One hour later, the earl’s crested carriage pulled up in front of Northcliffe Hall, the two matched grays blowing and snorting in the warm afternoon sunlight. The earl stepped out of the carriage carrying his countess in his arms.
Douglas stopped cold in his tracks when there came loud cheering from his staff. He stared toward Hollis, who was grinning like a wily old fox. He was responsible for this outpouring, of that Douglas had no doubt. He wondered if Hollis had paid the servants to give this wondrous cheerful homecoming. He would tell him a thing or two as soon as he deposited Alexandra in her bed.
She said nothing. He realized that her eyes were closed and that she was limp as a sweaty handkerchief in his arms.
He leaned his head down and whispered, “It’s all right. It’s natural for you to feel weak. Just a few more minutes and I’ll have you tucked up.”
“Why are all your people cheering?”
Because Hollis bribed and threatened them to. “They’re pleased we’re alive and back.”
She retreated into silence again. He saw Melissande at the top of the stairs, looking so utterly delectable he swallowed convulsively. Her lovely face was pale, and she was wringing her hands. Her incredible eyes were brimming with tears of concern, yet she didn’t move closer to her sister.
“Alex? Are you all right? Truly?”
Alexandra roused herself and lifted her head from Douglas’s shoulder. “Yes, Melissande, I will be just fine now.”
“Good,” said Tony, coming up to stand beside his wife. “We hear from Finkle that Douglas has been taking very good care of you. He never left your side for a single moment.”
Melissande said loudly, “I would have been the one to care for you, Alex, but Tony wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want me to endanger myself, but oh, I wanted to. I did pray for you.”
“That’s right,” Tony said. “On her knees every night.”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said, turning her face against Douglas’s shoulder.
“You’re not contagious any more, are you?”
“No, Mellie, she isn’t contagious. You won’t contract any spots.”
“Don’t call me that horrid name!”
Tony clutched a handful of Melissande’s thick glorious black hair and bent his wife back against his arm, reminiscent of Mrs. Bardsleys’s finest heroes. He then kissed her and kept kissing her until she was quiescent. He raised his head and grinned down at her, then over at Douglas, who looked fit to kill him.
He said calmly, belying the racing of his heart from kissing his wife, “I have saved you a great deal of vexation and aggravation, Douglas. One of these years you will realize it. Her temperament is not that of a devoted nurse. I have discovered that she needs constant attention to her various needs, and they are many and diverse. Believe me, Douglas.”
Melissande gasped and struck her fists against Tony’s chest.
He laughed and kissed her again, hard. “ ‘Twas a compliment, love.”
“It didn’t sound like one to me,” Melissande said, her voice laden with suspicion. “Are you certain?”
“More certain than I am of the color of my stallion’s fetlock.”
“In that case, I’ll forgive you.”
“That is handsomely done of you, Mellie. Very handsomely done.”
Douglas stomped away in angry silence toward the countess’s bedchamber.
“Damned bounder,” he said finally under his breath, but not under enough.
“He deals well with her,” Alexandra said, wonder in her voice. “It is amazing.”
Douglas cursed floridly.
“I can’t imagine why my father would think you a good influence on Reginald. He has not heard the foul level of vocabulary you have.”
“I see you’re feeling much better. I’m relieved because I’ve gotten behind in my estate work taking care of you. I trust you’ll keep to your bed for a while and leave me in peace.”
He could feel that broom handle stiffening her back and he regretted his hasty words, but he’d said them and they would remain said. She’d deserved every one of them. She was stiff and starchy and she galled him, shoving him on the defensive, and it both surprised and angered him.
Alexandra said nothing. There was a young maid—Tess was her name, Douglas said—and she would see to her ladyship’s needs. “Also,” Douglas continued, “Mrs. Peacham will doubtless fill your craw to overflowing with advice and potions and all sorts of invalid dishes. Deal with her as you wish to but know that she means well.”
