“You are no cad,” Julius said. “You are a man in love. And you only made a mistake. We all make mistakes.”
“Julius, I-”
“This can be remedied,” he interjected. “You want Lady Marianne, don’t you?”
His face twisted with pain, as if he’d been stabbed in the gut. “It is not so simple as that.”
“Because you choose for it not to be. Speak to your father. That is all I ask.”
“And say what?”
“Beg him to allow you to be pardoned from this marriage agreement.”
Alexander shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t do that. He’ll never forgive me. And he’ll deny me.”
“What matters more to you? His good opinion, or the love of a good woman?”
A question he should have asked himself long ago. And yet the answer wasn’t easy. He turned his face away from Julius’.
“Ask your father,” Julius pressed and squeezed Alexander’s shoulder. “Consider it, at least. Or continue to do yourself and everyone else an injustice, by acting as you do now. This is not healthy Alexander.”
He knew that. He’d never acted so recklessly in his life. With seemingly zero concern for the feelings of those involved. Like Marianne, who he cherished. And yet he tormented her time and time again.
She was trying to move on.
But he wouldn’t let her.
He wondered if he would ever be able to.
When he spoke again his voice was weak from the force of his emotion. “I will speak to my father.”
They left together after that. They did not go back to the house, because they didn’t want to risk seeing… well, any member of the Purcell family. Even Julius seemed reluctant to go inside.
So they retrieved their horses themselves and rode off the grounds without announcing their departure. It was better that way. “You will stay tonight?” Julius said.
“No,” Alexander answered. “I will go straight to my father.”
“Are you sure that is wise? You are not yourself.”
“I am more myself than I have been in months.” With that, he pushed his horse into a gallop and left his friend behind. He rode hard until he reached the estate, as if hell was hot on his heels.
When he arrived, he saw that a light was on in the drawing room. His father was still awake. But he knew that his mother would not be. When he stepped into the drawing room, he looked disheveled and was noticeably breathless.
“Father,” he said.
His father did not appear to be concerned by his nervous condition. He put his book down calmly and regarded his son. “Yes?”
“I have a matter to raise with you.”
“Can it not wait until morning?”
Such a simple question. Yet it shook his resolve. “No,” he answered, after a moment’s hesitation. “It is an urgent matter.”
“Have you come from the Purcells’?”
“I have.” He wished his father would just let him talk. Every moment that he postponed, his conviction wavered. “Father, I have come to ask you to free me from this engagement.”
Very slowly, his father’s left eyebrow rose. He did not appear to be surprised. It was almost as if he’d been waiting to be disappointed by Alexander. As if it was only a matter of time.
“Father?” He said, in a weaker voice, when his father didn’t answer.
“Free you from the engagement,” his father said, in a musing voice. “Do you know what that is synonymous with, Alexander?”
He spoke as if he was trying to make a child understand something that was beyond its intellectual depth.
Alexander swallowed.
He tried to remember what Marianne’s lips had tasted like. How it had felt to have her kiss him back, if only for an instant. But his father’s presence made his memory of the taste bitter.
“It is synonymous with breaking a gentleman’s agreement.” His father stood as he said this. “It is synonymous with shaming your family.”
His father started walking towards Alexander. If he’d been a boy, he would have stepped back. But he stood still and steady.
It was only his eyes that looked afraid. And afraid of what? Of disappointing the one man he’d always wanted to make proud.
“It is synonymous,” his father went on, in a chilling voice. “With making a public statement that you are a man whose word is worth nothing. And a man like that is worth nothing.”
Alexander’s breath quivered out of his lungs.
Worth nothing. The words echoed around in his head.
“Is that what you want, Alexander?” His father asked, in a knowing voice that was almost sinister. He lifted his hand and put it on Alexander’s shoulder. But it didn’t comfort him. It made his face flinch ever so slightly.
His father squeezed. Hard. “Think very carefully before you answer.” His father said, quietly. “Is that what you want?”
Why did time stand still when he needed it to move, so that he could escape a moment?
His eyes dropped between them. He could feel his father’s strong hand bearing down on him, reminding him that he was just a boy who wanted to please his father. Who’d disappointed him one too many times.
Alexander felt himself shaking his head. “No,” he whispered, without looking up.
“Louder.”
“No,” he croaked.
His father gave his shoulder one last squeeze, before his hand fell away. “A good choice,” he remarked. And then he left.
