by Abby Ayles
Robert caught the same restrained look in her eyes he’d seen the first night they met.
She had a sadness about her, buried as it was under her façade of decorum and gentility.
He went back to his book, but the conversation intensified.
“It’s good to have some balance in your life, Gerard,” Lucy said, her words clipped. “Talk about books or some other such thing.”
“We’re quite alright carrying on our own conversation, sister.”
“She’ll begin to suspect you have but one love, and that a four-legged one.” Lucy was teasing, but it seemed to have struck a nerve.
“You’re one to speak about singularity of purpose, when you take every opportunity to work your Italian count into conversation. You’ve caught him already, you are no longer required to pretend infatuation.”
Robert saw Cecilia tense at the harshness of Gerard’s words, and he looked up languidly from his book to put an end to the fight.
“I suspect our Miss Prescott isn’t interested in Italian counts or horses.”
“You presume too much,” her voice, lovely as it was, had a sharp edge. “I’m fascinated with both.”
“I’m sure you’re just being polite.”
“I believe being polite is part of the art of conversation. Perhaps if you’d lay aside your book for a moment and join us, you’d gain a bit more practice in the subject.”
Gerard positively guffawed.
“Well done, Miss Prescott. A bit of wit to put our dear Earl in his place.”
“Don’t be crude, Gerard,” Lucy said sharply.
Robert felt Cecilia’s words sharper than he was willing to admit. He cared little for the opinion of others, but was surprised to find that her lack of goodwill injured him.
“Perhaps if you would all read more books,” he asserted, “you’d have more subjects upon which to converse than that of counts and horses.”
Gerard fell silent, and for a moment the carriage had naught but the enduring rhythm of horse hooves and the awkwardness of uncut tension to fill the silence.
At last, Cecilia spoke, her words as light as a lady’s should ever be.
“I do, in fact, read, Lord Lothmire. Perhaps you would like to discuss books? I’d be more than happy to tell you all about my limited exposure to the written word.”
“Is that so? And where did a lady such as yourself find time to broaden her mind with extensive reading?”
“A lady such as myself?” Cecilia laughed wryly. “Why, we are not often allowed the worthy activities that occupy your sex. What else have we to do but read?”
“And yet,” Robert continued, aware that he was nearing dangerous ground, “I’ve been acquainted with few women of standing who have a thorough knowledge of literature and the arts.”
“I cannot believe that to be true.”
“You yourself have yet to expound on your so-called love of reading. Come, amaze us with your knowledge.”
“Said the circus trainer to the dancing monkey,” she said with a sweet smile.
Robert felt rising frustration at her insolence, coupled with an appreciation for her ready wit. She was a remarkable woman, and not one to be easily put down.
“I did not mean to cause offense.”
“Why do you not rectify it then? Tell me what is so entrancing about Faust.”
“I have not the time,” he thought it the safest answer at the moment.
“Then I will venture an explanation,” she said. “What is it that drives our dear Faust into the arms of Mephistopheles? He becomes weary and depressed with his life as a scholar.
”Perhaps we should set aside our argument about whether or not the fellow should have formed an alliance with darkness, and instead we should ask whether he should have been so engrossed in his studies that he formed not the proper human connections who could have dissuaded his incorrect behavior?”
Robert opened his mouth to retort, but at present found words failing him. Cecilia was sitting forward in her seat, her eyes bright, apparently unaware of the boredom on Gerard’s languid face.
“You give your mind very freely,” was all he could manage.
“It is mine to give, is it not?”
“At present, perhaps.” He lowered his voice. “But a married woman has not the openness to disagree that you now enjoy.”
What he had intended as a warning against Gerard, clearly came across as an example of his own philosophy on the subject, for Cecilia’s face went quite pale, and she chose her next words with acidic care.
“I cannot imagine it is the practice of every man to assume upon himself the intellect of his wife. How dull that would be for both.”
“Pray, continue.”
“Have you much enjoyed conversation with yourself, when you ask the questions you want and answer with words that are comfortable? Perhaps for a time this would be amusing but I can only imagine it would lose the shine of interest before long.”
“Certainly.” Robert saw where she was going, and could not stop it. He smiled inwardly at the realization that he did not want to.
“By that reasoning, if you choose for yourself a wife with no wit or opinions of her own, you are choosing a life of talking to yourself, or arguing just to hear your own voice.”
The lady paused, her demeanor once again calm. “How dull that would be.”
