Heaven Sent the Wrong One

by VJ Dunraven

  Alexandra stared at the imploring countenance of the man before her. For the first time in all the years she'd known him, she saw him with a fresh set of eyes. "Is this your atonement for what happened between you and Aunt Marjorie?" she asked in a low voice.

  The duke's mouth curved upwards at the corners. "It is my only salvation," he said with glittering eyes.

  Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle floating in Alexandra's head snapped into place.

  Here was a man who longed for a wife and an heir, and here she was, in search of a protector for her baby and herself. If she had a boy, he would be destined for a magnificent future as the Duke of Redfellow. If she had a girl, she would hold the prestige of being a duke's daughter. And if the duke so desired, she would be agreeable to adopt a son as her own, to be the heir.

  Alexandra's heart began to pound in swift staccatos in her chest. It is possible. It can be done.

  God had finally answered her prayers.

  The miracle couldn't be more blatant than what was in front of her.

  With renewed hope, she composed herself and ventured, "Your Grace—I am honored to accept your offer. But first—I must confess."

  Chapter 20

  The Law of Karma

  Newport, Rhode Island

  United States of America

  Four years later

  Allayne Carlyle gazed upon the stretch of blue ocean from the veranda of the Ellery mansion as the sun set in the horizon. The sound of crashing waves on the breakers chorused with the cries of seagulls, gliding back and forth with their wings extended, intently scanning the waters for signs of a good meal.

  A pang of homesickness lanced in his chest. The vista, familiar sounds, and air tainted with the scent of brine reminded him of Cornwall, the one place in the whole world he could call home.

  It had been too long—years—since he had seen his family and friends. He missed them terribly and though they constantly wrote, asking to visit him, he repeatedly declined their requests.

  His need for isolation was as desperate as his need to leave everything behind that reminded him of England. He needed to escape the profound loss and the envy he felt, every time he witnessed the unconditional love his friends found in their wives. The necessity to distance himself became crucial, for he could no longer bear the false hope that always led to sadness, whenever a tall English beauty with dark hair and eyes sailed past.

  Ah—yes ... Anna. After all these years, he still thought of her from time to time—though now, the pain had subsided and his heart had become numb. The memories of that springtime in Bath no longer tormented him body and soul. He had learned to accept things as they were and had reconciled with the circumstances he could not amend.

  In that moment of reprieve, when the torrential storm ceased and the sun broke through the clouds—he met Marion.

  Allayne turned his gaze towards the archway leading into the ballroom. Everyone who was of social importance in the exclusive circle of America's wealthiest gathered to chat, drink, and dance at the ball hosted by the Ellerys.

  A stunning woman dressed in a breathtaking creation of shimmering royal blue silk, tossed her head back, and laughed at someone's remark. The only child of American shipping tycoon Sam Ellery, Marion was an heiress of fabulous wealth and connections—his ideal match. Someone he was certain would never covet him for his wealth and birthright.

  She swiveled in his direction and blew him a kiss with a saucy wink.

  Allayne chuckled and returned the gesture.

  Dull moments never existed when he was with Marion. Full of life and laughter, she charmed him with her lively personality, beauty, and kindheartedness. Her vibrant companionship kept him on his toes and made him laugh, casting away his desolation. Her radiance filtered through his gloomy days and parted the darkness that for so long, occupied his heart.

  In a way, she reminded him of—

  Allayne swiftly severed that train of contemplation. He must not revisit the past nor compare Marion with Anna. In fact—did he not purposely gravitate towards women whose physical attributes were totally opposite that of Anna's—so he could make the process of forgetting her, easier?

  Allayne observed Marion as she crossed the room to join him. She was young and petite, with flaxen hair and pale blue eyes. A far cry from the statuesque, willowy, dark-haired, dark-eyed Anna.

  "What's with the long face?" Marion twined her arms around his waist and tilted her lips up—an unspoken request for a kiss.

  Allayne bent down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. He had discovered that American women were not as prudish as their British counterparts when it came to expressing either their affection or opinion—whether in private or in public.

