Chapter Nineteen

June 22, 1812

Try as she might, Alice never quite managed to wipe away the tears. There was always another to take the place of the one before.

The last tear, she thought furiously as she dashed aside one that threatened to trickle down her cheek. Last tear!

When would the last tear ever come, when she felt this wretched?

The sky was heavy. A dark gray and full of blustery clouds, it seemed to press upon the Dower House with a weight Alice could actually feel. It pressed upon the roof of the house with a ferocity that she had never felt before.

Or was that merely her guilt?

"Look Mama, look!"

Alice brushed aside another traitorous tear, forced an expression of calm, and turned away from the window. "Lovely, darling."

Maude was sitting in the middle of the drawing room rug, holding up two of the toy soldiers she had found in the nursery just yesterday. Try as she might, Alice had been unable to remove the toys from her daughter's hands. Tears and tantrums had followed, and so despite her misgivings, she had permitted Maude to keep them.

A lump rose in Alice's throat. They could be William's from a long time ago. The toys he would have played with when he came to visit his grandmother, perhaps.

The mere thought of William wrenched her heart. Alice forced herself to look away, back to the window.

It was a pleasant spot. Though she presumed there was a manor house somewhere in the large grounds they had come to days ago, she had not seen it. Alice had been given no instructions to stay within the environs of the Dower House, but it felt... sacrilegious, somehow, to depart from it.

Not exactly imprisoned, but not free to wander, either.

Oak trees surrounded the Dower House, a beautiful redbrick Tudor home of five bedchambers. It was more than Alice had ever hoped for, except for the lack of a certain gentleman.

Alice swallowed. "This is precisely what you wanted," she murmured to herself, lifting a finger and running it down the lead-lined glass.

A home, a chance to be with her child. No worries about money, bills paid, invoices dealt with, no concern over debts. Protection. Income for life.

"William—William! What about us?"

"There is no us."

Was this not everything she had striven for when she had gone to London? When she'd decided to free herself from Mr. Shenton? When Alice had known that if she did not do something soon, she would waste the rest of her life in fear?

"Tea, m'lady."

Alice turned and flushed at the words of the maid who had stepped almost silently into the room. It had been an awkward conversation with Mrs. Colfer when she had arrived. The housekeeper of the Dower House had heard the news of her master's marriage, of course, and had been delighted to meet the new duchess... and had looked over Alice's shoulder at the carriage, expecting the duke himself to descend.

Though she had hoped William had written a letter to explain things to the good woman, it had been down to Alice to elucidate instead.

A most awkward conversation indeed.

Clearly the maids had been instructed not to call her "Your Grace"—not that Alice minded. It was their embarrassment which caused her own cheeks to burn.

Thank goodness her own lady's maid, Jane, had been permitted to come with them. Without her constant and consistent presence, Alice wasn't sure how she would get through each day.

The maid deposited the tea tray on the console table just to the left of the fireplace, and carefully not meeting Alice's eye, bobbed a curtsy and left the room, shutting the door with a snap behind her.

Alice sighed, her shoulders dropping. Her lot was better than that of most fallen women, she supposed.

What must they think of her?

She pushed the thought aside as best she could and stepped across the room to pour herself a cup of steaming tea. The beverage had once been a comfort, but the realization that William had sent on her individual blend of tea had rocked her a few days ago.

Had he kept nothing in the townhouse that reminded him of her?

I should not complain, Alice thought as she sagged onto the armchair beside the console table that held the tea. Plenty of men would have thrown her out onto the street rather than admit they had been duped.

Duped was a strong word, but it was nothing to some of the insults Alice had thrown at herself in the middle of the night, lying in a cold, empty bed.

And William had been as good as his word. Better. The Dower House was beautiful, far more than she had ever hoped for, and the servants had clearly been instructed to treat her well, even if there was a certain coldness from some of them.

They had everything they could possibly need. Everything. Except...

Alice sipped her tea and winced at the scalding liquid.

Except William. She leaned back in the armchair and wished to goodness he was here so she could explain. How precisely she would explain, she did not know. She had practiced paragraphs which would hopefully clear up the matter in minutes, when they had been journeying here in the carriage, but they never seemed to be enough.

"You see, William, it's quite simple. When I was younger..."

"It's not difficult: I have a daughter, and when my brother-in-law—no, not your brothers..."

"I would do anything, anything for my child. And you were happy, weren't you? Weren't you, William?"

Alice swallowed, tasting the bitterness of her thoughts on her tongue.

Yes, they had been happy. But not for long. Within a fortnight, the truth had escaped and there had been nothing she could do to prevent it. A pang in her chest made Alice lift a hand to her breast, though she felt foolish for doing so.

What, did she think she had a broken heart? Was she truly so pathetic as to believe true love could be found in such circumstances? That mere weeks were sufficient to know the man she had left behind was the only man she could ever truly love?

Alice swallowed. The ache only grew with each passing day.

She did love him. Even now, after everything, she loved William Chance.

"M'lady?"

Alice looked up. It truly was a well-oiled door, for half the time she did not even notice when someone came in. This time it was a footman. He looked abashed, but stepped into the room nonetheless.

"Yes?" Alice said, sipping her tea again. Ah, the perfect temperature. That was all she needed. Tea. Tea and rest.

In time, probably, she would forget about William, and...

The rebellion within her was instinctive.

She would never forget him. She never could. He would represent the epitome of character and have all her affection for the rest of her life.

Then why didn't you fight for him, a voice at the back of her mind asked.

Because, Alice told it, I will not fight a battle I know I will lose.

"M'lady?"

