by Merry Farmer
“I’m sorry,” Alice whispered all the same, misery pressing down on her like a cloud of smoke.
“You should be,” her father hissed. “And if you so much as dare to interfere with any future marriage alliances I might wish to make, I’ll have your hide.”
Alice gulped. Only when her father turned away from her and began pacing her bedroom did it dawn on her that in two days’ time she would belong to Fabian and not him. How much could he hurt her if she were another man’s wife?
He could hurt her by demanding he live with her and Fabian. He could hurt her by reminding her every day that she owed everything to his cleverness and his negotiations. He could tell her that without him, Fabian never would have looked twice at her.
She watched him as he strode to the fireplace and began fiddling with the various decorations arranged there. “There are bound to be eligible young women with fortunes at tonight’s ball,” he said, picking up a porcelain shepherdess, turning her over, and then setting her down again. He reached into his pocket with his left hand, drawing something out but concealing it. “You will not interfere if I make advances to them,” he went on, picking up a small wooden box and opening the lid. “Do you understand?” he demanded, turning to face her.
“Y-yes, Papa.” Alice wrung her hands in front of her, praying her father would leave. He was a tyrant in the best of times, but he had always made her ten times more nervous when he lingered in her bedchamber, as if he were contemplating the unthinkable.
He nodded with a grunt and faced the mantel once more, replacing the wooden box where it had been. “I want you to smile and be sweet and to request that your soon-to-be mother-in-law, the duchess, introduce me to the cream of her acquaintance tonight.”
“I-I shall do what I can,” Alice stammered.
“You will do as I say,” her father bellowed, walking away from the fireplace to glare at her. “You will continue to do as I say even after your marriage. Count Camoni may be your stud, but I am your master and I always will be.”
Tears stung at Alice’s eyes but she nodded all the same. A horrible image of her father watching as Fabian mated with her the way they had in the morning, with her bent over as if in prayer while he lost himself in her, turned her stomach.
Her father took a step back, studying her with narrowed eyes. “Now. Get downstairs and join your fiancé. Dazzle his mother. Impress her friends. Recommend me to their daughters. Do you understand.”
She nodded, but couldn’t manage to say a word. She understood all too well. Not even marriage would free her from her father’s grasp, and not even Fabian could save her.
Chapter 6
Alice’s spirits were as low as could be as her father escorted her downstairs to the ballroom, or rather, dragged her. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment she felt the shackles close around her was to be seen in public, carousing and dancing, as her father demanded she do.
But almost from the moment she entered the ballroom, everything changed.
“Ah, Lord Stanhope. I see you have deliv—I see you have delelivered—I see you’ve devolverived—” Fabian slurred his words, unable to complete his sentence, and finished the whole thing with an indecorous burp. “You brought Alice.”
A sound that was something between a gasp and a giggle caught in Alice’s throat. She clapped a gloved hand to her mouth. Fabian was obviously in his cups.
“Count Camoni,” her father growled, eyeing Fabian derisively. “Is something the matter?”
“The matter?” Fabian echoed in a voice higher and sharper than hers when she experienced a shock. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no—” He lowered his head as if executing a slow bow with each no, but stopped when he was nearly bent double, like an automaton that had run out of energy and needed to be wound up again.
Alice’s eyes went wide as she watched him and made another choking, laughing sound. She never would have dreamed of seeing someone as elegant and noble as Fabian behaving like a child.
“Sir!” her father snapped. “Remember yourself.”
Fabian snapped straight so fast that he nearly smacked a middle-aged couple crossing out to join the dance forming as they walked behind him. “I am Count Fabian Anthony Eduardo Camoni,” he announced in a loud voice, drawing even more attention. Instantly, his shoulders sagged. “And I am ruined.”
Alice dropped her hand from her mouth but continued to gape, sympathy and worry bubbling through her. “I’m so sorry to hear that, my lord,” she said.
“What do you mean, ruined?” her father barked.
“I—” Fabian rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I cannot talk about it, sir. The pain is….” He paused, shaking his head, then whispered, “Too great.”
Alice’s insides fell into a jumble of conflicting emotion. It didn’t matter how much of an instrument of her father’s machinations Fabian was, he was clearly a man in distress. Distress that was the complete opposite of the command and sensuality he’d displayed with her the other night. As much as she hated it, he was her fiancé, and he was in trouble.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, taking a half step away from her father toward Fabian, brow lifted in cautious inquiry.
Fabian glanced to her…and Alice thought she caught a hint of mischief in his eyes. Her heart missed a beat. A moment later, Fabian took her arm and clung to her as though she were a lifeboat come to rescue him from a storm.
“Stay with me,” he pleaded with her, his pathos so acute that it was unmanly. “Whatever happens next, you must stay with me.”
“Of course,” Alice answered before thinking about it.
“Has something happened?” her father asked, jaw tight, darting a glance around the room as more and more people craned their necks to see what was going on.
Fabian merely shook his head and made a show of reaching for Alice’s hand. He fumbled it a few times, swaying slightly, before catching it and resting her hand in the crook of his arm. “There’s naught to do at a time like this but weep and sing the songs of my people,” he said before taking a deep breath and bursting into some sort of Italian peasant song at the top of his voice.
