Or maybe she was mistaken. Anyway, it was for the best that they keep their distance from each other. When Alicia returned, there would be hell to pay.
Walking over to the ballroom fireplace, she warmed her hands against the heat from this year's Yule log, a tradition that demanded it be kindled with a piece of wood from last year's log. Romantic couples gathered around the immense log to listen to it crackle and feel its pervasive heat.
Romance. Alaina sighed, again. The Yule log was expected to burn the whole twelve days of Christmas or it would bring bad luck on the household. Saybrooke Hall had bad enough luck with Alicia being its mistress. Somehow that thought made Alaina unaccountably depressed.
“Alicia! I've been looking everywhere for you. ‘Tis time for the Christmas supper.” Nigel tapped her on the shoulder and shouted in her ear at the same time. ‘Tis a bloody commotion in here. My eardrums won't stop ringing ‘til next Boxing Day!"
It was noisy. The gaiety of the crowd was almost deafening.
“Most likely everyone's wondering what they will feast on.” Nigel took hold of her hand. “May I escort you to the table?"
At least one of the Cransworth brothers didn't look at her as if she had an adulterous “A” branded on her forehead. “Sure, Nigel. That would be great."
“Great for me, too, Alicia. I'm the luckiest fellow alive to have this privilege."
She laughed. Obviously Nigel harbored no grudge against his brother's wife. In fact he worshipped her as only the young and foolish could.
Passing by the main table, Alaina shook her head at the opulent spread. Three types of meat: swan, venison, and bustard—a type of game bird—graced the display in addition to a boar's head and three peacocks, rainbow tails extended and beaks gilded. And that was just for openers. The opulent spread dazzled most of the party.
When they reached their table, Nigel manfully held out her chair for her to sit. She had to smile when his hand brushed up against the nape of her neck and lingered there.
How different he was from his brother. So considerate and attentive.
Charlie and Lucy were also at the table, along with a couple they knew from London. Fortunately Lucy introduced them: John and Clarice Penterbury.
Alaina nodded her hello, then took a quick look around to see where Richard was. At the far end of the room, he sat talking with an attractive brunette. Apparently, he wouldn't be eating with his relatives.
A lump in her throat suddenly materialized. Perhaps his absence was just as well.
Turning her attention back to her companions, Alaina overheard John Penterbury complimenting Lucy on her appearance. “Oh I say, Lucinda, you are bang up to the mark tonight! Do you know, Charles, I asked her for a dance—and her card was full? Promise me a set later, fair Amethyst.”
“Do give over, Penterbury,” his wife, a lively redhead, said. “I believe you are making me jealous! Truly, Lucinda, you are dressed to the nines. I predict Charles will have his hands full from now on.”
“Y—You both put me to the blush,” Lucy stammered. As she self-consciously twirled a tendril of hair lying close to her cheek, she shyly glanced at her husband.
He growled something, and then helped himself to more champagne.
“I have to thank Alicia for my appearance,” Lucy boldly continued. “She has the most wonderful fashion sense, you know.”
Alaina gave an ironic chuckle. “That's not what Richard thinks.” She finished her own glass of champagne. When Nigel refilled it, she thanked him, and took another sip.
Clarice looked sideways at Alaina. “Yes,” she agreed, “everyone knows Lady Alicia's styles are the envy of the ton.”
The woman wanted to know more, as did the rest of the party. They were just dying to know why Lady Alicia Saybrooke was not acting in character.
Alaina grinned. I'll give them food for thought. “Oh, I don't know about that. I just like to dress comfortably. And all Lucy needs is the right colors to bring out her delicate features.”
Charlie sat openmouthed at that comment. Again, his thoughts were easy to read: Richard's wife going out of her way to help Lucinda? He dipped his chin into the square of his palm and stared at his wife.
From over the top of her glass, Alaina also observed Lucy. The periwinkle color of her gown deepened the blue of her eyes. She had an innocent sultriness about her that must have aroused him because he drummed his fingers with some kind of inner compulsion. And when Lucy laughed at one of John Penterbury's inanities, Charlie frowned as if discovering of a new emotion.