  "I missed you, that's all," he said, bestowing her with a rare dimpled smile.

  Her eyes softened and she reached up, dipping a forefinger in one of the two deep indentations on his cheeks.

  Allayne flinched. Anna used to do just exactly that.

  He wrapped his fingers on Marion's wrist and brought her hand to his chest instead, a subtle hint that he disfavored being touched in that manner. Not long ago, he inadvertently slighted her feelings by expressing his aversion against her kissing his dimples—which she somehow found very appealing, just like the way Anna used to—

  "Something's bothering you." Marion's cheerful countenance subsided into a slight frown.

  Allayne gazed at her lovely face. Everything about her was luminous—from her hair to her skin, down to the vivacious personality he had come to adore. She was a diamond of the first water—belonging to a family widely respected amongst the social elite of New York. Her list of prominent suitors was impressive—and though he was not one of them, for some reason, she gravitated towards him.

  Her father, whom he met a year ago when he had been looking for a Trans-Atlantic freight provider that could transport their tobacco imports from America to England, encouraged the match. He took his daughter with him to their meetings, invited him to dine at their grand home in New York and watched with delight from afar as his friendship with Marion bloomed into something more.

  "It's time for me to go home," Allayne said, quietly.

  The joy drained from her eyes. "To England?" she asked, in a small voice.

  "Yes," he replied, observing the swell of devastation as it tarnished her beautiful visage.

  "I ... I—see." She swung away from him, but Allayne caught her arm and turned her towards him once again.

  The shimmer of tears brimmed in her eyes.

  Allayne tilted her chin and wiped the drop of moisture that slid down the side of her face with his thumb. Marion was the sweetest girl on the planet. One need not doubt her sincerity. Her emotions were so transparent; her feelings could easily be read. She always wore her heart on her sleeve and loved with complete honesty—without conditions—the very kind of love he had been searching for, all these years.

  "Come home with me," he heard himself asking.

  Marion's mouth formed into an 'O'. "W-What?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  "I was thinking—" Allayne tucked the wayward strand of hair that had escaped her immaculate coiffure behind her ear and cleared his throat. "I think—perhaps it's time for my family and friends to meet my future wife."

  She stared at him with a stunned expression on her lovely face. "Truly?"

  "Truly," Allayne reiterated.

  "Oh!" Marion threw herself into his arms and showered his face with kisses. "I love you so much!" she exclaimed in her usual effervescent manner, attracting a few glances in their direction.

  Allayne couldn't help but laugh and share her exuberance. Marion was perfect for him in every way—a woman suitable to someday become his viscountess. He could not be more grateful for such a wonderful creature.

  He leaned forward as she clung to him in a tight embrace. Marion had driven away his demons and taught him to feel—to become human again. She was a godsend, an angel heaven sent—to rescue him from h
imself.

  And this time around, he knew nothing could go wrong. He sincerely hoped—nay, wanted,—to believe,—that finally, after all the pain and heartbreak, at last,—he had found the right one.

  ~

  Sidmouth Abbey

  Country Seat of The Duke of Redfellow

  Devon, England

  Alexandra kneeled on the freshly-cut grass of the family plot next to the estate's private chapel and set a bouquet of red roses before the gravestone of her husband, Henry Gabriel Strathearn, the seventh Duke of Redfellow.

  She wiped away the lone tear from the corner of her eye. Henry had been dead for a little over a year and a half now, but she still missed him. His devotion during the most trying time of her life helped heal the broken pieces of her heart, and the loss of the genuine friendship they had shared during their short marriage left her feeling disoriented, devoid of an ally, and a guiding hand.

  "Please don’t cry, Mama," the little boy standing next to her said.

  She feigned a smile for her son, three and a half-year-old Gabriel Alexandros Strathearn, the eighth Duke of Redfellow. Because of his young age and as his mother and guardian, Alexandra had assumed all the responsibilities of running the vast dukedom until her son reached his majority. The burden was intimidating and enormous. Thankfully, her husband's keen foresight anticipated the inevitable and thoroughly prepared her to manage all his estates prior to his death.

