The Stranger She Married

by Donna Hatch

  "Marie is telling us her system of finding the perfect husband.” Catherine wore a sly smile.

  Marie beamed, basking in the center of attention for a change instead of simply shadowing Catherine, unaware that her friend mocked her. “Yes. I have written down my desired qualities in a husband. Then when I speak with a gentleman, I find out as much as I can about him. I have a code that I use based on what I learn of him and how many of his qualities meet those on my list."

  The gentlemen present seemed undecided whether or not they approved of this so-called system.

  Feeling the need to rescue the poor girl, Alicia turned to Marie. “What are these desirable qualities, Marie?"

  "He must be a learned man and appreciate poetry, and art."

  "Are these of interest to you?” Alicia asked.

  Marie smiled hesitantly. “Yes. I'm not beautiful, nor am I a great conversationalist, so I have little to offer most men. Perhaps if we share the same interests...” She shrugged.

  "Nonsense, you are a delightful conversationalist and you are quite comely,” Mr. de Champs protested gallantly. Alicia's opinion of the young man rose even higher.

  Marie giggled. “You are kind, sir, but I know what I say is true. However, I can discuss these interests and I want someone who appreciates them as I do."

  "Isn't she clever?” Catherine interjected, purposely drawing attention back to herself.

  Catherine glanced at something behind Alicia, as if contemplating her next move in a game she played, but Alicia resisted the urge to see what had drawn her attention.

  The raven-haired beauty lifted her chin. “I shall marry for love, of course, but my family honor is a consideration. Our interests need not be similar. In fact, I would encourage my husband to pursue his own hobbies and pleasures. And unlike some, I will not marry simply for title or great riches. I only wish to be kept comfortable."

  Alicia had no doubt that Catherine's definition of comfortable living would require much more than many other people's definition of wealth.

  Catherine affected a demure posture. “I would consider any gentleman of good breeding.” She smiled, falsely sweet. “What about you, Alicia? If you had a choice, what kind of husband would you choose?"

  As all of Catherine's words sank in, Alicia stared, wondering if her uncle's intentions were common knowledge. Likely.

  Alicia realized joining a group that included Catherine had been a grave mistake. Her pride would have been better spared if she had simply declined their invitation. Yet to move to another group now would only confirm Catherine's veiled insinuations.

  Alicia moistened her lips. “I would choose a gentleman who is honest and kind. One who values the opinions and feelings of others. And who is mild-tempered."

  Catherine appeared too satisfied, as again, her eyes moved upward to something behind Alicia. Alicia paused, wondering if she had said too much, but the handsome Mr. de Champs’ encouraging nod gave her courage to continue. Next to her, Hannah stared at her in rapt admiration.

  "What else, Lissie?” Hannah asked, her voice just above a whisper.

  Alicia drew from her heart. “I have no interest in men who gamble or drink excessively. And most of all, I desire a husband who would be capable of fidelity.” She stared out of the blackened windows, forgetting the others, forgetting her discomfort. “I wish, more than anything, to marry a man I love, and who truly loves me in return."

  Surprised at herself for speaking her desires so boldly, Alicia felt her face grow hot. She twisted her hands in her lap.

  Hannah offered a timid smile. “Like Maman and Papa."

  Mr. de Champs gave her his full attention, admiration clear on his face. Captain Hawthorne's thoughts could not be discerned, but then he smiled. Again, his dark eyes drew her.

  Marie sighed dreamily. “Ohhh, me too."

  Catherine's lips curled into a mocking smile “How ... sweet.” Insult dripped from her words as if she found Alicia a romantic fool. Catherine's glance swept over all the gentlemen. “Oh, excuse us. We are chattering away and not letting you say a word. Tell me, what qualities do you desire in your ideal lady?"

  A brief, uncomfortable silence followed. That was the first tactical error Alicia had ever seen Catherine make.

  Someone directly behind Alicia spoke. “I'm sure our preferences are as varied as we are, Miss Sinclair."