When he caught Alaina observing him, his frown grew more pronounced. She had no mercy; she gave him a wink. The poor man finally suffered from jealousy.
Charlie cleared his throat. “So, John, have you heard the latest on what Prime Minister Canning said about Prinny's disenchantment with Carlton House? ‘One white elephant deserves another!’ Droll comment, what?”
The two men chuckled, but Nigel protested. “But Charles, I'm the one who told you that. And I heard it straight from Canning's grandson, at Cambridge."
While the others enjoyed a good laugh at his expense, Charlie had the presence of mind to appear sheepish. “In any event, isn't it unbelievable that Carlton House, under reconstruction for almost thirty years, now is considered antiquated, run-down, and decrepit by the Regent?”
“That sounds to me like a plea to Parliament to build a new palace.” John nodded sagely.
“Will every future king plan on building a new royal home?” asked Clarice plaintively. “I can see why we are all so dipped in the pocket!”
This led to a discussion on who would succeed to the throne after the would-be George IV died. Alaina listened intently for she had the names of the successors at her fingertips. Coincidentally, the last book she had read back in her own home was titled Accident Of Birth—a history of British rulers, plus interesting tidbits concerning their private lives. She almost remembered that book word for word.
After a slow sigh, she polished off another sparkling glass of champagne.
“Poor Princess Charlotte.” Tender Lucy wiped away a tear. “She was so young to die.”
“Hard to believe it has been a bit over a year now. Useless to look for more heirs from her father,” John declared.
“No, not with the way Prinny and Princess Caroline lead their separate lives.” Charlie shared a ribald laugh with John.
“Then who is next, the Duke of York? But he has no children either.” Clarice noticed her husband's look. “No legitimate ones,” she amended.
Lucy and Nigel blushed at that remark. Everyone but Alaina agreed that the heirs of the third son of George III—William, the Duke of Clarence—would be future kings. His young wife was due to give birth to their first child the beginning of March.
What got into her, she didn't know, but Alaina had to throw a spoke in their speculations. She finished another glass, her third ... fourth? and said, “No, you're all wrong. It'll be the descendants of Edward, the fourth son, who will succeed to the throne—after George IV and William, of course.”
“Why do you say that, Alicia? What do you know about politics?” Charlie thundered. He set down his wine glass angrily. “That is farfetched. Didn't you hear what I just said? William's wife is with child, so that means that Edward, the Duke of Kent, will be fifth in line. Besides, the man has no issue!”
The champagne had gone to Alaina's head. She spoke without thinking of the consequences. “That's true, but William's child won't live and Edward's wife is also ... in the family way.”
It wouldn't do to say “pregnant” in mixed company. “Victoria will be her name and she'll be born on the twenty-fourth of May, next year.”
In a self-satisfied haze of alcohol, Alaina sat back, but then noticed the others’ reactions. They were looking at her as if she sprouted two heads.
Cripes! They must think I'm some kind of fortune-telling gypsy. Why, oh why, did I open my mouth? I've been so cautious, and now I've stuck my foot in it.
<
br /> A voice from behind broke through the tension. “That is very impressive, my dear wife. And on what, may I ask, do you base your predictions?” Richard walked over slowly and pulled a chair up to their table.
As they all stared at her, Alaina's face grew warmer. Her mind went blank. “Well,” she stalled, “I'm curious about the future.” Then an idea struck her. “I've been seeing a ... mystic. You remember, Madame Reena, and ... that's what she told me.”
Alaina ended her speech on a triumphant note. Drinking too much was getting her in trouble. The last time it happened, she traveled back in time to here—and now this! Her explanation did sound plausible though. As the group accepted her statement, she could feel the atmosphere relax. Only Richard was still watching her with disdain shooting from his steely eyes.
“You went to see Madame Reena about the future rulers of England?” The question was laced with skepticism. “How ... curious.” With that, he rose and left the festivities.