But Alexander didn’t move. He stood in the center of the drawing room, staring at the floor.
He was in a cage. It wasn’t a shocking revelation. But he supposed he’d always thought that one day he’d figure out how to make the key to get himself out.
As he stood there, he realized that that wasn’t true.
There was no getting out for him.
Chapter 20
Lady Marianne Purcell, Daughter of the Baron of Westlake
When Marianne opened her eyes, she saw Becky’s face. Still soft with repose. At some point during the night, they’d twined their fingers against the mattress between them.
Becky’s fingers were still softly clinging to hers, though she slept on.
Marianne studied her face. She’d never done anything like this before. Marianne had always been the one to push the limits of their relationship as Lady and maid. She’d wanted a friend in the house, and she’d liked Becky from the outset.
But Becky had resisted. And rightly so. If anyone were to discover the closeness of their friendship, they would say it was entirely improper.
Marianne didn’t care about that. She loved her friend. But seeing her lying there, risking the Baroness’ horror if she was discovered, Marianne knew that Becky needed comfort as much as she did.
“Becky,” she whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled dazedly. She so rarely smiled so freely. Marianne could usually see tension in the corners of her lips, as if she was afraid someone would berate her for smiling.
“Are you alright, my darling?” Marianne asked, feeling like a mother to a frightened child. Her brows were puckered as she looked at Becky.
Slowly, reality seemed to dawn on Becky. She lifted her head and looked around her, at Marianne’s bedroom. Her body lurched and she almost fell from the bed.
Catching her wrist to keep her from toppling over, Marianne put her finger to her lips to hush her.
“They won’t come in,” she assured her, quietly. “You are the only person who comes in here,” she added, with a small smile.
It took her a few moments to calm and even then she did not entirely relax. She sat up in the bed, looking ready to jump out at any moment. Marianne sat up beside her.
“Why did you come here last night, Becky?”
“I am so sorry, my Lady.”
Marianne shook her head. “Don’t be. I was glad of your closeness. But it was unlike you. Did something happen?”
Becky pursed her lips. Her eye
s looked bloodshot. It had been the early hours of the morning when she’d come in.
Marianne’s eyes widened a little and she put her hand over Becky’s, clutching it. “Did Lord Blackwood…?
Becky understood her meaning, though Marianne couldn’t manage to say it. She shook her head quickly. “No, no, he wouldn’t do that.”
Marianne frowned, perplexed.
“He is a good man,” Becky said, in a wobbly voice.
That was a sudden change. Marianne blinked at her, but Becky didn’t say anything more. She just stared at her, until it dawned on Marianne. In an instant.
“You love him.”
Becky nodded, very slowly.
“Oh,” Marianne murmured and leaned back against the headboard.
She felt Becky squeeze her hand. “Are you angry with me, my Lady?”
“Angry? Becky, how could I be? We don’t choose who we love.” She knew that better than most.
They didn’t speak of what they would do. They didn’t hatch a plan. Both of them were facing circumstances that were out of their hands. It wasn’t fair. And it was clear that neither of them would be getting what they wanted.
“I’m sorry for you, Becky,” Marianne whispered, with tears eyes. She squeezed her friend’s hand and Becky squeezed back.
“And I’m sorry for you too, my Lady.”
They were quiet for a long time, before Becky suggested they get ready to tackle the day. Marianne had agreed and Becky assisted her in getting dressed. She brushed her hair for a while, to put Marianne at ease. It helped a little.
“My Lady, what happened last night?”
Marianne closed her eyes. “He kissed me.”
Becky stopped brushing for a moment, then resumed. “And did you kiss him back?”
Her cheeks went pink. “I did, at first.”
“And then you denied him?”
She nodded. “I did.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, my Lady. But… why?”
Marianne touched her hand to ask her to stop. Becky put the brush aside and Marianne turned in her chair to look back at her.
“Do you envisage a bearable outcome for us, if I pursue him?”
It took her a moment, but she shook her head.
“If he calls off his marriage with Eliza, he will face shame. And my family may never forgive me.”
“But my Lady… is that not better than what you feel now?”
“I will heal in time.”
Becky looked unsure. “It has been months since Bath, my Lady, and you have not healed. And with him around, always, how will you be able to stand this?”