  She knew that rich, resonant voice. With dread, Alicia turned to a broad chest in a black superfine suit with a dark blue waistcoat. Her gaze moved upward to a snow-white cravat and a diamond stick pin, then further up to his beautiful, masculine face. She fell into his glittering sapphire eyes. She caught her breath. She had almost forgotten how deadly handsome Lord Amesbury was.

  Deadly being the key word.

  His eyes met hers and something akin to gentleness showed in his. She stilled. Gentleness? In the eyes of a killer? She turned away, clutched by dismay.

  Alicia felt the walls closing in on her. She needed to escape. Now. She did not wish to hurt Elizabeth's feelings or drag Hannah away, who appeared, despite her shyness, to be enjoying herself. But Alicia could not bear to endure a dinner party in the presence of the man who had destroyed Armand. How could she leave without causing a scene?

  Hannah touched her hand, her brows raised in concern and inquiry.

  Elizabeth's father, Mr. Hancock, cleared his throat. In response, the talking died down. Mr. Hancock greeted his guests and invited them to enter the dining room. As the guests began to file into the dining room according to precedence, a footman hurried in and whispered urgently into Mr. Hancock's ear.

  Mr. Hancock listened, nodded, and beckoned to Alicia. “Miss Palmer. Will you come with me, please?"

  Alicia turned to Hannah. “I'll join you in a moment."

  Hannah looked petrified at the prospect of dining without her, but Mr. de Champs gallantly offered his arm. “If I may?"

  Alicia smiled in gratitude at Mr. de Champs before following Mr. Hancock out of the room.

  In the hallway, Mr. Hancock turned to her. “Robert has fallen and hit his head.” Before she uttered a word, Mr. Hancock held up a hand. “It does not appear to be serious, but we've sent for the doctor. I assume you'd wish to see him."

  "Thank you, sir."

  She followed him down a paneled hallway to an open door. Cigar smoke hung heavy over the billiards room. Robert lay sprawled on a sofa pressing a cloth to his forehead. Alicia sprang forward and picked up his limp hand.

  "Robert?"

  He opened his eye and grinned crookedly at her.

  "You're foxed,” she accused.

  "Good thing. Prob'ly would've ‘urt much worsh if I weren't."

  She dropped his hand with a frown. “You wouldn't have fallen if you weren't."

  "Ah, Lishie, you'll make shome man a perfect wife one day. You've got the nagging down jusht right."

  She let out her breath. He wouldn't be needling her if he'd been truly hurt. He removed the cloth from his head, but the bleeding resumed with a vengeance. Alarmed by the sight of so much blood, Alicia grabbed his hand and pressed it and the cloth back over the wound.

  "You've ruined everything, Robbie."

  "Alwaysh manage to."

  "I want to go home. Lord Amesbury is here."

  Robert cursed and tried to sit up.

  Alicia pushed him back down. “You're in no condition to go anywhere now, you idiot."

  He closed his eyes and slurred, “Shorry, Lisshie. Should've talked Armand out of accepting that challenge to duel. But I was so hot to shee him humiliate that arrogant viscount. Should've shtopped ‘em."

  "Hush, Robbie, it's not your fault. Lord Amesbury should never have issued the challenge."

  When the doctor arrived, he ushered Alicia out. While she paced the floor outside the room, a footman motioned to her. “Dinner is still being served, Miss."

  Alicia nodded. She might as well eat as it would be some time before Robert would be in any condition to move. Shyness had probably
paralyzed Hannah without Alicia beside her.

  She halted. Lord Amesbury was in there.

  "This way, Miss,” the footman urged.

  She gathered her courage. Dinner. She could face dinner with him. And she would do it without falling apart. Hannah counted on her. Alicia found her courage and entered the dining room with her head high.

  Instead of one long table, smaller round tables dotted the dining room. Hannah looked up when Alicia came in, worry touching her face.

  Alicia leaned down and spoke into her ear. “It's all right. Robbie fell, but it's just a little bump. The doctor is looking in on him as a precaution."

  Hannah nodded and Alicia took the empty seat between Mr. de Champs and Mr. Hawthorne. To her dismay, Lord Amesbury had been seated between Marie and Catherine, which put him directly across from her. She tried to keep her eyes off him, but they seemed drawn to him.

