by Cecilia Gray
“Clawed her way up the banks and attempted to revive her husband with her bare hands,” Alice said with a mixture of sadness and pride. Sera was constantly being underestimated. Something about her pale skin and ethereal white hair meant people assumed she was weak, but Alice knew her to be the strongest of them.
“And after?” Robert asked.
“They had to haul her away and administer laudanum.”
“My God.” He fished a mourning biscuit from his other pocket, broke the wax seal, and bit it hard.
“I need to get her away from London. We had already planned a trip to Woodbury for our birthdays, but perhaps we should extend the stay for the entire summer.”
He nodded in agreement. “I’m sure Benjamin would be accommodating.”
“Which is why I need to find a husband immediately,” she stated, knowing it was inappropriate to say aloud, but she needed to make him aware of her intentions.
Robert choked on his biscuit. “A husband?”
She nodded. “You must understand. You know my duty.”
“I know we made promises to each other.”
Heat crept up her body, making her blush. She hadn’t forgotten that night. How could she? But to hear it mentioned aloud by the only other person who knew? It was as if she were reliving it.
“But don’t you see?” she forced out. “It must be me now. I’m the eldest.”
“Exactly. You’re twenty-three.”
Alice slapped his shoulder so hard the tapestry snapped behind him. “I well understand my place on the shelf, but my dowry should buy me several years.”
“Ah, the dowry. Why didn’t you say so?” He shoved the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and swallowed without chewing.
Alice cursed, not for the first or last time, all Mr. Robert Crawford’s good qualities—his superior height, his perfect teeth, his kind heart, his sense of responsibility. Not to mention how the heat of his touch radiated through the thick fabric of her gown. Why did he have to be the seventh son of an unimportant baron without a title of his own? Perhaps this was why Mr. Crawford had sought the friends he had. So he could rise as their leader and achieve some sense of rank and value that had been denied him by birth.
“Whom are you considering?” he asked, his voice tight. “Surely not Benjamin or Graham?”
She couldn’t stop the distaste from wrinkling her nose. “As if this whole debacle needs more scandal.” She cast him a smile. “Though they are of equal height.”
“Why stop there?” he said. There was a dangerous edge to his voice, a softness that was somehow not gentle. “There’s always Mr. Hughes.”
Alice’s gaze found Christian Hughes with ease. He was the largest, tallest man in the room, the prizefighter with shoulders the size of wheelbarrows. She was shocked his coat fit him at all. She expected the slightest constriction of his muscles would tear the seams apart. He stood behind Graham and Benjamin, close but hidden, coiled as if ready to fight anyone who might offer them pain or insult.
“In height he is more than adequate, but I believe we know—” She stopped short of saying, he was a bastard.
Next to Mr. Hughes, however, someone else caught her eye.
She touched a thoughtful finger to the tip of her nose.
“Miss Belle?” Mr. Crawford straightened away from the wall as he noticed her focus and followed her gaze. “Oh.” He shook his head vigorously. “No.”
Alice drew in a ragged breath.
Damon Cade, Viscount Savage, stood resplendent in a black coat as inky as the soft locks that fell over his spring green eyes. He was as tall as she, muscular and lean, with bowed lips as tactile as fingertips.
In the brief time that he had been acquainted with her family, he’d stormed Bridget’s imagination, Charlotte’s tender heart, and even Dinah’s intellect when the latter had speculated how many natural factors must have come together to turn out such a perfect physical specimen. But most importantly, he was a viscount in line for an earldom—one not quite as old and respectable as the Rivington title, but worth the king’s notice.
“Lord Savage will do quite well for my purposes.”
“Unfortunately for you, Lord Savage does do quite well for many purposes, frequently, and with numerous others.”
Alice pursed her lips. Yes, she knew this to be true. Lord Savage was a rake. But it didn’t matter any longer; she did not have the luxury of being picky. She had an objective. “I don’t see what his extracurricular activities have to do with marriage. And marry he must, if he’s to provide an heir.”
“Ah yes, but he’s rich,” Mr. Crawford said. “Not as rich as you, but he won’t be tempted by a dowry. He has enough for his standards.”
Alice smoothed those wayward strands at her temples. “Then perhaps I need to raise his standards.”
* * *
Robert’s fists tightened as Alice maneuvered herself beside Savage, who leaned toward her to whisper something in her ear. Robert did not like the close proximity of Savage’s lips to Alice’s graceful neck. Or Savage’s lips and any part of Alice, quite frankly.
Robert was a fairly confident man. He had captained his cricket team to undefeated victory at Cambridge. He’d led troops into battle and brought more than his fair share back. He’d bedded a modest but still respectable number of women, paid for none, and judging by their returning interest had merited satisfied results. But Damon Cade was enough to make any man nervous. And there was that damned title he held through right of birth, with an even more impressive title to be bequeathed upon his father’s death.
“If looks could kill,” Dinah said as she slid into the space Alice had occupied moments earlier.
