by Candace Camp
“I shall. And whenever else I wish.”
“Murdock!” Sebastian led Alexandra toward her room. Sebastian’s valet stood in the doorway, surveying the damage.
Sebastian and Alexandra came up beside him and looked into the room. Two footmen were poking about, making sure every possible stray spark was extinguished. Alexandra drew in her breath sharply. “Oh, no!”
Her room was a wreck. The bed was blackened, the charred bed curtains trailing from the bedposts, and the tester had collapsed onto the mattress. There was a stinging scent of burned feathers hovering in the air. The chair on one side of the bed and the small table on the other had been singed, as had the drapes on the window. The wall behind the bed was blistered. All the burned mess, as well as the rest of the floor, was sodden with water.
“At least it didn’t reach your wardrobe, miss, or the dresser,” Murdock said encouragingly. “All your clothes should be all right, once they’re washed and aired out, of course.”
“Mm,” Alexandra responded noncommittally. Looking at the wreckage, she found it a trifle hard to look on the bright side.
“I want you outside the door of Mrs. Ward’s room tonight,” Sebastian told Murdock. “I don’t want anyone going in there.”
The short, muscled man nodded his agreement. “Won’t nobody get in, sir.”
Grabbing a straight-backed chair from Alexandra’s room, he carried it down the hall and planted it squarely in front of Rhea’s door and sat in it, arms folded, obviously prepared to wait out the night.
Alexandra looked at her room. “Where am I going to sleep? Aunt Hortense’s, I suppose, if she is going to be sleeping in Mother’s room.”
“You will be sleeping with me,” Sebastian replied.
“What?” Alexandra looked at him in shock. “You can’t be serious!”
“Can’t I?” He hooked his hand under her elbow and steered her down the hall toward his room.
“Sebastian, no! We cannot—the servants—it would be scandalous.”
“I’ve told you before—I am impervious to scandal. Anyway, if the servants are foolish enough to talk, it will be only a tempest in a teapot, since you and I are engaged to be married.”
“We are not.”
He stopped and looked at her sternly. “Do you intend to play fast and loose with my affections?”
“Sebastian! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What else would you call it?” he asked, starting toward his room again. “Did you or did you not admit to me only a few minutes ago that you love me?”
A blush stained Alexandra’s cheeks. “Well, yes, but…”
“No buts.” He raised a finger to her lips for silence. “You say you love me yet refuse to marry me. What else can you call it except toying with me?”
Alexandra had to smile. “Don’t be an idiot. You know why we cannot marry.”
“I know the foolish reasons that you have put forth, and none of them are persuasive.”
He opened the door of his room and ushered her inside. Alexandra could not seem to find the will to resist him. She let him guide her toward the bed and help her into it.
“Sebastian, we shouldn’t….” She made one last weak protest.
But he ignored her and climbed into the bed beside her, pulling her back to him, so that they lay curled together like spoons in a drawer.
“Your sheets,” she objected, yawning. “I’m filthy.”
“Sheets can be cleaned.” He kissed her on the cheek and curled his arm over her.
Alexandra closed her eyes, feeling blissfully safe and warm, and in an instant she was asleep.
WHEN ALEXANDRA AWAKENED the next morning, it was late, and the sun was streaming in through a crack in the curtains. Sebastian was gone. She rang for a maid and ordered a bath drawn for her. After washing away all the soot from the night before and dressing in a day dress the maid had been airing all morning and which smelled only faintly of smoke, she made her way downstairs to the dining room.
Aunt Hortense was the only occupant of the room, obviously at the end of her meal, and she looked up with a smile at her niece. “Alexandra! You are looking much more the thing this morning, I must say.”
“Thank you. I feel much more the thing.” She sat down, and one of the servants brought her a cup of coffee. “Where is Sebastian?”
“Bustling about arranging things.” Her aunt leaned closer, smiling warmly. “He says the sooner you are married, the safer you will be, but personally, I think the man is simply impatient.”
“But I didn’t—”
“I am so glad you finally agreed to marry him. Of course, there was little other choice, after all that’s happened.”