  The little boy kissed her cheek. "There. Feel better, Mama?"

  "Yes—" Alexandra blinked back her tears. "I feel better now. Thank you, sweetie."

  "I miss Papa," he leaned his cheek on Alexandra's shoulder. "Can't we visit him in heaven?"

  "I'm sure he misses you too," Alexandra said—and meant every word. Henry loved Gabriel as his own and in spite of his old age, spent every minute of his time doting on her son. By the time Gabriel turned two, he was presented to the King, establishing his birthright as the next-in-line to the dukedom.

  Alexandra kissed the top of his head. "Heaven is too far and our horses can't fly." She pointed at the overcast sky. "But, if you look up there and wave, I'm sure Papa will see you through the clouds."

  Gabriel brightened and happily waved both hands towards the sky. "Look Mama!" he exclaimed in excitement, as a ray of sunlight peeked through the clouds and bathed them in its warmth. "It's Papa! Papa saw me!"

  "Yes, he did," Alexandra gave him a hug, watching his eyes widen in awe as the sunbeam intensified, while she choked back tears.

  He looked so much like his father, with the same honey-blond hair, curly-lashed green eyes, and deep dimples on either side of his cheeks. Sometimes she wondered if God's reason for creating a miniature version of her lost love, was to punish her for that one night of transgression and remind her to never again yield to temptation.

  Even though it had been years and her longing for Andrew had dulled into a tolerable ache, she could never erase his image from her heart—not when his living portrait in the form of their son, constantly brought back the memories of happier days when nothing mattered—except falling in love.

  Alexandra drew a shaky breath and released Gabriel from her embrace with another kiss on his forehead. She stood up, brushing away the dirt from her gown.

  "Come, we have to go," she took his hand in hers and led him to the long winding path where the footman waited with their horses.

  "Are we really going to the big city, Mama?" Gabriel asked, as the footman hoisted him unto his docile pony.

  "Yes, we are," Alexandra replied as she mounted her horse. "You still want to go to all the London Museums and see Uncle Jeremy and your cousin Edward, right?"

  "Oh, yes, Mama! I do! I do!" Gabriel grinned.

  Alexandra laughed at his enthusiasm. Gabriel always looked forward to spending time with his Uncle and cousin, who provided the only male companionship for the growing boy. He looked up to his cousin Edward like an older brother and adored his Uncle Jeremy immensely.

  Thankfully, they reestablished contact years ago, before she married the duke—when Jeremy unexpectedly showed up with an older gentleman at Weston Court to purchase a thoroughbred from her father's stables. They primarily corresponded by letter, until she sent him an invitation to her wedding. The attendance of Jeremy, together with his charming wife and son, initiated the visits to each other's homes.

  In one such visit, approximately a month after the wedding, Jeremy asked about her sojourn in Bath. It turned out that the older gentleman whom he accompanied to purchase the horse from her papa, the Earl of Weston, was Viscount Rose—Mr. Carlyle's father. Apparently, her papa devised the match with the viscount.

  Jeremy expressed curiosity on what transpired in Bath and she stated her lack of attraction and interest in the viscount's heir—who, to her mortification, also turned out to be his wife's Cassie's brother. And while she apologized profusely for her gaffe, Jeremy merely raised a dark brow—whether in bewilderment or amusement—she could not tell. Luckily, he did not pursue the subject—for she was itching to ask if he knew Mr. Carlyle's valet—and almost gave herself away.

  "Mama, can I sleep over at Cousin Edward's house?" Gabriel's voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Alexandra considered his suggestion for a moment before answering, "Of course, sweetheart—but, first—we have to ask if it's alright with your Aunt Cassie."

  She understood Gabriel's eagerness. Following her husband's funeral, she went into mourning and confined herself at Sidmouth Abbey. Though she often corresponded with Jeremy, she tactfully refused his invitations to come to Waterford Park, feeling the need to deal with her grief in seclusion, until she was fit for company. It had been a year and a half now since they last saw each other—and it was time.