He left her. Alex slept the remainder of the day. Mrs. Peacham herself brought a beautiful silver tray filled with at least a half-dozen selections to tempt a mending patient. “His Lordship said I was to stay with you until you ate enough,” Mrs. Peacham announced as she sat herself down in a wing chair next to Alexandra’s bed. It seemed to Alexandra that she counted every bite she took.
“Where is His Lordship?”
Mrs. Peacham looked uncomfortable, but for just an instant, then she nodded. “You know, my lady, gentlemen aren’t really the thing in a sickroom. They’re all thumbs and confusion and contradiction.”
“He wasn’t at all confused at Tom’s cottage. He was a tyrant, but he knew well what he was doing.”
“Well, now, that was quite different, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” Alexandra said, and began on another dish, this one of stewed potatoes and peas, that Mrs. Peacham uncovered for her. She spent the evening alone. Neither her husband nor her sister came to see her.
She felt very sorry for herself.
When she slept, it was fitfully. She dreamed, a similar dream to the one she’d had before. A beautiful young lady was standing beside her, motionless, just looking down at her. She looked all floaty and insubstantial, very beautiful but also frightened. It was strange. She wanted to speak but she didn’t. Somehow Alexandra knew this. She wanted to warn her about something and Alex knew this as well even though she didn’t know how she knew it. The lady came closer to her, bent down until she could touch her face, then she retreated suddenly nearly back to the door. Once she raised her arms in supplication. It was very odd. The dream ebbed and flowed until Alexandra brought herself awake at dawn. Because she’d been locked so tightly into the dream, because it had been so very real, she found herself looking into every corner of her bedchamber. Her room was empty, of course. She realized she needed to relieve herself. She reached for the bell but knew she couldn’t wait.
The chamber pot was behind a screen not more than twelve feet from her bed. Just twelve feet. No great distance.
Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed. At least Tess had helped her into one of her nightgowns so she didn’t have to worry about the dressing gown that was laid over a chair in the other direction from the chamber pot. She closed her eyes for a moment against the memory of Douglas dealing with her needs while she was quite without a stitch on. He’d looked his fill at her, that was certain, for there had been no one to gainsay him, no one else to see to her. She’d heard whispers that gentlemen were many times victims to their baser natures and that was why a young lady had to take such care with her person. If she did not exercise sufficient caution, why then, it would be her fault if the gentleman suddenly became a ravening beast. She’d been unable to exercise any caution whatsoever and evidently Douglas had been bored with what he’d seen; hadn’t he already rejected her?
Well, she’d been ill and helpless then. She wasn’t now.
She rose and quickly grabbed the intricately carved bedpost, clutching at a cherub’s fat neck. How could she still be so weak?
She took a step, was successful, then took another. Three more shuffling steps and she had to release the cherub. The screen that hid the chamber pot looked to be two villages and a turnpike away still.
She sighed and released the cherub. She stood there, weaving back and forth, then gained her balance. “I will make it,” she said over and over, her eyes on that screen. “I will not shame my
self and fall into a heap on the floor.”
When she weaved against a chair, then grabbed its back for balance, the wretched thing went skidding across the polished floor into the desk, jarring it so that the ink pot went flying, spewing black ink to the floor and onto the exquisite Aubusson carpet just beyond. Two books hit the floor with resounding thuds. Alexandra, so frustrated and furious that she wanted to yell, just stood there, dizzy and weak, wanting to kill.
The person who obligingly came through the adjoining door was a perfect victim. It was Douglas and he was hastily knotting a belt around his dressing gown as he came toward her.
“What is all the commotion? What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
She wished she had a cannon. Or a knife. Even a bow and arrow. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking my morning constitutional. Doesn’t everyone do that at dawn?”
“Damnation, you’re destroying my home!”
She followed his line of vision to the awful stream of black ink that was quickly soaking into the carpet, raised her chin, and declared, “Yes, I am. I hate Northcliffe Hall and I fully intend to wreck everything before I leave. This is but my opening salvo.”
