Their father placed one arm around Alex and the other around David. ‘My boys,’ he murmured. ‘Never let anything or anyone come between you. Family comes first, always.’
Alex heard a sniff and, turning, saw Stephen standing, on the verge of tears, beside him. The young lad had witnessed the violent altercation between his two brothers. Alex reached out and put an arm around his younger brother, pulling him into the all-male Radley embrace.
What the servants leaning against the now-freed carriage thought of the touching scene mattered little. The Radley family had held the Strathmore dukedom together for nearly six hundred years by being united in both their purpose and support of one another. Brother always standing for brother.
When the group finally drew apart, it was with much slapping of shoulders and smiles. Stephen attempted to fight Alex, but he was easily overcome and found himself with a shirt full of snow before he returned to the warmth of their carriage.
With the ladies returned safely to their own coach, the family continued to Lord Wiltmore’s estate and the end of their first day on the road.
Chapter 14
When Millie and Charles returned home, Millie went up to her room. Charles had offered to sit with her in the upstairs drawing room, but she had declined his kind offer. At this moment, a sympathetic ear was the last thing she needed.
‘I am fine. It was just a bit of a shock to discover that the Radleys had left town in such a hurry this morning,’ she said, as she gave his hand one last squeeze.
She dismissed Grace as soon as she was able, telling her that she needed to rest. As soon as her maid’s footsteps retreated down the hallway, Millie closed the door to her bedroom. With hands gently clasped together, she stood in the middle of her room and waited for the tears to come. The sense of utter disappointment and embarrassment she had felt, standing in the cold outside Strathmore House, had shaken her to the core. How little had she truly meant to Lucy?
And to Alex?
She would ever be in her brother’s debt for having saved her at that moment.
Thank you, Charles.
Standing in the silence of her bedroom, a sense of calm slowly came over her. Things could have been much worse. The events of the previous evening and this afternoon had taught her a number of valuable lessons.
Six weeks without seeing either Lucy or Alex would be a blessing. She had allowed her world to consist of a small, select circle of friends; now it was time to strike out and make some new ones. ‘This will teach me not to put all my eggs in one basket.’
She pulled Charles’ card from her reticule and looked at the address written on the back. Hargreaves had said it would take six days for the Radley family to reach their home in Scotland, so she had ample time to compose a suitable letter to Lucy.
There was no doubt that Lucy deserved an apology, but it would not be written today. Last night was still too raw. Millie needed time to assimilate the facts and put matters into perspective, only then would she put pen to paper. If Alex kept his word, then all she would be apologising for was her disappearance from the ball.
What had begun as a harmless moment of indulging her fantasy had become all too real. One minute they were sharing an innocent cup of tea, the next he was kissing her. What on earth had possessed him to do such a thing? If it were madness, then she had suffered from the same malady. She had kissed him back.
‘Nothing happened,’ she whispered, recalling Alex’s words. She touched a finger to her lips and sighed. ‘Nothing other than you stupidly falling in love with him and then letting him kiss you.’
By lying to the others, he had surely saved their skins, but to have Alex’s true nature confirmed still hurt deeply. To know that the very morning after he had declared he loved her, he had left London without a word.
Millie had seen a look in his eye that had tempted her for the briefest of moments to believe his words. The kiss had been a bold enough move, but when he tried to tell her he was serious in his affections, the moment had descended into farce. Her response had been entirely appropriate; he had no right to speak to her of love. By passing the encounter off as a bit of a lark, she had treated his declaration with the gravity it deserved.
Last night she had been gracious, but the next time she met him he would understand the depth of her contempt for his behaviour. How many other girls had heard those words of love, taken them seriously and then had their hearts broken, not to mention the cost which Lucy had borne?
She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. There was the bitter sting of disappointment in her heart, but she understood that no girl was truly immune to the charms of Lord Brooke. She took a deep breath and gave a prayer of thanks. She had escaped with her reputation and heart mostly intact, and now it was time to move on.
There was life after Alex Radley. The loss of Lucy’s friendship would be a blow if she were unable to repair the damage, but Millie now had over a month to form some new friendships before Lucy returned to London. A spark of hope flared in her. If she prepared a contingency plan, then at least there would be time to decide if she wanted to stay in England or go back to India. Things were looking a lot brighter than they had been only an hour earlier.
‘Who knows, maybe I shall find someone who will make me want to stay.’
Deciding there was no time like the present, she opened the bedroom door and went to find her mother. While Violet would be laid up with her damaged ankle for the next few days, once she knew that Millie was serious about making new friends, a miraculous recovery would no doubt ensue.
Two weeks later, David had begun to regret that he and Alex were on speaking terms once more. Somewhere in the days after they had arrived in Scotland, his brother had decided he needed to write to Millie and once Alex got an idea into his head, there was no stopping him.
The morning after one of his and Alex’s regular evenings at the local village tavern, David sat at breakfast feeling rather less than ordinary. After the third time he had looked at the salted pork and bread on his plate and felt his stomach churn, he gave up and pushed the plate away. A mug of hot sweet tea seemed a safer option.
