With This Christmas Ring

by Manda Collins

  She stood, and he did as well, watching as she hurried to stand before the fire. “I have lived a retired life since our . . . disappointment.” She paused over the word. “And though I do manage my father’s home, it is nothing compared to this.” She gestured around her, clearly referring to the Keep itself. “What do I know of running a household of this size? Or state visits and balls and soirees and the like? I am a scholar, though my name is never on any of the work I do. And I should make you the most incompetent wife imaginable.”

  She turned to look into the fire, as she couldn’t face him for a moment more.

  Unable to leave her to her fears, Alex moved to stand behind her, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. “You spoke of disappointment, my dear,” he said softly. “Once, I thought the disappointment of that day was all mine. That you’d left me without a backward glance. And your refusal to see me or answer any of my letters only reinforced that idea. I had some notion that I’d see your engagement announcement in the papers not long after. Or some notice that you’d married some brilliant scholar like your father. Someone who could discuss the ancient world with you with the sort of knowledge that I certainly don’t have.”

  She pulled away and turned so that she could look at him. “Is that what you thought?” A line appeared between her brows as she looked up at him. Her blue eyes puzzled. “Why on earth would you think that’s what I wanted? I never said any such thing, I’m sure of it.”

  “Sometimes words aren’t necessary,” he said, unable to look her in the eyes. “I was an indifferent student. And I certainly am not able to read Greek, though my Latin is passable, I suppose.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling as nervous as the schoolboy he’d once been.

  “I never wanted to marry someone like my father,” she said, her mystification at his words evident in her tone. “He can be affectionate, I suppose, but I’ve lived for far too long as his unattributed assistant to ever wish to marry someone who would do little more than put me in the same kind of role.”

  Alex was genuinely shocked at her words. Had he gotten her reasons for leaving wrong for all these years? He had suspected, of course, that the dowager had pushed her into it, but he’d thought some other motive had been there, too.

  “Then why did you break things off?” he asked, unable to stop himself from asking the question, though he’d promised himself he’d let her tell him in her own time.

  But she shook her head. “I won’t do it,” she said, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I won’t bring more chaos into your family when it’s already reeling from William’s confession tonight.”

  He took her hands in his. “It was the dowager, wasn’t it?”

  Her pained expression, coupled with an inability to meet his eyes, told him he was right.

  “Have I ever told you about my mother?” he asked, reminded of another important lady his grandmother had wrenched from him.

  Merry looked surprised at the change of subject, but shook her head. “No,” she said. “I thought she’d died long ago. Your family never spoke of her. And neither did you.”

  He led her to the settee where he waited for her to sit before taking the seat beside her. “I told you when you came to my townhouse that I’d been away in France for the better part of a year. What I didn’t tell you is that I was visiting my mother.”

  She gasped. “But how can that be? Wouldn’t there be some sort of talk if Lady Wrotham had absconded to the Continent? And why did she leave? Why did she leave you?”

  He reflected for a moment, trying to think of how best to describe the situation. Finally, he said, “You never met my father. But he was a brute.”

  Her eyes shone with sympathy, but she let him speak.

  “Because I was his heir, he made sure never to strike me. He saved that bit of violence for my mother. Though he was quite good at harming her in places that could be covered from prying eyes by a gown. Despite this—or maybe because of it?—he could do no wrong in my grandmother’s eyes. She doted on him as much as she abused my mother.”

  Merry gasped.

  “No, no,” he assured her. “She never laid a hand on her. My mother told me that when I saw her in France. But she did everything she could to make life for my mother as difficult as possible. She usurped her authority as a hostess. Wouldn’t give up control of the house. And my mother, a young and naïve young lady when she wed, didn’t have the strength to fight back. So, when by chance she met and fell in love with a French émigré who’d come to stay with a neighbor, she weighed her options and decided that if she wished to live—for my father’s beatings were becoming more violent—she had to leave.”

  “Oh, Alex,” Merry said softly, taking his hand in hers and squeezing. “She didn’t take you with her.”

  “She couldn’t take me with her,” he said. “If she tried, my father would have chased her to the ends of the earth to retrieve his precious heir. And both she and M. Dumont believed that her life was in danger. So she made the painful decision to leave, abandoning me in the process.”

  “How old were you?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “I was nine years old,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral so that he could finish his tale. “I was at school at the time, so I didn’t even know she was gone until Christmas break. It was that year that Grandmama began her mandatory family house parties.”

  “She covered your mother’s disappearance with a party?” Merry looked confused. “But wouldn’t that have drawn attention to her absence?”

  “Oh, it did,” he assured her. “And that was what she wanted. She used the gathering to inform the family that Lady Wrotham had abandoned her husband and child, and to assure them that my father was heartbroken. It was a minor scandal in the ton for a few weeks, but soon after that some other scandal occurred; I believe it was Uxbridge’s divorce. So the talk died down, and everyone seemed to accept my grandmother as the rightful mistress of Wrotham Keep and as my father’s hostess. It was as if my mother had died. And no one questioned it. Least of all me.”