Her lips parted soundlessly, as if she meant to say something. But nothing came. Yes, she’d thought of this. But she’d never painted so bleak a picture for herself as Becky just did.
She’d always told herself she would heal. That it would get easier. That she just had to wait. But Becky was right. She’d had time to heal and hadn’t. Not even little.
Even if there was the chance that she might heal one day, having Lord Redmond around made that even less likely.
She realized, as she sat there, that her chances were infinitesimal.
“My Lady,” Becky said. She came to stand in front of her and gripped Marianne’s hands in both of hers. “You know that I do not care for your sister. That is no secret. But I care for you. And you deserve this man, my Lady. If he is good and you love him, then you deserve this.”
“What do you propose I do?” She asked, desperately.
“I propose you consider what is worse. The possibility that both your family and his will not approve. Or the possibility of living without him, though you love him, and seeing him always with your sister. With your sister, my Lady, who will surely destroy his soul. Does he not have a gentle soul?”
“Yes,” Marianne said. “A very gentle soul. He is too kind.”
“Too kind for a woman like her, my Lady. If you did not free him from this marriage for yourself, then do it for him.”
An angle she’d not considered. She’d been so busy trying to protect her sister’s prospects that she hadn’t considered what it would mean for Lord Redmond if he went through with this marriage.
And suddenly, it all became about that. About protecting him.
“I can’t let him do this,” she whispered, as it dawned on her. “I can’t.
“No, my Lady” Becky smiled at her, with a soft furrow between her brows. “You can’t.”
***
Lord Alexander Anthony Redmond, Marquess of Riversdale
He did not visit the Purcells for a while after that. Instead, he spent much of his days at Julius’, to avoid his father’s surly stare. The day after his failed discussion with his father, he’d arrived and Julius had greeted him at the door.
He hadn’t said anything. Only stepped aside and let him in. Julius poured him a drink before he raised his questions with him.
“It did not go well,” he said, in a hollow voice.
“It did not.”
Julius nodded. He looked… sad. It was unlike him. Even when Alexander was in a state, he always made a hearty attempt to cheer him. Not today. They both sat in the drawing room nursing a whiskey on rye, though it was just after midday.
They drank for a while. Silent.
Then Julius said, “You may stay here, if you like.”
“I thank you for that,” Alexander murmured.
Julius tipped his glass towards him in answer.
“You do not seem happy,” Alexander said, as he watched his friend. He was slouched back, with heavy eyes. He looked ever so tired.
Julius shrugged dismissively.
“Did something happen last night?”
Julius rubbed at his eyes. “No.”
He wouldn’t say any more, though Alexander pressed him for answers several times. Eventually, he resolved that he would give his friend time. In time, he would come to him and – perhaps – Alexander might be able to help with whatever left Julius feeling so low.
Alexander did not leave Julius’ estate for several days. And with every day, he felt more and more solemn. He’d thought that the space would give him some clarity. Or some acceptance.
Something.
But instead, he felt himself sinking.
Julius was equally solemn, which didn’t help. They were feeding each other’s sadness. But Julius’ behavior greatly concerned Alexander.
By the seventh day, he pushed again. “Will you not tell me what is the matter, my friend? I have never seen you like this before.”
They were each pushing their food around on their plates.
Julius was staring down at his plate.
“You will disapprove,” Julius muttered in answer.
Alexander frowned. “I am not your father, Julius. I am your friend. I want whatever makes you happy. Now be candid with me. What has happened?”
There was a long moment of silence. Such a long moment that Alexander thought Julius would refuse to answer again. But then he spoke.
“I asked Miss Cole to marry me.”
Alexander nearly choked on his food. His eyes went wide and he gawped across the table at Julius, who stared at him with calm, sunken eyes.
“You… the maid?”
“Yes, the maid.”
Alexander took a big swig of his whiskey. It took him a while to process this information. “This is…”
“Almost unheard of.”
“Almost,” Alexander acknowledged, with a nod.
“There was that Earl who married a scullery maid.”
“Donhugen,” Julius said, with a nod. “But that was Scotland.”
“Indeed,” Alexander took another drink.
“He was stripped of his title by his parents,” Julius said.
“At the very least, you are free from that possibility.”
Julius nodded. His parents had died several years ago. The flu had got them both. Julius had been much changed since then. Much more resistant to discus
sions of this nature. Discussions of feeling.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Alexander asked, carefully.
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