by Baird Wells
He relaxed against the chair, deflating with relief. Then, he stood up, bowing to Mrs. Rowan at John's introduction. “Alexandra, this is Major-General Lord Spencer Reed.” John waved a hand. “Reed, this is my cousin, Mrs. Alexandra Rowan.”
Alexandra dared closer, eyeing him, and for a breath Spencer was certain she had recognized him. Then she curtsied, a small gesture that brushed him with a hint of her perfume. That was the same; he knew it and his body certainly knew it. Without thinking, he pressed a hand over her glove tucked inside his pocket.
“Lord Reed. It's very kind of you to make some time to visit here with us. As John explains it, you have a great many obligations.” Her r's were firm, syllables full on an American tongue, voice rich and sweet. That part at least was meeting his expectations. He wished she would say more, give him more than polite asides.
“Not as busy as I'd like,” he muttered, awkward. “Or as much as is good for everyone else.”
Easy, a spring breeze; her laughter came naturally at his jest, checking his breath for a beat.
Then he waited for the questions, the stilted adulation.
Instead, she cocked her head and smiled. “We've all been warned, then.”
His heart skipped. Spencer struggled to follow his comment, to keep her there, but silence broke the thread between them and Alexandra moved off.
She folded onto a hulking floral brocade sofa beneath the window, slipped a book from the ledge, and seemed to forget that she was not alone. Absorbed as he was in studying her, he didn’t miss Paulina's sour frown at her sister-in-law.
“Hastings, what's our order of the day?” asked Chas, a strange contrast of desperate affability against his scowling wife.
“Well.” John glanced to Laurel, who smiled over a hard swallow. “Well,” she began, then faltered. Spencer didn’t have to guess why; John had grumbled over their struggle for weeks now. John's army pay was in arrears, going back to well before the Battle of Paris. He’d dumped a small fortune into Broadmoore just to make it livable and then the Crown had left him out to dry. Now John had a baby on the way and an unexpected house full of guests to entertain. “Well,” she repeated, “John has arranged us a lovely picnic today out on the heath --”
“The weather is cold,” sniffed Paulina.
“The weather is English,” retorted Alexandra, piercing the other woman with a glance over her book. A silent, pointed exchange hung between the women for long enough that Spencer anticipated more barbs. Finally, Alexandra dropped her gaze, cutting the tension.
Laurel’s shoulders relaxed a measure at being defended. “And tomorrow, we'll –”
He sat forward, interjecting himself into the group. “Tomorrow you will all come over to Oakvale. I have entertainments planned for Saturday and Sunday so that Lady Hastings may have a respite to enjoy your company.”
Laurel's smile was absolute gratitude, and John nodded.
John needed his cousins, and Laurel could not risk alienating them by saying what truly ought to be said to Paulina Paton. But he would, and could. Let her cut a swath with her tongue under his roof and see how she fared.
“That is very kind of you, Lord Reed.” Alexandra was watching him without blinking, book forgotten in her lap.
His intent in bringing the group to Oakvale was to do Laurel a favor. Now it occurred to him that he would be under the same roof with Mrs. Rowan, in her company as much as he wished. A thrill shivered up his back, his eyes holding a moment too long on her mouth.
He returned her stare a moment and something hung between them, something tantalizing, for just a moment.
Then Laurel cut the thread, scooting her chair until it separated their respective perches. “Mrs. Rowan, your brother mentioned that you paint. Do you instruct, also?”
There was a hopeful note in Laurel's voice that Spencer imagined only he would recognize, but Alexandra seemed to pick it out, too. “I have not a bit of formal instruction, but I'm happy to share what I know. I don't do portraits, ever. But the natural world…” she nodded slowly. “Perhaps I could show you a thing or two.”
“Oakvale has some noteworthy landscapes,” he offered, eager for Alexandra’s notice.
“It's true!” Laurel clasped her hands. “Oh, Mrs. Rowan, you have never seen anything quite like it. More of the Highlands than here, full of stone cliffs and low peaks. And, at the same time, green and rolling. A natural lake below the lawn catches the sunrise. It’s breathtaking.”
