The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part One

by Farmer, Merry

  Still mortified, Alex nodded.

  “So I can dispense with explaining the mechanics of it all and how it might hurt a bit the first time,” Flossie went on.

  “That’s not what worries me,” Alex confessed in a small voice.

  “What does, then?” Flossie leaned closer, taking Alex’s hands.

  It felt so wonderful to have a friend, or at least the illusion of a friend, that tears stung her eyes. “I’ve just never thought about Marshall that way,” she said, unable to speak in more than a whisper. “He’s a friend, a colleague. I don’t think I’ve dared to think of him as a husband or a lover until now.”

  Flossie let a respectful amount of silence pass before asking, “Do you think he’ll be a good husband and lover?”

  Alex shrugged and shook her head, staring at her hands in Flossie’s, unable to look her in the eye. “I don’t know. He’s a good father.”

  “And he’s a good friend,” Flossie added. Alex glanced up at her, and she went on with, “Jason thinks the world of him.”

  “So do I,” Alex admitted, then winced. “But what if I don’t after….”

  Flossie sat straighter, staring thoughtfully at Alex. “This other lover or other lovers of yours. Did you enjoy it?”

  It was the question Alex had been avoiding asking herself since the night George first stole into her room, peeled off his clothes, and invaded her bed. She was a physician and well-versed in anatomy, but she’d learned a few things about what a male body could do that night. Her body too. Things that certainly weren’t taught in medical textbooks. She would have appreciated a conversation with Flossie about what to expect that night. It had hurt. And no, she hadn’t really enjoyed it.

  The pause had gone on too long, so Alex answered, “I’m not sure women are supposed to enjoy it.” Her mother had implied as much on several occasions.

  Flossie, on the other hand, burst into laughter. “What a load of rubbish. If you didn’t enjoy it, then he was doing it wrong, whoever he was. And believe me,” she added, a hint of sadness in her eyes, “there are a great deal of men out there who do it utterly wrong.”

  A flash of shock made Alex forget about her troubles for a moment. “Do you mean to say you’ve been with more men than just Mr. Throckmorton?”

  Flossie lowered her eyes and let out a breath. “Yes, but I don’t wish to talk about it. I will only say this.” She glanced up at Alex. “There is a world of difference between being with a man who only wants to use you for his own pleasure and one who cares deeply for you. It’s hardly even the same thing.” She squeezed Alex’s hands. “Dr. Pycroft cares for you. Regardless of your feelings for him, that means he will be more concerned for you than for himself, which is a good thing. If you ask me, you have nothing to fear.” Her cheery smile returned.

  Miraculously, Alex felt better. All the same, she asked, “Do you think so?”

  “Absolutely,” Flossie answered. She stood, gesturing for Alex to rise with her, and looped Alex’s arm through hers as they headed for the door. “Everything I’ve witnessed tells me you’ll be fine. And if it makes you feel any better, you’ll be at the hotel tonight. The honeymoon suite is just at the other end of the hall from Jason’s and my suite. If the whole thing goes pear-shaped, all you have to do is come find me and I’ll make sure you’re all right.”

  Tears brimmed in Alex’s eyes before she could stop them. She pulled Flossie into a sudden hug as they reached the hallway. “Thank you,” she said. “I needed that more than you can know.”

  “You’re welcome.” Flossie hugged her in return. “I’ll always be there for whatever you may need. And who knows?” She started forward, sliding her arm into Alex’s again with a sigh. “The way things are going, I might need you to return the favor someday.”

  As much as Alex wanted to ask what Flossie meant, it would have to wait for another day. The staff and patients of the hospital who were well enough had come down to see her off. Mrs. Garforth had even managed to find a bouquet of late-summer flowers for her to carry. Alex was inundated with blessings and cheer as she was swept out the door and onto the streets of Brynthwaite.

  Once they were thoroughly in the public eye, Alex’s instinct was to run to the church to avoid comment or detection, but Flossie held her to a sedate pace.