CHAPTER NINE
Two weeks into the new year of 1817, Alaina sat alone in one of the Hall's many alcoves—two conflicting desires warring inside her. In less than an hour's time, she would be alone for good; Richard and the rest of the Cransworth clan soon would be off to London for a season of high society fun.
She would miss them. God, how she'd miss them, but all the same, the shrouded figure of Madame Reena beckoned. With everyone gone, she could finally travel to West Meon, confront that elusive mystic, and return to her own life and her own time period.
Sadness seeped into her very soul. She would never see any of them ever again. In such a short time, each and every one of the Cransworths carved out a niche inside her heart. She almost wished she wouldn't find that deceitful woman.
Almost. She'd be crazy to wish herself in a relationship where her “husband” hated her guts. She sighed. Crude but unfortunately accurate.
A small voice called down the corridor. “Mama! Mama, where are you? I need you."
Alaina stood. Especially hard would be the separation from Terry. “Here I am, Terry."
The little boy turned the corner and, picking up speed, ran right into her. Hugging her around her legs, he said through the folds of her skirt, “Whyever are you hiding, Mama? Everything is packed. It's time to go.” He then stood on his tiptoes and whispered, “I'm taking Bearie with me ... in the carriage.”
Bearie was the stuffed teddy bear that she made him. Richard seemed to think his son was too old for that kind of toy so Terry had to keep his Bearie in his bedroom, out of sight. Every night when Alaina came in to give him a good-night kiss, he snuggled with his toy and went right to sleep.
It was brave of Terry to sneak his Bearie into the carriage. Experiencing Richard's displeasure was nothing to sneeze at, especially for one so young.
“I also stuffed my pockets with soldiers,” the boy admitted proudly. “See? Here's Wellington."
Alaina's lower lip trembled, missing him already. Get a grip, kiddo, she chided herself. It's for the best. It's all for the best.
She curved her arm around the boy's shoulders. “I guess we'd better go downstairs. Miss Kerns is probably looking for you."
Terry put on a brave front at the imminent separation, but any second, Niagara Falls would spew forth. From her as well. How could she not be fond of the little boy?
The commotion in the entryway echoed loudly up the stairs. Large suitcases, or portmanteaux, stood waiting to be loaded while Lady Wilhelmina and Lucy dashed about making certain everything was in order.
From the staircase, Alaina and Terry stepped onto the marble floor. Everything was happening so fast, and yet the scene in front of her appeared to be in slow motion.
Dry-eyed, but with voice quivering, Terry looked up at her. “You won't stay here too long, will you, Mama? You'll come to London soon? Promise me."
Oh, how many times could a heart break? Alaina knelt down beside him and hugged him as tightly as she could. “I, um—"
Someone cleared his throat. She glanced over and saw Richard watching her. His cool appraisal, from her head to bent knee to her toes, made her shiver. He must've overheard his son's question.
“It's, um, up to your father, Terry. Tell you what, when you get to London, why don't you ask him if I can join you? Okay?"
She threw the ball in Richard's court, which was as it should be anyway. But if he did say yes, the woman getting out of exile would be Alicia. And right now, that did not bear thinking about.
Alaina glanced at Richard, but his hooded gaze resisted any attempts to penetrate his thoughts.
Terry sniffed agreement, then let her lead him over to his governess. Alaina permitted herself one more sweet kiss, then turned and walked away. It would be a miracle if she didn't break down during the Cransworths’ departure and cry out a river, to paraphrase a song.
“Alaina!” Lucy lassoed her with a hug. “How can I manage without you? Oh, I wish...."
Alaina patted her friend on the back. She really would miss Lucy, too.
Charlie, being as disagreeable as his older brother, sauntered over to them and looked them up and down. “Isn't this affecting?” he drawled. “Theater dramatics between a shrinking violet and a tarnished lily!"
In a moment Alaina would remember forever, Lucy evenly replied, “Go to the devil, Charles.”
The expression on Charlie's face was absolutely priceless. Stunned surprise whitened his tanned skin.