  Alexandra headed to the study as soon as they reached the Abbey. She sat behind the duke's enormous desk and shifted through the mail.

  A letter bearing the distinctive crest of the Marquess of Waterford came into view. She set aside the rest of the mail and picked up the letter, cracking the seal open.

  ~

  Dear Cousin Alex,

  I am elated to hear that you are finally ready to rejoin society! My wife and I have missed your delightful company.

  We would like to request the honor of your presence at the Welcome Soiree we are hosting for my wife's brother, The Honourable Mr. Carlyle, who has just returned from America. Perchance you might remember having his acquaintance in Bath.

  The affair will be held on the 15th of May, at Waterford House in Mayfair. Cassie and I are looking forward to seeing you there.

  Jeremy

  Alexandra stared at the missive for a long while, with her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She debated with herself if she should go or not, fearing a scene if Mr. Carlyle recognized her.

  But, what was she supposed to do? She could not keep on hiding from society because of an old ruse that happened years ago. If she kept on avoiding crossing paths with Mr. Carlyle, her relationship with her cousin Jeremy and his family would suffer.

  She deliberated on how she should approach the situation. Perhaps she should take Mr. Carlyle aside and explain her subterfuge. If she remembered correctly, the man was soft-spoken and shy, with an agreeable disposition. He would be amenable and honor-bound to protect her reputation by keeping her affair with his valet confidential.

  Besides—Anna, her former maid, would have surely divulged their identity swap to her husband by now. There was a good probability that Mr. Carlyle was already aware of her circumstances and had predictably kept mum to please his wife. However, should a problem with his cooperation arise, Anna would most certainly be there to help. She would not relish crossing her former mistress, much less be reminded of her participation in that scheme they concocted in Bath.

  Alexandra pulled a stationary embossed with the ducal insignia from the desk drawer and dipped the quill in the pot of ink.

  Dear Cousin Jeremy,

  How wonderful it was to hear from you! I have likewise missed
your splendid company and I am looking forward to seeing you soon. In fact, Gabriel and I will be travelling to London in three days. We are scheduled to arrive on the 14th of May.

  With that said, it is with utmost delight to learn that your soiree will be held the following day. It would be a pleasure to refresh my acquaintance with The honourable Mr. Carlyle once more. Therefore, I am happy to let you know that I gladly accept your invitation. I am counting the days until I see you and your family again.

  Alex

  Chapter 21

  The Earl’s Daughter

  Waterford House

  Mayfair, London

  8 days later

  Alexandra climbed up the steps of the grand home of her cousin, Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, Marquess of Waterford. As she approached the entrance, she was pleased to see that the formal reception line in the foyer that she had purposely skirted had already been dismantled, and only the butler and footmen were present. She breathed a sigh of relief, shrugging out of her coat with the attentive assistance of a footman.

  "Your Grace." The butler swept an elegant bow.

  Alexandra bestowed him a fond smile, having known the man from her past visits at Waterford Park after her marriage to the duke. Barton had been with Jeremy's family for many decades, but in spite of his advanced years, he still carried himself with deportment worthy of a cavalry officer.

  "Barton," she said in a low voice, resting her gloved hand on his arm as he turned towards the guests. "Please do not announce my arrival."

  Barton raised a quizzical silver eyebrow, then quickly regressed to his usual reserved demeanor. "As you wish, Your Grace." He bowed in acquiescence and resumed his post by the entrance.

  Alexandra surveyed the crowd. She purposely arrived late to avoid Mr. Carlyle. He would have surely joined Jeremy's family in the receiving line and a surprise public encounter was the last thing she wanted. Unfortunately, the only way to sidestep such an incident was to sneak in at the height of the party. At this late hour, everyone would be engrossed with all the dancing, drinking, and socializing. She must locate Mr. Carlyle and his wife, Anna, her former maid, on her own. So that when the right opportunity presented itself, she could surreptitiously approach them and discuss her predicament in private.