  “There’s no point in hiding things now,” she said. “Your mother isn’t due back until tomorrow, so even if someone were to see you and raise questions, it’s too late to do anything about it.”

  It was too late. Those words rang in Alex’s ears as they crossed the street and headed down to the church. They grew louder as they passed through the churchyard and into the cool, sweet-smelling building. And they grew to a roar when she started down the aisle to where Marshall was standing at the front of the chapel, Jason Throckmorton and Lawrence Smith with him. There was no organ playing. She walked in silence with nothing but the whispered comments of a tiny handful of friends. Her heart was the loudest thing she heard as she marched up to Marshall’s side.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, stars in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” Alex answered, ignoring the pang in her heart. He loved her so much more than she loved him. It was horrifically unfair.

  “If you’re ready,” Rev. Cutler asked Marshall with a benevolent smile. When Marshall nodded, the reverend began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Dr. Marshall Pycroft and Lady Alexandra Dyson.”

  The brief flash of anger at being referred to as “Lady” instead of “Dr.” was exactly the boost Alex needed to keep from falling apart as the ceremony progressed. She focused on that instead of on the monumental step she was taking. It carried her through the preliminaries of the ceremony and on to the vows. No one in the church raised an objection when they were asked to speak or hold their peace, and when Rev. Cutler asked both her and Marshall if they would love, honor, and obey, they each answered, “I do,” though Alex floated through it all with a vague sense that none of it was really happening.

  “Then by the power invested in me,” Rev. Cutler announced at last, snapping Alex to her senses, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  Marshall blossomed into a smile as his friends applauded. Alex did her best to smile with him. He was a good man, a good friend. She hadn’t made a mistake, she was sure of it. Even if every nerve in her body was tight with dread for what would come next—not just that night, but in the morning when her mother discovered what she’d done.

  Thoughts of her mother were banished as Marshall leaned in to kiss her. In her worry about everything to come later, Alex had completely forgotten that part of the ceremony. It took her by surprise. Marshall’s lips were soft against hers. She felt him sway toward her, felt heat radiate from him, and with it affection. Flossie was right. Marshall cared about her, therefore things would be entirely different than they’d been with George.

  The world seemed to speed up again when Jason clapped his hands together and said, “Now that that’s done, Flossie has organized a magnificent wedding feast for us all at the hotel.”

  “She has?” Marshall asked, stepping back but continuing to hold Alex’s hand. His entire demeanor had changed. The tension had drained from him, leaving him smiling and happier than Alex had seen him in weeks.

  “I have,” Flossie answered. “It’s the least I could do.”

  Flossie’s least turned out to be an entire corner of the dining room in the hotel reserved for the impromptu party. The table was beautifully decorated, with flowers and candles that took Alex’s breath away, and as their unusual party was seated, a sumptuous feast was set before them.

  She and Marshall had just settled in their chairs at the center of the long table when Marshall bolted to his feet again.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded of the strangely dressed but attractive older woman. Alex had assumed she had straggled in earlier to see what the service was about, but Marshall glared at her as though he knew her. “Wasn’t
it enough to intrude where you aren’t wanted at the church?” he went on.

  A prickling sense of anxiety and embarrassment spread through Alex, but the older woman merely looked at him from her place at the end of the table. Her place next to Jason. A place of honor.

  “What is it about my presence that upsets you so?” the woman asked. “Haven’t I always said that I would be there for you in sorrow and in joy?”

  “You never have been in the past,” Marshall snapped. He seemed to realize how inappropriate his reaction was, however. He darted a look around the table, then took his seat as though there were tacks on the chair.

  The old woman merely smiled. “I have always been there, my boy, and I always will be.”

  “She was there for you when Eileen tried to take the girls,” Jason spoke up, clearly defending the woman. “She sheltered them for you.”

