Chapter Sixteen

June 12, 1812

William skipped the last step as he cheerily descended the stairs.

A week.

A whole week.

It was almost impossible to believe such a length of time had passed since Alice had become his wife—but each day had been filled with so much laughter and lovemaking that, in a way, it was a surprise it hadn't been a month.

Happiness he hadn't known was now his constant companion. Every morning when he awoke, there was that fraction of a second before he remembered.

He was married to Alice Fox-Edwards.

Then his joy renewed again.

It was still difficult to remind himself she was no longer a Fox-Edwards, but a Chance. Perhaps that would change over time. William wasn't sure.

What he was sure of was that he had never felt so... so content, so right with the world. The burden on his shoulders, the responsibility of single-handedly managing the unruly family that was the Chances, had been lifted.

He was no longer alone.

William's grin was broad as he stepped into the breakfast room.

There she was. Warm sunlight cascaded through the windows and fell onto a woman studiously reading that morning's newspaper while she attempted to eat a piece of toast.

Attempted, it appeared, because she was struggling to place the toast in her mouth, her eyes never wavering from the paper. There was a look of deep concentration on her face, along with a frown across her forehead.

There was still so much to learn about each other, so much they had not yet shared. It had never occurred to him, for example, that Alice had such an interest in the news of the day.

Approaching the breakfast table, Alice's expression of concentration became a light smile as William kissed her on the head.

"Well, hello, husband," she said lightly, placing her toast on her plate and folding up the newspaper with marmalade fingers.

William sighed happily as he sat at right angles to her at the table. "Hello, wife."

Wife.

It still felt strange to call her that. Such an innocent word, yet so intimate. Short, yet packed with such richness of connection.

How had he ever managed to go through life without feeling this content, this joyful, this happy with his lot? Had he been unhappy before, he wondered, or was it simply that he had not known the depths of affection one could reach with another? Either way, he had certainly been missing out. Now he had the rest of his life to explore this connection, this affection, this... love.

Though he still had not said the word. It had almost tumbled from William's lips a few times, but each time he had called it back. Somehow it did not feel right, not yet.

But what else could it be? This deep well of emotion he had for her, that sprang up and deepened and washed over him every time he saw Alice...

William looked up and met Alice's adoring look.

Dear God, it was like a dream.

So much of his life, he was only now starting to realize, had been spent in fear. In loneliness, in isolation. He had believed it impossible to relax, to truly relish life. It had always been a fight to survive, a fight to keep his brothers in line.

But this was different. This life he could have with Alice—it was completely new.

"You're smiling," Alice said quietly.

"Isn't that allowed?" William teased, reaching forward to pour himself a cup of tea.

"Of course!" giggled his wife delightedly, shaking her head at his apparent nonsense. "I meant, why are you smiling?"

His smile faded as he took a sip of tea. It was different, somehow. He was hardly a tea connoisseur, but even he could tell it was different.

"This tea," he began.

"I hope you don't mind, I asked Mrs. Ransome to follow my own personal blend," Alice said, cheeks reddening. She picked up the toast, moving it from one hand to another. "It's mostly the standard stuff, of course, but with a hint of bohea and a teaspoon of Pekoe. I find it rather refreshing."

It was more than refreshing. It was delicious—sweeter than he was accustomed to, and with more floral notes, but William could not deny that it was delightful.

Perhaps he should say so.

And this was the trouble with being married to such a perfect woman, he thought dryly. He was always attempting to match her perfection. It was starting to become a dangerous habit of his to second guess himself at every turn.

Just thank her for the tea, man!

"It's nice," he said lamely.

Nice? Nice? Surely he could conceive of a better compliment than—

"Very pleasant," William added, more to drown out the irritating voice at the back of his mind than anything else. "Thank you."

Alice shrugged as she munched her toast. "It's the least I could do. After all, you're paying for it."

The comment was not intended to be a barb, but it tore into him like one. "Alice, we're married now."

"It's your fortune," she said with a wry look. "I am not so foolish as to think—"

"Our fortune," William said. "You have given me so much, it is only fair I—"

"Given you—William, I have not given you anything," Alice said with a laugh that sounded worried. "Look at where we are!"

William looked around himself, bemused.

All he could see was the breakfast room. It was just... the breakfast room. It had not changed in the last few years. The place was exactly the same as it had been when his father had died and he had become the duke incumbent.

What on earth was she talking about?

His gaze returned to Alice, who was shaking her head. "You don't see it, do you?"

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" William asked before he could stop himself.

Her peals of laughter were like golden rain falling into his hands. "Honestly, you have lived in luxury too long! Really look. Look at the splendor of this place, the wealth spent. Look at the elegance, the light, the linen on this table, embroidered with silk! Really look."

And William tried. His eyes swept over the breakfast table with its linen tablecloth, the silver cutlery that shone in the sunlight. The paintings on the walls—one was a Rembrandt, if he wasn't mistaken. The little jade sculptures that sat along the mantlepiece. The longcase clock inlaid with mother of pearl.