“But, Lucin—"
“Let's go, Alicia,” Lucy cut off her husband. “You must come see us off.”
It was that time. Everyone poured through Saybrooke Hall's portals out into the cold January air. Lucy and the Dowager embraced Alaina, then sniffed into their handkerchiefs while they climbed into the carriage. Charlie said his good-bye in a hushed tone, and Nigel gave her a crushing handshake.
But it was really Richard's farewell Alaina looked for. The last one to enter the carriage caravan, he walked over to her, with a swirl of the many black capes on his great coat. “Go inside, Alicia. You do not have on your pelisse."
That was his good-bye? She'd have only those words to treasure for the rest of her life?
“It doesn't matter, Richard.” Her sentence formed white breaths in the chilly air. “Take ... take care of Terry."
“I shall.” Richard hitched his leg up on the carriage step, intending to enter. He then turned around to her. “You are to stay at the Hall. You will not leave."
Her shoulders slumped. Evidently Lady Saybrooke was to remain a prisoner still. Lady Saybrooke, yes, but not her. “You needn't worry. Your wife will remain here until you send for her."
He nodded, then went into the carriage.
Standing on the graveled driveway in front of the impressive red-brick Saybrooke Hall, Alaina waved one last time to the departing vehicles. She must've looked a grim, solitary figure. She carefully avoided the ruts in the road caused by winter's ice and snow, and then opened the door into the warmth of the house.
Biddleton was there to greet her. “Will you be requiring anything, Milady?” he asked softly.
Alaina shook off her despair. “Not today, Biddleton.” Silently she added, But tomorrow, I make my journey to West Meon.
~*~
It was with a heavy heart that Richard followed his wife's small barouche up to the north, past Hambledon. And for her destination, he guessed the sleepy village of West Meon. Not a surprise, given her inexplicable preoccupation with that mysterious Madame Reena.
He leaned back against the plush cushions of his town coach, secure in the knowledge that Alicia remained unaware of his activities. As far as she was concerned, her cuckolded husband was safely out of the way on the road to London. He had traveled yesterday with his family, to be sure, but then had doubled back to the Hall to await his wife's departure, as he felt certain she would leave her home.
She didn't disappoint him. Or rather, she did disappoint him—by fulfilling his prophecy. Never a slowtop, he recognized the signs of her s
ecret intention to disobey him. How had she phrased her deceit? You needn't worry. Your wife will remain here until you send for her. As if she and his wife were two separate people. Perhaps, in her mind, she considered herself divorced from him. The Lord above only knew the true state of their irretrievably broken marriage.
However she did surprise him by her current destination. Instead of going to Derek Donnehey's estate, here she was, heading north. Richard had obtained the location of that demmed mystic some time ago, but had been reluctant to tell her.
And why was that? He stared out at the ice-covered trees on the road to West Meon. Perhaps his reluctance had something to do with the whole idea of charms and spells. Unsavory nonsense at best.
Or perhaps he feared that if Alicia did contact Reena, somehow the situation between him and his wife would revert to the open hostilities they shared before the holidays.
He shook his head. Neither he nor Terrence could handle that unpleasantness again.
Evidently Alicia had no need for his information, for now here was her carriage approaching the nearby village so similar to Hambledon. Once inside its confines, the barouche came to a slow halt. Stepping down, Alicia shook the wrinkles from her forest-green pelisse, then gave some instructions to the coachman. She walked down West Meon's main street and wasted no time in stopping a prosperous merchant.
Richard also ordered his town coach to halt. At a respectable distance, he stood in the shadow of a stone and thatch building, and watched the transaction.
What was this? The fellow suddenly appeared nervous. He snatched his woolen hat from his head and began kneading it with his hands. His gaze darted everywhere but at Alicia's face.
What the deuce did she ask the man? I can swear the fellow just made the sign of the cross. Superstitious devil! This is curst curious.
When she continued down the street, Richard followed. Instead of confronting her, he decided to wait until she reached her destination. In no uncertain terms, he had to find out what was going on with his wife.
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