Once Again a Bride

Twenty-five



When Alec plodded into the stable yard two hours later, he had no energy left. His thoughts were centered on food and sleep and a wash. He knew he had to rally to organize the search for Charlotte, and he would. That came first, no matter what. But his eyes felt gritty with lack of sleep, and his body ached from many hours in the saddle.

He blinked. The paved yard between the stables and the back door seemed remarkably crowded. Two maidservants were arguing with each other, one shaking a finger in the other’s face. A pair of grinning grooms egged them on, and to the other side hovered… Ethan? Alec blinked again, wondering if his eyesight was failing from fatigue. It couldn’t be Ethan. Ethan was in London. But it was him. The shorter, angrier maid turned, saw him, and bustled over like a hen chasing a beetle. Ethan hurried after her. “Thank heaven you’re back, sir. There’s been such doings here! Very irregular, as I told Ethan more than once.”

Alec couldn’t remember her name. He knew it, of course. But he was so tired.

“He had no right to be putting females in bedchambers and ordering tea made and I don’t know what all, for all the world like he was in charge…”

Ethan stepped in front of her. “I knew you’d want…”

She popped out from behind him. “Don’t you be pushing me aside, you great lug!”

“Ethan, what are you doing here?” Alec didn’t speak loudly, but the yard went silent at the sound of his voice.

“I came up after Mrs. Wylde, sir.”

“Cha…?” Alec shook his head to clear it.

“There was a note… only it didn’t make any sense, and then I went to Lady Isabella’s house and saw… It seemed like there was something wrong. So Lu… that is… I took the stage up to see if I could help. She’s upstairs resting now.”

“Wait, who is…?”

“Mrs. Wylde, sir.”

“Cha… Mrs. Wylde is here?” Alec couldn’t take it in. “Upstairs, here?”

“Yes, sir. She was worn out. We… I… took the liberty of having her put in a bedchamber.”

“But…” All his searching, and she hadn’t even needed him. She’d somehow come safe to his home on her own. “She’s all right?”

“Yes, sir. Just tired, like I said.” Ethan glanced around the yard, and Alec became aware of the circle of curious eyes. This discussion should be taken elsewhere.

But he couldn’t help asking again, “You’re sure?”

At his footman’s confident nod, Alec finally released the tension he’d been holding through the night. Slowly, his fear drained away. She was safe; it rang in his head like a refrain. Charlotte was all right.

Slowly, stiffly, he dismounted. “See to Blaze, Robin,” he told a groom who hurried over, handing off his horse’s reins. “He’s been ridden too hard. See he gets plenty of oats, and a rest.”

“Yes, sir.” He led the horse away.

Alec wanted to see Charlotte, to be certain she really was all right. But Ethan had said she was resting. That was good. Rest was a very good idea. Very good. A few hours of sleep and he would be able to think, to wonder how she’d made it here from Aunt Bella’s, and all that had occurred. For now… Alec headed inside. “Thank you, Ethan. Well done.” The maid beside Ethan sniffed. Alec couldn’t imagine why. “I’ve been up all night. I’m going to follow Mrs. Wylde’s example.” She was here, in a room in his house. In a daze, Alec sought out his own.

Ethan watched him go, wishing he could find a feather mattress and drop onto it himself. But his problems weren’t over, not by a long shot. His mother was off visiting his sister, and wouldn’t be back till tomorrow. He couldn’t tell anyone about Lucy and their plans until he spoke to her. She’d skin him alive, in the first place, and anyway he needed her help in smoothing things over. He could tell her the whole story. There was no one on earth more trustworthy. She’d understand why they’d traveled up here together, and she’d take his word that nothing wrong had gone on. As if he would! She’d like Lucy, too. He was certain about that. But she couldn’t like her till she met her, and in the meantime there were cats like Alice Ramsay making remarks and asking awkward questions. She’d shut her trap when Ethan’s mother spoke to her! Till then, he had to stay alert and make sure nobody bad-mouthed Lucy, or Miss Charlotte for that matter. Sleep would have to wait.

***

Charlotte woke in a strange bedchamber. It was a lovely room, hung with flowered chintz in soft yellows and blues. The scent of flowers drifted in through the open window. Lucy lay asleep on a chaise beneath it. The light outside slanted golden; it must be late in the day. All was quiet. She felt more rested, if not completely back to normal. She was in Sir Alexander’s house, she remembered, safe.

