by Cecilia Gray
“Except for Sera?”
“She’s always the exception, isn’t she?”
“You are all rather exceptional.”
She glanced up at him, surprised. He had made the remark in such a grounded way, so genuine, with no flowery flattery. “I accept your compliment, as I believe it speaks highly of our parents, who were exceptional themselves. I’m sure you know my father.”
“My investment portfolio certainly does.”
“I am always happy to hear of another satisfied investor,” she said. “But I think people do not realize how much my mother’s initial influence helped shape the direction of his business. She was quite brilliant.” Her breath left her then, and she ended her sentence on a high pitch. It was so difficult to speak about her mother, even so many years later. Sometimes she envied the way Dinah and Sera could speculate on their mother for hours on end, not realizing each word pierced Alice’s chest. “The Tale of the Baywater Belles, and all it says about my sisters and I, has very little of my mother, except that she birthed us and she died. As if that’s all she was. But there was so much more to her, and I feel, without me to remember it. I haven’t explained it well, have I?” She listed her plate.
“You have,” he said. “I understand. She liked lemon cake. Just like Charlotte.”
Of course he would see without her having said it at all. “Lemon cake, lemon tart, lemonade,” she said. “If you asked whether she preferred something sweet or something sour, she would say she preferred a little of both. She used to say it about all of us.” A hot tear stained her cheek, and she brushed it away, stealing a glance at the clock on the mantel. “She died at twenty-two past midnight following our birthday.”
He glanced at the timepiece over the fire, noting the exact moment of twenty-two past midnight. “Then let me share a piece of cake with her,” he said.
He ate his cake, simply, solemnly. She felt strange standing there, surreal, as though she were somehow outside her body. Normally, at this point, she would throw the cake away, but it seemed wasteful to do that now, with someone watching. So after a moment, she picked up the fork and took a bite of her mother’s piece of cake.
It was a little sweet, a little sour, just as she would have liked. The creamy lemon frosting melted on her tongue, leaving behind a pleasant tartness that puckered her lips. Maybe she did like lemon cake after all.
It wasn’t long before their forks clanged against the empty plates. She picked up both with the intention of taking them to the sink.
“Let me help,” he offered.
She smiled at him. She had been smiling all day, grinning from one end of the house to the other at guests and her sisters, but this was her easiest smile of the day. “I do not require any help,” she said. “Your kindness is enough.”
“It is just a story,” he said from behind her.
She spun around, not understanding.
“It is just a story,” he said again. “It is not who you are. It does not define you, just as it does not define your mother.”
But it did. In just the same manner as her mother’s entire life seemed to be defined by a whispered deathbed wish, Alice’s entire life was defined by that tale.
“I wish that were true,” she said. “I remember so much of my mother. She wanted us to be well-read and to eat cake whenever we could. To be happy children. I remember she told us so many times to be happy. Only once did she say to marry well, yet that seems to be what others remember best.”
“Do you have many memories of her?” he asked.
Alice’s earliest memory of her mother was on her first birthday, during Bridget’s birth. Her friends scoffed at her when she claimed this memory, because one was quite a young age to be remembering anything. Perhaps the memory was not real. Perhaps her father had told the story so many times, it felt real. Regardless, she could recall the moment with crystal clarity.
“We were at home in the salon,” she began.
Alice had just learned to walk, and she remembered that, after breakfast, her parents had taken turns calling her name. She would turn to her mother, arms outstretched, tiny fists clenching and releasing. Each step had been exertion personified, with eager breaths and overzealous footfalls. “With a hand to her stomach, my mother had declared it was time for my sister to arrive. My father—well, in his eagerness, he didn’t know where to go. He kept turning in circles. I remember taking his hand and walking him to send for the doctor.”
“Clever girl.”
“It’s the first moment I remember. The first moment I knew that my purpose was to be a big sister, to help my parents.”
“Which you have been,” he said.
“Yes,” Alice said. “But not nearly enough.”
* * *
There were times in a man’s life when he had to do the right thing, and Robert was aware that the right thing was often at odds with what one desired. And at this moment, Robert desired Alice. He saw that now. He was attracted not only to all that was easy to love—her affection for her family, her beautiful gray eyes—but all that was easily overlooked, such as her height, her tendency to take over, her stubbornness. Others might see the two types of qualities as disparate, but he understood that one could not exist without the other. That the very Alice whom he respected for her love of her family was the same Alice who could never burden her father with an undesired marriage.
He also was a keenly observant man who recognized that Alice had developed a tendre for him, too. What other reason was there for a woman to allow a man into her confidence at such an hour?
If he encouraged her feelings, and if she were to accept his suit, then he would, in effect, be asking her to turn against her family. In good conscience, he could not allow it. Even now, she was looking at him from the sink, her shawl tight around her shoulders, and he was drawn by the desire to comfort her. But he steeled himself against it.
“Miss Belle,” he said instead, “allow me to express my sincere belief that you have always done what is best for your family and that you will always continue to do so.”