  How deceived she had been by his pleasing face and form, his charming manners, his dry wit. She had failed to see the heartless monster that lurked beneath. The kindness he displayed must have been an act. She had little experience with men, and Lord Amesbury hid his thoughts so effectively that she could be sure of nothing. Yet, he had seemed not only gallant, but compassionate and understanding instead of condemning when he aided her after she fled Mr. Braxton.

  She shivered. Every time she remembered that horrible, humiliating experience, her stomach lurched.

  Feeling his gaze, she glanced Lord Amesbury's way. A smile touched the corner of his mouth. How easily he smiled. How lightly he must take life.

  And the lives of others.

  She looked away. With his eyes upon her repeatedly, discomfort heated her face, and she found it difficult to enjoy the wonderful repast before her, or maintain a polite conversation with the kind and charming Mr. de Champs beside her.

  Catherine turned her charm upon Lord Amesbury with a vengeance. “Tell me, my Lord Amesbury, do you enjoy the fox hunt?"

  "Yes, very much.” He wore an unreadable expression.

  Alicia dragged her eyes away from him again, but Catherine demanded that she be the center of attention.

  "I have no doubt you are a great shot,” Catherine cooed.

  An image of Lord Amesbury shooting her twin brother forced its way into Alicia's mind. She choked.

  "I have that reputation,” the viscount replied.

  Alicia pressed a napkin over her mouth.

  "I understand you are new to this area?” Catherine eyed him as if she suspected he was made of sweet cream.

  The viscount appeared distracted as he swirled his drink in his hand, but he met her gaze politely. “I came often as a child, but this is my first visit here in years."

  "Do you travel much?"

  "During the war, I served aboard a Navy ship, so my travels were limited to duty. Since then, I have enjoyed a bit of travel to more desirable locations."

  "You must be rather bored with dreary old England after your life abroad, my lord."

  Alicia looked away.

  "Not at all. England offers a number of interesting diversions,” Lord Amesbury's voice rumbled.

  "Do you consider horse racing an interesting diversion, Lord Amesbury?” asked Captain Hawthorne. “We have a very informal race here each year. There's some nice horseflesh here, not racers, mind you, but good for a hunt. The Baron Von Der Au has a beautiful Arabian, and he has a private race course on his land that we use."

  "When is the next race?” asked Lord Amesbury, sounding genuinely interested.

  "Thursday next."

  "Excellent."

  "You enjoy the races, Lord Amesbury?” Catherine interjected. “Do you own racehorses?"

  "A few, and a new colt who's untried as of yet, but I believe he will be a winner. His pedigree is impressive."

  "I can see that you are a man of varied interests.” She smiled, and then lowered her eyes in a perfect imitation of a demure lady.

  Only Alicia's self-control kept her from rolling her eyes. She wondered how gentlemen could be so easily deceived by her obvious charade. But then, Catherine was also beautiful and wealthy, and the daughter of a peer. She had much to offer. Except a heart. But that probably would fail to deter most men.

  Alicia turned her attention away from Catherine and her prey. She focused instead on the truly wonderful meal in front of her, but with the man who destroyed Armand sitting so near, she could hardly eat more than a bite.

  "Who do you favor for the race, Hawthorne?” asked Mr. de Champs.

  "The marquis has a new stallion he claims will sweep the others,” the dark-eyed captain replied.

  Mr. de Champs smiled. “Ah, but the baron's Arabian won the derby the last two years in a row. My bets are on his horse."

  Lord Amesbury leaned back, something forbidden glittering in his blue eyes, a hint of a smile on his full, sensitive lips. It awakened that undesirable awareness of him.

  Alicia felt ill. Dueling fiend. Killer! She realized, belatedly, how foolish she was to have deliberately put herself in company with Lord Amesbury. She should have asked to eat in the kitchen with the servants. Or feigned a headache and taken a tray in a bedroom. Stifling the rising emotions his nearness brought, she battled her frayed nerves.

  Those searching eyes pierced her, stirring a cyclone of anger and sorrow. With a smile, he raised his glass to her.

