“I know, but marriage contracts are broken all the time. They are not binding, not really, are they?”
Her father looked extremely uncomfortable and actually squirmed a bit in his chair. “Your contract is a bit different. I don’t want to get into the particulars of it, but suffice it to say there is a reason we’ve been living so well these past years that has nothing at all to do with the estate’s income nor my investments, such as they are.”
A sick feeling came over her, making her fear that she might actually lose her supper. “And if I didn’t marry Lord Hathwaite?” she asked quietly.
“Please, Elizabeth, this is not something I wish to discuss with you,” her father said, his voice tinged with anger.
“But it’s my life we are discussing. Surely I should be aware of the details of the business dealings that decided my entire future.”
“I will tell you only this: If you were to renege, we would lose the estate and I would be ruined. Kingston is a very powerful man.”
Elsie stared blindly at the plate.
“It was a mutually beneficial agreement,” her father persisted. “Kingston got what he wanted and I was promised my daughter would one day be a duchess. It was a very important vote on the China trade. Vital to Kingston at the time.”
“Obviously,” she said softly. Elsie had never felt trapped, but for some reason she felt for the first time as if walls were closing in on her, leaving her no escape. Strangely, it was a prison from which she’d never before wanted to escape. She swallowed heavily, confused by her sudden resistance to what had always been an accepted and even anticipated future.
“Elsie,” her father said kindly. “Look at me.” Elsie tried to school her features so as not to worry her father. “Has something happened, my dear? Has Hathwaite said or done something I need to address?”
“Oh, no, Father. No. He is always a gentleman.”
“
Is
there someone else?” he asked, clearly baffled by her questions.
Elsie thought of Alexander, then immediately abandoned that thought. Even if she was not engaged, her father would never agree to such a marriage. “No, Father. There is no one. No one at all. I think I am simply getting nervous now that the wedding is only months away.” She forced a smile and was gratified when her father relaxed. “Now, tell me, when is the ball? I do hope you plan to go, Father. It’s been so long since you’ve had a bit of fun.”
Lord Huntington spent a few moments busily carving a piece of pheasant before answering his daughter. “The ball is in one week and I do plan to attend. I’m beginning to believe people are thinking I’ve gone a bit batty, wandering about collecting my lichen.”
“Oh, no, Father. They don’t, truly.”
“Regardless, it’s time. Lord and Lady Browning have given us short notice, but apparently they are in the midst of a renovation and were not certain it would be ready in time for Olivia’s birthday. I hope I still fit into my formal wear.”
Elsie shook her head. “I still cannot believe Olivia’s ready to be married. I feel so ...”
“Old?” her father said with a wicked gleam she hadn’t seen in years.
“Oh, you are terrible, Father,” Elsie said, laughing. “I am a bit long in the tooth, but will be married soon enough.” Elsie would not let the sick tumble of her stomach at the thought of her marriage to Lord Hathwaite ruin their meal.
“Anything else interesting in the post?” Elsie asked.
“Only an invitation for Monsieur Desmarais to attend the same ball,” her father said, with obvious pride. It was rather a significant development that the great artist was in their home.
Elsie smiled, as if this news was of no consequence. She was the only person other than Alexander and Monsieur Desmarais himself, who knew that the true artist would not be attending a ball that night.
“We shall have to invite Monsieur to come with us in our carriage,” Elsie said.
“I have issued that invitation already, but he has asked that he not inconvenience us so. He is not expecting to stay long, as I understand it.”
Elsie enjoyed her father’s company, and was very pleased to see he was acting more like himself lately. Despite her misgivings about her upcoming nuptials, she knew in her heart that her father had only her future in mind. Her mother’s death had cast a pall on their home, one that the two of them were still trying to push through. They finished their meal, telling each other the doings of the day, the minor events that only the two of them would find remotely interesting. It occurred to Elsie as they said their good nights, that her father and Alexander were the only two people she knew who were delighted to listen to her talk about nothing.
Chapter 9
Elsie felt like a child anticipating a wonderful birthday party. Her stomach was all a-jumble, but there was another feeling, one still new and fresh and intoxicating, one she didn’t have a name for.
It was stiflingly warm in the ballroom, for the late afternoon sun had shined relentlessly through the bank of French doors. Monsieur Desmarais and Alexander had kept several of the doors open while they worked, but now they were closed and the room was nearly unbearably hot. She immediately ran back to her room and put on a simple day dress, the one she wore when she was assisting the servants to clean out a dusty, unused room. It was loose-fitting and didn’t require a corset, but she certainly couldn’t go wandering around outside with a man in her nightclothes.
Donning her slippers, she flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt outside the ballroom door, pausing to catch her breath.
He is simply your friend
, she thought to herself.
Nothing more.
But she couldn’t stop her smile or her happy anticipation, no matter how she chastised herself, no matter how fruitless such a friendship must be.
She entered the room to find him already on the couch, but he stood the moment he heard her.