“I have not agreed to marry him,” Alexandra stated flatly.
“He seems to be of the opinion that you have,” Aunt Hortense remarked.
“That man takes entirely too much on himself,” Alexandra said darkly, grabbing a piece of toast and beginning to butter it.
“If you ask me, dearest, you might as well stop fighting it.”
“What? Are even you turning against me?”
“Not against you, my dear, just against your bullheadedness. Any fool can see you’re head over heels in love with the man.”
Alexandra drew a breath, about to flare up in denial, but the wry look her aunt sent her made her break into laughter instead. “Oh, Auntie, am I that obvious?”
“Mm. ‘Fraid so. ‘Tis no crime, you know, to fall in love or to want to marry a man.”
“I know. But I feel as if it would be wrong of me, not even knowing what my parentage is.”
“If Lord Thorpe doesn’t care, I don’t see why you should bother your head about it.” Aunt Hortense fixed her with a stern gaze. “Whether Rhea is your blood mother or not, you have never been the least like her, and I see no reason you should suddenly change now. It isn’t as if Rhea is someone who has to be locked up in the attic. She has behaved a trifle oddly at times, I’ll admit, but she isn’t mad. I mean, look at the way she tried to save you last night.”
Alexandra thought about her brief flash of fear last night as she had wondered if her mother had set the fire in her room purposely. Why, she had even for a moment thought that Aunt Hortense could have drugged her and Willa and set the fire! The notion seemed absurd in the light of day, especially looking at her aunt’s plain, honest face, warm with caring.
“No, of course not. She is not mad,” Alexandra agreed, and she felt suddenly lighter than she had in days. However strange all the things that were happening, she couldn’t help but be happy. Sebastian loved her, and she loved him. He wanted to marry her. Why was she putting him off? Why was she denying herself exactly what she wanted the most?
There was a noise behind her, and Alexandra turned to see Willa standing in the doorway. She smiled in her timid way. “Hello. I hope I’m not intruding. One of the maids was kind enough to sit with Mrs. Ward so that I could come down to eat. It gets a trifle boring sometimes eating one’s meals in the sickroom.”
“Of course. You must take off the morning, as well,” Alexandra added, smiling. “I shall sit with Mother this morning. I’m sure that you have many things that you have neglected, spending so much time with us. It has been wonderfully kind of you.”
“I have enjoyed it. I have so little to do at the Countess’s.” The small woman came around the table and sat beside Alexandra.
Alexandra truly was grateful to Willa; she had greatly eased the burden of caring for Rhea. But Alexandra also could not deny that the woman’s self-deprecating way of talking wore on her nerves, as did her rather dull chatter. Alexandra finished her breakfast as quickly as was reasonably polite and excused herself to check on her mother.
As she went up the stairs, she began to worry that Willa had left her mother in the care of one of the maids. If there had been no intruder last night, as seemed likely, and if the fire had been deliberately set, then the likeliest culprit would be a servant hired by the villain who had hired the o
ther men to harm Alexandra and her mother. It would certainly fit his—or her, as Maisy had said the other day—method of operation. Alexandra’s steps quickened, and she was close to running when she reached her mother’s room and flung open the door.
Her mother was lying still in her bed, the maid Rose sitting in a chair a few feet from her, her eyes closed. At Alexandra’s abrupt entrance, Rose’s eyes flew open, and she shot out of her chair.
“Oh, miss! You gave me a fright!” She laid a hand over her heart.
“I’m sorry.” Alexandra felt faintly foolish for her fears, given the peaceful scene she had come in on. “Thank you for sitting with her. I take it she’s been quiet.”
“Yes, miss, not a sound.” The girl looked at Mrs. Ward and sighed. “Poor thing. Seems ‘orrible, don’t it, to come out of it like that and get knocked right back in?”
“Yes. We can only hope that her unconsciousness will be briefer this time.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and went out, and Alexandra pulled the chair closer to the bed, where she could sit and look at her mother’s face. She touched her mother’s bandaged arm lightly, tears welling in her eyes as she thought of Rhea batting at the sparks on her bed. Rhea loved her and had done her utmost to save her. However much Alexandra might resent the fact that Rhea had kept the secrets of her past from her all these years, she knew that Rhea loved her.