She relaxed into the comfortable bed and sorted through jumbled memories. Her brain was finally clear of the confusion brought on by the drug given her, and she reviewed all that had happened in the last few days. Lady Isabella really had confessed to Henry’s murder and the robbery attempt; that had not been a dream or delusion. She’d confessed without a trace of guilt. Charlotte still found it incredible. Clearly, Lady Isabella’s mind was unbalanced. Somehow, she had concealed this, living in that sad, empty house, subsisting on gossip about other people’s misfortunes. Why had no one noticed? Why hadn’t her own son noticed?

Edward—he had gone to her. What would he do? And was it to be left up to him? Didn’t she have an obligation to notify the authorities?

She could clear her name, an eager inner voice pointed out. The Bow Street Runner’s hateful accusation would be proven wrong once and for all. She could have the pleasure of throwing his mistake back in his ferrety face and forcing him to apologize. She enjoyed that idea for a few minutes.

But her brief satisfaction would come at what cost? A murder trial in the family would bring scandal crashing down on all of them. Her own pitiable history with Henry would be dragged into a public courtroom and rehashed for all to hear. More than that, the gossip would spill over onto Alec and Anne and Lizzy and Frances. Perhaps she had no social position to protect, but it would wreck Anne’s debut. Edward would be followed by whispers wherever he went; how he would detest that! She had a notion that trials went on for months; the ton would relish every twist and turn. She could see it so vividly—gentle Anne walking into a glittering ballroom and hearing murmurs fall silent, facing a sea of hard, avid eyes. Charlotte shivered and drew the coverlet higher. She couldn’t let that happen.

No one but Alec knew the Runner had accused her. As far as the world was concerned, Henry Wylde had been killed by footpads. It was old news now, mostly forgotten, and no one had cared very much in the first place, Henry being Henry. Perhaps Lady Isabella’s crimes could be kept secret, though of course something must be done about her… The main thing was—Alec must know the truth. That was all she really cared about, Charlotte realized. She had to forever erase that excruciating moment when he had looked at her with pained suspicion.

Charlotte clutched the bedclothes closer. Alec. She was in his home, but she didn’t feel welcome. They’d been greeted with such reluctance. The servants would be gossiping about it even now. Why had she arrived unheralded in an old farm cart? Where was her luggage? Why was she visiting when all the ladies were away? That in itself was… say unorthodox, to be charitable. What would Alec say when he returned and found her here? When he heard the news she had to give him? Their first encounter since he’d held her in his arms would be fraught with complications. More complications. As if there were not enough already. Charlotte had a craven impulse to flee. Perhaps she and Lucy could sneak out to the stagecoach stop and…

A knock on the door brought Lucy upright. She blinked blearily, then jumped up at a second knock and opened the door. Two maids stood outside, the friendly one who had brought them upstairs, and the one who had made such a fuss about their arrival. The latter gazed avidly into the room. “We’ve brought your things,” said the first cheerily. She carried a small valise. “And some hot water.” The other maid had the can. “I’m to tell you dinner’s in an hour.”

“Has Sir Alexander returned?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” They deposited their burdens. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” said Lucy. “That’ll do fine. Thank you, Sally.”

They left. Lucy rubbed her eyes and then bustled about opening the case and pouring hot water into the washbasin. “A good thing we took off your dress,” she said. “It’s not a bit crumpled. Too bad it’s a morning gown, but that can’t be helped. We’ve got your brushes and all, so that’s all right.”

Lucy’s gown was sadly crushed from her nap on the chaise, Charlotte noticed. Her presence was such a comfort in this house. “I haven’t thanked you properly, Lucy, for coming after me. I’m sorry. I believe the drug they gave me was still having an effect.”

“No need for thanks.” Lucy seemed subdued.

“Of course there is. You and Ethan…”

“Nothing improper went on, while we wa… were traveling!”

“I never imagined it did.”

Lucy muttered something under her breath.

“Has anyone reproached you?” Charlotte’s temper flared. “Just tell me and I will speak to…”

“No, no, nothing like that, miss.”

