Alexander would never hurt me.”
“No, perhaps not physically. But there are worse things, sometimes, than physical pain. There’s mental anguish and fear, and I have every reason to suspect you would suffer them if you married him.”
Elsie tried to imagine Alexander acting so, and could not. Perhaps he wasn’t a gentle man, but he had never been cruel. She thought of the way he’d looked at her at the church and she pushed that image away as she had so many times before. “He may be angry at first,” Elsie said, slowly. “He’s been hurt, badly, as have I. But I have absolutely no doubt that in time, he will learn to love me again. I am sure of it. Love cannot be extinguished so easily.”
“Never in my life have I seen a man so full of rage. I know we were unwitting pawns in a terrible game, but what was done to him over the years was unthinkable. Perhaps that is why it was so difficult to believe. And now I am nearly as culpable for his pain as his father.”
Elsie shook her head. “I refuse to believe that. You couldn’t know he was telling the truth. Even I, in the end, was convinced he was a fraud when the solicitors wrote that they did not represent him. If only I had remembered the right firm. I am as guilty as anyone. But were we to have such blind faith in the face of so much evidence?”
“Hearsay. That’s all it was. I believed Kingston.”
Elsie leaned forward. “And why wouldn’t you? He was a peer of the realm. He was supposed to be a man of honor.”
“I knew he was not. You knew it, too. And yet we allowed him to destroy that boy. His
son
. My God, I still cannot believe a man could do that to his own child.”
“Father, please,” Elsie said, pressing her cool fingers against her temples in an attempt to stem a burgeoning headache.
“I wronged you, too. You loved him and I...” He closed his eyes, as if he could keep his thoughts from escaping. “I failed you.”
“He will forgive me. And perhaps you, too. Perhaps this is his way of saying he has already forgiven us.”
Her father gave her a doubtful look.
“Perhaps not,” Elsie said, with a chagrined look. “But if we are married, I have a chance. I suppose we should set a date. A small ceremony, and we’ll invite only the local gentry. I’ll have to have a new dress, of course. Something subdued, in deference to his father’s death.”
Lord Huntington shook his head sorrowfully. “I’m afraid there is to be no ceremony to speak of. His Grace has insisted you be delivered to his estate alone. In one month’s time, you shall marry in a small chapel at Warbeck Abbey. He gave explicit instructions, one of which is that you are to come alone.”
“Alone? And in one month? People will be outraged.”
“I hardly think he cares,” Lord Huntington said.
“I’ll refuse, of course,” Elsie said. How could Alexander possibly think they could have a wedding so close to his father’s funeral?
“I’m afraid you cannot, my dear. If you refuse to adhere to his demands, he will forfeit the agreement and demand repayment of the loan.”
Chapter 25
It was raining, and the old wives’ tale, meant to put brides at ease about rain on a wedding day being good luck, seemed a bit ridiculous to Elsie. She was in a ducal coach, surrounded by opulence and luxury, but shivering despite the warm wool blanket the driver had taken from the storage bin in the floor. Actually, sleet was coming down, spattering noisily against the coach’s roof, and Elsie idly wondered what the old crones said about sleet. At this moment, she didn’t much care. She was nearly as miserable at this wedding as she had been at her first, as uncertain of her choices, as ill at the thought of marrying a man who didn’t love her.
Alexander had refused to see her, had ignored her letters pleading that she be allowed to bring her father, a friend, anyone to make this day easier. Aunt Diane was nearly in Bamburgh fetching the Earl of Braddock’s stubborn niece, who had apparently refused to leave her home even though it had been sold to someone else. Elsie couldn’t imagine such a stubborn girl, but secretly admired her spunk. Her aunt, on the other hand, who detested long trips, was anything but impressed by the girl’s disobedience. Spunk was something that Elsie had always had in short supply, but she wished she had a bit of it this day.
The coach moved noisily up the cobbled drive, but past the main house. Elsie pulled back the velvet curtain and watched, puzzled, as the coach continued around the great manor house, and she wondered if she were to be delivered to the servants’ entrance—or worse, the stable. Perhaps a pile of horse dung awaited her instead of a happy groom. The coach stopped, seemingly in the middle of the gardens, and Elsie watched for a time as the sleet beat relentlessly onto the gray cobbles, glazing them with ice. Sliding to the opposite side of the coach, she lifted the curtain and let out a small sound of dismay. They had stopped outside the estate’s tiny, ancient chapel, which as far as she knew, hadn’t been used in generations.
When she and Christine were young, they had entered the old chapel, even though they’d made up a story about how it was haunted by an old priest. Actually, Christine had made up the story and Elsie had tried very hard not to believe it. Even then, all those years ago, it was in disrepair. Indeed, the small building looked about to fall down. Apparently the old duke had not been a spiritual man, and the current duke had not deemed it necessary to repair.