He heard Alex approaching long before his brother reached the breakfast room. Whistling as he strode, Alex picked up a plate and proceeded to pile it high with food.
‘Good morning to you, brother dear. What a refreshing night’s sleep I’ve had. I feel marvellous, and I’m absolutely starving,’ Alex announced. With his plate crowded with bacon, white pudding and roast beef, he scooped up several greasy fried eggs and balanced them on the top of the bacon, before banging the silver cover back down over the serving dish.
If David had been feeling better, he would have shaken his head. Instead, he just closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on keeping his tea down. Alex threw himself into the chair opposite and rubbed his hands with glee.
‘Today is going to be a good day. Fancy a ride up to the top of the valley? Papa says the main trail is clear most of the way. I can’t wait to get on a horse and just ride somewhere. No carriages and no people, just the wilds of Scotland. What do you think?’ Alex stuffed a large piece of white pudding into his mouth and happily chewed away.
The previous night Alex had drunk his brother under the table, yet here he was, bright and early and looking none the worse for wear.
David picked up his tea and took a sip. The thought of bouncing up and down on the back of a horse, coupled with the smell of the bacon, edged him ever closer to being physically ill. ‘No, I think I might just spend the day doing a spot of reading and perhaps writing some letters,’ he replied.
Alex clapped his hands together. David winced.
‘Excellent, just what I wanted to hear,’ Alex said, and stabbed his fork into his breakfast again. He leaned in over the table while brandishing a piece of bacon, dripping with egg yolk, on the end of his fork. ‘I need you to write a letter for me.’
David stared at Alex. In his entire life Alex had never once written a letter, nor h
ad he ever asked David to scribe one for him. The whole time they had been at Eton together, he would wait for David to write his weekly letter home and then add his own initials at the bottom.
Alex was up to something.
‘Who would this letter be going to, may I ask?’ David replied.
‘Millie Ashton,’ Alex replied.
David looked at Alex with concern. ‘Are you are sure about this?’ he finally asked.
The smile disappeared from Alex’s face. ‘Adamant,’ he replied, as he put his knife and fork down in the middle of his plate and sat back in his chair.
Silence hung in the room, while David searched for the right words.
‘So what do you want this letter to say, apart from a sincere apology for risking her reputation? May I suggest a nice friendly letter, telling her of your journey to Scotland? Add in a bit about the weather and perhaps finish it by saying you miss her smile. Nothing too serious,’ David replied.
Alex scratched his ear. ‘I need you to write a love letter.’
‘Why?’ David asked warily.
Alex sighed. ‘Because the night I took Millie back to our house, I kissed her and told her I loved her. That’s why. And the more I think about it, the more certain I am that it is love. So you see, I have to do something about it. I want to marry her. I want her to be my duchess someday; I think she would be perfect in this place.’
David’s heart sank. The poor girl had probably spent every day since that night convinced that Alex was a heartless cad who had used her. If Alex was to stand any chance of wooing Millie, there was nothing else to be done – David had to do as he asked.
‘So do you have the words in mind you wish me to write?’ David asked.
Alex screwed up his nose. ‘Actually no. You know how hopeless I am with composing sentences in my head. I’m sure you could come up with something appropriate far more quickly than I could.’
‘You could go back to London,’ David replied. That option was far more preferable to him, in fact anything was better than having to pen a love letter to a girl he barely knew.
Alex shook his head. ‘I already asked Papa this morning. He said no. I told him that it was urgent. He said I needed to take my responsibilities as the future leader of this valley more seriously and I couldn’t just flit off back to London on some whim.’
Alex pushed his half-eaten plate of food away, while David pricked up his ears. If there was one thing his brother never did, it was leave food uneaten.
‘He was the one who suggested I get someone to write to Millie; he said he was not convinced that I am serious about her and I shouldn’t rush into anything. He thinks I should take things slowly and establish an understanding before I make any formal approach to her father. As he sees it, if she doesn’t want me then at least I will have a few weeks to nurse my wounds before we return. Please, David, I really need your help.’
David wiped his face with his napkin and stood to leave. He turned to Alex and held up a hand in surrender. ‘All right, but I will need time to think about it. As long as you don’t nag me I will try and get something down on paper in the next day or so,’ David said.
‘Thank you, this means everything to me and I won’t forget it,’ Alex replied.
David winced. ‘Actually, you will forget about it. If I write this letter, I never want to hear another word on the topic. If you so much as whisper a word of my involvement to anyone, I shall never speak to you again. Are we clear?’
Faced with little choice, Alex nodded.
With his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, David headed back to his room, hoping that with any luck Alex would come to his senses and forget about it. If he did not raise the topic with Alex, then maybe the whole foolish notion of writing to Miss Ashton would die a natural death.
But by supper he knew he would have no such luck. Alex had taken to stalking his every move. His friendly offers of tea every half an hour were driving David mad. He had even made a special trip into the next town to procure David’s favourite treat. A four-hour return trip on horseback in the bitter cold and Alex was still smiling upon his return.