  She turned away and tried to think of something intelligent to say to Mr. de Champs, who, while charming and handsome, seemed almost effeminate compared to Lord Amesbury.

  Footmen cleared away the dishes from the table and placed them on trays. A gasp behind her caught Alicia's attention, but before she could turn around, a crash echoed through the dining hall, and something warm and wet landed on the back of her neck and shoulder. Stunned silence followed the noise.

  "Oh, no,” the footman wailed from behind Alicia.

  Alicia looked down to see gravy on her neck and shoulders, sliding down her arm.

  Horrified, the footman rushed forward with a cloth to try to mop up the gravy mess. “I'm so sorry, Miss,” he stammered.

  Mortified to have so many eyes focused on her, Alicia wished she could disappear. “It's all right."

  "Good heavens, Alicia,” Elizabeth cried. “Are you burned?"

  "No, it's only warm.” To the footman she said, “At least it isn't hot. No harm done."

  By now, the footman's ears and neck were as red as his face as he frantically attempted to clean up Alicia's gown. His eyes repeatedly moved to Mr. and Mrs. Hancock in fear of their reaction. Other servants abandoned their duties to clear away the broken dishes and the ruined food on the floor. The footman's well-meaning ministrations only spread the mess on Alicia's gown.

  Alicia held up her hand, halting his efforts. “Please don't be distressed. I'm not angry. I will simply retire to another room and clean up."

  Elizabeth rose. “I'll help you, dearest."

  "No. Don't trouble yourself, Lizzie, please. You have guests. I can manage."

  Alicia turned to Hannah whose eyes shimmered in tears of sympathy. “It's all right, Hannah. Enjoy your dessert. I'll return in a moment."

  Alicia refused to meet Lord Amesbury's eyes, though she felt them on her. She made the mistake of glancing Catherine's way but instantly regretted it. Catherine's condescending slant to her mouth revealed no sympathy for Alicia's plight, but rather glee at seeing her thusly embarrassed. Other guests observed the incident with various expressions of pity and amusement. Both were equally humiliating. Elizabeth's mother, Mrs. Hancock, came to her feet at the same time as Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

  "Here, my dear, I'll accompany you.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick came to her.

  Alicia blinked. She hadn't even noticed the older lady in attendance. Mrs. Hancock sank back down in her seat with a grateful smile at Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

  "That's very kind of you,” murmured Alicia still fighting tears of humiliation.

  "Sybil, go with Miss Palmer and help her,” Mrs. Hancock said to a nea
rby maid.

  The maid came forward and led them to an empty room. The footman followed, still apologizing.

  Alicia took command over her tears and turned her attention to the distraught footman. “It's all right. It was a simple mistake. And only a very few dishes were lost. Do not be so distressed."

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick nodded. “Quite right. No one is angry, lad. If I sacked every servant who dropped a dish, I would be doing my own serving."

  "Thank you for being so forgiving,” the footman said.

  "You may go on with your duties, lad,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said.

  With a sigh of gratitude, the footman bowed and departed. Inside the empty room, the maid poured water into a basin and moistened a nearby towel. She rubbed a bar of milled soap over the towel until it produced suds and used it to carefully wipe the back of Alicia's neck, shoulder, and arm, before turning her attention to the sleeve.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick smiled benevolently. “You handled yourself beautifully out there, Miss Palmer. I know you were terribly embarrassed to be the center of such unwanted attention. And you were, indeed, most understanding about it."

  "I've dropped my fair share of things,” Alicia admitted.

  "The other day my nephew asked about your family."

  Alicia paused. “Your nephew? Lord Amesbury?"

  "Yes. I am so pleased he finally came to visit. He does not often attend the London Season and I do not have as many opportunities to see him as I would like.” She smiled proudly.

  "You seem quite fond of him,” Alicia said in undisguised surprise.

  "I sense in him a kindred spirit.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick looked directly into Alicia's eyes. “Did you enjoy your dance with him at the Sinclair ball?"

  With a start, she wondered what he had told her. She dropped her gaze. “Of course. You said he asked about my family?"

  "Indeed. He has never expressed any interest in the family of a young lady before."