My goodness, she didn’t even know if Alexander attended services. For all she knew, he could be Catholic; Monsieur Desmarais was French, after all, and the French were known for their papist beliefs.
Surely, she wasn’t expected to descend from the coach and go immediately to the ceremony. She wore only a simple traveling gown of blue wool, for she hadn’t wanted to ruin any of her nicer gowns in the weather. Her shoes were sturdy practical things, not the delicate creations she’d thought to wear. The coach door opened and she found herself facing a footman in blue and gold Kingston livery, his uniform sprinkled by ice, his face dripping from the melted sleet. He lowered the stairs, then held his gloved hand for her to take, his expression one of supreme patience.
“Where is His Grace?” Elsie demanded before taking a single step. If she was going to be a duchess, she might as well sound like one right away. She ruined the effect by adding, “If you please.”
“Inside the chapel, Miss,” the young man said. He waited perhaps two beats, his gloved hand still extended before saying, “This way, Miss.”
The poor man’s hair, exposed beneath his bi-cornered hat, was growing icy, his cheeks red from the cold, so Elsie really had no choice but to take his hand and step down. He released her and moved back, leaving her to walk into the chapel alone. The cobbles were slick with ice, and she gave the oblivious young man a glare before carefully making her way to the chapel’s door, taking mincing little steps. When her boots touched the dry stone beneath the entrance, another footman opened the heavy, thick wooden door, which swung inward soundlessly, revealing a tiny chapel with three rows of benches on a stone floor. Standing in the front of the room was a reverend she did not recognize, the duchess, Warbeck Abbey’s butler, and Alexander, who snapped his watch shut just as she began walking forward.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Elsie said, giving the older woman a quick curtsy.
“Elizabeth,” the woman said, nodding serenely, as if this were an everyday occurrence. She didn’t smile encouragement or frown disapproval, but simply turned back to face the front of the chapel.
It seemed rather like an awful dream, in which one is not certain if all will turn out right or will spiral into a frightening nightmare. Alexander said not a word, but stood at the altar beside the reverend looking like some sort of clothed statue, his face unmoving, his eyes made of cold granite. This was no nervous groom, no loving man waiting anxiously for his bride, and Elsie’s heart fell to her suddenly shaky knees. Truly, this was a nightmare.
“I should like to change for the ceremony,” she said, and looked down at her wrinkled gown and sodden hem, if only to hide the sudden tears that burned her eyes.
“No need,” he said, and turned toward the reverend and nodded.
“Miss,” the reverend said, with an open palm gesture indicating she could come forward. He was a round little man, but without the twinkle one associated with round little men. Indeed, he looked quite put out and impatient to be on with it.
He opened his prayer book and immediately began reading, even before Elsie had managed to step up next to Alexander. Her groom did not reach for her hand; he did not look at her. It was almost as if she was not there at all and she wondered if she could quietly slip away without notice. Perhaps this was a dream, one in which she could fly to the moon if she wanted or close her eyes and return home to play hide and seek with Mary.
The reverend spoke quickly, like a child reciting a well-known verse, with little inflection, slowing down only when saying the lines they were to repeat. When it was Elsie’s turn, he glared at her expectantly, and she muttered her lines, feeling her throat close tighter and tighter, until she was hardly able to speak at all.
As for Alexander, he put as much emotion into his tone as a man reading a language he was unfamiliar with, and his eyes never strayed from the reverend. A puddle was still forming around her boots from the melting sleet when he proclaimed them man and wife. Alexander immediately walked to a lectern and signed the marriage certificate, handed the pen to her, paid the reverend, then strode from the church. Elsie stood in her puddle, pen in hand, watching in bewilderment as the chapel door closed, muffling the sound of the sleet hitting the cobbles.
Her cheeks burned in humiliation as the butler cleared his throat and the now-dowager duchess looked at her with pity. “He doesn’t care for public displays,” she said, with a helpless little hand gesture.
“I think His Grace doesn’t care for me,” Elsie said, and was slightly gratified when the dowager’s eyes widened in surprise. Elsie turned to the certificate and signed her name next to his bold signature. It looked decidedly ducal. Her signature seemed meek and timid in comparison. To offset that impression, she underlined her name, pressing so hard she nearly broke the nib.
After that tiny show of defiance, Elsie had expended her spunk for the moment, and waited for the dowager and butler to sign the certificate as witnesses. She wouldn’t dare think how mortifying it was that a butler was one of two witnesses to her wedding.
“If you will, Your Grace,” the butler said, gesturing for her to precede him through the door. She was almost certain, though it seemed rather absurd, that he actually winked at the dowager as he said the words. No, he couldn’t have. That would have been extremely impertinent of him.