“Believe me, I will see to it that they don’t.” Lucy gave her a smile but didn’t look convinced. And indeed Charlotte understood that she could do little about servants’ gossip.

“There’s no need to worry,” said Lucy, as if she spoke to herself as well as Charlotte. “I expect we’ll be going back to London as soon as may be?”

“I was just thinking the same. But I believe stagecoaches generally leave in the early morning.”

Lucy nodded. She gestured with the towel she was holding. “Best get ready for dinner, then.” Her blue eyes were somehow bereft. Charlotte didn’t understand it, but she felt the same melancholy in herself. She and Lucy had been together so long. She was a friend more than a servant, and yet… there seemed no way to voice the feelings that they clearly shared. “What would I do without you, Lucy?”

The words made the maid stiffen. Why?

“No worry about that,” Lucy replied. “I’m right here. Come and wash before the water goes cold.”

***

Dinner in the “small” dining parlor was stilted. With servers continually in and out, bringing dishes and removing them, waiting just behind a swinging door to fulfill any requests, there was no opportunity for private talk. Charlotte, nearly bursting with the news she had to give Alec, struggled to find topics of conversation. She was also terribly aware of how odd it was for her to be dining alone with him, to be visiting him alone. She felt watched, and judged, and thoroughly uncomfortable. And Alec seemed a different man from the one who had left her bedchamber just a few days ago, much more like the distant gentleman she’d first met on the day of Henry’s death. “What… do you have any news of the men who were marching to Nottingham?” she asked him.

“How do you know about that?” was the sharp reply.

“I… heard… about it.” She couldn’t tell him—here—that she’d been crouched in the darkness as they whipped themselves up to set off.

He closed his lips on another question. “A courier came by with news this afternoon, since I am one of the local magistrates. They marched on through Ripley, gathering more men, willing or not so willing in some cases. Toward Codnor and Langley Mill—you won’t know these places, of course—they woke up several innkeepers demanding beer and bread and cheese. The beer made things worse, I’m sure. It was raining hard by then, and I’d wager a good few slipped away home. Twenty Light Dragoons caught the remainder at Giltbrook, and they scattered under the charge. About forty men were captured. Not the leaders, they think, but those will be taken soon enough. The government won’t rest until they are. Lord Sidmouth has a network of agents who will ferret them out.”

Sidmouth was the Home Secretary, Charlotte remembered. “What will happen to them?” she wondered.

“Transportation to Australia for some. The leaders will surely be hanged.” He said it with a weary finality.

“If that man…” Charlotte could almost remember the name shouted out. “If they hadn’t fired on the house in the village…” Alec was scowling at her; she had forgotten again that he didn’t know she’d been there.

“They killed a servant in Mary Hepworth’s house in South Wingfield,” he agreed after a short silence. “But even if they hadn’t, the punishments would be the same. ‘Armed insurrection’ will not be tolerated.”

“Insurrection?”

“That’s what it is being called—that and high treason. Some of the leaders had formed ‘revolutionary committees’ and sketched out plans for a general uprising. These are not words any government can easily tolerate. The impulse may have come from unemployment and privation, but…” Alec threw his napkin on the table. “Have you finished eating?”

She had been moving the last bites around with her fork. She shouldn’t waste food when people were starving, Charlotte thought. But she didn’t want it. “Yes.”

He rose. “Then perhaps we can go into the library and discuss… the family business that brought you here.”

“Yes,” she said again. Nervous now that the moment had finally come, Charlotte followed him out of the room.

***

Ethan had no duties, as he was unexpectedly home, and neither did Lucy while her mistress was at dinner. So he shouldn’t have had much difficulty spiriting her out of the house into the long golden June evening. Lucy herself was the problem. She stubbornly ignored his signals, sticking by Sally Thorpe in the servants’ parlor as if they’d been friends all their lives. He finally had to resort to outright asking if she’d like to see the rose garden. “Grandad would be that glad to know you’d seen it.”

“You know Ethan’s grandad?” Alice Ramsay was quick to ask.

“And my grandmother, too,” Ethan put in. “They’re great friends.”

“Really? How’d that come about?” Alice looked from Ethan to Lucy speculatively.

“All right.” At last Lucy stood, though she didn’t look happy. “I’ll… I’d be glad to see Mr. Trask’s gardens.”

