“I had bars put on the windows. I won’t be going anywhere tonight.”
“Bars?” Having reached the room, she looked past him and inside. It was dark outdoors, but she could just make out faint stripes that must be iron rods outside the glass. “That seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?”
“Nothing is too extreme to protect you,” he said unblinkingly.
Unemotionally. Unfeelingly.
She swallowed hard, any pretense of normalcy gone. “I’m sorry for what I said. Please don’t pull away from me, Tris. I love you.”
“Good night,” he said again and turned to enter the room.
Although she certainly hadn’t expected to hear those three words echoed back at her, neither had she expected them to be ignored entirely. “Wait,” she said, grabbing his wrist.
She’d been fighting it all along, but she knew what she had to do. She’d thought of little else for the past few hours.
He glanced dispassionately down to her hand. “Yes?”
His skin felt warm, but his arm felt tense. She grasped him tighter. “I’m not going to do the last interview. I’m not going to talk to Maude.”
He looked up and blinked. “Why?”
“It’s the only way I can prove I love you. The only way I can prove I’ll stay with you even if you remain in disgrace. I don’t care about society, Tris—I don’t need their parties or their approval. I never have. I’ve been doing this for you and for my sisters. But my sisters will cope. You’re my husband, and you’re more important. My loyalty to you comes first.”
She couldn’t think of anything else to say. So she waited. He looked down again to where her fingers gripped his arm, and she released him and waited some more.
“All right,” he said at last. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll sleep quite soundly tonight.” Then he stepped into the room and closed the door between them.
He was going to bed without even so much as a kiss.
While she stood there, stunned, Vincent walked up, as if on cue, and slid a key into the lock. “Are you all right, my lady?”
His low, musical voice failed to soothe her. “I’m fine,” she said woodenly. “I believe I shall go make some sweets.”
“Now?” Vincent asked in surprise. His gaze went to her bare feet.
“Now,” she said, belting her wrapper more tightly.
She refused to spend another night on the floor outside her husband’s room.
“Well.” He seemed at a loss. “The ovens will be cold. Let me accompany you downstairs and light them for you.”
She fetched her new recipe book before following him down the gaslit staircase, flipping pages as they crossed the great hall to the back passage.
“Lemon puffs,” she decided. According to some long-dead cousin or aunt, they were supposed to turn a sour person sweet. Heaven knew, given Tris’s current attitude, she could use all the help she could get.
In the kitchen, she gathered eggs, sugar, and lemons while Vincent started the brick ovens. Just as she began separating the first yolk from the white, Mrs. Pawley walked in. “What’s going on here?” she asked through a yawn.
The cook’s round body was covered by a plain, voluminous white nightgown—not at all transparent—and her feet were as bare as Alexandra’s. Still dressed like a perfect gentleman, Vincent answered with great dignity. “We’re making lemon puffs.”
“We?” Alexandra and Mrs. Pawley said together.
“We,” he confirmed, reaching for a lemon.
Mrs. Pawley went to a cabinet and took out a bottle of sherry and three glasses. When she filled Alexandra’s to the brim, Alexandra didn’t protest. Instead she took a big sip and felt the rich wine warm her all the way down her throat and into her stomach.
She hadn’t realized she’d been so cold.
She pushed up her sleeves and cracked another egg.
Grating sugar, Mrs. Pawley eyed a bruise on her arm. “You had a rough day, from what I’ve heard. Are you up to this, my lady?”
“Oh, quite. I’m halfway healed already.” She took another sip, deciding the sherry must be healing her even faster. “Tomorrow I’m sure to be good as new.”
Two kitchen maids wandered in, also wearing plain nightgowns. “What’s going on here?” one of them asked.
“Come in,” Alexandra said brightly. “We’re making lemon puffs.” She took another sip. “However did you know we were in here?”
“They sleep right down the corridor,” Mrs. Pawley said, fetching another bottle of sherry and two more glasses.
