An Affair Downstairs

by Sherri Browning

  “Ring if you need anything.”

  She needed Logan. She’d never seen it more clearly. She missed him. She missed his laugh almost as much as she missed his scowl. Why would he leave her? She’d always thought that she would never marry, but what if she had fallen alone? What if no one had been there to see her go down? Could she have died in a field alone? Rotted to a corpse before anyone noticed? Or worse, died alone in a foreign country without anyone realizing who she was or where she belonged? She might have been on her own and hit her head and lost her mind. What then? To think of strangers tending her, bathing her? Undressing her?

  But Logan had his own family, his responsibilities. He’d left without saying good-bye. And Ralston was here by her side. Perhaps she should give the man a chance. She couldn’t be sure she would ever marry, but she realized the importance of having a partner in life, someone to rely on, someone who knew everything about her. She had been given a second chance, time to think about what she really wanted in life, and she wasn’t going to be too hasty in making decisions this time around.

  Fifteen

  His last week at Thornbrook Park passed in the blink of an eye, although the first few days, when he was uncertain of Alice’s recovery, had dragged on endlessly. Hearing that she’d opened her eyes and seemed the same sweet Alice, his Alice, had been a balm to him, but a balm that could not heal his wounded soul. To leave without saying good-bye? He knew she would be hurt by it. But how much harder would it be to stay, only to leave her forever? She would forget him. She had plans to see the world. He would always be in her memory, the first man who’d physically loved her, but he would fade from her heart with new experiences over time.

  When he’d lost Julia, he’d thought he could never love again, never as intensely or as fully as he’d loved her. Alice had proven him wrong. He was thirty-two years old, far too young to consider his own life at an end. The past twelve years had been wasted in burdening himself with guilt over what had happened. Alice had lifted that weight from him, showing him that he had so much left to offer the world. His family had forgiven him for his crime so many years ago. It was time he forgave himself.

  “Do you know I killed a man, Mr. Finch?” he said to the butler without warning. One minute, they were going over the inventory, and then the next, he’d blurted it out.

  Finch paused a moment to adjust his spectacles and went right back to the next item on the list before adding, “I’d heard something to that effect, yes. Always assumed it was self-defense. You’re not a cruel or rash sort of man.”

  Logan tipped his head. “Not self-defense, and it wasn’t an accident. I’ve always considered it a worthy crime. What wouldn’t any of us do to save someone we love?”

  “You were never arrested for the murder, to my understanding. Were you?” Finch asked. “It seems there must have been some question of your guilt.”

  “Extenuating circumstances.” Logan nodded. “Witnesses contradicting one another. In the end, there wasn’t enough evidence that I meant to kill, even though I willingly confessed. Some people believe I avoided charges because of who I am, a beloved son from a noble family. People have wondered about the truth for years. I’ve heard the whispers.”

  “And this is the first you’ve ever spoken of it. People grasp on to all kinds of nonsense when they don’t know the whole truth, and even sometimes when they do. People are odd, Winthrop. Deuced odd. I’ve seen it all in thirty years of service. But I’ve also had time to develop a keen set of instincts about people, who to befriend and who to avoid. I consider you a friend, Mr. Winthrop. I never bestow the honor lightly.” He held out his hand. “It has been an honor working with you.”

  “You say this now, knowing that I am a confessed murderer?” Logan held off a moment before taking the offered hand.

  “I say this knowing that you’re a man who loves deeply enough to protect his own at any cost.”

  “Thank you, Finch.” Logan shook the butler’s hand at last. “I’m going to miss Thornbrook Park.”

  Once he arrived back at Stratton Place and settled his things—or the ones he could fit in his suite of rooms, the rest going into storage—he thought back to his last conversation with Mr. Finch. How long he had kept it all buried, never confirming, never denying, knowing he was a murderer and letting himself be judged. No one could judge him as harshly as he’d judged himself. And oddly, in all the years, he’d never blamed himself for killing Alexander Blythe, Earl of Stanhope. Instead, he blamed himself for not having killed the man sooner.