Just for a moment, he saw it as with another's eyes. There was luxury, money, grandeur all about the place.

And he'd stopped noticing it.

When, he wasn't sure. William could hardly recall the last time he had properly seen the marble console table upon which sat the day's newspapers, or the elegantly embroidered screen which stood between them and the fire. Maybe he never had.

When he looked back at Alice, her expression was knowing, but gentle. "When I say you have given me much, I don't just mean the riches of the Cothrom estate, William. I mean... I mean you. Your affection, your respect, your care for me. It is more than I could have expected—certainly more than I deserve!"

William waved a hand as though he could wave away her very thoughts. "You undervalue your own contributions."

Alice grinned. "What did I bring? A few debts, a trousseau you paid for—"

"You can't know—you can never know, I don't think, what you have given me," William said, his voice choking up quite against his will.

He halted but it was already too late. Alice was staring with wide eyes, markedly shocked at the sudden emotion pouring from him.

William cleared his throat and started to pile toast, fried eggs, and some tomatoes onto his plate. "Anyway—"

"William," Alice said quietly. "What do you mean by that?"

Though he was tempted to brush past it, tell her there was nothing else to say, no more detail required, William relented. His shoulders slumped, the tension from them draining.

If he could not be open and honest with his wife, who could he be open and honest with at all?

"You don't know what my life was like before you," he said quietly.

There was a noise as Alice placed the remainder of her toast on her plate. "The life of a duke?"

"It isn't all it seems, I can assure you," William said dryly. "I have lived... well, a life of fear, I suppose you could call it. Fear of what could happen, always fighting what I presumed would become a disaster. It is only since knowing you, marrying you, being with you this last week that I have realized..."

He swallowed.

How could he explain? There did not appear to be words in the English language to express his debt to her.

A hand reached out and enclosed his. William looked up.

Alice was smiling. "What?" she whispered. "What did you realize?"

William took a deep breath. "That I haven't been living. That everything before you was just me waiting for you, though I did not know it."

It had taken much for him to be so open. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see what reaction his new wife was having to such openness—such vulnerability.

When William forced himself to look at her, she said, "Life should be so much more than that."

He nodded, squeezing her hand before retreating and picking up his cutlery. "I suppose it should be—not that I knew that before."

"And now?"

"Oh, I know it now," William said with a wry shrug. He cleared his throat. This damned emotionality had to stop—this wasn't what breakfast was for! He needed another topic, that was all. "So, tell me. When does your ward arrive?"

As expected, the topic was the ideal choice to distract his new wife from talk of the depths of his soul.

Alice sighed happily and picked up the last of her toast. "A few days, I think. Mrs. Seaby wrote, and her letter arrived yesterday. They'll be departing as soon as your carriage arrives."

"You are excited to see her," said William before a mouthful of runny egg.

"I most certainly am," Alice beamed. "It has been—well, too long, I think. Maude deserves a proper family, and I am most grateful that we will be offering her one."

William waved away her words with his knife. "It's nothing. You do me the honor by permitting me to help you take charge of your ward."

It was, after all, the earliest and surest sign that they were compatible. William knew few people with wards—it was not a common occurrence. And fewer still of those individuals cared much about the actual wellbeing of those in their care. It was a burden, usually, foisted upon them by the unexpected death of a relative.

But Alice? She cared deeply for the child, far more than most wards could expect.

William's chest swelled. His was a wife to be proud of, indeed.

"I just hope she won't be too lonely here," Alice was saying. "I am not sure what friends she has, back in—"

"Lonely?" William repeated, speaking over her in his excitement. "You—do you think you could be with child, Alice?"

The question was forward, for she flushed. "I don't know."

His hopes sank. "You don't?"

He had assumed it would be easy to tell. After all, he had bedded the woman at least twice a day every day since they had been married, and they had taken no precautions to prevent a child.

Why should they?

William's heart stirred at the thought. Himself and Alice and this Maude girl—and their own children. Boys and girls with his height and her laughter, his tenacity and her kindness. Children throughout the house. Joy and mess and delight.

"It's too early for me to know," Alice was saying, eyes cast down to her plate. "I should know in a month or so."

Try as he might, William could not help but feel a little deflated. A whole month, just to know—and the answer could be a negative. Ah, well. It wasn't like they were in any rush. His spirits perked up at that thought. Why, they had the rest of their lives together to build a family.

"In that case," he said aloud with a grin, placing his knife and fork down. "I think we should make absolutely sure we are doing our best. Why don't we go upstairs and—ah. Nicholls. What impeccable timing."

William sank back onto his chair, his manhood immediately deflating. It was too much to hope that he could get Alice squirming underneath his hands this early in the morning.

His butler bowed as he entered with a silver platter coated in letters. "Good morning, Your Grace."

Alice stifled a giggle, placing her napkin before her lips as she inclined her head. "Mr. Nicholls."