There was much beating to do of the egg whites, in order to make them nice and stiff. And after that, they were supposed to be rubbed together with sugar for half an hour. Alexandra appreciated all the help. She was a bit sore to be doing something so strenuous, and while the others had their turns, she could relax and drink more sherry.
Before long, three housemaids and two footmen had joined them, and it was quite a while before her turn came to beat the eggs. In fact, she was so busy sipping sherry that she missed her turn twice. When they weren’t occupied beating eggs, the servants took turns telling jokes. Alexandra thought they were quite the funniest jokes she’d ever heard, and when she told one or two herself, everyone laughed even when she stumbled over the words.
She rather suspected they laughed mostly because she was their mistress, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
By the time the lemon puffs came out of the oven, shiny and white as snow, five bottles had been emptied and the kitchen rang with laughter. “You must serve these to my husband first thing in the morning,” Alexandra told Mrs. Pawley as she peeled the finished puffs off the brown paper on which they had baked.
“Our fine master cannot abide sweets in the morning,” the cook pronounced with formal reserve. Then she dissolved into laughter that brought tears rolling down her plump cheeks. Everyone else laughed, too. One of the footmen—Alexandra couldn’t remember his name—even snorted once or twice.
“For luncheon, then,” Alexandra instructed. Noticing no scullery maids had joined them, she waved a hand magnanimously—or rather, flung it somewhat flamboyantly. “You may leave this mess until morning,” she trilled as Vincent grabbed her to stop the momentum from tipping her over.
She quite liked her new servants, she thought as she giggled her way up to bed, Vincent close behind in case she should fall. She’d never had so much fun in the kitchen at Cainewood Castle.
The lemon puffs had better turn Tris from sour to sweet, because she wasn’t going to be leaving Hawkridge Hall anytime soon.
Chapter Forty-Eight
*
THE NEXT DAY, ALEXANDRA was not good as new. To the contrary, her head ached abominably, her stomach felt queasy, and her body was stiff and more sore than ever. She didn’t know whether Tris was served the lemon puffs with luncheon, since she couldn’t seem to force herself out of bed. Even the daylight seemed to make her hurt.
Peggy came in from time to time, clucking and leaving Alexandra cup after cup of strong, hot tea. Alexandra wasn’t certain whether the clucking indicated sympathy or disapproval, and she didn’t really care. As long as Peggy left the drapes closed tight and the gaslights off, she could ignore the clucking. She ignored the tea as well for the first few hours, but after a while she started sipping it, and after a few cups, she started feeling a bit better.
By late afternoon, she finally felt well enough to dress and rejoin the world. Since her battered body didn’t want to move, she allowed Peggy to help her, enduring still more clucking. At long last, she painfully made her way downstairs, going straight to the main parlor and the new pianoforte.
It was magnificent. She walked around it reverently, trailing a hand along the fine, polished mahogany. Finally, she stopped in front and hit middle C. The single note sounded so rich it sent a tingle down her spine.
She sat down to play, choosing Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14, long one of her favorite pieces of music. “Quasi una fantasia,” he�
��d called it…“Like a fantasy.”
Indeed, only a few notes into the first movement, she lost herself in the fantasy that was the beautiful music coming out of her beautiful new pianoforte. The minuet and trio that made up the second movement flowed more easily from her fingers than ever before. And when she reached the stormy final movement, she played it with more passion than she’d thought herself capable of producing.
As the last note faded away, she heard applause. “Brava,” Tris called from the doorway.
She turned to him with a tentative smile. “You’re not scandalized? Most of the older people of my acquaintance find Beethoven’s style too emotional and therefore unfit for young, impressionable ladies.”
“Do you think me that old?” he wondered aloud.
“I remember a time when you thought our six-year difference made me much younger than you.”
He nodded slowly, as though he were remembering, too. “You played the piece wonderfully,” he said, “scandalous or not.”
