by Brenda Joyce
“Go,” Alexandra begged them, not taking her eyes from her father. “Please go away.”
But they didn’t move, and Edgemont waved the check at her. “What did you do to warrant his paying you off?” he roared at her.
Alexandra couldn’t tell him, and while she knew she must lie to save herself, she couldn’t do that, either. Helplessly she sat down, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Did you spread your legs for that bastard?” Edgemont shouted, shocked. His cheeks were red now.
“Alexandra would never do such a thing.” Olivia tried to defend her, but her gaze was wide and horrified.
Alexandra finally whispered, “I thought he was kind…a prince.”
Edgemont gasped, clasping his head, backing away. He started to cry.
Olivia paled with shock, as did Corey. Neither sister moved.
“I thought he was our savior,” Alexandra said, brokenly. “I was wrong.”
“Oh, my God,” Olivia breathed.
“You need to deposit it,” Alexandra somehow added, now covering her face with her hands. She had never been as humiliated or ashamed, as mortified. Her sisters would never admire her again. And why should they? She was a harlot, after all.
Corey turned and ran from the room. The front door slammed as she left the house.
Alexandra dared to look up, sick with shame. Olivia was still horrified. Her eyes simply said, Why? How could you do such a thing? “I am so sorry,” Alexandra whispered.
Her father turned and said raggedly, “Are you seeing him still?”
She managed to shake her head.
“So he used you and then tossed you aside?” Edgemont asked harshly.
Oh, God, this was turning worse and worse. “No, it wasn’t like that…. It was a mistake—for both of us,” she said, aware of how ridiculous it was that she was defending him now.
Another silence fell. Olivia walked around the table and sat down beside her, taking her hand. Alexandra was grateful.
A long, painful moment passed. “You’ll marry Denney now,” Edgemont said. He stared at her firmly. “There could be a child. I’ll tell him you have accepted his suit.”
She trembled. She had tried not to think about the possibility of having conceived, but now she did not dare refute her father.
He started to walk out, then turned. “You’ll be wed within the month.”
THE WISEST COURSE of action had been an instant retreat to her room. Alexandra shut the door, breathing hard, refusing to cry. The dying red roses stared at her.
She had lost everything now. Her good name, her dignity, her honor, her self-respect and the respect of her family. There was nothing more to lose—except for her freedom.
She hugged herself, thinking of the kind squire and the horrid duke. She took the roses and forced them into the small wastebasket by the bureau. Then she heard her door open and glanced up as Olivia slipped into her room.
“Are you all right?” her sister asked, closing the door.
“No, I am not.” Alexandra pushed the roses down, crushing them. The thorns cut her hands.
Olivia put her arm around her. “I understand.”
Alexandra pulled away. “Do you? Because I cannot understand myself.”
“He is impossibly seductive—and, as always, you thought nothing of sacrificing yourself for us.” Her gaze was searching.
“He is very seductive,” Alexandra whispered, and her heart suddenly hurt so fiercely, it was as if it was broken. She felt another tear well. “I truly thought he was kind.”
“He is despicable, to use you so callously,” Olivia whispered. “I hate him.”
Alexandra stumbled away, the tears beginning to fall. She had controlled herself thus far, but the task seemed impossible now. His rejection hurt so terribly. His accusations hurt even more. “I miss Owen, Olivia,” she said.
Aghast, Olivia sat down with her and took her into her arms. “Of course you do. He was your true love.” She sat back and stared. “But I know you, Alexandra. And I know you would not do what you did just for us. Do you love him?”
“I don’t know…maybe. But how could I? He is cruel!” She finally started to cry.
Olivia held her again.
A long time passed while Alexandra wept over her broken heart and shattered dreams—dreams she didn’t dare identify. But his image was with her—it always was—and it wasn’t hateful or mean. It was warm, and it was kind. Too late, she was certain she had truly fallen in love with the duke.