  “What made you look for her?” Merry asked. “How did you find out where she was?”

  “She saw the notice of Father’s death in the papers ten years ago and wrote to me. By some miracle I got the letter before Grandmama did. Otherwise I feel sure I’d never have seen it.” He shook his head. “She told me briefly why she’d run. And she invited me to visit her in Paris. I took some time to answer her. And, of course, I said I couldn’t possibly travel to France. I claimed to be too busy, but the truth was that I was terrified.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this when we were betrothed?” Merry couldn’t stop herself from asking. He’d been evasive when it came to speaking of his mother when they’d been betrothed, but she’d assumed it was from shame. Now, she couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt that he’d not felt himself able to share the fact that he’d been in communication with Lady Wrotham with her. “I know I have no right to feel hurt when I was the one who broke away from you, but . . .”

  “You have every right,” Alex assured her before she could finish. “But she swore me to secrecy. Even though my father was gone, she feared that Grandmama would dislike our being in communication and would make life difficult for me. I didn’t care, but my mother insisted. I didn’t like keeping it from you, but I’d given my word.”

  She reached out and stroked a thumb over his cheek. “And you always keep your word.”

  His honor and fidelity were among the qualities that led her to fall in love with him.

  Alex placed his hand over hers for a moment, before bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. “Of course you understand,” he said simply. “You always seemed to know me better than I knew myself.”

  She let that pass without comment. “What made you change your mind last year?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not precisely sure. Perhaps enough time had passed to allow me to contemplate seeing her again? Maybe I’d come to realize that t
he dowager had likely played a larger role in her flight than I’d previously realized.”

  Alex looked up, catching her eyes. “I think perhaps it might have been that I was looking to find a way to reconcile with one of the two women who’d left me.

  “You see, several of my friends had gotten married recently. And I imagined what we would have been like together. Four years had passed. We’d have likely had children by then.” He saw her eyes soften, a wistful look in them. “But since I couldn’t have you, I thought I could at least solve the mystery of my mother. And so I did.”

  Blinking away the moment of dreaminess, Merry asked, “What did you find? I assume since you stayed a year that it was a joyful reunion.”

  Alex smiled. “Not at first. I was a bit stiff at first. Especially when I learned that she and M. Dumont had married only a few years ago. But given her situation, she couldn’t have done otherwise without becoming a bigamist.

  “But eventually, I relaxed and she relaxed,” he continued. “And rather than resenting her for what I’d seen as abandonment, I was grateful that she’d escaped so that I was able to see her again. Even if it was twenty years later.”

  “It’s extraordinary,” Merry said with a genuine smile. “I’m so happy for you. That you were able to find her again.”

  “As am I,” he said, answering her happiness with a smile of his own. “But then I decided it was time to return to England. I was contemplating how best to approach you, when you landed on my doorstep with baby Lottie.”

  At his words, her smile turned into a look of surprise. “You weren’t.”

  “Oh, indeed I was,” he assured her. “Because one of the things my mother said to me was that the dowager couldn’t be trusted. And that she’d done whatever she could to make sure that my mother was never comfortable in Wrotham House.”

  It was telling that instead of asking what that had to do with her, she said nothing.

  “Merry,” he told her gravely, “I know she is responsible somehow for your leaving me. And though I wish you would tell me what she did, I will make you this promise instead. I won’t let her harm you or intimidate you ever again. Especially not as she engineered tonight.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, and to his relief, she kissed him back. Her lips were soft against his, and though he was intoxicated by her taste, her scent, her touch, he pulled away.

  She blinked at him for a moment, as if in a daze.

  “You’d better get to bed,” he said, rising and pulling her up to slip his arm through hers. “It’s been a long day, and I want you well rested for tomorrow’s adventures.”

  She frowned. “What adventures?” she asked, though her eyes were intrigued.

  “It’s a surprise. I’ll tell you after luncheon tomorrow.”

  And with that promise, he led her from the room and up to the landing where he let her go to her own rooms.

  Soon, he thought to himself as he watched her go. Soon, she would be his forever. And nothing his grandmother did would stop that from happening.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Alex waited impatiently as his valet went about the routines of dressing him with what felt like studied slowness.

  When the man sniffed at the haste with which his master tied his cravat, Alex threw him a quelling look. “I’m not visiting the royal court today, man.”

  Finally, he emerged from his rooms and made a beeline for the suite his grandmother had moved to upon the departure of Alex’s mother.

  He was more than usually aware of the fact as he gave a quick knock on the door of her sitting room before striding inside. As he’d expected, the dowager was at her writing desk, no doubt spinning tales of star-crossed lovers and youthful indiscretions for one of her cronies, to ensure that baby Lottie would one day be accepted among them. She was quite good at fictionalizing those occurrences in the Wrotham family that didn’t show them in the most flattering light.

  “Wrotham,” she said, not looking up from where she sanded a letter. “I hope you’ve come to apologize for bringing that woman into this house. Not only has her appearance brought your poor cousin’s misfortune to light, but Lady Katherine and Miss Delaford are both quite uneasy about your suit now. After all the work I’ve done to ensure that they are worthy to be the Viscountess Wrotham.”