“It’s a wonderful pianoforte.” She wouldn’t pretend modesty, because she’d played better on it than she ever had before. “I thank you for it.”
“I didn’t buy it to bribe you,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
The two words hung between them for a long, silent moment. “Shall we go in to dinner?” he finally asked.
It was her turn to nod. She rose so stiffly, he came to help her, placing a hand beneath her elbow to lend her support. Funny, but when she was playing, she’d forgotten all about her assorted aches and pains.
Not to mention the awkward state of her marriage.
If Tris wasn’t dismissive, he wasn’t particularly friendly, either. Their dinner passed in relative silence, the rattle of dishes and clang of cutlery more prominent than conversation. It seemed forever before Hastings placed the bottle of port on the table and left them alone, closing the dining room door behind him.
“None for me,” Alexandra said.
“Hmm.” Tris poured some for himself, a wry smile curving his lips. “Could it be you overdid it in the kitchen last night?”
He’d heard. Well, of course he’d heard. Not only was he the lord of the manor, his own valet had been there as witness.
“I made some lemon puffs,” she said, ignoring his implication.
“Yes, and they’re quite delicious. I had two after luncheon. While you were sleeping off the drink.”
“I was sleeping off the pain,” she protested. “My body is complaining even more today than yesterday.”
He nodded. “That’s not unusual following an injury. You’ll doubtless feel better tomorrow.” He paused for a long sip, then met her eyes, his own a penetrating gray. “I’ll take you to see Maude tomorrow.”
She couldn’t have heard right. “Pardon?”
“We’ll take the curricle, since I’m certain you won’t feel up to riding.”
Tristan watched the parade of emotions cross her face: disbelief first, followed by relief and then cautious joy. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
“I told you I was giving up. I meant that, Tris. It’s what you wanted.”
He took her measure for a moment and decided she was sincere. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
She shook her head emphatically.
“I appreciate your willingness,” he told her. He appreciated that more than she’d ever know. “But I cannot allow you to give up.”
Although he feared learning the truth, he couldn’t let her wonder all her life if she might have restored his reputation and spared her sisters grief. But he also couldn’t let her ride off again with only a footman as protection. Not when a murderer might be after her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes shining.
He nodded shortly. “Whoever is trying to stop you—if not myself—is obviously part of this household.”
“They were accidents, Tris.”
“Let’s not go over this again, shall we?” He raised a brow to emphasize his point. “In case someone should try to follow us, I don’t want anyone to know where we’re going or what we’re doing.”
“All right,” she agreed slowly.
“We shall say you require fresh air to aid your recovery, so we’re going on a picnic. A honeymoon picnic.”
“I suppose it won’t hurt to be cautious.”
“Have you told anyone about Maude?”
“No. I’ve been languishing in the bedroom since the accident.” When he cocked his head at her, she added, “Maude’s name never came up in the kitchen.”
“How about Ernest?”
“Not with him, either. The man doesn’t care to talk much. Besides, we’d only just got underway when the strap on the saddle snapped. I didn’t have time to say anything before, and after…well, on the ride home I didn’t feel much like making conversation.”
He supposed she wouldn’t have—she’d have been occupied gritting her teeth against the jarring pain of that ride. “Good. Then no one has any reason to suspect we’ll be doing anything besides enjoying a honeymoon picnic.” He rose, yawning. He hadn’t slept much last night. Having one’s wife offer up a sacrifice tended to disturb a man’s equilibrium. “We should both get a good night’s sleep.”
A hesitant smile curved Alexandra’s lips. “Shall I go up and change into another of my new nightgowns? Or do you wish to come along and help me?”
“Neither. I’ll be sleeping in the Queen’s Bedchamber again. For your safety.” He leaned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Hearing her disappointed sigh, he raised her chin and met her eyes. “You’re still entirely too bruised and hurting for any love play. When we’ve finished this thing you’ve started, perhaps we’ll both feel better.”