The morning crept by slowly, and Alexandra picked up a piece of mending from her aunt’s sewing bag and began to work on it, to give herself something to do. Suddenly Rhea moaned, startling Alexandra into jabbing her finger with the needle.
She looked at her mother. Rhea’s eyes were still closed, but she was turning her head restlessly against the pillow. She raised one of her hands and moaned at the pain the movement caused.
“Mother?” Alexandra said, leaning forward and laying her hand lightly on Rhea’s shoulder. “Mother? It is I, Alexandra. Can you hear me?”
“Allie,” her mother breathed, using the name she had called Alexandra when she was a child.
Hope stirred in Alexandra’s chest. “Yes. It’s Allie. Can you wake up, Mother? Can you talk to me?”
Rhea let out another soft moan. Slowly her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at Alexandra. “Simone?”
Alexandra slumped, disappointment slicing through her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Tears pooled in Rhea’s eyes and spilled over. “I tried. It was so hard. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Mother.” Alexandra felt her eyes well with tears. “Why don’t you know me?”
She leaned against the bed, laying her head on the mattress, discouraged. “Won’t you ever recognize me again?”
Something touched her hair, and she realized, surprised, that it was her mother’s bandaged hand, clumsily stroking her.
“Of course I recognize you, Alexandra.” Her mother’s voice was hoarse from disuse.
Alexandra’s head snapped up. Rhea was looking at her, her expression infinitely sad.
“Why wouldn’t I know you?” she asked. “You are my daughter.”
“Mother!” Alexandra beamed, taking her mother’s bandaged hand gently in hers. “You’ve come back. I’m so happy to see you!”
“I’m happy to see you, too,” Rhea responded, smiling weakly. “Oh, Alexandra, I’ve been such a terrible mother to you.”
“Don’t say things like that. You haven’t.”
“I have.” Rhea shook her head, tears spilling out of her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. “I have been a terrible person.”
“No.”
“You just don’t know,” Rhea wailed softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I really didn’t. But I know you would hate me if you knew the truth!”
Alexandra’s heart began to pound. She swallowed, trying to remain calm. “I wouldn’t. I swear. I could never hate you.’
“You don’t know what I did.” Rhea wiped at her tears with her other hand.
“It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t hate you. You are my mother. You raised me. You loved me all those years and took care of me.”
“But I’m not!” Rhea broke into sobs. “I’m not really your mother! Oh, God! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! I was just so lonely.”
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” Alexandra said soothingly, leaning closer to Rhea. “And I swear I won’t hate you. Please, just tell me. Tell me what happened in Paris.”
Rhea sighed. “All right,” she said. “I will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“SIMONE CAME TO ME THAT NIGHT,” Rhea said dully. “The mob was out.” She shivered, remembering. “It was awful. I was so scared. They were like animals, wild and howling. We were leaving the next day. Hiram—Hiram had that cough, and he didn’t really want to go. He said that they had nothing against Americans. They wouldn’t harm us. But I was so frightened that he agreed to take me to England. Everyone was running around, packing. There was so much I couldn’t take. But I had to get away.”
“Of course you did. I am sure it was terrifying.”
Rhea nodded, reaching for Alexandra’s hand. “Simone came with the children. John must have been about seven. He was trying hard to be a little man about it. Marie Anne—she was a year or two younger than he, and she was clinging to Simone’s hand, crying. She was scared at leaving her father. And there was the baby—Alexandra. You.”
She smiled tremulously at Alexandra.
“You were so beautiful—that cloud of curly dark hair. I always coveted you. I knew it was a sin, but I couldn’t help it. You were such a beautiful, happy baby. I couldn’t have children. Hiram and I had tried, but it never worked. Simone thought it was funny that I always wanted to visit the nursery when I called on her.”
Rhea fell silent, and Alexandra prompted, “Why did Simone and the children come to your house?”