“I confess I am beaten,” Robert admitted aloud, realizing she’d missed his warning about the Marquess altogether. “I will allow before you that a wife of intellect is more worthy than a peaceful one.”
“And all that,” Cecilia answered with a barely-concealed smile of triumph, “from a discussion of your reading material.”
“Oh hush, both of you.” Lucy yawned and drew aside the window shade to look out at the passing fields. “There’s nothing so dull as book.”
“Hear, hear,” Gerard agreed.
Robert scoffed inwardly at the realization that the other man had not been listening to his exchange with Cecilia.
It would have been an opportunity for him to show his pretended mettle; come to her defense, and win her opinion. As it was, he’d been lost in daydreams, and missed the exchange.
Robert turned his attention back to his book, but he could still see Cecilia out of the corner of his eye, calm and graceful against the window of the carriage.
She was beautiful, kind, and clever. Even when frustrated, she had a gentle wit, and he was drawn to her unassuming intelligence.
Gerard didn’t deserve her, that much was clear. Whether the dissolute Marquess would win her despite, was still to be seen.
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A Second Chance for the Tormented Lady - Preview
Chapter 1
Everdale 1819
Alston Castle was operating like silk over the back of Frederica’s hand. The house was under control, and she was proud of it. It had been too long since she had been mistress of any house, and though Alston was not her home to run, it was her pleasure to help Beatrice during this time.
Frederica was determined that her sister-in-law would have nothing to worry about while she cared for her two new infants. Beatrice could focus all of her energy where it was needed most: on her two beautiful children, the niece, and nephew that Frederica was so proud of.
“The drapes in the great hall need cleaning," she instructed one of the housemaids as she passed her in the corridor. "Could you see that they are done today?”
“Yes, miss,” the woman replied with a nod of acknowledgment before she backed away and carried on.
She was relatively new to Alston, a hire made several months ago. It was her first time working in a house such as this and she was adjusting rather well, Frederica thought.
She watched the young woman go, and a feeling of pride and accomplishment filled her chest as she observed what her work had done. Frederica was sure her si
ster-in-law would share her sentiment, but she neither wanted nor needed the praise. Frederica loved being of use again and she was enjoying every moment of it.
"Frederica?" her brother's voice called over the sound of her own thoughts. She turned, the hem of her new dress tickling her ankles, and she found Alexander standing there. He was as tall and as handsome as he ever was, considering that he had two infants under his roof. His appearance showed no signs of what might be expected – namely fatigue.
“How do you manage to remain so composed with two children ever in your arms?” she asked with a smile as she stepped forward and embraced him lightly. Unlike many men, Alexander took a very active part in his children's daily lives. He was with them every day and was interested in everything about them. He was an excellent father in her opinion.
"Why should I not be? I do not wear the children like clothes," her brother teased as he hugged her back. "I am only their father."
"And what a fine father you are, Alexander. Father and Mother would be proud," she said with a smile. "I know I am."
"Are you?" Alexander questioned as he looked at her tenderly. "Sometimes I wonder if I am doing it all as it should be. I try to remember what Father was like."
Frederica smiled and smoothed the collar of her brother's shirt. "You do not need to be our father. You need to be their father, and all that requires is for you to be yourself. I am sure they will love you as much as we all do."
"Sometimes it all seems to have happened so quickly. One moment I was living life on my own, and then there was Beatrice and now Clayton and Blythe. I wanted to be the best husband, and now I must be a husband and a father."
"And you do well at both," Frederica assured. "I always knew you would be good in those roles. You had the love required for them your entire life."
Alexander chuckled. "Did you really think so?"
"Since we were children, I knew. I am glad to finally see it come to pass," Frederica assured.
Her brother looked at her with such love. It was something she had missed all those years they were apart.
"I am happy to see you adjusted so well to being back in England. So many things have happened since we brought you home. I wondered how you would adjust to it all, but you seem to have overcome the past entirely. Just look at what you have done stepping into Beatrice’s shoes for the time. It's wonderful."
"Thank you," Frederica said with a small smile. "I am just doing what I believe Beatrice would want."
"And I know she approves. She was down here yesterday," her brother informed to Frederica’s surprise. Beatrice had hardly left her room since having the twins. They kept her occupied without pause, and sleep was something she was much deprived of.
"Was she?" she questioned. "I did not see her. Was it after I was to bed?"
"No, earlier than that. She came down only for a moment while the children slept. However, in the end, she was too tired to be of much use and she soon returned to our room," Alexander explained.
"Is she sure about the nurse? Help with the children would ease her fatigue," Frederica suggested.