Finally, having begged off from the family’s evening entertainment, David took to the private parlour reserved for his and Alex’s personal use. ‘I can’t believe I allowed myself to be talked into doing this; I must be insane,’ he muttered as he pushed open the door to the cosy parlour. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, quietly surveying the room. The fire had been lit since early afternoon, allowing the room to become comfortably warm. The whisky cabinet was fully stocked, while a selection of cigars sat neatly arranged on top of it.
‘Let’s get this done, and then hopefully he will leave me in peace,’ he said to himself.
He crossed the floor to the large desk situated in front of the window and took a seat. A couple of lines about flowers and the stars in the sky, followed by a sentimental declaration of love, and his job would be done. He picked up the pen, dipped it in the ink-pot and leaned over the desk. It would only take a few minutes to write a simple love note.
Ten minutes later, he was still staring at the virginal white paper, the pen gently rolling between his middle and index fingers. He swore and put the pen down.
‘Come on, just get something down on the page, it doesn’t have to be Wordsworth,’ he grumbled in frustration.
His gaze drifted across the room to the whisky cabinet, where it fell upon his favourite aged malt. The light from the fire played magically across the front of the crystal decanter. He smiled. ‘All right my love, I hear your siren’s call.’
With a tumbler of the golden glory in his hand, David returned to the desk and sat down once more. He took a swig of the whisky, tasting the smooth malt as it slid over his tongue. He immediately decided he would be more comfortable by the fire. Armed with paper, ink and pen, he settled himself into a large leather armchair.
He looked hard at the paper and prayed for inspiration. How could he write a love letter to a girl he hardly knew? ‘A-ha!’ he said waving the pen around as if it were a conductor’s baton. If he had to write a love letter, he needed to find his muse.
An image of Lady Clarice Langham eased its way into his mind. He had loved her from afar for many years, but she had always politely refused to dance with him. Her father had made it patently clear that the illegitimate son of a duke would never be good enough for his daughter. He knew pursuing her would be a waste of his time, but his heart belonged to her. As long as she remained unmarried, the faintest flicker of hope still burned.
While his heart’s desire lived beyond his reach, he could at least use what he felt for Clarice when he was penning a love letter for his brother. All he had to do was imagine she was the one reading the letter.
He dipped the pen in the ink and began to write.
An hour or so later, Alex quietly opened the parlour door and found David fast asleep in the chair. Several sheets of crumpled-up, partly burnt paper lay at the edge of the fireplace. He shook his head as he picked them up and placed them into the burning embers. David had a terribly bad throwing arm.
On the floor, a few feet in front of David’s chair, lay a folded piece of paper. It had been addressed, but not yet sealed. Alex picked it up and turned it over. He couldn’t make out the words of the address, as David’s handwriting was worse than his throw. But he could just make out the large printed L of London on the bottom. Relief swept over him. His brother had not let him down.
He took the paper and placed it on the desk. Taking out a stick of black wax from the desk drawer, he crossed to the fire and after heating the wax, he returned and sealed the letter with his own personal coat of arms.
Alex stood looking at the letter while the wax slowly cooled. Rather than a declaration of love upon which all his future happiness depended, it looked like any other business letter his father would have sent.
It doesn’t look like a letter from me. There is nothing to show that I wrote it, which of course is
because I didn’t, but I need to make it more personal.
David stirred in his sleep and as Alex looked over toward him, he noticed the ink and pen sitting on the table next to the armchair in which his brother dozed.
‘Fortune favours the brave,’ he muttered.
Alex retrieved the pen and ink pot and placed them on the desk, making sure not to spill any ink on the precious letter. He then set about painstakingly adding his initials to the back of the letter, just below the seal. Once his task was complete he sat back and looked at his handiwork, happy in the knowledge that when Millie received the letter she would know it was from him before she even opened it.
With the letter in his hand, he left David still sleeping and went in search of the castle’s head footman. By morning’s first light the most important piece of correspondence he would ever send would be on its way to London.
After handing the letter over, he went back to the parlour, intent on rousing his brother so they could enjoy a nightcap and a cigar together, but when he opened the door he found the room empty. David must have woken while he was gone and headed up to bed.
Pity.
Alex looked at the fire; if he intended to stay up for a while longer, he knew he should add some more wood. Instead he pushed the largest log to the back of the fire and scattered the embers, allowing the fire to die down low. He picked up a small cigar from the tray and using one of the mantelpiece candles he lit the cigar.
After returning to his room and putting on his greatcoat, Alex left the private family apartments of the castle. With the blanket he had brought with him from London tossed over his shoulders and a thick woollen scarf wrapped around his neck, Alex climbed the large stone steps leading up to the castle ramparts. As luck would have it, the snow had stopped and he was able to keep warm in one of his favourite childhood hiding spots. Looking out through one of the arrow loops cut into the stone wall, he was afforded a view over the darkened valley, past the head of the nearby loch. By lifting his head he could just make out the lights in the village below the castle.
Letter From a Rake Page 18