“Your temporary quarters are in the west wing, Your Grace,” he said. “His Grace is having your suite refurbished and awaits your opinions on décor.”
The west wing was where Kingston had always put the guests. In a way, Elsie was slightly relieved, for it was a part of the huge manse that she was familiar with. Still, it was not what she’d expected. None of this was. What she had expected, she wasn’t certain. She only wished she could go back in time and stop herself from walking down that aisle toward Oscar. It didn’t matter that even as she’d done it, her promise to Alexander had rung in her ears. That promise, that stupid, romantic promise that she hadn’t been able to keep. She should have said, “I will try” or “I will do my best.” Instead, she’d promise on her soul that she would wait for him, that she would die before she married Oscar without word from Alexander.
It didn’t matter how many times she told herself no other woman would have been as strong, would have resisted for so long, would have stood up to her father and a duke. She’d given in. She’d broken that promise and broken Alexander’s heart and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do to make up for it.
Chapter 26
“How long are you going to punish her?”
Alexander ignored his mother’s question and continued reading through his estate manager’s report. Oscar had done a fine job teaching him about his new duties, but he still had much more to learn before he felt comfortable.
“Alexander.”
“Yes, Mother, I heard you,” he said, underlining a section about one tenant who needed a new roof. “If marrying me is punishment, then I daresay she should have refused.”
He could feel her stare and finally looked up to find his mother frowning at him.
“It’s quite clear that she married you because she loves you.”
Alexander let out a sound that was more growl than sigh, and continued reading, his pen at the ready. Already he’d authorized a new grain mill to be built, as well as an irrigation system to replace one in desperate need of modernizing. Oscar had already designed the new system, which needed only the funds to pay for it. He was beginning to gain confidence in his decisions, and starting to realize that being a duke wouldn’t be such a burden, after all. However, he was not used to family, not used to explaining himself, and found he did not like this part of having the title.
Loved him, did she? Marrying his brother—or at least being prepared to—did not a devoted lover make.
“Do you remember your father?”
“You are not going to leave this alone, are you?”
Her answer was to perch herself at the edge of a settee, as if in for a long chat. Alexander hated long chats. “He was an exceedingly intimidating man. A bully with a mean streak and he liked nothing better than to take advantage of the weak, or at least people he perceived as weak. He had an uncanny way of finding someone’s most vulnerable spot, exposing it, then going in for the kill. Figuratively speaking, of course.”
“Mother,” Alexander said with forced patience, “I do not wish to speak of my dead father. Or my living bride. If you would simply leave me alone to work, I would be exceedingly grateful.”
Her response was to purse her lips and narrow her eyes. “Elizabeth had no chance against a person like your father. No more chance than I did in the thirty years I was married to him. He had a way of speaking that made you feel as if you were an idiot. If I said the sky was blue, he’d make me believe I was foolish for believing it. It made him extremely successful in parliament. Oh, to be set down by Kingston. It was everyone’s greatest fear.
“And yet, she stood against him, Alex. Certainly she deserves some credit for that.”
“Five days,” Alexander said harshly, making his mother flinch. “This paragon of strength lasted all of five days before she trotted down the altar to marry Oscar after swearing to me that she loved me, that she would wait for me. Five days was all she gave me. For all I know, it was five minutes, one word, and she was filled with doubt...” He stopped, because he knew the rage he felt should not be directed at his mother. “I apologize,” he said, feeling true remorse.
“You always felt too much.”
“Oh, please, Mother.”
“It’s true. Henry, he didn’t care when his father yelled at him. Henry would just smile and go on his merry way. But you, you took it to heart. He made you suffer. Sometimes I think he enjoyed it.”
Alexander didn’t want to talk about it, wanted never to think of his father again. But he couldn’t help asking one question. “What of Oscar?”
“He was harsh to Oscar, but never completely cruel.”
Alexander scrubbed his face with his hands. “My father has nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with my wife, nor how I treat her.”
“You want me to stay out of it.”
Alexander gave his mother a look of exasperation tinged with tenderness. “Of course I do. The dowager house is only three miles from here. Out the door and to the left.” He was half serious.
“Oh, you are quite awful, Alexander,” his mother said, completely unaffected by his words. “But as a matter of fact, I do plan to move there tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to, you know.”
“Yes, I do. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to take some of the staff. Would it be all right if Hawkins came with me? And perhaps a few of the downstairs maids? You know I won’t be doing much entertaining.”
Alexander knew his mother was nearly as uncomfortable in crowds as he was. “We shall be known as the Kingston recluses.”
“That would be heaven, wouldn’t it?”