All around them, fussy older ladies and stiff gentlemen gasped and started. The ladies fanned themselves in alarm and the gentlemen huffed and quivered in outrage. Alice caught herself laughing before she could stop herself. Fabian had quite a good voice, in spite of the outrageousness of his song. He flung his free arm wide, knocking the old-fashioned wig on a pale-faced woman sideways. Alice laughed harder, smacking her free hand over her mouth.
“Stop your ridiculous behavior this instant,” her father hissed, inching closer to Fabian but glaring around at anyone who dared to stare at them. “It is unbecoming for a man in your position.”
“Ah,” Fabian half said, half sang, his shoulders drooping again. “But you see, I am not a man in my position anymore.”
“What?” her father’s snapped question drew as much unwanted attention as Fabian’s singing had.
Fabian drew in a breath. Just when Alice thought she would have an answer to his odd behavior, Lord Farnsworth rushed toward them, thumping a steadying hand on Fabian’s back.
“You must excuse my step-brother, sir,” Lord Farnsworth told Alice’s father. “He’s had a bit of a shock.”
“Shock?” her father asked, suspicion pinching his face.
“Such a dreadful shock,” Fabian sighed with theatrical intensity.
Alice narrowed her eyes in suspicion as well, but of a different sort than her father’s. Theatrical. Fabian’s eyes sparkled when he stole a glance at her. He was acting. Something was amiss, but she couldn’t begin to imagine what would prompt him to put on such a performance in a room full of his mother’s esteemed guests.
“I do not see how I will ever recover,” he said with a sob in his voice. A false sob, Alice was sure.
“You are drawing untoward attention,” her father growled through clenched teeth. “Pull yourself together, man.”
Alice had the feeling he was about to do something shocking. She skipped along at his side all the same, feeling as though she were a carefree girl again, at play with friends.
“Count Camoni, I insist you cease this ridiculousness at once and tell me what has happened,” her father demanded, following them to the side of the room. “I am to be your father-in-law in two days. It is my right to know what has befallen.”
Lord Farnsworth came with them. It was he who answered, “Disaster, my lord.”
Alice pressed her lips shut, watching Lord Farnsworth with wide eyes. He was obviously in on the joke as well.
“Spill it, man,” her father hissed.
Lord Farnsworth took up a position on Fabian’s other side, patting his back as though he were a disappointed child. “His Italian lands, sir,” he said in a hushed voice. “They’re gone.”
“Gone?” her father boomed, recoiling as though Lord Farnsworth had announced Fabian had the plague.
“Gone,” Fabian echoed morosely.
“Bonaparte,” Lord Farnsworth whispered. He didn’t elaborate. “And that’s not all,” he continued. “His reputation as a garden designer is in tatters.”
“But—how can—one doesn’t simply lose a reputation,” her father sputtered.
“They do when the body of two of his workers are found planted along with the roses,” Lord Farnsworth whispered. “Especially after a dispute about payment.”
Alice gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. She tried to pull away from Fabian, but he held her tightly. When she glanced up at him in horror, however, his eyes continued to sparkle. He shook his head so slightly that she was almost convinced she’d imagined it.
They were definitely in the middle of a game, and she was determined to play along well.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered. “No land and no reputation?”
“No,” Fabian wailed, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. That grin turned into a full-fledged, if somewhat pathetic, smile as he turned and took both of her hands. “But at least I have you. Even if I have nothing else.”
He leaned closer to her, and for a moment, Alice had the wild feeling that he was going to kiss her, right there, in a ballroom filled with distinguished guests, many of whom were watching. Even more shocking, she swayed toward him, tilting her head up, ready to be kissed. It was absolute madness, but her heart ached for him, in spite of how he fit into her father’s plans.
“Just a minute,” her father snapped. He grabbed Alice’s arm and yanked her away from Fabian so hard that she nearly lost her balance. A flash of fury filled Fabian’s dancing eyes, but her father went on. “The marriage isn’t for two days. You don’t have my daughter at all until then. Under the circumstances, I’m not sure if I approve of this match after all.”
Indignation pulsed through Alice. Along with it, a burst of fear filled her. She’d already given herself to Fabian. For all she knew, his child could already be growing inside of her. And if he truly was in a desperate situation—which she wasn’t entirely certain of—she couldn’t abandon him because of it.
“Papa, you cannot mean to suggest that I should rethink my marriage to Count Camoni,” she said softly, praying she was doing the right thing.
Fabian and Lord Farnsworth exchanged the barest of glances, a hint of triumph in both of their expressions. Something was certainly afoot.
“I’ll not have you married to a reputed murderer and a pauper,” her father growled. “In fact—”
“Lady Alice, would you care to dance?” Lord Farnsworth asked abruptly, bowing to Alice.
“I—” Alice’s mouth fell open, but she wasn’t certain how to reply. She wanted to stay with Fabian and to find out what was truly going on. She wanted to protect him from her father, if she could. And if Fabian truly was playing some sort of game intended to thwart her father’s machinations, she wanted to play a part.