She stared at him with knit brows, understandably confused given how he launched into his declaration with nary a notice but he felt he must convey his feelings, quickly, while his intentions remained honorable.
Still, his tone softened as he said, “I have no doubt of your regard for your family, and because of that, I must bid you good night.”
She swallowed, and he watched the tightening of her neck and her hands at her sides. Alice did not pretend ignorance or confusion, which further convinced him of their like-mindedness. Her smile was bittersweet. “I bid you good night, Mr. Crawford. And good-bye.”
He gave a brief bow and turned, forcing his legs to take him far and fast. In his haste, he did not notice the other man who stood in the hall until he was upon him. Strong hands held him at bay.
“Are you drunk?” Viscount Savage asked, studying him.
Robert shook his head, coming back to his senses. “Savage, what are you doing about at this hour?”
“Nothing honorable, I assure you,” Savage said. “And yourself?”
Robert smirked. “Something too honorable for the likes of you.”
“I assume it has to do with Miss Alice Belle?”
“I beg you not to speak her name in that context, nor assume anything but the best of her character.”
“It is your character I call into question, not hers.”
“Ah, well, let me reassure you. I have, indeed, made it clear to her that I will not pursue my suit, particularly as such a connection would be undesirable to her family and, thus, to her.”
Savage scratched at the scruff at his chin. “Damned sorry to hear it. If your situation were easy enough to fix with money, I would give it to you.”
“And I would decline, although I appreciate the sentiment,” Robert said.
“Might I give you some advice on the easiest way to forget one woman?”
“I assume that while you might be
able to lecture a year at Cambridge on the matter, you will keep it succinct?”
“Another woman,” Savage said, smiling roguishly. “Another woman always works.”
* * *
Savage,
While I appreciate your attempts to assist my emotional recovery, my mother will die of apoplexy if yet another unwed lady of ill quality shows up on my doorstep and offers to “help me forget.” Your money would be better used as kindling.
Your superior (in many ways),
Robert
* * *
Robert,
It may interest you to know that a certain lady in question has been acting as hostess for salons—at which there are gentlemen—at the family home in Bayswater. Are you certain you would not like me to continue my heartfelt gestures of friendship?
Your superior (in the way that counts most to women),
Savage
* * *
Savage,
Sod off. That’s an order.
R.
Chapter Five
Third annual Belle birthday crush
July 2, 1819
Woodbury, England
Charlotte gripped Alice’s fingers tightly and tugged her away from the music tent at the third annual Belle birthday celebration and toward the pond. “I need your help.”
The words were a balm to Alice, who had spent the past few weeks leading up to the party feeling positively pathetic. Oh, Sera had done her best to make Alice feel needed. Her dear sister had asked her about floral arrangements, where to best place the archery targets, and how many horses they should saddle. The servants had even been looped into the charade, with the cook insisting Alice taste and approve the menu. But she recognized pity when she saw it.
Sera did not need her. The party arrangements did not require her oversight. In some regard, she welcomed this news. Her little sister had grown up, become independent. She had wished this for Sera, wanted this for Sera. But Alice still felt useless and bored.
Until now. The desperate glint in Charlotte’s eyes could not be faked.
“Where are you taking me?” Alice asked.
Charlotte set a gloved finger in front of her lips as they slipped through the throng of dancers who clapped in tune with the vibrant string instruments. Alice had been one of them a moment ago. It had been a rather desperate attempt to appear happy, to look as though she had not been searching for the profile of a particular gentleman.
“Just to the cottage,” Charlotte said, as they dodged a set of their father’s sycophantic and well-wishing guests to find themselves on the skirts of the pond, the tall grass tickling their ankles. Sera much preferred a wild, overgrown look to the well-manicured past, and Alice had to admit it suited the lands.
“The gardener’s cottage?” she clarified. “Whyever must we trek all the way to the gardener’s cottage?”
Charlotte just continued to stalk through the tall blades of glass, her shoulders set and her hands fisted.
Alice couldn’t recall ever having step foot in the cottage during all her time at Woodbury. It was a small, single-story residence with large windows, but to her understanding, it was not in active use since the gardener had married and moved to Woodbury proper years earlier.
A few slate stones led a path to the wooden door with its round knocker, but Charlotte merely turned the knob, which she clearly knew would be unlocked, and let herself inside. Alice followed, a flutter in her stomach, and it heaved when her eyes befell the scene inside.
Having never been there before, Alice did not know the general state of its affairs; however, there was no way His Grace would allow such a mess in one of his holdings.
From the landing, Alice could see straight through to the sitting and dining areas and the small kitchen. The main dining table had been upended entirely. A few plates and a vase of flowers lay in shards on the flagstone, and crumpled blue flowers wept beneath the weight of the fallen chairs.