  Still fighting, Alex thought wryly, as she looked up at him with a scowl.

  Not wishing to give her the opportunity for escape, he took up a position before her desk. “I wonder that you have the audacity to speak of Miss Parks in that tone,” he said, not bothering to hide the censure in his voice. “You, yourself, have done far worse than to reunite a man with his daughter. Indeed, now that I know the entire story of why my mother left this house twenty years ago, I find it rather surprising that you would hold Miss Parks in contempt when you yourself have done far more than she ever did to shame this family.”

  At his words, the dowager, her dark hair shot through with silver glinting in the weak sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stiffened. “Your trip to France was just as I expected it would be,” she said with a moue of distaste. “I had hoped you would do your family the courtesy of avoiding the woman who shamed us all by fleeing with her lover. But clearly, you are without the sort of family feeling your dear departed father was blessed with.”

  Clearly disliking the disparity in their heights while she was seated, she rose to her feet, with the assistance of the walking stick Alex suspected was more for show than utility. “That you also take the side of that scheming spinster should be a shock to me,” she continued, moving from the rosewood desk to a sitting area, where she lowered herself to a fringed sofa in the same shade of muted gold as the draperies.

  When Alex only turned to look at her, she made a sound of irritation. “Oh, do sit down. You will give me a pain in my neck.”

  Wordlessly, he moved to an upholstered armchair facing her own seat.

  Before she could continue her scold, he said, “I know everything, Grandmama. What you did to Mama. And I don’t know what exactly you did to make Miss Parks flee five years ago, but I will find out. Mark my words.”

  But if he’d expected shame or demurrals, he was to be disappointed.

  She gave an elegant shrug, which if she only knew, was akin to the same gesture his mother used. “What I did,” she said calmly, “I did for this family. You may have forgotten the loyalty you owe to the Ponsonby line, but I have not. Your mother was a disgrace to us all. And I will remind you that it was she who chose to leave with that mincing Frenchman.”

  “And you made life for her here as miserable as possible,” Alex responded coldly. “You usurped her authority with the servants. You berated her for not being the wife you’d have chosen.”

  “She had no notion of how to care for a house of this size,” Lady Wrotham said, frowning. “I kept this house from falling into chaos while she gave in to histrionics at every turn. Your father was quite displeased with his choice of a bride, let me assure you.”

  “Which he showed by laying his hands on her,” Alex said through clenched teeth. “If she wasn’t being beaten by him, she was being raked over the coals by you. Is it any wonder she left with the first person to show her a bit of kindness since she came to this wretched house?”

  Unable to contain his anger, he leaned forward, so that his grandmother would be sure to see his eyes. “I blame you for the loss of my mother for all these years, Grandmama. Papa, too, but he’s not here to answer for his sins.”

  But his words didn’t seem to faze her. “So you would blame an old woman for something long forgotten? Really, Wrotham, I thought you were a better man than that.”

  “Even if,” he said, refusing to let her lack of remorse goad him, “your sins against my mother were years ago, your attacks on Miss Parks are only a few hours old.”

  The dowager’s mouth turned down. “And what am I supposed to have done to her?” she asked pettishly.

  Alex smile
d coldly. “You cannot tell me that it wasn’t you who sent Cassandra to publicly humiliate her last night. For I won’t believe you. Only Miss Parks, I, William, and you knew the true circumstances of Lottie’s birth. It’s no accident that Cassandra had so many details.”

  Again the shrug. “I confided in your cousin. Is it my fault that Cassandra lacks discretion? I blame it on that awful husband of hers. He is far too lenient with her.”

  “You confided in her because she lacks discretion,” he retorted. “And I suppose I cannot blame you. After all, you thought you’d seen the last of Miss Parks when you sent her on her way five years ago.”

  She seemed to calculate for a moment, before fixing her features into a mask of remorse. “You must know, Alexander, it was for your own good. You were smitten with the girl, but anyone with eyes could see that she was no fit candidate to be your viscountess. She was clumsy, and I vow, she had no notion of how to properly run a household. It was the same sort of calamity that had happened with your mother all over again. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Placing a hand on her chest, she assured him, “I was only trying to do, as ever, what was best for the family. For you. You must see that, Alexander.”

  He didn’t miss the switch from addressing him by his title, to his Christian name. She hadn’t called him Alexander since he was a boy. But he was no longer a boy, and he was wise to the ways in which this woman who had played such an outsized role in his life had manipulated him.

  “I loved her, Grandmama,” he said with an unexpected catch in his voice. Even as he fumed, he was reminded of just how much happiness she’d robbed him of. “I loved her, and you not only sent her away, you did so in a manner calculated to cause me the most pain.”

  “But, my dear,” she said, looking genuinely puzzled, “that was for your own good. If there was any hint that she was leaving against her will, you’d have chased her to the ends of the earth. This way, I had hoped, at least, you’d forget her and do your duty with a far more suitable bride.”