Ethan pulled her out and away before Alice could stick her nose in any further. He walked her fast down one path, and through a gate, and brought them out among swaths of heavy, sweet-smelling blooms.

“Oh,” Lucy said.

“Right pretty, eh?” He looked out over the clusters of rose bushes spreading around them. A flood of reds and pinks and whites, climbing over an arbor and spilling along a stone wall, so many it was dizzying. The perfume was better than a hundred fancy shops. “You like roses, I remember.” Lucy turned to him. “It was one of the first things you told me. White roses in the moonlight.”

“Don’t try to get around me when I’m mad at you, Ethan Trask!”

“Mad? Why?”

“You know very well why.”

If that wasn’t just like a female, claiming you knew what was in their heads when you had no blessed idea. And no warning. “I do not. We rescued Miss Charlotte, like we came to do, and…”

“And you just dropped me in it here, with everybody staring and making up Lord knows what stories. What your family must think of me! Not that I’ve met any of them, properly.” She took a step away from him and stared down at a deep red rose.

He couldn’t pretend not to understand what she meant, not with that dratted Alice snooping and sniping for all she was worth. “I’ve wanted to introduce you, official like. As soon as my mother gets back from visiting tomorrow, I’ll tell her we’re getting married. Best to tell her first. Well, I have to, Lucy. But she’s a wonder, she is. She’ll make it all right…”

“You’ll what! I never said I’d marry you, Ethan Trask.”

“You…” Hadn’t she? Ethan distinctly remembered… what? Hadn’t she said…? It was all settled. They were here, and he’d got the position, with the cottage and all. And it was okay with his dad, against all the odds. As soon as the family was back from town, they’d marry and move in. He’d seen it all in his mind, clear as clear.

“There’s the matter of your lying to me. You’re forgetting that, seemingly.”

“Lucy! I didn’t lie. I might not have told you…”

“That’s the same as a lie!” She glared at him with those devastating blue eyes. “You think you can ‘forget’ to tell me things you don’t want me to know whenever it suits you?”

“I won’t do it again.”

“How would I know whether you did?”

He was getting annoyed now. Why did she have to make things difficult? “Because I told you I won’t, Lucy. I promise. You can trust my word.”

“Oh, what does it matter?” Tears trembled in Lucy’s eyes. “I can’t leave Miss Charlotte, after all that’s happened to her. She needs me more than ever.”

“I thought you weren’t going to let that stop…”

“And everybody here thinking I’m no better than I should be. How could I come to live among them? They’d always be whispering. I couldn’t bear that.”

“Nobody thinks…”

“It’s no good, Ethan! It’s not going to work. Just take your new job and your cottage and everything you always wanted and… be happy!” Lucy turned and fled from him. He chased her into the house, but under all the curious eyes waiting there he couldn’t follow her up to Miss Charlotte’s bedchamber and pound on the door like he wanted to. Thwarted, furious, Ethan strode back outside to sulk.

***

At last, at long, long last, Alec had Charlotte to himself. When the library door closed behind them, it was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms and crush her to him. All the details of their last time together flooded him—the feel of her skin, her lips, the soft sounds she’d made when he touched her just… His body responded so strongly to the memory that when her lips parted to speak he nearly groaned.

“I have to tell you about Lady Isabella,” she said.

Longing to consign his aunt to perdition, Alec offered her a chair and took one himself.

“You will find this hard to believe, I know, but she was the one who…”

Maddeningly, there was a knock at the door. One of the footmen looked in. “Mr. Edward Danforth is here, Sir Alexander. He says it’s very important that he see you.”

“Damned right it’s important.” Edward pushed in past the servant. “All right, man, you may go. No, wait, bring me some sandwiches. I’m perishing from hunger.”

The footman looked to Sir Alexander for permission, got an exasperated nod, and left.

Edward stalked in and dropped onto the sofa. “Have you got any brandy? There’s nothing at… at my house, and by God I need some.”

Could he throw his cousin out, Alec wondered? Just take him by the collar and the seat of his fine tailored breeches and… No. He went over to the sideboard and poured them both stiff brandies. “Charlotte?” She shook her head.