  He’d shut himself off from the world for far too long. He had a lot of living to catch up on.

  “Finally back where you belong,” his brother said as they settled into their places at the table in Stratton Place’s enormous dining room for dinner. “By Jove, man, I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. All of you.” Was that a tear glimmering in his brother’s eye? “For the first time, I finally realize that staying away wasn’t protecting you all from my infamy. It was merely being selfish in denying you all my company when you were hurting for me, too.”

  “Selfish? Perhaps.” Ellen smiled, even as John gasped.

  “Ellen, no,” John said, trying to stop his wife from possibly sending Logan scurrying again.

  “It’s better that she speaks her mind, John. Go ahead, Ellen. Give me the lashing I deserve.”

  “If the two of you would let me talk.” She shook her head, clearly exasperated. “What I was saying is that yes, you were selfish. Grief is selfish, isn’t it? We don’t really grieve for the dead. We grieve for ourselves, for who we are missing. You needed time to grieve. We knew. In your selfish grief, you denied us, your family, the ability to support you in your time of need. But we love you. We understood. We left you alone for as long as we could, as long as you seemed to need. But now, Logan, we’re glad you’re back.”

  “All this time, you thought you would be a burden on us, Brother, but in fact, we needed you, too.” John picked up his napkin and coughed into it.

  “How long before you’re fully recovered? Has your doctor said?” Logan suddenly realized how frail John still looked, but it had only been a little over a week. Perhaps it was to be expected.

  “I’m getting better every day. Sometimes, I still wheeze a little, and I cough a bit here and there. I’m really very much improved.”

  “He tries to do too much,” Ellen said with candor. “Running an estate this size, you know what a lot of work it is.”

  “Ah, of course. I can be useful, then.” Logan liked the idea of being a help to his brother, at least until John recovered. “I might go mad all day in the country with nothing to do, but perhaps I’m needed, as you say. I know all about running a large estate. You still have Chalmers?”

  “Yes, though he is getting on in years. I really could use your assistance and advice in keeping the place going. I wouldn’t have asked while you were happily ensconced at Thornbrook Park, but now that you’re here…”

  “It would be my pleasure, John. More than a pleasure, actually. It’s my family home as well, our shared history. Not that I’ll inherit, of course, but the old place still means a great deal to me. More than I ever realized.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled.” John cast an uncertain glance at his wife.

  “You just tell me when you feel strong again, and I’ll step aside,” Logan added, suddenly concerned that he’d overstepped his bounds.

  “It’s not that at all,” Ellen said. “It’s just that you will still inherit. You’re John’s heir. There won’t be another. After Laura was born, the doctor said that I am unable to bear more children.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Don’t be. We’re very lucky. We have so much more than some people ever dream of having, three beautiful, intelligent daughters. When I think of the Countess of Averford, losing her only son…” Ellen’s voice broke. “Tragic. We’re blessed. So very blessed. We don’t need a son to complete our family.”


  “When you say three daughters, I confess that I’m relieved to hear you add Grace as one of them with Sarah and Laura.”

  “Why wouldn’t we? We love her as our own. We’ve always made sure to tell her about her parents, though, in case she ever wants to know. It would seem wrong to deny them. Grace knows she’s special, and she knows she is loved. She doesn’t want for anything as far as we can tell, except perhaps to know a bit more about her parents. She’s at an age to be curious and start to wonder how she might resemble them.”

  “And the rumors? She has heard them? How is it that she doesn’t blame me?”

  “Blame you? When she sees love in every sketch of you drawn by her mother’s hand?” Ellen didn’t bother hiding her astonishment. “She’s too innocent to believe that anything evil could come of that kind of love. I doubt she’s ready to believe ill of her father, but I know she thinks the world of you. You two could help each other heal at last.”

  Ellen and Grace could see Julia’s love for him in her sketches, something he’d never been able to see so clearly in all those years. He’d always wondered about her love. If she loved him, how could she have chosen Stanhope? But she had loved him in her own way, perhaps not the way he’d hoped. If only he could have understood it then.

