Alice paced up and down her room, her eyes straying to the folded paper. What could he say that she did not already know? The truth had been revealed. Did he mean to trick her?
The letter appeared thick with words, innocently sitting on her writing desk without a shred of evidence to the message within. Only her name sat in beautiful writing, the mark of a man who wielded the pen with confidence. Of course he could write well. She would have expected no less from the son of a duke. Yes, she would have expected no less from the son of a duke, and that included the art of deceit.
Perhaps it would be more apt for her to say that she expected no less of a man, with Gregory as the exception. Gregory appeared madly in love with Violet, and he did not hide it. Luke should have taken a leaf out of his friend's book and shown his true feelings for her by telling her the truth. How might she have taken that? Would she have accepted it, or walked away from him in fear of having her heart broken for a second time? Alice thought back to the day she had seen Henry and Bridgette. It was as though it had happened years ago as opposed to mere weeks. It had pained her to see them still so in love and happy with each other. Was their happiness not built on her heartbreak?
Such a relationship should not have lasted so long. It should not have stood the test of time. How could anything have grown out of someone's pain? Alice recalled the day she had learned that Henry had eloped with Bridgette to France, the pure shock that had taken over every thought in her head. It had not seemed possible to her. Henry could not have left her for a woman he hardly knew. However, time revealed that they were in each other's company far more than Alice had imagined, or perhaps she had ignored the truth. Had there been signs for her to see? Prolonged gazes? Knowing eyes? Alice closed her own, trying to conjure up specific memories of that time in her history of love and heartache. She could only remember one particular moment, the day Henry had met Bridgette.
Handsome Henry, standing beside her in his suit, blond hair softly curling over his brow, piercing blue eyes looking at her with what she believed was love. Bridgette approached them with her father, her fair looks attracting every male gaze in the room.
Alice had not immediately felt self-conscious or worried – Henry had already confessed his love to her, even hinting at a marriage towards the end of the season. In her mind's eye, she could see Henry take Bridgette's hand, his lips missing the glove altogether and landing on the exposed part of her arm. Alice had assumed it to be an amusing blunder on his part, but she and Mr Bordeaux had been the only ones to laugh about it. Bridgette had blushed, Henry had apologised profusely. And Alice had believed that was the end of it.
Obviously, it had not been, or she might have been married to him. If she were to carefully inspect every moment, every look, every evaded question, Alice would have seen the interest in Henry's eyes. Had Luke given her reason to doubt him? Well, besides the glaring fact that he deceived her.
The situations were different – one had run away from her to be with another, and the other was attempting to marry her against her will. Laughter began to bubble out of her, laughter that had a touch of insanity to it. When her tears began to fall, it was difficult to tell if they were proof of her amusement or her pain.
Violet walked into Alice's room some days later, carrying what resembled the letter that sat unopened on her writing desk.
"Has it become customary for you to enter my room without asking for my permission? What do you carry in your hand?"
“I am accustomed to walking into your room without your permission, and I am exhausted from tiptoeing around you. You are not ill, your life is still intact, and you have more support and love than many women in your position have. It is time for you to leave this room and live your life, starting with this letter.”
Her sister placed it on her desk, coming to stand where she was currently painting. Alice had had her painting materials and equipment moved into her bedroom a few days ago when her boredom had become too much. Ignoring her sister's words, she continued to paint her landscape, recalling the rolling hills of their home in the countryside. She wished more than anything that she could be there rather than the disappointment that was London. Luke had written her another letter, but she would not open it. She did not wish to know what lies he wanted to feed her. He may have convinced Violet, but he would never do so to her.
“Ignoring me will not deter me from making you see sense, Alice. Not many men would continue to pursue such a stubborn woman.”
“Did I ask him to waste his breath and time in pursuing me? It is better for you to take both those letters and throw them into the fireplace.”
“It is summer, Alice. There is no fireplace.”
Alice sighed. “Goodness! I am sure that you can think of another way to dispose of the letters. Now please, let me paint in peace.”
Violet made a guttural sound. “I wish that you wore two long plaits today.”
“Two long plaits? I have not worn such a hairstyle since I left the nursery room.”
“Had you worn the plaits, I would have pulled on your hair.” Her sister stamped her foot on the ground, turned on her heel and left. Stunned, Alice stared at the spot her sister had just vacated.