“I hardly recognize you dressed,” he said, smiling.
Elsie looked down at her plain dress and fluttered the skirts a bit. “I thought we could walk outside. It’s dreadfully hot in here.”
“It is a bit cooler outside,” Alexander said. He walked to the still-open door that led to the large terrace, then waited for her to precede him, as only a gentleman would.
“Oh, it’s lovely out here,” Elsie breathed, taking Alexander’s hand and pulling him to the edge of the terrace. “If I close my eyes I can picture the night of my ball, the couples dancing, the orchestra playing, and everyone admiring the stunning mural upon the wall.”
“I wish I could be there.”
Elsie opened her eyes, and grasped his other hand, so they stood facing one another. “But you must be there. I shall insist.”
Alexander stiffened, and his expression turned stony as he withdrew his hands. “It doesn’t matter that you insist. I will not be there. It is impossible.”
“I see,” Elsie said, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to be there,” Alexander said, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t you understand that I do not belong in a ballroom with your guests? Besides, I... I cannot attend such public events. Do not ask it of me, for I will only disappoint you.”
“No doubt you and Monsieur already have another commission,” Elsie said, trying to keep her tone neutral, as if the thought of Alexander leaving, of him not being with her for her ball, did not crush her.
“We do.”
Elsie did not want to think on it. It was still so far away, weeks and weeks before her ball, before the mural would be completed. “Let’s walk,” she said with forced cheerfulness.
To her delight and relief, Alexander gave her a small bow then presented his arm for her to take. “I am at your command,” he said gallantly.
They walked down the shallow steps to the lawn, where dew immediately darkened her silk slippers. The night air was filled with the thick sound of crickets and the distant croaking of bullfrogs. A nightingale, its silhouette plainly visible atop an oak sapling, sang incessantly from its perch. Such wonderful summer sounds reminded Elsie painfully of the times Christine and she would sneak out of their rooms and into the summer night.
“I love walking about at night,” Elsie said wistfully. “But I must confess that I have a slight fear of being alone outside at night in the dark. I’m always expecting a wolf to come bounding out and gobble me up.”
Alexander muttered something under his breath.
“Beg pardon?” Elsie said, suspecting he’d said something about how it was even more dangerous to be walking about with him.
“I said something to the effect that you’re in no danger from wolves,” he said, sounding as if he were trying not to laugh. “There hasn’t been a wolf in Britain in more than one hundred years.”
Elsie narrowed her eyes. “That is not what you said, sir.”
Alexander chuckled. “Smart girl.”
“Hmph.” Elsie pretended to pout for perhaps ten seconds, before tugging on his arm and leading him to a large tree with odd foliage sprouting on it. “Tell me about your time in the asylum.”
“I don’t know why you insist on making me relive my unfortunate past,” he said lightly. “It’s rather heartless of you.”
“Indulge me, please. I am interested, truly. You are, in fact, the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
“You have led a sheltered life to be sure.”
Elsie ignored his quip, even as she was pleased by it. “You’ve been locked in an asylum, for goodness sakes. Not many people can say that, you know.”
Alexander shook his head, but he was smiling so Elsie knew he was not bothered by her demands. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you if you’ve had visions of Bedlam in that imaginative head of yours. It was nothing like that. In fact, it was a private institution that presented itself as a home for children who were deemed untrainable.” He told her his story, his words measured and dispassionate, ending with his being introduced to Monsieur Desmarais.
Though it was not a tragic story, at least not to his thinking, by the time he finished, Elsie had tears running down her face.
“Oh, Alexander,” she said, and threw herself into his arms, very nearly sobbing out a grief he didn’t understand.
“Darling, please don’t cry for me. It wasn’t a terrible experience at all. And it allowed me to find Monsieur, something for which I am grateful.”
She looked up at him, clearly distressed. “But you were just a child and were abandoned and you’d done nothing wrong. Your father is monstrous and if I ever chance to meet him I shall tell him so.”
“No doubt you already have met him,” Alexander said, “and probably found him charming.”
“Never. I wish you would tell me who he is,” she said, moving out of his embrace.
Alexander smiled down at her. “So you could throttle him, no doubt.”
“It does sound silly when you say it aloud. I would give him the cut direct.”
“Which, no doubt, would have little or no effect on him.”
Elsie tilted her head. “Is he so very powerful then?”
“In some circles, yes.”
“In my circle?”
“Enough, Miss. I shall not tell you more lest you discover my great secret.”
“Who you truly are is not important, I suppose. You would still be my friend if you were a butcher’s son or a prince, would you not?”
“I would.”
She smiled, and he let out a small groan. “What is wrong?”
“Must you be so beautiful?” he asked, sounding flabbergasted. “It would be so much easier not to kiss you if you were homely.”
She lifted her nose in mock affront. “I had no idea you were so shallow.”
“I suppose I’m as shallow as any other man who is standing in front of a beautiful woman he wants to kiss.”