  It took Alice to open his eyes to love, to allow him to be able to see it all more clearly. He loved Alice. Now he knew how Julia must have felt. He loved Julia, but not in the way that he loved Alice. Julia had loved him, but not in the way that she’d loved Stanhope. If only her beloved had not taken her trust and her love and thrown it all away. If only Stanhope hadn’t treated her like his own porcelain doll and then broken her, smashed her to bits.

  Right at the table, tears formed behind his eyes and threatened to spill out uncontrolled. And then it happened. He cried. In front of his brother and his brother’s wife, in front of the footmen. He cried big ugly tears, not only for the woman he’d been unable to save, though he’d tried, but for the woman and the love that he’d lost, possibly forever. For Alice.

  ***

  Nine days after her accident, Alice still saw the world as if through a veil, fuzzy around the edges, and there was a constant buzzing at the base of her brain. She wondered how much longer it would last. Would it always be this way? It made it impossible for her to enjoy being alone. She could only stand to be around people or things that could provide an adequate distraction, something to fill her mind.

  In the past, she’d appreciated occasional moments on her own for quiet reflection. Now, she needed loud sounds, bright colors, anything to hold her gaze. Aunt Agatha had become a favorite companion, dear Agatha, when Alice wasn’t with Sophia or Lord Ralston, which was almost all of the time.

  At least Ralston hadn’t abandoned Alice in times of trouble. His loyalty and devotion surprised and impressed her. He’d been by her side throughout her convalescence, and he’d even insisted on seeing her home to Thornbrook Park.

  “I promise I won’t leave you,” he said. “Not until you’re comfortably settled, and even then I think you might have to chase me away. I’m growing attached to you, Lady Alice.”

  She smiled. “I seem to be attached to you, Lord Ralston. Physically, perhaps. It’s so rare that I find myself without you. And I’m grateful to you. Your company soothes me, and I find that I don’t like to be alone.”

  She thought of Winthrop often, the one man she’d thought she could count on to be nearby in her time of need. And now, he was gone.

  “We’re all here for you, Pumpkin.” Standing over her, Sophia slipped her hands around Alice’s shoulders protectively. She’d reverted to calling Alice by the childhood nickname she’d had for her, Pumpkin. To be honest, it scared Alice more than it comforted her. It told her that Sophia didn’t even think Alice was quite right in the head, and what if it was true? She didn’t feel right, not anymore. “Always.”

  Always. Sophia and Ralston always. Sometimes Agatha, too. Or Lord Averford, even more occasionally. Alice missed the Thornes. They hadn’t been around much.

  “It hurts, doesn’t it?” Alice said to Sophia, out loud. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, had she? Why couldn’t she control herself?

  “What, love? Are you getting another headache? Shall we go lie down?”

  “No.” Alice laughed. For the first time in a week or two, she had no idea why. But she laughed, and she loved the feel of it. “Not getting all the attention for yourself, Sophia. It hurts you.”

  “Alice, what’s gotten into you?” Sophia asked.

  “I’m only speaking the truth.” No, she wasn’t. What was she saying? “I’m so sorry, Sophia.”

  “I know, Pumpkin,” Sophia said brightly. Too brightly. “It’s the head injury. The doctor says to give it some time.”

  ***

  In time, just over a week, living at Stratton Place began to feel normal again, as if Logan had been there all along. Except, even with three young girls in the house, it was far too quiet. Not a one of them could compete with Alice in keeping a running commentary going on his every action. God, he missed her. He loved her, and he missed her.

  He began to think that Lord Averford had been right all along. It was Sophia who’d wanted Winthrop to keep away. But Averford had said to wait, to ask Alice how she felt about him and his past and their future, if they had a future together. He needed to at least tell her that he still thought about her, that he hadn’t wanted to leave without saying good-bye, that he missed her. That he loved her.

  He had to tell her. It was up to her what she did with the information. He excused himself early from his afternoon meeting with Chalmers and John, and began to write Alice a letter telling her that he had so much to say to her and asking her to agree to meet him and let him finally explain.