Douglas, realizing that she was about to fall on her face, quickly strode to her and grasped her arms to hold her upright. “What are you doing out of bed?”
She couldn’t believe how obtuse he was. “I was going down to the kitchen for some warm milk.”
“Absurd! You couldn’t even make it halfway across your room.”
“Of course I can. I have a meeting with Mrs. Peacham to talk about replacing all the linens. The ones on my bed smell like moth bait.”
“Alexandra, I would that you cease this nonsense and—”
“Damn you, don’t be so stupid! I must relieve myself!”
“Oh, well that’s different.”
“Just go away. I hate you. Go away and leave me be.”
Douglas frowned down at her. He was still firmly set upon his plan to make her deliriously happy by accepting her as his wife, but she didn’t particularly seem in the mood to be the recipient of this proffered bliss. He’d left her alone the previous evening, wanting her to rest, wanting her to regain some strength before he made her the happiest woman on earth. And now here she was acting like a termagant, acting as if he were the devil himself, acting as if she weren’t at all pleased to see him. And he was her husband and he’d taken fine care of her.
Unaccountable twit.
He scooped her up in his arms, saying even as she tried to push away from him, “Just shut up and hold still. I will take you to the chamber pot. No, keep your damned mouth shut.”
“You will leave.”
“Not until you’re back in bed.”
She subsided because she doubted she could get back to bed without his assistance. She should have rung for Tess. Douglas left her behind the screen. She managed, but it was difficult for her, knowing that he was standing just on the other side of the screen. He was so close and he could hear everything. It left her body nearly paralyzed.
When she emerged, finally, he made no remarks. He picked her up again, continued to remain thankfully silent until he’d tucked her under the covers in her bed.
“There, that wasn’t quite such an appalling degradation, was it? You did take rather a long time with the chamber pot, but—Do you think you can sleep again or would you like some laudanum?”
“Go away.” She gave him a brooding look, realized that she wasn’t behaving well, and said in a voice that was as stiff as her back, “Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry I woke you. I’m sorry I hit that chair and that it bumped the desk and made the ink pot fall and the ink ruin that beautiful carpet. I will replace the carpet. I do have some money of my own.”
“Do you now? I find that difficult to believe. Your precious father didn’t have a bloody sou. Both you and Melissande left your homes without a dowry. You don’t even have an idea of the settlement your father made with Tony, do you? For that matter, you don’t even know if I’m going to give you any sort of allowance at all. Hell, if I do give you an allowance, and you graciously replace the carpet, why I’ll still be paying for the damned rug after all.”
“No you won’t. I have thirty pounds with me. I have saved that amount over the past four years.”
“Thirty pounds! Ha! That would replace a chamber pot or two, not a carpet of value.”
“Perhaps it can be cleaned.”
Douglas looked over at the ruined carpet, its exquisite pattern black as soot. “Yes, and perhaps one of Napoleon’s ministers will throw a cake in his face.”
“Anything is possible.”
“You’re too young to realize that idiots continue to survive in this world. Go back to sleep. You are absurdly confident and it is annoying.”
So much for making her a happy woman, Douglas thought as he marched back into his bedchamber. How could she act so spitefully? What the devil was the matter with her? He’d been the perfect gentleman, the devil, he’d probably saved her life with the fine care he’d given her and what was his reward? She hated him. She told him to leave her alone. She destroyed one of his grandmother’s favorite carpets.
Douglas fell asleep with the acrid taste of anger on his tongue.
It was Friday morning. Alexandra ordered Tess to dress her after she’d bathed. She still felt a bit weak, but nothing she couldn’t deal with. It was time for her to leave. She was buoyed by righteous resolve and she prayed it would last until she was gone from Northcliffe Hall.
He’d rejected her. He’d treated her as if she were naught but a bothersome gnat, a sexless encumbrance.