“Savage would still find a way to survive. Slippery as an eel, that one.” Robert had a fundamental understanding of genetics, but he could never fathom how the same parents had produced both Alice and Dinah. Alice was as tall as Dinah was short, her hair as dark as Dinah’s was fair. Alice was also so dedicated, so emotional, whereas Dinah’s practicality had earned her the reputation of having a heart of stone. Alice had a way of bending everyone’s will to hers, whereas Dinah preferred to accomplish what needed to be done alone. Only their stormy gray eyes hinted at their shared parentage.
Even now Dinah watched her sister converse with Savage, her eyes shifting back and forth, calculating. “She means to marry Lord Savage?”
He shook his head, in awe. “How the Crown has not recruited you into intelligence is beyond me.”
“It’s an easy assumption. Alice does not particularly approve of Lord Savage, yet they converse. With none of us married and Sera now widowed, our father will expect someone to fall on the matrimonial sword in our mother’s name. Alice makes a rather determined martyr.”
“Ah yes, ‘the Tale of the Belles.’” His voice dripped with bitterness.
Alice’s laugh drew his attention across the room again. Her head was thrown back, but realizing her impropriety, she covered her mouth with her hand. Savage’s eyes twinkled at her reaction, and their heads bowed together as if they shared a great secret.
“That’s the problem with first impressions,” Robert said, his voice tight. “Once made, they are nearly impossible to shake.”
Alice saw him as Mr. Robert Crawford, friend and ringleader to her brothers-in-law, penniless seventh son of a baron, all-around gentleman who would bow to Society’s expectations.
It was time she saw him as something more.
* * *
There was much to do in the Duke of Rivington’s London home, and Alice was never as happy as she was when being productive. The property was a short distance from the Belles’ own home, and both households were in mourning and mindful of monetary matters despite their wealth. Since there was no worse time to seem gauche than when in weeds, Alice was overseeing the dyeing of the servants’ wardrobes and some simpler dresses to black.
She had fled upstairs to Sera’s dressing room, having saved some gowns from the dye to wear in the countryside
when they were away from prying, expectant eyes. When she was certain they were tucked safely away, she peeked into the adjoining cool, darkened bedroom. Sera was a lump in the center of the mattress, swaddled in heavy quilts and blankets. Her head thrashed from side to side, eyes closed tight.
Alice crossed the carpet on quick, quiet feet and stood over the bed. She laid a gentle hand over Sera’s forehead. With a few murmurs, her sister quieted. Alice pulled the blanket higher over her neck. She told herself that this was normal. It was natural to mourn and grieve and take to one’s bed.
She turned and walked into the adjoining bedroom, which had not yet been claimed by His Grace, Benjamin Abernathy, to see if there was anything to be done there. She had never seen the room until now. White sheets covered the dark furniture. She imagined His Grace would change the decor to his tastes, which seemed simpler, less ornate, less dramatic than Tom’s had been. He would change his sister-in-law’s room, too, for his own bride when the time came.
What if Benjamin were to take Sera for his bride? It was not uncommon, and she was certainly young and beautiful enough. Perhaps that would free Alice to marry—No, she could not expect her sister to sacrifice herself a second time just so Alice could selfishly do as she pleased.
Rather than disturb her sister by returning to the bedroom, Alice left through the duke’s door directly to the hall, where a surprised Robert stood in front of her, blinking in confusion.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, just as surprised to see him.
“Benjamin asked me to gather a few items. What are you doing . . . in there?”
A blush stole across her cheeks. “Woolgathering.”
“About what?”
She liked that his question was one of genuine curiosity and not censure or judgment or implication. After years of maneuvering fortune hunters and sly foxes, it was good to know a refreshing and straightforward man. Perhaps that was why it was so easy for her to speak plainly with him. Would Damon allow her to maintain a friendship with Robert? Not if he knew the truth of her feelings. “I wondered if Lord Abernathy . . . er . . . His Grace . . .”
“Takes getting used to,” he mumbled.
“It does,” she said.
“You wondered if Benjamin . . . ?”
“And Sera,” she finished. “Together.” Her blush turned to shame. “How simple it would be if it were the case, but I shouldn’t have even considered it.”
“Anyone would have. I’m sure Benjamin himself has contemplated marrying Lady Rivington.”
Her eyes widened, and she felt a frisson of hope.
“Not that he has said anything or indicated any intention of the kind,” he added hastily. “But he is a responsible man, after all, with half a brain. And eyes. It would have occurred to him.” His gaze flicked to the room behind her. “I’ll only be a moment. Wait for me?”
Her lips went dry, and she tamped down the urge to draw her tongue across them. How easily they fell into their familiarity. She tried to say yes but nothing came from her throat, so she nodded and stepped aside. Cheeks flushed, she fought the questions that roared within her at his innocent words. Wait for him? For how long, and to what end? She sagged against the wall and pressed her eyes shut. They had waited so long already—and for naught.
She could hear him in the room opening and closing drawers. While she wanted to ask him what he had been sent to retrieve, she would not. He was both discreet and honorable. Why would she seek to test or challenge that which she liked most about him?
He returned to the hall a moment later. She managed to straighten and compose herself as he gestured for her to follow him back down the stairs and into the parlor. Countless maids and staff were closing the house for the summer. Sheets were placed over bookshelves and statues. The dark tapestries that had been hung for the funeral were carefully removed. Rugs were beaten and rolled away. Paintings were taken down from the walls.