"No, Beatrice insists on taking the responsibility entirely upon herself. She does not feel that a nurse would do what she would for Clayton and Blythe, and she is very particular about who she will allow into their lives."
Frederica nodded. She could understand what Beatrice felt, and if she were in her place, she would do the same. Frederica had always wanted to be the type of mother who played a part in every aspect of her children's lives. Her mother had done so, and she wished to follow suit.
Her mother was raised primarily by a nurse as an infant, and then by a governess as a child, her parents never having the time or inclination to take her care personally. It was that experience that had forged her own thinking of the concept of nurses and governesses and had ultimately transformed it. She wanted to do better for her children and that she had. Alexander and Frederica were evidence of it.
Frederica laughed lightly as she looked at her brother. "Who would have thought that we would be here," she mused. "I believe Mother and Father would be very happy to see where we are now. If they could see what their diligence in our upbringing has wrought."
"I agree," Alexander replied. "Especially with you."
He took her arm and folded it over his as he began to walk with her. Frederica could remember him doing the same thing when they were young, when he took her on long walks around Alston’s gardens the way their mother would have done.
"You have been through so much, Frederica, and yet no one would know it to see you. Your recovery in France and your adjustment to being home again has truly been remarkable. I cannot tell you how much joy it gives Beatrice and me to see how well you handle things here."
Frederica nodded her head silently, unwilling to share the truth which she had been hiding for many months. It was better for her brother to believe his own desires than to know the truth, especially when life had been so complicated after their return to England.
"You are an inspiration," Alexander continued. "A person that others should mold themselves after. Your resilience is amazing and the fact that you bear no ill will is truly astounding. I wish I could say the same for myself."
Frederica squeezed her brother's arm gently. "Alexander."
"I cannot lie to you. If I saw Chaput this moment, I do not know what I might do to him,” her brother said as he exhaled a long, deep breath.
“Nothing,” Frederica answered. “You would do nothing. The man deserves none of your time or your energy. What is past is past, and Francois Chaput is nothing more than that.”
“It hardly seems fair that he should be allowed to roam free after all he put you through,” Alexander continued. “He tormented you for so long and then left you in the state I found you…”
“Stop,” Frederica pleaded softly the moment her brother’s words faltered. “Just forget him. Forget that time. I already have.”
The lie was bitter on her tongue, but necessary in her mind. Her brother’s love made it painful for him to remember what she had endured. She did not wish them both to suffer from what Chaput had done to her. It was better for them both that she bore that burden alone.
Alexander squeezed her hand again. “As I said. You are more resilient than I am.”
“I am not, I assure you. I simply do what I must each and every day, the same as you. I am nothing special.” Frederica sighed at her own words. Nothing special… It was something she felt often but spoke of seldom.
“I think you are wonderful, and I dare say that I know others who would agree. You are an asset in our lives and in this house, Frederica. Never forget that,” her brother urged.
“I won’t,” she replied. “Now, I believe it’s time that you got to your office. I believe Lord Dulaney is expected any moment and there were some papers you wished to review before your meeting.”
Alexander smirked. “As I said, an asset to this house,” he reiterated before he kissed her forehead. “And an asset to me.”
“You go do your work, brother, while I do mine,” Frederica replied as she smiled brightly. She released his arm and watched as he turned and headed toward his office down the hall.
The day progressed as it normally did now that Beatrice was confined. Frederica saw to all of the meals, deciding on the menu for the day as well as the time they were to be served. She also saw to the chores which needed to be performed. In a house such as Alston there were always things that needed to be done. Then, of course, there was the bakery to consider.
Beatrice was busy with her children, but that did not mean she had no time to consider the other aspects of her life. The bakery she secretly owned and managed was important to her and, because of it, she had spent many days determining what items were to be made. It was something Frederica could not assist with as she had no idea of anything that concerned baking.
She marched down to the kitchen to see what progress was being made with the pies. They were to be deliv
ered in the morning and Beatrice insisted the filling be done the night before to ensure timely delivery.
“Doris," Frederica called upon entering. The woman was standing over a large pot and stirring lightly. Bonnie was kneading the dough and Florence was pulling something from the oven.
“Yes, my lady?” Doris replied in her low tone.
“How is everything looking?” Frederica questioned as she glanced over what lay before her. The kitchen smelled divine, full of warmth, with a light hint of sweetness in the air.
“We are all on track, my lady. Bonnie’s just pulling the shells out for some of the custards and I’m making the filling for the other pies,” she informed.