When the tears were finally spent, when all that was left were her throbbing heart and battered soul, she pulled away. “I am sorry. I never cry.”
“It’s all right,” Olivia said, her face strained. Very carefully, she asked, “Could there be a child?”
Alexandra closed her eyes. A part of her would rejoice if that were the case, but he would think it a part of her trap, and she would have to make certain he never knew about their son or daughter—something marriage to the squire would no doubt take care of. Then she looked at her sister. “It is unlikely,” she said, having made a calculation. She thought she was safe from an unwanted pregnancy.
“Please refuse Denney,” Olivia said.
Alexandra blanched. “How can I? Father is devastated. You saw him. A marriage I abhor is surely my punishment now.”
Olivia was now close to tears herself. “How have we come to this terrible moment?”
“It is entirely my fault,” Alexandra said, “when all I ever wanted was to take care of you and Corey.”
This time, it was Olivia who wept, in Alexandra’s arms.
ALEXANDRA KNEW she could not hide in her room indefinitely. She was in the kitchen now, having prepared supper as usual. Everything was being kept warm in the ovens as they waited for their father to return from Fox Run. Alexandra felt certain the squire would be with him, his mood celebratory. She had already set out an extra place.
Her stomach churned. But if this was her penance, so be it.
Corey was arranging a vase of dried flowers as a centerpiece. She hadn’t said a word since she’d overheard Alexandra’s horrible interview with their father earlier. She was ashen and grim, refusing to look at anyone, especially Alexandra. Alexandra knew her young, idealistic sister was in shock that she could have carried on as she had—and that she felt utterly betrayed. She did not blame her.
They all heard the front door open and close, but it was only one pair of booted steps that sounded in the hallway. Alexandra glanced at Olivia, saying, “Would you get supper from the oven?” Then she wiped her hands on her apron and took it off, going out to meet her father.
He’d gone directly into the library, and he was drinking a huge glass of straight gin. In the doorway, Alexandra froze, Olivia behind her. She did not know what to think, and she was too mentally exhausted to jump to any conclusions. “The squire wasn’t at home?”
Edgemont gulped down half the drink and turned, his eyes blazing. “He was home. And he has heard the rumors, too.”
Alexandra tensed in absolute dread. She could not take very much more. “Can we discuss the squire tomorrow? Supper is ready.”
“No, we cannot!”
Alexandra flinched, knowing the sky had fallen. Olivia took her hand.
Their father advanced. “He’s heard every damned rumor about you and your damned duke! He wants nothing to do with you, and I do not blame him!”
She saw the blow coming, but she was incapable of trying to defend herself, although Olivia shrieked. Edgemont struck her hard across the face, sending her staggering backward into the side of the door, and then against the wall.
She’d never been hit in her life. Now, her vision blackened and stars exploded in her line of sight. Then the pain erupted in her right cheekbone.
“Father!” Olivia screamed.
Clutching her face as the pain overwhelmed her, Alexandra sank to the floor and waited for the room to come slowly back into focus.
Edgemont towered over her. �
�You are nothing like your mother!” he screamed. “You are a whore!”
Alexandra curled up, protecting her head to defend herself from another blow. From behind, Olivia and Corey, who had come running at the noise, leaped on Edgemont, pummeling him with their fists.
“Leave her alone!” Corey sobbed. “Leave my sister alone!”
Alexandra somehow got up, shocked at having been so brutally struck, and even more shocked by the sight of her sisters trying to physically maim their father. “Stop!” she cried.