“What happened here?” Alice asked. “Did you do this?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Truly, you think so?” They moved in concert to right the table and chairs. “I have no idea what occurred. I was on my way here for a respite from the party—you know how I hate the toasts—and I heard loud noises as I approached. I hurried inside, concerned that someone might be hurt, but before I reached the entrance, a gentleman rushed from the premises. I came upon this shortly thereafter, half expecting to see another gentleman here. But it was empty. I came straight to you.”
“You were right not to inform His Grace.” Alice grimaced at the thought of how he would have reacted. It would have involved several heads on several platters. “Which gentleman did you see?”
Charlotte pursed her lips as she swept up the chipped remnants of the place settings. “I don’t know if I can trust my own eyes. It was such an unlikely candidate to have done such a thing.”
“Was it Mr. Hughes?” Alice could imagine the man causing this sort of havoc with his strength. “But no, you said an unlikely gentleman . . . Not Tom?” Her hands flew to her chest.
Charlotte laughed. “Lord, no, not even that unlikely. It was Lord Graham.”
Her brow furrowed in disbelief. Graham Abernathy was such a jovial gentleman, so agreeable. She had nary heard him utter an angry remark in his life, not even when her sisters cleared the breakfast before he’d arrived in time for his serving. “Did you inform Sera?”
“I thought it best not to. She might feel honor-bound to tell her husband.”
Alice nodded, pulling at her lip. Yes, best to avoid any complicated Abernathy entanglements. Still…Graham? “Perhaps it was someone who looked like Lord Graham?”
“And who would that be?”
She mused on the matter as she picked up the large ceramic shards that littered the floor and checked the grooves of the flagstone for smaller, hidden ones. She rummaged through the cupboards until she found another vase. “Back in a moment,” she said to Charlotte, who was fluffing the pillows of the couch.
Alice found a stand of wildflowers behind the cottage and picked a handful. She was reminded of the time she’d been picking flowers for Sera’s wedding and Robert had knelt down to help her. Her breath caught, and she returned inside, trying to shake the memory. She set the flowers in the fresh vase and then hung a few stems upside down to dry.
“I think that’s the most of it,” Charlotte said. She rested her hands on her hips with a satisfied sigh.
“I’ll take a last look and meet you back at the house.” The cottage was small, and there was not much left to do but Alice found herself comforted with the notion of taking care of something. She found a bedroom in back with musty sheets that benefited from a quick beating. It was a beautiful home, no matter how humble. There was room for a family, a fireplace for cool nights. What more did she need, really?
* * *
The ball had been a smashing success and even more of a crush than the year before. Perhaps that was why Robert had been unable to find a moment alone with Alice.
He did not mind, though. He knew when he would be able to find her privately and without interruption.
Robert supposed a gentleman would have stayed in his room. While he was a gentleman, he was also a man. A man who had spent the past two year trying to forget a particular woman, who had spent the past year going to bed with unpleasant images of her entertaining gentlemen in her salon. Laughing at other men’s jokes. Smiling at other men’s compliments.
He was ashamed at some of the methods he had indulged in to forget her—drinking, dancing, overall merriment. Anything within the means of a man of his station. He had even taken to joining his friend Christian in the boxing ring on so many occasions he’d needed to have his jackets let out to accommodate the extra muscle his body had gained.
It turned out Savage had been wrong, and the old saying was right—absence did make the heart grow fonder. So as the clock in his room indicated ten to midnight, he made his way to the main kitchen.
As he wa
lked by the guest rooms and through the parlor at Woodbury, he would never have suspected that a large birthday fete in honor of the Belle sisters had occurred earlier today—the third of its kind at the estate and hopefully not the last.
He had enjoyed the card tables in particular. At one point, he and Benjamin had been trouncing Savage and Graham quite embarrassingly at Hazard. Not that they were better players, but strategy and patience often won over zeal. The weather had been beautiful and the food abundant, too, yet he found himself eager for the day to be over so he could enjoy his second piece of cake.
And whatever else he might find in the kitchen.
He was not disappointed when he arrived. A lantern had been lit and sat atop the servants’ table. Alice stood by it with two plates bearing cake and forks. “I had hoped ...”
God, he’d hoped, too. Hadn’t realized the depth of that hope until his knees weakened at the sight of her. He gripped the door frame to stop himself from indulging in the fantasies of touching her that looped through his mind.
He’d hoped and here she was. Dare he hope for more? Did she?
She didn’t finish the thought but held his gaze and pushed one of the plates in his direction. “Did you enjoy the festivities?”
“For the most part.” He did not enjoy watching her dance with every available man but him. “Did you?”
“I enjoyed having all my sisters back in one place,” she said. “Sera and Bridget’s travels went on for far longer than I liked. I am not a betting woman, but if I were, I never would have laid coin on Sera being so enamored of travel. She is like our father, and even Aunt Margaret, in that regard. Does Tom not enjoy travel? He rarely escorts Sera.”
“I believe he might, if travel were not so disagreeable to his stomach. I noticed you have yet to join Lady Sera on any travel adventures. Although—” his fork tapped against his plate “—you’ve been busy this past year. I hear your social calendar is quite full.”