  All at once, the pieces fell into place in Alex’s mind. “Mother Grace?” she said, blinking at the older woman.

  Mother Grace smiled and inclined her head in a nod. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, my dear.”

  In an instant, Alex was beyond words. She’d heard of Mother Grace, of course, but she never imagined she’d meet the woman. As far as she knew, Mother Grace never left her forest home. From the bits and pieces she’d been able to glean from Marshall, Mary and her sisters, and town gossip, Mother Grace had been the strongest maternal influence Marshall and his friends had had growing up. More than that, there was a certain resemblance between Marshall and the older woman that had the hair on the back of Alex’s neck standing up.

  “It is an honor,” Alex said when she found her voice.

  Marshall turned to stare at her with a mixture of warning and incredulity. “Don’t encourage her,” he murmured.

  “I thought she was important to you when you were a child,” she whispered back.

  “She….” Marshall didn’t finish his sentence. He glanced up, past the table and across the dining room. His hand shot out to grab hers, pressing the ring he’d so recently placed on her finger into her flesh.

  Alex’s confusion was blasted away a moment later by an all-too-familiar voice greeting them with, “Well, well. What’s the special occasion?”

  Her heart dropped to her feet as she looked up and directly into the face of George Fretwell. “George,” she said in a strangled whisper.

  Marshall squeezed her hand harder. It took another moment for her to realize he wasn’t attempting to hurt or scold her, he was letting her know he was there to support her, whatever happened.

  “Hello, Dr. Dyson,” Lady Arabella stepped up to George’s side, looking beautiful, elegant, and panicked.

  “Lady Arabella.” Alex nodded.

  “Enjoying a last-minute feast with your friends?” George went on. “My father and your mother will be back tomorrow. We’ve just received a telegram from Birmingham letting us know they’ll be spending the night there and arriving at Huntingdon Hall tomorrow afternoon.”

  Alex’s stomach flopped a second time. Birmingham. They were so close. Suddenly, everything seemed too real. “No one told me you were back in Brynthwaite,” she said, highly aware of everyone at the table watching the scene unfold.

  George shrugged, then smiled at Arabella. “We thought we would surprise everyone. Didn’t we, darling?”

  “We did,” Lady Arabella answered, sending Alex an anxious, sideways look. “But dear, we’re interrupting a private supper here.”

  “I’m sure it’s not a problem,” George said, turning his overly-warm smile to Alex. “We’re old friends here. We’re family. And soon, we’ll all be living under the same roof.”

  Alex had to say something, but her mouth had gone dry. Worse, her hands began to shake. She had to do something to salvage the situation and turn George away before Marshall’s friends grew suspicious. At the end of the table, Flossie already had a knowing look in her eye.

  Alex was saved from disaster as Marshall pushed his chair back and stood. He glared at George with protective fury, resting a hand on the back of Alex’s chair. “Kindly leave my wife and our friends alone, sir. Lady Arabella is correct. This is a private supper.”

  He spoke in solid, even tones, but his point hit its mark. George’s brow shot up. “Your wife?” He glanced to Alex, unable to hide the amusement dancing across his expression. “You married the good doctor here? Behind your mother’s back?” Without waiting for a reply, he burst into laughter.

  It was the last straw in an already trying day. Alex shot to her feet, eyes narrowed. “Marshall Pycroft is ten times the man you will ever be,” she hissed. “He is good and caring and skilled. He heals people, whereas you do nothing but take and take from everyone you come across. I would rather marry him a hundred times over than spend another minute in your company.”

  A thick silence fell, not just over the table, but at a few of the tables close to the confrontation. More people than just the wedding party were suddenly interested in the sparks that flew between Alex and George. George looked utterly bewildered, as if he couldn’t have imagined anyone ever speaking to him in such a way, let alone a woman. Unfortunately, Lady Arabella looked as though she might burst into tears. She shot furtive looks left and right at the people watching, her face going pink.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Arabella,” Alex said, focusing on what she could do to salvage the situation. “I did try to warn you.” Not that the lovesick young woman had heeded the warnings Alex had tried to give her at her mother’s wedding. If the woman was sensible, she would still have time to break her engagement to George, though it didn’t seem likely.