  ***

  Struggling to focus, Alice looked at the calendar hanging on the wall across from her. Christmas was circled in red. One week away. She had been recovering for nearly three weeks, so why did she feel like she was getting worse, and not better?

  “Alice, my dove, pay attention,” Ralston urged. “Your sister is trying to show you something.”

  “Pretty,” Alice said, looking over at the bow her sister had tied from gold velvet ribbon.

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “Now you do yours.”

  “Mine?” Alice looked down. She held a red ribbon. Red, like the circle around Christmas. Then she noticed something sparkling on her left hand. A diamond ring. Vaguely, she recalled Ralston slipping it on her finger as she nodded yes. Yes? She looked at Ralston, trying not to sound surprised, like it was occurring to her for the first time, when she’d obviously already said yes. “We’re getting married.”

  “Very good, Pumpkin,” Sophia said. “We’re going to have a big party to celebrate your engagement just as soon as you’re feeling better.”

  “A diamond,” she said. “Like one of the stars falling to earth from the sky.”

  “That’s what I said when I put it on your finger.” Ralston, the fox, flashed his toothy grin. The fox had won the hunt after all. Crafty beast.

  Did she really want to marry him? Why shouldn’t she? She could barely string two thoughts together and yet the man still loved her. He stayed with her. Why wouldn’t she marry him? She needed him.

  “Ralston,” she said. “My loyal knight in shining armor. Or, in a black coat. It will do.”

  “It had better.” He took the seat next to her at the work table in the back parlor and patted her hand. “Armor is heavy, but I’m willing to wear it every day if that’s what would make you happy, Pumpkin.”

  Pumpkin? From Ralston, too? Her head hurt. As if for the first time, she noticed the twined ring of branches on the table, the basket of holly, and the ribbon, and she made the connection at last. “Wreaths. We’re making wreaths for Christmas. How lovely!”

  It had always been her favorite thing to do as a girl, making the Christmas wreaths to decorate the house, next to making mud pies. But she couldn’t shape
mud pies at Christmas time. The ground was too frozen.

  “Do you want any fruit for your wreath? Or just flowers?” Sophia asked.

  “Lemons,” Alice said. “Have we any lemons yet? Winthrop planted them so long ago.”

  “Not so very long ago,” Sophia said, sharing a glance with Ralston. “The trees haven’t borne fruit yet. But soon enough, if we wait patiently.”

  Alice nodded. It was a full minute before she realized she was still nodding. She had to stop nodding. Why couldn’t she stop? Lord Averford came in. She stopped. Thank goodness, a distraction just in time. “Gabriel, we’re making wreaths.”

  “I see, Alice. Very pretty. Perhaps I can hang one in my office to remind me to come out in time for Christmas to see my wife. Getting Kenner used to the estate is taking more time than I imagined.”

  Mr. Kenner, the new estate manager, Mrs. Hoyle’s cousin. Alice started nodding again. He was no Winthrop. No one ever could be. God, she missed Winthrop. He would never stand for everyone treating her like a child. There was a time that she wouldn’t have, either, but she was so tired. Too tired to protest. She said terrible things to Sophia when she got tired. Sophia always said it would pass, but Alice wasn’t getting better. Why wasn’t she? Her head started to ache again.

  “I’m out of wire,” Sophia said. “There’s another roll in my writing desk. I’ll just be a moment.”

  “No, I’ll get it,” Alice said. “Please. I would like to start feeling useful again. You can’t imagine what it’s like inside my head. I need to be useful.”

  Sophia flashed her a look of sympathy. “You go on. It’s…”

  “I know. It’s in your desk. In the drawing room. I can find my way alone.” In the desk, of course. She knew. Her mind seemed to be a little clearer, even if her head did hurt.

  She got up carefully. It wouldn’t do to make a mess of things. She walked across the room, staying focused on the doorway and then on the pictures on the wall, and before she knew it, she was in the drawing room. She’d done it! Though she wasn’t sure it was an occasion to celebrate, simply getting from one room to the next.