Edgemont managed to free himself of the two women, then pointed at Alexandra, his hand shaking, tears streaming. “I want you out of this house!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALEXANDRA STARED around in dismay. Corey and Olivia were with her. There had been no suitable lodgings close to home, and they’d taken a full hour to drive to London’s southwestern outskirts. The neighborhood was filled with factories that belched dark smoke, as did the steamships coming into the harbor, while the brick and stucco buildings lining the thoroughfare were blackened from the constant soot. The air was foul and heavy, and the working men and women—and children—coming and going were thin with malnutrition, as well as pale-skinned and dirty. London had changed so much in the past decade that it was almost unrecognizable—mills and factories were everywhere, as was the belching railroad. The rooms they’d found that were closer to Edgemont Way had been incredibly expensive, from Alexandra’s point of view, or impossibly dirty, or there had been unpleasant innuendos from the innkeepers as to what she must do to have the room. While this neighborhood was hardly hospitable, the room she’d let was cheap—and it was clean in comparison to the other rooms she’d thus far seen.
Except, of course, for the privy, which she would have to share with a dozen other tenants. As for bathing, she would do so in her room, with water pumped from the courtyard well.
“Father will change his mind,” Corey said desperately, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
Thinking about Edgemont hurt too much. “I will take my bags and my sewing upstairs,” Alexandra said, attempting a cheerful smile. “It’s getting late, and you should go back.”
“We can’t let you stay here by yourself, Alexandra,” Olivia said nervously, as two very drunken sailors sauntered by them, winking. “I don’t think this place is at all safe.”
“You heard Mr. Schumacher. The public doors are locked at ten o’clock.” But she doubted the veracity of his words.
“I don’t care what he says. Even if you bolt your door, I am afraid for you to stay here by yourself.”
“I hate him!” Corey shouted, and Alexandra did not know if she was referring to their father or Clarewood.
“I am going to stay here with you,” Olivia said firmly, picking up a satchel. “Corey, guard the carriage and the horse while I help Alexandra.”
Corey’s eyes widened. Clearly she had no wish to stand in the busy street by herself. At that time of day, it was congested with wagons and drays carrying every possible kind of cargo.
“Olivia, I can take everything up myself. And you are not staying here! You need to get Corey home. It will be dark soon. I am fine,” she lied, for she was so sick in her heart that she could barely describe her own feelings, even to herself.
“Will you really be fine? How can you pretend that you will be fine?” Olivia’s gaze became moist. “We can’t leave you here. And I hate him, too.”
“You cannot stay here with me. I brought this on myself. And this is a pleasant inn,” Alexandra said firmly, as if she believed it. “I am going to turn my little room into a cozy, cheerful place. You can visit me as much as you like. But tomorrow you must get in touch with all the clients on the list I gave you, so they know where to find me now.”
Olivia grimaced. “You should have the money so you no longer have to take in sewing. But Father took it, and he will gamble it away before the week is out!”
Alexandra had three bags, one containing the garments she was currently working on, and the basket of food. She also had twenty-five of the fifty pounds she’d saved for Olivia’s dowry. Five pounds had paid for her room for a month. The repairs and pressed gowns that were ready to be picked up remained at Edgemont Way. “You need to start home. Please. I have enough to worry about, and I don’t also want to worry about you getting waylaid on the highway.”
Corey was crying now. Olivia hugged her, fighting tears, and Alexandra hugged her back. Then she kissed Corey. “I will be fine. When have I ever not risen to the occasion? Surely, Corey, some good will come of this. God always has a plan.”
“No good will come of this, not unless the duke marries you—which is what he should do!” Corey insisted, her eyes flashing.
Alexandra tensed, her heart leaping unpleasantly. “I believe he is well out of my league, my dear.” But the truth was, he seemed to despise her now.
“I saw the way he looked at you,” Corey continued shrilly. “What is wrong with him? You are better than those stupid, silly debutantes!”
Alexandra hugged her, then managed to get her and Olivia back into their carriage. She gave the black gelding a pat, grateful they had, at least, a good and solid means of transportation. “Please get word to my clients tomorrow. And if you have time, come on Wednesday,” she said.
They drove off, both girls in tears, but Alexandra kept a smile on her face and waved at them. When they were gone, however, tears instantly filled her eyes. She fought them. She was not going to feel sorry for herself. She had made the mess she was in, and she would never try to deny it.