Goodness, whatever had got into her? Could she truly be so upset? What was Luke to her that she should wish for Alice to read his letters? Was she not her sister? He was merely a stranger some weeks ago. Perhaps she felt obligated to him because she was to marry Gregory soon.
Should she go to her sister? But what good would that do when she was so set on the notion that she should give Luke another chance? No, it would be better for her to remain in her room, on this stool, painting her landscape. She had to admit that a part of her was curious about the letters, but not enough to open them. Alice would not allow Mary or the other maids to move the letter from its position, whether to tidy her desk or dust it. Those letters could become frail and fall apart for all the importance they held in her life.
Why did he not understand that she wished to have nothing to do with him? The man had rocks in his head, or else he would not be so foolish!
Alice painted an angry slash of red on her sky, the only show of emotion she would allow herself. What would anger achieve her? Nothing, nothing at all. Better she show indifference to all than show the anger she had within her. Luke had made her feel things she should have never felt, and for that she would never forgive him. It was not just a matter of deceit but harsh reality.
Love was for those who did not use it to their advantage but only for the betterment of others. Violet and Gregory were a blessing to each other. Each made the other's life better for being in it. Her love for Henry had brought her betrayal, and the deeper, more intense love that she had for Luke had brought her the deepest pain she had ever experienced. This love made the first seem superficial and virtually painless, a mere drop in the ocean. The first betrayal did not prepare her for the second, more devastating deceit.
The entire situation was made all the worse by the clinging love she still felt for him. Alice still loved Luke, a truth that only flamed the fires of her anger. Keeping to herself was the only way of building up her strength to face the questions, the stares, the whispers once she left her room. Luke did not make it any easier for her by coming to her home, conspiring with her sister. And giving her useless letters that likely only contained more lies. They all should just leave her be!
Alice tilted her head back, fixing her eyes on a cobweb above her head. Counting down from ten, she slowly calmed down, breathing her worries out. There was no reason to become upset. This was but a season in her life. She repeated this to herself several times until she was able to drown out the part of her that still entertained her love for Luke.
***
Luke steadily proved to be a persistent and stubborn man. Alice stood to the side of her bedroom window, using the heavy curtain to hide the bulk of her face from view. There, below her, stood Luke, looking every bit as handsome as she remembered him. There was
no justice in this world when you looked a frightful mess, and he so dashing in his morning suit.
Alice had not bothered to brush her hair, was wearing the least attractive dress with multiple paint stains, and she was sure that her face had paint marks that she had not bothered to wash away. A brief glance in the mirror earlier had shown her a pale-skinned woman, more sickly than the porcelain look she was used to. She looked down at her hands, noting how grimy they had become. If Luke were to see her now, he would rethink his pursuit.
Perhaps she should go downstairs and receive him? Goodness, no! Her mother would likely faint from the shock of seeing her daughter so dishevelled in appearance, and Alice had some pride in her. If she wished to see Luke, she would look her best. He must never know the extent of his actions upon her life.
Holding the curtain around her eyes, she looked to see who would receive him. Violet had said that their mother absolutely refused to see him and barely spoke to their father. Many a time her mother had come into her room and just stood in the middle, looking lost. Without saying a word she would begin to tidy up the room, stacking books neatly, arranging her paintbrushes, or straightening her bed linen. Finally, she would sit upon her bed, solemnly looking about the place for but a few minutes before walking out of the room, only to repeat the same thing the next day. Alice reckoned this was her mother's way of apologising and spending time with her, and it may be time to speak with her. Alice loved her mother, and although she did not approve of her blind faith in her husband in agreeing to this arranged marriage, she undoubtedly felt remorseful of the part she had to play in the planning behind the arranged marriage.
Could she truly blame her for following the supposedly natural pattern for all wives? Obey your husband in everything, they say. Mama only did what she was taught to do.
Alice felt a trickle of shame begin to pool at the pit of her stomach. She had been hard on her mother, unfairly so. She would speak with her before the day was out.
In the meantime, she wanted to concentrate on Luke's presence. The door had to have opened because he entered the house. Biting her lower lip, she considered leaving her room to see whom he spoke to. It was likely Violet, and if it were, she wished to know precisely what they were discussing. Alice told herself that it was merely to be prepared for whatever plan they had cooked up next against her, but the truth was that she wished to hear Luke's voice again.