"Your letters, Your Graces," said Nicholls formally as he placed the platter on the breakfast table. "Is there anything else I can do for you this—"

"No, no, that's all, thank you," said William hastily, waving the man away. As the door closed behind him, he groaned as Alice giggled. "Where was I?"

"About to take me upstairs and ravish me, I think," said Alice with a twinkle in her eye. "But I suppose you should read your post."

William sighed. "I suppose so."

That was one of the downsides of being the Duke of Cothrom, he thought darkly as he pulled his egg-smeared knife toward him and absentmindedly used it as a letter opener. Even when one was in the throes of a happy marriage, the letters would not read themselves.

He had the misfortune of opening one from Aylesbury first. As William's eyes flickered over the hastily scrawled lines, he frowned, the tension which had only just dissipated started to creep along his shoulder blades again.

"What is it?" Alice asked curiously.

Perhaps if he had married someone else, a different kind of woman, William would have cheerfully told her she should not concern herself with such matters.

As it was, he knew Alice to be an insightful woman. Perhaps... yes, maybe it was not a bad idea, to bring her into the challenge of heading the Chance family. She would certainly have to grow accustomed to receiving letters like this.

"Dearest brother, by which I mean, the brother with the largest coffers," he read aloud dryly, raising an eyebrow at Alice. She giggled. "I suppose you are wondering why I am writing to you—"

"This is the Marquess of Aylesbury, isn't it?" Alice interjected.

Now that was impressive. "How on earth did you know that?"

"He writes like he speaks," she said, shrugging. "Go on."

William returned to the godawful letter. "I suppose you are wondering why I am writing to you, and I think you will be shocked to discover I am not in any trouble. Or rather, I should more accurately say it is not I who is in trouble."

He sighed. What, was he to be given a few days only to enjoy his life before the calls on his time were to be restored?

"The Earl of Lindow, then?" Alice guessed.

William nodded. "I am sorry to inform you, brother dear, that old Lindow has managed to get himself into rather a scrape with a young lady, a Miss—I shouldn't tell you who, Alice—whose father is most insistent... yes, a whole paragraph about what the man will do to Lindow if he does not marry her."

He sighed as his gaze skimmed over the lines. Absolutely typical of Lindow. The man had no self-control—and no desire to learn it, either.

In a family like the Chances, it was astonishing to have a black sheep of the family when they were all so troublesome, yet Lindow managed it.

"And it ends—listen to this—I inform you only, dearest brother of mine, so that you have advance warning of the protestations to expect from both the father and our brother. Also, I owe Lady Romeril one hundred pounds. Please send her the money immediately or she has threatened to cut off my thumbs. I remain yours, ever, etc. etc., Aylesbury."

William dropped the letter to the table with a heavy sigh.

Alice grinned. "Your brothers are a bit of a handful, aren't they?"

"You have no idea," he said meaningfully.

"I think I'm starting to get an inkling."

"The trouble is, they are too much of a handful," William said. "Far too much of a handful. I've been fighting their natures for—"

"You know, you don't have to," Alice pointed out quietly.

He looked up. She had spoken gently, yes, but out of ignorance. She did not know Aylesbury or Lindow or Pernrith like he did. Besides, she didn't know...

William tried to smile, but his lips were too tight. "I do have to. I... I made a promise. To my father. Our father. When he lay dying, he asked me to take care of them."

It was a hard thing to admit. Not hard to admit that he had agreed—of course he had. But only in this moment did William realize just how tightly wound his own identity, his purpose, was tied to being the family's protector.

Admitting he only did it because of a promise to his father somehow lessened that nobility. Lessened himself.

"I mean, obviously I would help them no matter what," he added quickly, hoping Alice did not think any less of him due to his admission. "They are my brothers, they are Chances, and I would always—"

"I know," Alice said quietly. "I understand."

William stared. "You do?"

It was unfathomable. There were surely few people in the world who could even comprehend the level of responsibility William had shouldered the instant he had made that promise.

Who else had three brothers with more money than sense—or now, rather more accurately, no money and no sense—who went around Society as though there were no consequences for their actions?

"I... well," William said awkwardly to the woman who seemed to be challenging him at every turn. "I always thought a lady would believe my strict adherence to the rules, to respectability, my desire to keep my brothers in check... silly. No, silly isn't the right word—"

"I said I know what you mean, and I meant it," Alice said quietly, interjecting with a sort of elegance that only she seemed to have. William had seen it in no other. "And if it matters to you, then it matters to me."

It took a moment for the depth of her words to sink in. When they did, William broke into a smile of relief. "I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have you. Thank God I didn't manage to fight you off when you threw yourself into my arms, eh?"

And Alice laughed, and all the tension and the darkness in the room melted away. "You were unable to resist me!"

William knew no matter what faced them, whatever he had to contend with, he would always have the certainty of a genteel Alice by his side. "I suppose that's true. Now, what do you say we continue this conversation in our bedchamber?"