“I’m sure Benjamin appreciates this,” he said, eyeing the staff as he took a seat.
She would not be coy and deflect his compliment. He knew His Grace well enough to know he had been content to leave preparations to her, even though she was not the lady of the house. She sat opposite him. “Do you know his plans for this house?”
“He will not take up residence until late in the summer,” he said. “He wants to be settled before Parliament is in session but not a moment sooner. Now, about Lady Rivington . . .”
“I assume she has leave to stay in the dower house?”
“If she wishes,” Robert said. “But he has no expectations. He is ready to stand by his responsibilities. However, he is aware your family has their own means by which to care for her. Has she mentioned moving back to your home in Bayswater?”
“No,” she said, more quickly than she meant to. Sera had not mentioned it, but was it a possibility? After all, she had married her lord, done her duty. “I’d like to remain in the country until she is back to her usual self.”
“We spoke of that possibility,” he said. “I did present it as the most likely scenario. Benjamin said to tell you that Woodbury is at your disposal for the summer and the rest of the year as Sera needs.”
“What of their estranged brother, Gray? I had heard Benjamin would end his father’s quarrel against him, and he is, at this very moment, across the house.”
“Benjamin intends to bring Gray back into the family fold; however, not until after he has made satisfactory arrangements, and my understanding is that Gray is married and living with his heiress of a wife. So there is no possibility of seeing him at Woodbury this year. Benjamin and Graham will remain in London, leaving the home to your sisters alone. Is that satisfactory?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. It was the right way of things, and Robert had clearly spent some time negotiating this arrangement on behalf of her family. For that she was grateful. She’d never known someone as adept at discerning her needs. But unfortunately, she needed another scenario entirely. “I’m afraid that isn’t satisfactory.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His expression softened. Blue eyes searched her face. “Tell me what you need and I shall do my best.”
Alice cleared her throat, and her staff in the room that had been attending to the paintings and furnishings quietly and discreetly left. She hadn’t realized her control over the household was so complete, although she shouldn’t have been surprised. She had served as the de facto mistress of the estate, given Sera’s young age, for years now.
She leaned closer and spoke in a whisper, her voice low and steady. “I’m afraid I need your help. I must have Lord Rivington in attendance at Woodbury. Where you and the Abernathys go, Viscount Savage will follow. I need you in the countryside…”
His blue eyes darkened in response. “You need Lord Savage.”
* * *
Robert was not much for romance. He was rather similar to Alice’s sister, Dinah, in that way. Being the youngest of seven in a poor family tended to make one rather practical. But Robert was also given to honesty, and if questioned, he would have been forced to admit that when Miss Alice Belle said she needed him, he’d felt a hot blade of satisfaction slice through his gut. Part pain, part pleasure, and all anticipation.
She’d ruined the moment by also needing Savage, but he would take what he could get for now. He was smart enough to know that pressing his suit in this instance, in her state of mind, would not yield the results he wanted.
“What would you do with Lord Savage in the country?” he asked carefully. He sat back in his chair, forcing an insouciance he did not feel with a single fiber of his being.
“I believe I have already made my intentions clear.”
“I’d rather hoped that was your temporary sense of desperation speaking.”
“It was,” she said. “But sometimes desperation yields the most sensible of ideas. You cannot argue with the sensibility of my plan. I must marry. So must he. We already have the same circle of friends.”<
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“I hardly believe that people should marry to avoid the inconvenience of expanding their social circle.”
She scowled. “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“You’re being rash.”
“Is there someone else I should marry?”
He swallowed the answer that came so easily to his lips—him, of course.
“Is there someone else I can marry?” she clarified. “And why shouldn’t I marry a lord?” she asked, although he had not put her on the defensive. “I am wealthy and connected. While not as lovely as some of my sisters, I am bearable in countenance, and I can run a household.”
“Your worth…” His voice was raspier than he’d expected. How could she not see that she was the loveliest of all? “No one is questioning your worth. It is because of these factors that you should marry a person of your choosing.”
“You don’t understand—”
“We’re in agreement in that regard.”
She cocked her head and leaned toward him. “Is there some other reason you do not wish me to marry Lord Savage? Do you know something of him . . . of his character?”
“No, he is an exemplary friend.” The admission came with a curse for Savage’s face and wealth and everything else he had been given.
Her gaze fell to her lap, where her fingers wrestled with the fabric of her black dress. “I would not expect you to break a confidence. If you know of something, anything, that would make us ill suited or that wouldn’t recommend him to me, I would hope you would tell me. If you can set aside your feelings for my father’s wishes and consider us as two individuals, would there be any reason for me not to marry him? You don’t have to tell me why. Just tell me there is one, and I will believe you.”
She glanced up. Her earnest gray eyes searched his face, waiting for an answer.
Savage, despite his occasionally rakish behavior, was honorable and honest. But Robert knew his objections to the match had naught to do with Savage and everything to do with Robert himself.
“I have no objections to him in principle. I had merely hoped you would be given the opportunity to . . . explore your options.”