She truly must be mad, there was no other way to explain it. She could see the foolishness in continuing to love the one who had brought her so much pain, but she could not stop herself. What a peculiar thing. She had heard of acts of insanity, such as jumping off bridges in the name of love, or defying one's family to be with your loved one. But she had never understood it until now.
Which was precisely why she should keep away from him. She may need another year before she would be able to be close to him without her heart feeling as though it would leap right out of her chest. Perhaps she should tie herself to the bed? No, she could easily loosen the ropes about her arm. Unless she had Mary do it for her.
She grimaced. The poor maid would think that she had lost all her sanity. No, that would not do.
If she were to recite one of Shakespeare's poems in French, that may keep her busy. Blocking her ears to ensure that she heard nothing else but herself, she began to recite Hamlet's most known monologue instead. Reaching the middle marker, she jumped a foot in the air when a hand touched her arm. Alice swung around, seeing an amused Violet.
“I have never seen you jump that high, Alice. That is quite a feat!”
Alice worked her jaw, her eyes narrowing. “If someone were to come behind you and touch your arm, would you not jump?”
“Why are you incensed? I did not mean to frighten you. And was that Hamlet's monologue you were reciting in French? Madame Villante would be proud.”
The French tutor had been hired during one brief summer to sharpen their speaking skills, as their mother was adamant that her daughters would be accomplished women who sounded like native French speakers. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that her French-speaking skills were not up to par, but languages were hardly their mother's strong suit. However, Lady Campbell could play nearly all musical instruments with ease, often being called upon during dinner parties.
“Is there any reason for your presence in my room?”
“Yes, Luke has requested to see you.”
She felt her heart rise, flip over, and settle back in its cavity with a thump. “No.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “What will it hurt for you to speak with him once?”
“What will it hurt for you to give him my final answer?”
“You are a stubborn woman, Alice!”
“If you have pledged allegiance to Luke, do not expect me to honour that. I do not wish to see him!”
“Goodness,” Violet sighed. “This is far more challenging than I ever thought possible. What will change your mind about him?”
Alice looked her sister straight in the eye. “Nothing.”
Her sister's shoulders sagged, her head moving from side to side. Why was she so disappointed? Alice’s relationship, or lack thereof, should not affect her own with Gregory. Alice would not act uncivilly towards Luke, but he should not expect her to forget what he had done.
“Very well, but you must know that he loves you greatly. Do not regret your decision, for I do not know if he will continue to try and persuade you to see him.”
“It would be beneficial for us both if he would inform his father that there shall be no arranged marriage between us. I know that Papa is quite determined to see me married to him, but Luke has the power to change our fate. Tell him that, Violet.”
“You may tell him that yourself. I shall only tell him that you do not wish to see him because of your stubborn pride.” Violet threw her hands in the air and left the room.
Well, that went relatively well. If she were Pinnochio, her nose would be growing.
***
Rose would have turned back if Frederick were not following her. He could not ride in the carriage with her, but he was in another behind her. She need only look out of her window to see him, something she had done all the way to the Campbell residence. Heavens! She did not know if she dared to see Alice.
Rose was aware that she had caused much damage to Alice and Luke, and she wanted to make amends. However, the more she thought about seeing Alice's face, the more her knees began to shake. Her carriage stopped outside her destination, the driver jumping down to open her door. She took his hand. “Thank you, Jensen.”
Once outside, she glanced to her side, seeing Frederick's carriage parked across the road. He leaned out of the window, using his hand to indicate that she should walk up to the door. Nodding her head at him, she took one deep breath, expelling it as she knocked. My heart wished to jump out of her chest.
The door opened to reveal a pretty maid with a ready smile. "G' day, Miss."
“Yes, good day. Would you kindly inform Miss Alice Campbell that Miss Rose Charpentier requests to see her?”
“Yes, of course. Do come in, I shall inform her of your presence.” The maid led Rose to a seating area not far from the hallway, giving her easy access to the door should she wish to bolt. How could she? Frederick would march her right back. Instead of Alice, Rose saw Violet approach her some moments later. Her expression was none too friendly, but could she blame her?
“Miss Charpentier, what a surprise. I did not expect to see you here.”
She would become a frozen block of ice from her cold reception. Rose tried to smile, but her lips would not co-operate with her. “Yes, well, uh. I wish to speak to your sister about what... happened.”
Violet raised an eyebrow. “I am sure that whatever you wish to tell her you are able to tell me.”
The Way to Capture a Marquess's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 24