She’d destroyed his grandmother’s lovely rug.
He’d laughed at her thirty pounds. He had no idea how difficult it had been to accumulate that thirty pounds, penny by penny, hoarding it.
Not only had he rejected her when she’d been fool enough to attempt the disastrous seduction, he’d only cared for her because there’d been no choice.
It was a litany in her mind. It was something she would never forget. She stoked anger and resentment because it was better than the annihilating pain of his disinterest in her, his distaste of her.
She had failed, utterly, to win him over, to show him that she could suit him nicely, that she could and would love him until the day she passed from this earth. What had he meant about giving her an allowance? She quashed that inquiry; he’d not meant anything.
He still wanted Melissande. Everyone knew that he still wanted his cousin’s wife. He still spoke of butchering Tony on the field of honor though nothing had come of it yet. Alexandra had heard the servants gossiping about it. Ah, and how they speculated and wondered.
Douglas hadn’t come near her again after their one skirmish at dawn. She was glad of it. Her sister had visited twice, both times standing a good ten feet away from her and looking delicately pale in her concern. Alexandra had remembered Tony’s kiss during her sister’s second visit, and said, “You appear to like having Tony kiss you.”
To her surprise, Melissande lowered her head and mumbled, “He is most outrageous sometimes. I cannot always control him. It is difficult to know what to do.”
Control, ha! Melissande had met her match. “But you seem to like it.”
“You don’t know, Alex! You can’t imagine what he does to me—to my person!”
“Tell me then.”
“So, the earl hasn’t bedded you. Tony rather hoped that he had. It would make it all so very legal then and we could leave and go to London.”
“No, it wouldn’t make it legal at all. Douglas said he could do just as he pleased to me, and our marriage could still be annulled.”
“But if you got pregnant—”
“Douglas said that he can easily prevent that.”
“Oh,” said Melissande, who was now frowning ferociously. “But Tony insisted that—” She broke off, and her glorious eyes were narrowed slits, diminishing her beauty but making her all the more enti
cing for it.
“But what does Tony do to you?”
Melissande waved an impatient hand. “It isn’t proper that I tell you what goes on. Tony is a madman and he insists upon ordering me about and then he does things that he really shouldn’t do but the way he does them, well . . . However—” Again, she fell silent, and Alexandra was left wondering if what went on between a husband and wife wasn’t to be devoutly wished for. She’d asked no more questions. Melissande had left, somewhat routed, and Alexandra found she was coming to believe that Tony was the perfect mate for her sister. She wondered how Douglas would have treated Melissande were he married to her. She doubted he would ever be nasty to her.
It didn’t matter. There was nothing more for her here. She was well; she had no intention of having Douglas recognize that she was well, and allowing him to be one to take her back to her father. She would not allow him to serve her that final indignity.
She didn’t deserve it. She deserved a lot of things, for she had been part of his betrayal, but she didn’t deserve the kind of humiliation he would dish out. She would dish it up to herself, with no assistance from him. She pictured her father’s face in her mind when she arrived at Claybourn Hall, alone, kicked out, soon-to-be-annulled. It was an appalling picture, but it was better than the one with Douglas gloating as he stood beside her, telling her father that she wasn’t adequate, that he didn’t want her, would never want her. She didn’t want to think of what the lost settlement would mean to her father. In any case, there was nothing to do about it. She’d tried.
She waited until she knew that Douglas had ridden out with his estate manager, a man whose name was Tuffs, then made her way confidently downstairs. She paused, hearing Tony speaking to Hollis.
“I wish Ryder hadn’t left before we discovered Douglas and Alex were missing. He was trying to help Douglas get his brains unscrambled.”
“I agree,” said the stately Hollis. “But Master Ryder is gone and there are none to assist His Lordship, save you, my lord. Has His Lordship, ah, ceased yet to demand your guts on a platter?”
The Sherbrooke Bride Page 15