Laurel’s praise warmed him, but it was Alexandra’s reaction which interested him.
“Breathtaking. That’s high praise. I can hardly wait,” agreed Alexandra, meeting his eyes and then glancing away. “I saw humbling country some years ago, when we trekked west as far as the Missouri. Chas sent some men to take stock of an outpost, for a fur venture. The country, the people...” Her smile was radiant. “I struggle imagining its equal anywhere on earth.”
Spencer looked her over, mind aching at her growing enigma. “You went west, just the three of you?”
Alexandra's blue eyes narrowed. “I traveled with Chas’s foreman Mister Mattingly, his sons and his wife. Chas was occupied and Paulina does not travel au provincial.” She spit the accusations half under her breath, dodging Paulina’s cocked ear. “Three scouts, two white guides and our native guide. Some of his people traveled with us, coming and going. At harvest time, there is a great deal of trading and communicating between the tribes.”
“Goodness,” breathed Laurel. “Were you not overwhelmed the whole time? I have heard the frontier can be very savage.”
Shrugging, Alexandra chewed her lip. “Anywhere can be, it seems. But those are often the places to find adventure.”
Spencer shifted in his chair, frustration growing by the moment. It was her. Alexandra was the same woman he had taken to the garden, playful and willing, adventurous. He had kissed the lips smiling at him now. The pieces just didn't fit. The woman before him was soft spoken if frank, a little demure and perfectly sweet to their hostess with not a hint of passion. He stared at her, puzzled.
Lost in his confusion, he drifted away, only catching himself when her brows lifted in question. “Something troubles you, Lord Reed?”
“It does.”
Her brows rose higher, and for just a breath Spencer swore something spilled into her gaze, something she'd kept bottled up, more which lurked just below the surface. Just as quickly as it came, the cork was stuck back in and Alexandra claimed her forgotten book, not a ripple to her expression.
Looking from her to the others, he caught Paulina's narrowed eye, first on Alexandra and then on him. Understanding dawned at last. His lady from the garden was in there somewhere, hidden as much from her family as from him. What hold did Paulina have over her sister-in-law?
In the end, it didn't matter a fig. She was in there, and he would draw her out.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alix stuffed her trunk until it strained, its lid creaking at an excess of eyelet and lace. She would pack a single trunk and save herself trouble. Paulina would demand three, even four, for a weekend. Limiting her own accessories, Alexandra could spare herself a speech from her sister-in-law about the woman's deprivation without shawls, petticoats, muslin and silk gowns. Rooms too hot or too cold could spell Paulina’s death, of course, and only the most callous would deny the woman a necessity. Nine pairs of slippers and twelve silks in nearly the same color; who had the right to pass judgment on what Paulina required in order to survive?
Not much longer, Alix smiled to herself, latching her trunk. Chas might be saddled with Paulina and that was a sad pit of his own making. But she was not, and soon their mutual tolerance would be at an end. She would take the same leap she had made years earlier getting on that ship, and this time she would not get off for any number of Silas’s threats. She’d pinched what little money Chas had deposited on her shares to a miserly degree, eking out one meager return at a time. Cheated from the sale of their family house in Malton, hers in accorda
nce with Father's will, progress had been glacial. Now and then she had made an investment, a small one with its return guaranteed. Each exchange moved her one step closer to her coup: to buy up any and every share of Paton & Son Shipping, enough that Silas would be forced to reckon with her at the bargaining table. Chas might live inside Silas’s grasp, but she was too old and too fed up to endure him any longer. He would not demolish what her family had worked so hard to build.
Coming to England and meeting the Hastings was not the family reunion Chas had claimed to John. Mother had detested her father and eldest brother, the former Lord Hastings, and there was no love lost at the estrangement. Silas was convinced that England offered opportunity, and had sent Chas and Paulina to harvest it for him, exploiting family ties his idea from the start. Underhanded, but his scheme had offered Alix a convenient opportunity, too. Private shippers made top coin in contested waters, making England just the place to fatten her bankroll out from under at least one set of prying eyes.