“They were on foot,” Rhea said, sighing. “Simone was terrified. She wore a cloak with a hood pulled around her face, and she had the children dressed in plain clothes. She and John carried little bags for them. She said—” Rhea drew a shuddering breath. “She asked me if I would take the children with me. She was so afraid for them. She said that she and her husband were trying to persuade her parents to leave with them, to go back to England, but her parents were reluctant. They didn’t want to leave their home and their possessions. They kept saying that the mob would quiet down and everything would go back to the way it had been. Silly, of course. They had stormed the Bastille. Nothing would ever be the same. Chilton, of course, had that English arrogance, that assurance that nothing would happen to them because he was British. But Simone was not so sure. She had a mother’s fear, a terror that the mob would kill her children. So she asked me to take the children to England with us, just in case she and Chilton could not get away. She said to take them to the Earl and Countess of Exmoor, Chilton’s parents. She gave me a letter she had written them, as well as a velvet bag of her jewelry, in case we needed extra money to get out—and, I think, as an inheritance. The two little girls had their lockets, and John had the Exmoor ring, a plain-looking thing, but Simone said it was very precious to Chilton’s family. It was the ring of the Exmoor heir. She knew, you see, that she and Chilton were going to die. I could see it in her eyes.”
Tears welled in Alexandra’s eyes and spilled over as she envisioned her mother, frightened, doing what she could to protect her children. “Oh, Mother, how sad!”
Rhea nodded. “Yes. Simone kissed them and hugged them, and they clung to her, crying. Finally, she tore herself away and left, and I took the children upstairs and put them to bed. Then I went up to the top floor and looked down the street. We lived only a few houses from them. It was an area where several foreigners lived. I could see the mob moving up the street like a great angry sea. It was awful. I could hear screams, and they set the house on fire. I knew they were dead.” Rhea began to cry, and it took her a moment to collect herself and go on in a calmer voice. “We barricaded ourselves inside the house. When th
e mob came, Hiram opened the window on the second floor and talked to them. When they realized that he was an American, they cheered and left us alone. The next morning our neighbors told us that everyone in the Chilton house had been killed—Chilton, Simone, her parents, the children. Of course, I knew that the children had not, but I wasn’t about to let on where they were. We left that afternoon. I have never been so scared in my life. Scared of the mob, of someone stopping to search us, of one of the children speaking in French and making people suspicious.”
Rhea shuddered, remembering. Alexandra patted her arm.
“It must have been a harrowing experience. You were very brave.”
“No.” Rhea smiled weakly. “I wish I could say that I was. Hiram was brave. He did all the talking, even though he was growing sicker and sicker by the day. I felt as if I were in a nightmare—trying to take care of him and the children and not give us away. I knew that it was my fault that he was sicker. I had insisted on leaving. If only we had stayed in Paris, he might have recovered. He would have had proper rest and care, but rocking along in that carriage, day after day, staying in whatever inn we came to—and then the crossing over the Channel! It was too much for him.” She shook her head, sighing. “He was a wonderful man. He would have done anything for me. And I was responsible for his death.”
“No!” Alexandra cried in protest. “You don’t know that. The fever might have killed him anyway, even if you had stayed in Paris. Or you could all have been killed in the rioting. I am sure you were right to be afraid, and no doubt Hiram wanted you to be safe. I am sure he was determined to do whatever it took to make you safe. And to rescue the children. If you had stayed in Paris, what would have happened to them?”
Rhea smiled faintly. “You are very sweet to try to reassure me. Perhaps you are right. But I’ll never know. Hiram died shortly after we reached England. We stayed in Dover for two weeks. Hiram had grown too sick to travel, and you children had caught the fever, too. Thank heavens you and Marie Anne did not have it badly. You got over it quickly. John was in a bad way. Hiram died finally, and I was lost without him! I didn’t know what to do. You were the only thing that kept me going—you were such a bright, beautiful baby. You were two, and you could walk, of course, and talk a little, mostly just babble. But you were so precious and funny and sweet. Whenever I needed it the most, you would come and sit in my lap and hug my neck. You called me Ree-ree, and you’d say, ‘Don’t cry, Ree-ree, don’t cry.’ Somehow it always made me feel better. I loved you so—you have to understand.”