  At the other end of the table, Jason rose from his seat. But instead of approaching George or getting involved in the confrontation, he moved a few seats down the table and bent to whisper something to Matty’s younger brother. But there wasn’t time for Alex to wonder what it could be.

  When the silence seemed to go on too long, George let out an anxious laugh. “This is awkward,” he said, raking Alex with a look that had gone from suggestive to dismissive. “I wasn’t prepared to end up with such common relations due to my father’s choice of bride.”

  It shouldn’t have hurt, but Alex felt stung by George’s words. Not for herself, but because of what Marshall must think.

  But Marshall pulled himself up to his full height, taking Alex’s hand. “Alexandra Pycroft is far from common. She is extraordinary.”

  A shiver passed down Alex’s spine. Alexandra Pycroft. It felt as though Marshall were talking about someone else. But no, that was who she was now, for better or worse. “I think you should go.” She raised her left hand, placing it on Marshall’s arm in such a way that George wouldn’t be able to help but see her wedding ring. “Please give my regards to Mother and to your father when they return tomorrow, but I will not be seeing them, or you.”

  She glanced to Marshall. He looked back at her, pride sparkling in his eyes. More than pride, love. For once, it didn’t feel agonizingly awkward for him to love her as he did. It felt safe.

  “If you will excuse us,” Jason said, pulling Alex’s attention away from Marshall. He still stood, behind an empty chair now, and looked every bit the authority figure on the scene as he addressed George. “Perhaps you would care to dine elsewhere this evening.”

  Judging by the look in George’s eyes, he knew when he was being thrown out. He nodded to Jason, sent one last hard look to Alex, then backed up. At least he tried to back up. He stumbled, tripping over Matty’s younger brother as he cut past him, scurrying around the table and returning to his seat.

  George was quick to recover, taking Lady Arabella’s arm. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” he said, turning to lead her out. “Your mother won’t be pleased at all.”

  He didn’t stay long enough for Alex to come up with a clever retort, and if she were honest with herself, she was glad. As soon as George and Lady Arabella reached the door at the other side of the room, she blew out a breath and sank into her cha
ir. Marshall sat as she did, resting his hand on her leg for a brief moment.

  “You handled that expertly,” he said with a pleased smile, reaching for a glass of wine on the table.

  “No, I didn’t,” Alex insisted, snatching up one of her own. “I was abominable, and I’m going to be abominable again when Mother finds out about everything.”

  “I’ll stand by you,” Marshall said, then took a long drink. “Though we might need a great deal more of this when all is said and done.”

  Alex wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to brush the whole thing away as ridiculous. But winning the first battle was a far-sight from winning the war.

  “You shouldn’t encourage him,” Lawrence was in the middle of saying farther down the table. He glared daggers at Jason. “I’ve got enough on my hands as is.”

  “Did you want to simply sit by and let that ass insult your friend that way?” Jason replied, an impish grin in his eyes in spite of what sounded like an argument. He thumped Matty’s brother’s back approvingly before marching back to his seat at the head of the table.

  Only then did Alex notice that Matty’s brother had a gold pocket watch, a flat, black leather wallet, and a shiny gold sovereign spread out on the plate in front of him. She recognized the watch as George’s in an instant and assumed the wallet was as well. And it was as likely as not that the gold sovereign was payment from Jason for a job well done. Particularly since the boy smiled at Jason with a look of utter worship.

  “We’re trying to teach him not to be a thief,” Lawrence went on.

  “The boy has talent,” Jason shrugged. “Why not use it when the time is right.”

  “You’ll return those things to Fretwell as soon as possible,” Marshall told Jason, staring with as much disapproval as Lawrence.