Edward drank deep and let out a sigh. “I’ve gotten most of it out of Martha,” he said heavily. “I think so anyway. But I wanted to hear your story. I can’t trust her not to have distorted things to her own advantage.”

Charlotte nodded. “I’ve had to sort through my memories to be sure. They gave me something…”

“Laudanum,” supplied Edward. In answer to Alec’s horrified look, he added, “Yes, just as Martha used to give Grandmama. Mixed in wine or milk. It is what she knows.” His tone was dry as dust. “Keeps her charge quiet when she gets… hysterical. I blame the drug for much of what occurred.”

“And what is that?” Alec hated the feeling of being on the outside of knowledge that Charlotte and Edward obviously shared.

“I’m clear now on what I heard,” Charlotte continued. She swallowed. “Lady Isabella killed Henry.”

“What?” He couldn’t have heard correctly, Alec thought. But Edward was nodding. “How could she possibly…?”

“She was the thief at my house, too. She had Henry’s cabinet keys and thought to take something to sell.”

“But…” Alec’s mind whirled. He grasped at the tatters of reason. “Begin at the beginning and tell me everything that happened, in order.”

And so she did, talking for half an hour, with one interruption for the arrival of sandwiches and the occasional interjection from Edward. Alec listened with mounting horror, particularly when Charlotte revealed the danger she’d been in, but also at the revelation of more mental disturbance in his family. Aunt Bella’s aberration was far worse than his grandmother’s. She had sniped and railed and thrown china; she’d been devious and selfish, though he could remember, too, flashes of gaiety that captivated a small child. Aunt Bella had gone so far beyond that line it was mind-boggling.

When Charlotte finished, there was a long silence in the library.

Edward went over to refill his glass. When he offered the decanter to Alec, he snatched it away and sloshed brandy into his own. Charlotte had glossed over her reason for fleeing the carriage after the opera, but the gap was easy enough to fill. Alec wondered if punching his cousin in the face would relieve his feelings. Possibly. But it wouldn’t solve the far larger problem of Aunt Bella. He drank, then topped up his glass once again. The three of them stared at each other. “And so it was all about money?” Alec said at last.

“Money to keep up her social position,” Charlotte corrected. “Lady Isabella sold all her own things…”

“My things,” Edward interrupted gloomily.

She nodded. “To buy the latest fashions and keep a carriage and… everything. And when they were gone, she formed the scheme of producing ‘antiquities’ for Henry to buy. But then, that wasn’t enough. So she thought to get Henry’s legacy for Edward.”

His cousin winced, drained his second brandy.

“Why didn’t you notice how much she was spending?” Alec asked him.

“I can’t keep track of everything.”

“You don’t know the revenues from your own estate?” Alec’s contempt leaked into the words.

“Of course I do! I just… I needed an income myself.” He shrugged defensively. “I thought Mama practiced economies…”

“Aunt Bella?”

“Well, she didn’t want me asking, did she? She threw a fit if I tried to discover anything about her expenditures. I hate brangling.” He reached for the decanter again, and Alec gave it to him. “Was I supposed to question the word of my own mother?”

“Apparently, that would have been wise.”

“Oh, it’s easy for you with your income and your damned…”

“What is to be done?” asked Charlotte in a crisp voice that cut through the incipient quarrel.

There was another uncomfortable silence.

“I know she deserves…” began Edward. “I know strong measures must be taken, but she is my mother. I can’t send her to the gallows, for God’s sake.”

“She is a murderer!” Alec pointed out.

“I know! But if it all comes out, the scandal wouldn’t stop with her.”

“Your difficulties seem to be of your own…”

“I’m mostly worried about Anne,” said Charlotte. Startled, Alec turned to her. “Her come-out would be a disaster if Lady Isabella were publicly accused and tried.”

She paused, and Alec saw the whole dreadful picture as her words sank in.

“There’s Lizzy and Frances, too. It would be awful for them. And not fair; they haven’t done anything wrong.”

“The Earntons,” added Edward in a frightened murmur. “My God, Amelia Earnton would skin me alive.”

Alec couldn’t argue with that. “We must do something. Aunt Bella cannot be left to… to go on as she has been.”

“No. I’ve been thinking of little else, you may believe. And I have a… proposal.” Edward drank from his glass. “You have some kind of place up in Scotland, don’t you, Alec?”