A handsome stranger, plentiful investments, and now the intriguing Lord Reed. Alix hefted up her trunk, reveling in a bit of smugness. For a trip she hadn't been thrilled to make, a lot of good things were happening.
Trunk packed, a footman appeared on silent cue to drag it away, and Alix locked the door behind him. Settling in front of a deep oak vanity, she fished a tattered list from her apron pocket and rested it back against the mirror. She reached into the foot well, recovering the writing case she’d hidden there. She had pinched it from the small parlor, convinced that neither her nerves nor the frail desk could withstand another round of correspondence.
Over the next hour, she penned the same brief letter to the last six names on her list; an offer to buy out their shares of Paton & Son at a generous price. At the foot of each she added the details of her father’s attorney, signed them ‘Alex Rowan’ and blew sand across the ink.
When they were sealed, she crept out into the hallway and wound down the back staircase until she encountered a servant going up. Alix held out the bundle. “I have letters of introduction from Lady Hastings. Please see that they’re posted this afternoon.” Catching voices farther downstairs, from out in the main hall, she backed up a step. “If you encounter any trouble, you’re to come to me directly. Mrs. Paton is in an ill humor and is not to be bothered. Understood?”
At Paulina’s name the young maid swallowed, green eyes wide with an obvious if unspoken question: Why had her mistress given letters to a guest, to be given to a servant? She worried her kerchief with anxious fingers, studying the bundle of post with the same trepidation as a live snake.
Had Paulina already bullied the girl into the position of unwilling ally? Domestic staff could lose their place over the smallest complaint, and no one prodded with veiled threats as skillfully as Paulina. Alexandra’s nerves erupted in response to the maid, and she snatched the letters back and jammed them deep inside her pocket.
“Never you mind. Do not trouble yourself.” She dug beneath the letters for a coin and pressed it into the maid’s limp hand. “No need mentioning this; I can settle the matter myself.”
She didn’t wait for an answer or even a nod as the voices grew louder, their owners moving up the main staircase. One of them was distinctly Chas, and Alix wondered if the maid would rush her, reveal their exchange to him in a fearful confession. Turning, she raised her skirts and raced back up the way she’d come, relieved when no steps followed behind. Chas and Paulina were just coming into sight when she reached the landing.
“You’re making something out of nothing,” her brother whispered, glancing behind them.
“It’s only nothing until it occurs,” Paulina hissed back, her thick Dutch weighting each word into a blow against her husband. “Can you imagine if she does catch the eye of some rutting Englishman? Think of the scandal when people start asking who she is, where she comes from!”
“Let them ask. What matter is it to us?”
Here Paulina ground to a halt, swirled on Chas and stabbed his breast with a sharp finger. “What matter is it to my father!”
In a rare fit of bravery, Chas slapped down the offending hand but gained no reprieve from her proximity.
“My father has made his wishes, his expectations known to you.” She deflated just a breath, folding her hands. “And his consequences.”
“Alexandra will be kept at heel,” he murmured, head hanging.
And so will you. Alix shook her head. Being used to being discussed and enjoying it were two different things. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat, snapping around both their heads.
“Alexandra,” muttered Chas, not meeting her eyes. “What are you doing out here?”
“Last I was informed, I am free to come and go.” She narrowed eyes at Paulina, who stared past her. “Or has that changed?”
Unlike Chas, Paulina showed not a hint of discomfort at being overheard. “Not so long as you keep from shaming us.” Judgment in her accusation hit like a slap.
Alix raised on tip toes, putting them eye to eye, forcing the woman to look at her. “The day may come, very soon, when you’ll choke on your own wickedness.” She immediately regretted the words. It was foolish, letting Paulina get the better of her and giving away even a hint that she could get the upper hand. It could be dangerous information later.
Paulina’s step back, a dimming to the malice in her eyes, eclipsed all worry. Alix tasted a small but delicious bit of triumph. She turned her back on the pair, Paulina’s abuse and Chas’s cowardice, filled with satisfaction.