They both laughed, sharing their common dislike of socializing. His mother started for the door, but paused before leaving.
“Alexander?”
He lifted his head in question.
“Having a cruel husband is terribly lonely.” With that she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Elsie sat in her room, knitting Mary a lovely winter hat, which would join the mittens she’d already made. Most brides would be doing needle point, some monogrammed handkerchiefs she could give her new husband, but at the moment she had no tender thoughts to spare for Alexander.
Abandoned, alone on her wedding night, her dinner eaten without company in a small room off her bedroom, she’d stared at the steady candle flame before her. Not even the breath of another soul was present to make the candle flicker. She hadn’t cried, and as she put the tasteless food in her mouth, she’d grown more and more angry. Would this be their life? Not just separate rooms, but separate wings. Would they ever have the easy conversation that had passed between them when they thought they’d been in love? Would he ever again share his joy or his pain with her? Would he ever touch her and make her body shake with joy?
She held up the hat, seeking out any imperfections, and was about to continue when she heard the faint sound of music. She cocked her ear but couldn’t make out anything but the barest hint of sound. Walking to the window, she pushed it open, bracing against the cool breeze that buffeted her face. She heard only the sound of the wind in the trees, rustling and reminding her of home. The sound must be coming from inside, then.
Elsie put her wrap on and walked to her door, opening it slightly and heard, quite distinctly now, the sound of a piano. Smiling grimly, Elsie walked from her chamber in the direction of Warbeck Abbey’s music room, knowing that the source of music could only be Alexander.
The soft carpet beneath her feet was lovely, and a sharp contrast to the icy marble where no carpet lay. She walked down the darkened halls, lit only occasionally by a gaslight turned low. The closer she got to the music room, the more she could identify the sound as a song, though she was unfamiliar with the piece. It was loud, harsh, almost frightening—the music one would hear in a nightmare if that were possible.
Even through the closed door, the music was shattering, as if he were pounding on the keys instead of playing them. And yet, for all the music’s chaos, there was a beauty to it, an emotional pull that was impossible to deny. She opened the door silently, feeling an unexpected fear run down her spine.
The room was darkened except for a single lamp on the piano, which shook with the ferocity of Alexander’s playing. He looked like a man possessed—his hands a blur on the keys, his face a mask of fury, as if the notes he was playing were somehow transforming him into the devil himself.
Suddenly, he stopped and looked up, his gray eyes filled with fire. His hands went to his thighs and Elsie watched with no little trepidation as he curled them into fists. His fury was nearly palpable.
“My,” she said, trying for a light tone but failing miserably. “That was rather... violent.”
“Go back to your rooms,” he said, turning his gaze to the keyboard.
Elsie wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the man she loved, knowing she would endure whatever it took to win him back.
“I am sorry if I caused you pain,” she said, her words sounding strangely loud in the deathly quiet room.
“Yes,” he said softly, “I suppose getting one’s heart ripped from one’s chest is a bit painful.”
Elsie would have thought he was joking if not for the expression on his face. “You must understand that I ...”
“Must I?”
Elsie took a sharp breath at his abrupt interruption. “Yes. If this is to be any sort of marriage, you will have to forgive me.”
“I cannot.”
“Oh, Alexander, you must,” she said, taking a few hesitant steps toward him. “We were both victims of your father’s schemes. You far more, but I, too, was hurt by him.”
“Really. At what point were you hurt? As you were walking down the aisle or when you happily accepted the new wedding date less than a week after promising me you would wait for me.”
“Please, Alexander.”
He stood so quickly, the piano seat skidded some way across the room. “You promised to wait. Upon your
soul
,” he spat. “You had so little faith in me that you allowed a man you knew was cruel to manipulate you. It was only five days, Elsie, from the time I left you to the time you were walking down the aisle. I can never forgive that.”
Elsie felt her heart ache in a way she did not think physically possible. “You’re not being fair.”
Alexander took a stiff step toward her and the anger in his face made Elsie back away. “I’ll tell you what’s unfair. Being put in an idiot asylum when you are ten years old is not fair. Watching the woman you love more than life itself walk down the aisle to marry your brother
is not fair
.”
Tears streamed down Elsie’s face and she felt all her hopes slowly die. “Then why did you marry me, if it pains you so?”
Alexander took a harsh breath and looked away. “I am a man of honor and I dishonored you. The marriage contract bound me to you, and even though I loathe myself for it, I could not bear the thought of you marrying another.”
A long silence followed those words, and finally Alexander retrieved the piano bench with exaggerated calm, then sat back down and laid his fingers silently upon the keys. “You may go now.”
Elsie stared at his profile for a moment, before turning and leaving the room, so drained she couldn’t even bring herself to close the door behind her.