“A lodge near Inverness,” he agreed.

“I was thinking we could send Mama up there, with suitable… helpers. Not Martha.”

Alec considered the idea.

“I know it belongs to you, and she is my mother. Perhaps you think I should keep her here at my house…”

“No!” He did not want the newly revealed Aunt Bella for a neighbor. “I’ve never used the place. Grandfather bought it thinking he would hunt there, I believe.”

“Or get away from Grandmama,” Edward offered, some of his customary humor surfacing.

“It’s rather rustic, I understand.” He couldn’t imagine Aunt Bella in such a place. But did that really matter? No.

“Right at this moment, I don’t care,” was his cousin’s reply. “The farther it’s buried in the hinterlands, the better.”

Alec nodded. “Very well. We… you must find some trustworthy… staff.”

“And that fellow St. Cyr will have to be squared away,” answered Edward.

“I shall leave it all to you.” Now that the matter was settled, Alec wanted Edward out of the way more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. “Can we end this now? It’s late and we are all tired.” Charlotte looked exhausted.

“Yes, all right.” Edward rose, stumbled on the edge of a carpet, and sank back down into the sofa cushions. “Can I have a bed for the night, Alec? I’m half soused, and anyway I don’t want to go back. She’s sent all the servants off on ‘holiday’ except Martha and some ghastly old crone.”

Trapped, Alec went to ring the bell.

“I’m going to bed,” said Charlotte, standing.

Alec almost protested aloud. He had to talk to her.

“I’ll make arrangements to return to London in the morning,” she added.

“No!” The others looked at him, startled. Alec nearly cursed aloud. There was nothing he could say with Edward lolling so annoyingly on his library sofa. They were still staring at him. “I… I would be happy to… do that for you.”

With one wide-eyed look at him, Charlotte slipped away. Why had he said that? Damn, damn, damn.

“Trouble in that quarter, cuz?” his cousin smirked.

Alec spoke through clenched teeth. “If you start in on me now, Edward, you will be very, very sorry.”

For once in his life, Edward shut his mouth.

Alec stood by the bellpull, all that he had heard tonight churning in his brain. Without meaning to, he spoke the question aloud. “Do you ever worry that there is some… thread of instability running through our family? A temperamental imbalance? Our grandmother, and now your mother…”

“Hogwash!” Edward sat up straight and scowled at him. “Instability? My father was as stable as a clod of earth. Yours was dull as ditchwater. I didn’t know your mother well, but if she was anything like her sister Earnton…!” He shivered. “My mother lived under Grandmama’s thumb for the first thirty years of her life. You have never made any allowances for that.”

“I know it was difficult for…”

“Difficult! She was terrorized from earliest childhood. This does not excuse what she has done, of course, but in my mind it goes some way toward explaining it. That and Martha’s ‘medicines.’ We’re not under some… curse, Alec. My God, you’re as steady as your parents. More! And whatever you may think of me, at bottom I’m quite… level-headed.”

The footman arrived, and Alec gave the order for a room to be prepared. When Edward had gone, he stayed, contemplating the idea that the parent he’d modeled his life around could be seen as dull as ditchwater.

***

He didn’t want her here, Charlotte thought as she walked toward her bedchamber. He wanted her gone, had offered to speed her on her way. He’d scarcely looked at her as they talked. He was regretting their time together in her bed. He saw her as a mistake. Everything was horrible. Tears burned in her throat; she choked them back and entered her room to find her maid sitting on the chaise with reddened eyes. She jumped up as if stung. “Lucy, have you been crying?”

“No, miss! My eyes is just tired, that’s all. From… from everything.”

“It has been a bit too much, hasn’t it?”

Lucy merely nodded.

“We need to go back to London, to our own place.” The idea wasn’t comforting, not in the least.

“I asked about the stagecoach to London,” replied Lucy dully. “It goes through the village near here at eight in the morning.”

“Oh. Good. We shall be on… Ah, I have no money. I shall have to ask Sir Alexander…” The idea revolted her.

“I have some. Enough.” Lucy hadn’t told Ethan she’d brought her savings, as she’d been certain he’d make a fuss about it—the great lug. She’d known it would come in handy.