“Well,” she said, putting her hands behind her back and pacing in front of him, furiously trying to hide a smile. “It just so happens I may have discovered a bit of a loophole in our kissing ban.”
“Oh?”
Elsie looked up into the misshapen tree and giggled. “It just so happens, sir, that we are standing beneath a rather large cluster of mistletoe.”
Alexander looked up at the large bush-like growth sprouting so incongruously from the tree. “Mistletoe,” he said slowly. “Have you lured me out here, Mademoiselle, under false pretenses?”
“Absolutely, I have.”
“How very naughty of you, Miss Elsie.”
“I do have one rule, however,” she said with mock sternness, looking so utterly adorable he had to stop himself from sweeping her into his arms. “You must put both hands behind your back.”
“Like this?” he said, putting his hands immediately behind him.
“Just so,” she said with a satisfied nod. “And I should do the same.”
Alexander’s mouth went dry when she thrust her own hands behind her back, which only served to accentuate her lithe body and its wonderful curves.
“Now we may kiss.”
They leaned toward one another, each grinning like a fool, so that when they did kiss, their teeth touched, making them laugh. “That will never do,” Alexander said softly, his smile fading as he stared down at her upturned face in the moonlight.
He leaned forward again, this time his lips touching her soft, pliant mouth, breathing in on her exhale. He clutched his own wrist so tightly, it was nearly painful, but it was either that or pull her to him. He moved his mouth expertly over hers, taking her bottom lip and sucking gently. Her tongue darted out to taste him and that was nearly his undoing. He was painfully aroused, his body screaming for him to take her into his arms, to press against her. Instead, with a low groan, he pushed his tongue into her mouth, exploring the sweetness there. His knees nearly collapsed when her tongue began to meet his, matching his rhythm, one so erotic he wondered if she was aware what she was doing.
He was losing the battle with his self control, and he let go of his wrist, only to fist his hands by his sides, still not touching her with anything but his mouth, his tongue.
With a small sound, she stepped back, her breathing shaky. “It is not fair,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “It should not be like this. I should not have to suffer this.”
Alexander stiffened. “I don’t understand.”
“It is not fair that I should be forced into...” She stopped abruptly. “It is best left unsaid.” She swallowed, and he could see her throat moving as if she were trying not to cry.
He put his hands upon her upper arms. “Tell me.”
“It is best left unsaid,” she whispered, looking up at him as if her heart were breaking.
“Very well.” His tone was cool, his expression stony.
She just shook her head. “We shouldn’t have kissed. I shouldn’t have allowed it. But you are all I can think of from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep. This is wrong and I should not be here.”
“Elsie,” he said, giving her a little shake when she refused to look at him. “It is the same for me. The same. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“No,” she said, nearly shouting. “Please don’t, Alexander. Don’t say another word. I can’t bear it.”
Alexander stepped back, his breathing hard, his stance angry.
“Oh, please don’t be angry. One of us must be strong, must face reality.”
“Then it is I who must be strong, for I am not the one who led us beneath a large growth of mistletoe,” he nearly shouted, all the anger and frustration he felt coming out. “It was not well done of you, Miss Elsie, not well done at all. You cannot play the coquette, then back away angry that your own actions have resulted in unwanted consequences.”
“I know,” she said softly. “You must think me a terrible sort of girl.”
“Not terrible. Just very, very young.”
“I don’t much care for reality and I suppose, for just a little while, I wanted to pretend I was simply a girl kissing a boy. It seems I am forever apologizing and I fear I must do so again. Please don’t be angry.”
He let out a harsh breath, ashamed that he was making her feel distressed. He knew better, but it was so excruciatingly maddening to know, to
know
she wanted him and to be able to do nothing about it. And yet, that was not entirely true. He could do something. He simply chose not to, he realized, as a wave of self-loathing nearly knocked him to his knees.
“I am not angry with you,” he said harshly, then softened his tone when he realized he did, indeed, sound angry. “I am angry with myself. You are such an innocent and I have no right to touch you.”
Elsie bowed her head. The night had become so quiet, he imagined he heard her tears hitting her dress, soft little taps of misery.
“Let me walk you back to the house.”
She dashed away the tears and nodded. “I’ve ruined everything,” she said. “Stupid, silly mistletoe.”
“No,” he said quietly. “We were the silly stupid things. You and I both.”
At the ballroom door she turned to him and bravely lifted her chin. “Good night, Alexander,” she said, holding out her hand.
“I can’t, Elsie,” he said, staring at her hand, as if she were saying a casual good night to an acquaintance of little consequence. He felt his heart wrench at the look of sadness in her eyes. And then her face crumpled.
“I don’t want to lose you. You are my best friend. Can’t we simply pretend tonight didn’t happen? Please?”
A stronger man would have walked away, but Alexander was not a strong man, not when it came to matters of the heart. “As you wish.”