For a long while after he left, Alexandra just sat in the dining room. She’d thought since Tris was being so cooperative, he’d want her back in his bed. And she wanted so much to be there…even if only to be held.
He was right: She was battered and bruised. But it was her heart that had taken the beating.
On her way from the dining room to the stairs, she nearly bumped into Mrs. Pawley.
“My lady! Will we be seeing you in the kitchen tonight?” The cook’s blue eyes danced. “I expect we shall have a great crowd to assist in the sweet making. There are many who are sad to have missed our little impromptu party.”
Alexandra hated to disappoint the staff, but a party was the last thing she felt like tonight.
“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Pawley,” she said, watching the light fade from the older woman’s eyes. “Perhaps another time.”
*
“VERY FETCHING,” PEGGY said, eyeing Alexandra’s chemise-clad form in her dressing room the next day. Alexandra blushed, knowing the new garment was all but transparent, but Peggy only smiled. “I’m so pleased to see that you’re feeling more the thing today.”
“Oh, I truly am.” Alexandra wondered at her maid’s sudden good mood, but she wouldn’t risk ruining it with any questions. “I’m going on a picnic today!” she said brightly instead. “What do you expect I should wear to picnic with my husband?”
“With your husband?” Peggy flipped through a few dresses, then held up a pretty blue frock for Alexandra’s approval. At her nod, the maid started toward the bedroom, slanting a sly glance over her shoulder. “Aren’t the two of you rather estranged?”
Alexandra sighed, supposing their separate sleeping arrangements had prompted much speculation belowstairs. It was so tempting to tell Peggy the truth about everything, but she’d promised Tris she would stick to their story. “I’m hoping a picnic will help us reconciliate,” she said carefully. “And—”
A knock at the door interrupted her.
“Yes?” she called, hurrying into the dress.
Tris poked his head in. “Mrs. Pawley has requested your silver basket to fill with our picnic luncheon.”
A clever ruse to support their story. Still unbuttoned, she fetc
hed the basket and brought it to him. “Please ask Mrs. Pawley to include some lemon puffs,” she said, thinking she needed some sweets to bring to Maude. “I haven’t found a chance to even try them yet.”
“Will do.” He planted a light kiss on her lips, a kiss that turned to more when their mouths clung for a long moment. “Are you about ready?” he asked when he pulled away.
He hadn’t kissed her for days. Her lips tingling, she wondered whether the kiss had been for show or for real. “Almost.”
He smiled, reaching around her to run a finger down her bare back, making her shiver. “I shall wait for you in the curricle,” he said, then walked away.
She slowly closed the door.
“It looks like you’re reconciliated already,” Peggy commented as she did up her buttons.
“We’re both trying.” Blushing for the second time inside of ten minutes, Alexandra took a seat at her dressing table so the maid could work on her hair.
“I wish to apologize for being such a crab the past few days,” Peggy said from behind her. “I admired you so for your investigation, and I was disappointed to find myself no longer part of it.” She deftly twisted and pinned. “Do you expect you could ever forgive me?”
“Of course,” Alexandra said. Peggy had been her strongest ally until that first time she went off without her, and she’d missed having a woman here at Hawkridge to confide in. “I collect I haven’t been a very pleasant person myself the last day or two.”
“But you’re the mistress,” Peggy pointed out. “You’re allowed to be a crab.” They both laughed; then Peggy sobered. “I fear for you, though. All the buzz in the servants’ quarters is that someone is after you—I’m thinking you should be leaving Hawkridge to save your life, not going on picnics.”
The maid’s concern warmed Alexandra’s heart. “I know tales of danger have been bandied about by the prattleboxes belowstairs, but I assure you there’s nothing to fear. A few unfortunate accidents do not a plot make. Besides, my investigation is all but over. I have only one person left to interview.”
In the mirror, Peggy looked surprised. “Did you fall from your horse before visiting Lizzy, then?”
Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set Page 95