“You think of everything, Lucy. Of course I will pay you back as soon as we are… home again.” The word didn’t sound right. But that house in London was her home, and would be from now on, with no Lady Isabella to invite her to society outings. Edward wouldn’t want to see her, any more than Alec; she would forever be a reminder of his mother’s disgrace.

“Yes, miss.”

They gazed at each other with identical bereft expressions, then simultaneously looked away.

***

Alec sat on in the empty library, brooding. There was nothing else to call it, but he was too keyed up for sleep, too worn out for anything else. He’d sent all the servants to bed; the candles were burning down; and still he sat, thinking about Charlotte. She filled his mind and all his senses. When he’d held her in his arms in the dimness of her bedchamber, had his hands on her skin, his lips on hers, it had been all a man could want in this world. When he’d thought her in danger, perhaps injured or lost, he’d realized he couldn’t live without her. That moment, at least, had been sharp and certain; he would have done anything to get her back. Then, he hadn’t been needed to save her. That rankled, though it shouldn’t, he supposed. Listening to her tell the story of what his aunt had done, he’d resented his absence from the tale. He had, he admitted, though it was petty and ridiculous. He’d wished… yes, that was it. He’d wished to show her that some member of his family could act… virtuously, for her rather than themselves. Instead, Charlotte had had a frightening demonstration of the legacy of… not instability perhaps, but… unhappiness handed down the generations of Wyldes. Another demonstration, he amended; she’d already had a strong dose from his reprehensible Uncle Henry. How could she wish to form a closer connection with such a family? For that was what he wanted, Alec realized. He wanted her as his wife. Nothing less, and no other woman, would do.

He rose and paced the Turkish carpet. She’d come to his arms so ardently, back in London, surely she wanted the same? Or had, before Aunt Bella drugged her and threatened her. She’d joined their conference here in the library as if she belonged, without recrimination. And she’d sworn she would never be called “Mrs. Wylde” again. Alec rubbed his forehead as if that could order his whirling thoughts.

Charlotte wanted to go back to town. He couldn’t bear to let her go, and yet… perhaps that might be best? She could go, and he would see her later there and tell her…? Coward, said a mocking inner voice.

Though he knew it was a mistake, Alec went over and poured another brandy. The drink made his head even fuzzier, which was good… and bad. One more, and he might not be able to think at all. No, that was a bad idea. Feeling slightly ill, he decided to step out for a breath of air. He’d check on Blaze. Poor old Blaze. A fine mount, he’d pushed him too hard, and all for naught. Nobody had needed him. Nobody at all.

The stables were dark and quiet, pleasant with the familiar smells of hay and manure. Clumsily, Alec lit a lantern and carried it along the aisle toward Blaze’s stall. His pulse jumped when a dark figure rose from a stack of hay bales “Who’s that?” He raised the lantern high to show the man’s face. “Ethan?”

“Yes, sir,” came the heavy answer.

“What are you doing out here at this hour?”

“Nothing, sir. Just… thinking, like.” His luck was right out tonight, Ethan thought. He’d been sure no one would look for him here, it being his father’s domain and everyone knowing their history. Now, unbelievably, here was the master himself, and he was in trouble. He held the evidence behind his back, and of course the thrice-damned bottle clinked on a button on his coat. Now he was for it. First Lucy; and maybe he would lose everything else, too.

“What have you got there?”

Half blinded by the lantern light, Ethan just gave up. “It’s a… a bottle of rum my cousin Jack brought me, from Ja… Jam… someplace in the Indies.” Not wanting to ask in the kitchen for a drink, and be told no anyhow, he’d fetched the bottle from his attic room. First time he’d even opened the cursed thing! He’d wanted just one quiet drink. All right, maybe he’d had two. But he wasn’t drunk, and he wasn’t on the job, anyway. Not that that’d matter if Sir Alexander chose to object. Ethan saw his dreams keeling over like a felled tree.

Alec’s heart had slowed down again. He lowered the lantern. “Jamaican rum, eh? Can I try a taste?”

Startled, and almost hopeful, Ethan drew the dark bottle from behind him. “O’ course, sir.” He wiped the mouth on his sleeve and held it out.