CHAPTER SIX
Oakvale, the Reed estate -- May 16th, 1814
Laurel had not exaggerated Oakvale's beauty. She had failed to mention its size. It was more than just a house and grounds, Alix discovered, as they bounced over dusty, hard-packed roads. Fields, bronze and pale green, hugged low hills, and then a village rose up from the horizon. Neat gold thatch and a gray stone church tower dominated its charming ramble. Then the road curved away and up a low rise, gaining the cliffs Laurel had mentioned. A wide serpentine lake filled the valley below, green and silver beneath an afternoon sun.
Whether by design or on a whim, Lord Reed had insisted on her and Laurel riding with him, asserting that the ladies would be bored with John's talk of business. Alix pressed a smile behind her fingers, noting that he had excluded Paulina from his concerns.
“Something amuses you, Mrs. Rowan?”
She wished he wouldn't call her that, wished no one called her that. Alix shook her head. “Just delighted. Lady Hastings has described your home perfectly.”
Reed was silent, something which occurred any time she was eager for him to say more. “Is your family in London?” she ventured, the best way she could manage to ask, without asking, if he had a wife.
Reed continued staring out the window, the line of his brows pulled down into a vee of concentration. “My brother Bennet resides with me on occasion. Keeps the house when I am away with the army.” Firm lips turned up into a hint of a smile. “London leaves him too deep in the pockets for land of his own.”
“You'll adore Bennet,” Laurel promised. “It is simply impossible to not enjoy one's self in his company.”
“Oh no,” countered Reed. “It is really very possible. If he seems unmanageable at home, I challenge you to command him on the field.”
The information surprised her. “Both in the army? In the same regiment?”
“No longer, saints be praised. We’re well separated, when he’s not out adventuring or playing pirate.” Reed snorted. “Smarter uniforms.”
“Ignore our host, Mrs. Rowan. Bennet has acquitted himself well.”
“So he has,” admitted Spencer. “He'll come out all right, yet.”
She watched him while he wasn't looking, sun catching a hint of bronzed stubble kissing his cheeks. Gray eyes absorbed the scenery, shaded beneath the brim of his polished beaver hat. Chestnut sideburns, shaved neatly at his ears, framed a firm jaw. He was forty, John had said, though
she struggled to believe it. A few winged creases at the corners of his eyes, a pleasant line on either side of his mouth betrayed it, but she found him no less handsome for his age.
Handsome but less satisfying, unequal to her stranger. Not a fault of his own; any man would be. Much as she had convinced herself of maintaining a perfect fantasy, the garden affair plagued her waking and sleeping. She had fought it for days, but resolve crumbled faster and faster. Soon, very soon she would give in and quiz John and Laurel about her stranger.
“You stare very frankly, Mrs. Rowan.” Spencer was looking at her now, eyes dancing, having caught the full force of her pointed study.
“I do,” she admitted, earning a giggle from Laurel. Thank God for sweet Laurel, a bright spot in her family circle. And a heap of shame on Paulina for being such a harridan to their hostess.
Laurel groaned and pressed a hand to her stomach, closing her eyes while her head lolled back against the chocolate leather squabs. “I should have eaten more at breakfast. Or less. Reed, will you open your window?”
He grunted, complying while she took in Laurel’s appearance. Tired shadows across her face, stomach complaints; the realization struck like lightning. “Laurel, are you with child?”
One green eye cracked in her direction. “Not as far as anyone but John and Reed are concerned.”
“Oh.” Alexandra swatted at a pang of jealousy. Unmarried and very much un-pursued at thirty-two, she had resigned herself to a life without children. “Well, here,” she fished her reticule from between them, locating a tin and popping off its lid. “Mint and soda ash. Starch. I keep them for dry air, but I've heard they can ease stomach complaints.” She dropped a candy into Laurel's palm. “And your secret is my secret.”
“Thank you,” Laurel murmured, laying the mint on her tongue. “After losing the last one… We'd just rather not say anything for a bit longer.”
She squeezed Laurel's fingers. “I understand.”