As she reached for one of her bags, a man came to stand beside her. She tensed, only to realize it was her German landlord. “I’ll carry yer bags up, Miss Bolton.”
For the first time since negotiating the price of the room, she looked carefully at him. Mr. Schumacher was a big bear of a man, so big that he was intimidating, but his eyes were direct and not without a trace of kindness. She smiled. “I’d appreciate the help,” she said.
When she was safely in the room, the door locked, Alexandra lit the single lamp, knowing she must buy another lamp or candles on the morrow. The room had wood-paneled walls and wood floors, a single window, a narrow bed, a small, rickety table with two chairs, a sink, an icebox and a small wood stove. Pegs on the wall would serve as a closet.
But it wasn’t that bad—Alexandra had seen so much worse. The floors needed wax, but they had been recently mopped. The pale muslin curtains on the window were freshly laundered, and so were the thin cotton sheets on the bed—she’d noticed that right away. She’d brought her own blanket and pillow. She hadn’t met Mrs. Schumacher, but had been told that the missus did the cleaning herself, along with their two daughters, as well as the cooking for the public taproom. Alexandra had no intention of dining there. She could not afford it.
She took off her coat and hung it on one precious peg, then opened up her bag of repairs, taking out five gowns, all of which she hung on the remaining pegs. She removed her needles, pincushions and threads, placing everything carefully on the table. Sobs seemed to be arising deep in her chest. She ignored them, taking out her iron and the heavy towel she would be pressing the gowns on.
Having arranged a work space, she then took out the few belongings she’d chosen to bring, refolding and then replacing them in a bag, which she put at the foot of her bed, as if it were a chest. She then went to unpack the basket of food. One of her sisters had put a bouquet of dried flowers inside. She started to cry.
Alexandra gave up. She threw her blanket on the bed, lay down and curled up. This was her fault. She’d made a terrible choice, trusting a man she did not know at all. She had no right to such misery and heartache. She had no right to be feeling sorry for herself. She had no right to be afraid.
But she was all of those things.
And worst of all, Clarewood’s image remained in her mind, but not as she had last seen him. She kept seeing him at the Harrington ball, when he had rescued her and then her father—his e
yes direct, intense and concerned. Then she saw him as he waited for her to alight from the carriage, his gaze blatantly sensual and seductive. And the way he’d looked at her while they made love was simply unforgettable….
But damn it, she wanted to forget. She had to forget! Her entire life was at stake now, and she had to focus on her sewing; otherwise, she would likely starve to death.
But he haunted her dreams that night, as he had done from the start, and she tossed and turned restlessly until dawn. She spent the next day cleaning every inch of her room. She scrubbed the floors, the walls, the sink, icebox and stove. Then she dusted. By the time her sisters returned, she’d taken some scraps of red and gold fabric and sewn cheerful if exotic slipcovers for the chairs, the design somewhat fantastic, and had tossed her own violet shawl over the foot of the bed as a pretty throw. She’d embroidered the window curtains. She’d bought a bright red Poinsettia plant and placed it in the window. She’d put out some family portraits and thought that, eventually, her small room might even start to feel like home, though frankly, it looked like a gypsy’s abode.
Corey and Olivia returned at midday on Wednesday. They had done as she’d asked, leaving her new address with her clients. Lady Lewis had even picked up her dresses, leaving payment, which they eagerly gave her. They exclaimed over how pretty the room was becoming, and Alexandra decided they could afford to eat lunch downstairs. True to Mr. Schumacher’s word, his wife was a wonderful cook, and they ate the best potted chicken they’d ever tried, followed by lemon tarts. They’d giggled over lunch, due undoubtedly to the ale they’d been served, talking about all kinds of silly things—including the fact that their neighbor had fallen off his horse, landing in his neighbor’s pig sty. It felt so good to laugh. Corey pointed out that it was too bad the victim of the sty wasn’t the duke.
That sobered them all.
“I haven’t heard a word about him,” Olivia said hesitantly. “Or anything else.”