Alec set the lantern carefully on the dirt floor, well away from the hay. He took the rum and tilted down a healthy swallow. Raw fire lit his throat and roiled in his already uncertain stomach. “Ah, that’s… hah… that’s done it.” He had to sit. He moved to the stack of bales next to his footman and hit it with a thump. The stable wheeled about him for a moment. “Oh, Lord.” Definitely an error of judgment.

Ethan watched the master slump on the hay and wondered what to do. Should he call someone to help get him to bed? He didn’t want to be caught here with the bottle. Sir Alexander thrust it at him. “You’d better take this.” Ethan took it. “Sit, sit,” he added. Uneasily, Ethan sank down beside him. This was a wonder, and no mistake, side by side with the master on a hay bale, and him deeper in his cups than Ethan could ever remember. “What were you out here thinking about?” he asked.

Why had he said that? Why had he been such a fool as to come out here in the first place? He tried to think of a safe answer, but his brain didn’t seem to be working. The unvarnished truth popped out of his mouth. “Love.”

“You too? Is it contagious?”

Ethan kept his mouth shut this time. He didn’t want to be asked about Lucy.

“Do you believe in love then, Ethan? Do you believe one can marry for love and not face disaster?” Alec heard himself slur a word or two and found he couldn’t care.

Had he learned about him and Lucy somehow? But no, he couldn’t have. “I’ve seen it in my own parents, sir. They’re right happy together, after thirty years.”

“Are they? And how do they manage that?”

“Well…” He didn’t know what to say. He’d never considered the matter. They just were. “I… I reckon they respect each other, sir.” The thoughts came to him as he voiced them, surprising him, from some unsuspected store of experience. “And they… it seems to me they like each other as well as loving. Uh, friendly, I mean. They’re not much alike, maybe, but… at bottom they… they agree on really important things.”

“Hah.” This sounded rather sensible, not the airy-fairy nonsense people often talked about love.

Ethan, heart in his mouth, his own happiness in the balance, dared everything. “Was… were you thinking of Miss Charlotte, sir?”

“Miss…? Ah, her maid still calls her that, doesn’t she? It’s rather endearing.” There was a word he never used, observed some distant part of Alec—the part that kept informing him he was drunk and should get himself inside and to bed. He continued to ignore it. “I was thinking of her. Yes. Do you remember my grandparents at all, Ethan?”

He blinked at this change of subject. “No, sir. Not really. I’ve heard… that is…”

“I can imagine. They were a love match, you know. And it went very bad.”

“Well, my mum says…” Ethan lost his nerve for a moment. Would Sir Alexander reprimand him—or worse, his mother—for gossiping about the family? All the servants did, of course.

“Yes? Tell me what she said.”

He didn’t sound angry. “Well… Mum says it never was a love match, just some kind of… of brainstorm. Seeing as how they only knew each other a matter of weeks and never… endured anything together.” Ethan had always admired the way his mother could speak so clearly and get to the heart of a matter. There was no one whose opinions he valued more. “Mum says a real love match is when you’ve seen how the other person acts when things are tough, like. And even if maybe you don’t agree with them about… whatever it was, you understand, and you still feel certain how you feel.” That last hadn’t come out quite right. Ethan realized that the master was staring at him, openmouthed. He closed his own.

Silence enveloped the stable. Ethan shifted nervously. He’d forgotten his place in a big way. His mother would have boxed his ears if she’d heard all that. And he didn’t know if it had been helpful, or just bone stupid.

After what seemed forever, Sir Alexander spoke. “It seems a night for home truths.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Nothing. It appears she’s a very wise woman, your mother.”

Limp with relief, Ethan nodded. “She is that.”

Sir Alexander leaned back against the pile of hay bales. He began muttering to himself, almost as if he was having a conversation with someone unseen. Ethan grew uneasy. He could do no more; he’d dared as far as he was able. “I should fetch somebody to help you inside.” The master was too big a man to handle by himself in this state.

“No, no, I don’t want that. I’ve sent everyone to bed. I’ll just rest here a bit longer. You can go if you like.”

As if he’d leave him here alone in the stables; Ethan leaned back as well, waiting. Minutes passed. The master stopped muttering. Gradually, Ethan realized that he’d fallen asleep. Now, what should he do? He’d been told not to wake anybody, and he was that worn out himself he couldn’t hardly keep his eyes open. In fact… In another moment, Ethan was sleeping, too.