“Go, my love,” Fabian told her with a maudlin sense of drama. “I entrust you to Matthew’s hands while I wallow in the depths of my misery.”
He sent her a significant look. Alice peeked at Lord Farnsworth. He too seemed to be begging her with his eyes to trust the plan and do as Fabian said.
“All right,” she said, hesitantly taking Lord Farnsworth’s hand.
As Lord Farnsworth led her to the lines of couples forming for the next dance, her father growled, “What is the meaning of all this, Camoni? I demand you tell me all.”
Alice wanted to know the truth herself. She had to wait until the dance began and she was able to steal a few, fleeting words from Lord Farnsworth as they made their way through the complicated steps.
“Your actions baffle me, my lord,” she said as they crossed in the middle of the dancing rows.
When they came back together again for a turn, Lord Farnsworth said, “Trust us. We have a plan.”
They were separated again as the dance took them in choreographed circles around other participants, but when they came back together for a promenade, Alice whispered, “Is this some sort of plan to thwart my father at his own games?”
“It is,” Lord Farnsworth replied with a smile. “I can assure you, Fabian wants nothing to do with whatever evil plan your father is trying to force on you. He wants to help you.”
“By losing all of his lands and his reputation?”
There wasn’t time for an answer. The promenade ended, and Alice and Lord Farnsworth resumed a more intricate set of steps that kept them apart for too long to converse easily. Lord Farnsworth only had time to say, “You must trust us,” and later, “All is well,” as they turned and wove around each other.
The dance ended, but Alice’s heart continued to beat up a storm in her chest. She curtsied to Lord Farnsworth with the final strains of the song, then allowed him to lead her back to where her father was still haranguing Fabian.
“This is not what I arranged,” he was in the middle of saying. “I will not waste my daughter by tying her to a pauper and a rogue.”
For one, fleeting second, Alice entertained the mad hope that her father’s concern was for her and for her future happiness. She knew too well, however, that Lord James Marlowe, the Earl of Stanhope, only ever thought of one person—himself.
“I was counting on you,” he continued, either not seeing Lord Farnsworth approach with Alice or not caring. “This match was to save my lands and to help prevent my title passing to my wretched brother.”
“A man is nothing without his brother,” Fabian said, straightening at the sight of Lord Farnsworth. “Or a loving wife.”
He reached for Alice as Lord Farnsworth let her go, but before their hands could meet, Alice’s father stepped between the two of them.
“I need a word with you,” he growled, grabbing Alice’s wrist and jerking her away from Fabian.
Alice yelped and glanced over her shoulder to Fabian as her father dragged her away. Every trace of silliness dropped from Fabian’s expression, and he watched her as though he would ride in to rescue her if her father put one foot out of line.
“The engagement is off,” her father growled as they came to a stop beside a potted plant.
Alice dragged her eyes away from Fabian and faced her father, eyes wide. “You ended it?”
“Not yet,” her father said. “I have to speak to the duke and duchess.” He stood a bit straighter, searching the room for Fabian’s mother and step-father. “At least I’ll have something to offer in your place.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, her stomach turning.
“I’ll offer for Lady Georgette,” he went on. “That’s the only marriage that matters. I’ll find another husband for you, someone with money who shares my sensibilities. I never should have entertained that fool Camoni’s suit to begin with. Never trust a man who has a fancy for a woman.”
“Coun
t Camoni fancies me,” Alice said, half to remind herself. She felt as though she were perched on the edge of a precipice, as though the rest of her life could be decided within minutes.
“What?” her father snapped, his expression pinching to sour fury.
For a moment, Alice thought she had spoken her thoughts aloud without being aware. A moment later, she saw what had prompted the single, bitter word from her father. Several yards ahead, Georgette had joined her father and Fabian’s mother with a tall, handsome gentleman of distinction. They were both smiling as though the world had been served to them on a silver platter. The duke wore a broad smile as well and shook the gentleman’s hand vigorously. The duchess hugged Georgette as though she were her own.
“Impossible,” Alice’s father grumbled. “I took no stock in the rumor. The whelp is barely a viscount. This is incomprehensible.”
Alice swallowed, wondering whether she dared to tell what she knew. She settled on saying, “I had heard something to the effect of an engagement in the making for Lady Georgette.”
“That was me,” her father snapped. “That was supposed to be me. I made my intentions clear to her from the first. How dare the little bitch defy me?”
“I believe Lady Georgette has known and had feelings for Lord Loamley since they were children,” Alice whispered.
Her father turned to her so fast and raised his hand so threateningly that, for a moment, Alice was certain he would strike her in public. He restrained himself, but not enough to avoid the notice of a cluster of middle-aged ladies standing near them. They all looked alarmed and began whispering as though deciding whether to come to Alice’s rescue. One of them waved as if attempting to catch Fabian’s eye. There was no need for the action. Fabian was already on his way over.
“This is not the end,” Alice’s father grumbled, tugging at the bottom of his jacket. “I have other plans in place. If I cannot restore my fortune one way, I shall restore it another.”
“Lord Stanhope, is there a problem?” Fabian asked—sounding entirely sober and in control of his faculties—as he reached the potted plant where Alice and her father stood.