Alice blinked. The footman was still standing in the doorway. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, may I come in to lay the fire for this evening?" asked the blushing footman.

"Please," she said, gesturing with her hand.

Bobbing a bow, the footman entered the room and stepped carefully around Maude's rug to ensure he did not knock over any of her toy soldiers.

Well, if there was one way to her heart...

"Thank you," Alice murmured. "We had a tantrum the last time the tenth infantry was knocked over by my skirts."

The footman gave her a nervous grin. "I have a brother much the same age. Don't worry, m'lady, I'll be careful of the troops."

Warmth gathered in her chest—though that could be the tea.

"Your daughter is very like you, isn't she?" said the footman as he began to lay the fire. "I knew she was yours the moment I saw her."

Alice frowned. "You did?"

She glanced over at her daughter. Were they truly that similar?

"She is the spitting image of you, Alice. The spitting image! I don't doubt you haven't noticed it, so wrapped up in your lies, but that child is so clearly yours, it's as plain as the nose on both your faces!"

William had certainly thought so. Alice had never much thought about it, but now she examined her child carefully, attempting to do so as an outside observer.

And saw . . .

Herself. She could just about remember peering into her mother's looking glass when she was about five years of age, and the image that had presented itself was playing with toy soldiers on the rug before her.

The realization was so visceral that Alice's hand shook, tea almost spilling from her cup.

"Y-Yes," she managed to say. "Yes, I suppose we are similar."

They were not similar. They were identical.

How had she been so foolish as to attempt to tell William that Maudy was her ward? Oh, she was idiotic indeed.

"There."

Alice started. "There?"

"Fire's all ready for this evening," said the footman, rising to his feet and bobbing another bow. "M'lady."

He was gone before Alice could say another word—not that she knew precisely what she would have said. Her mind had already drifted again.

How she regretted so much of what she had done, had said to him, but it was not as though she could take any of it back. The lies to William, the half-truths, the avoidance of the facts. The launching herself into his arms in the copse in Hyde Park. The ball at the Earl of Chester's where she had hidden her identity so carefully.

But despite all the pain, regret, guilt, Alice could not help but consider the memories wistfully. When times had been good. When William had looked at her with something which verged on affection. He had never said as much, but—

"Do we live here now?" asked Maude conversationally.

The sudden noise pulled Alice from her reverie, but it took her a few moments to truly take in what her daughter had asked.

The child was still playing with the soldiers, marching them up and down the rug in an orderly line, seemingly uncaring about their circumstances.

Alice could not help but smile, though tears once again prickled at the corners of her eyes. Oh, to live like that—with not a care in the world. Had she been like that, once? She could hardly remember. If so, it was a great deal of time ago, before Mark, before balls and Society and keeping to the rules.

She looked lovingly at the white-blonde curls of her child. She would do anything—anything—to keep Maude from feeling as she did. From suffering as she had. From making the choices, the mistakes that she had.

Alice's stomach tightened. But could she?

"Mama," said Maude patiently. "Do we live here now?"

She forced herself to speak. "Y-Yes, Maudy. This is where we live now."

The three-year-old pondered this for a moment, considering it from all angles, then nodded. "Good."

Alice breathed a laugh. "Good?"

"It's pretty here, and I have a big room," Maude said carefully, as though those were the most important factors at play. "But that man is not here."

Alice's pulse skipped a beat.

She had assumed one single meeting of less than five minutes had been insufficient for William to impact on Maude's memory—but perhaps not.

"That man."

The man she loved. The man she had married. The man she had lost.

How did one explain such things to a child?

"Will he come to live with us, Mama?" Maude's soldiers reached the end of the rug and carefully turned around to process across it once more.

Swallowing hard and hoping to goodness she could do this explanation justice, Alice said hesitantly, "No. No, the man isn't going to live with us. It's just us."

Maude glanced up at her mother. "Why are you sad?"

Slowly, Alice closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Just in an attempt to collect herself.

It could not be that difficult, could it? To calm her lungs, to slow her sense of self down, to center herself so the panicked cry that the world was over and she had lost one of the most important things in it did not escape from her lips.

She couldn't. She wouldn't burden Maudy with that.

"I'm tired," Alice said, opening her eyes and settling on a truth that was not quite an answer. "You know how crotchety you get when you're tired."

"I'm not tired," Maude said automatically, hugging her toy soldiers to her as though they would be plucked from her hand before being made to go to bed. "I'm not—"

"I know you are not, but I am," said Alice wearily, avoiding the argument as best she could. "Would you like a biscuit?"

It was the act of a desperate woman, but she would defy any mother to state they had never bribed a child with a biscuit and still be telling the truth.

Maude jumped up. "Yes!"

"Yes please," Alice corrected automatically.

Her daughter nodded seriously, as though this was a negotiation matter worthy of napoleon. "Yes please biscuit."

Well, she couldn't exactly argue with that.

Alice offered her the plate, and Maude took an inordinate amount of time deciding between two different shapes of shortbread. Her choice made, she scampered back to the rug as though it were "home" in a game of tag, and began munching the biscuit happily. Crumbs flew in all directions.

Try as she might, Alice couldn't stop noticing the mess. The footman who cleaned this room of the Dower House was not going to be endeared by Maude's eating habits.

Perhaps they would write to William, saying the pair of them were a nuisance. Perhaps it would get so bad he would come here—Alice's hopes rose—and talk to her about it, and she could—

No.

Alice forced the thought away. It was a dream, that was all. There was not a chance William would ever come to see her again. They'd had the conversation—or at least, William had had his say and prevented her from truly explaining—and there was no possibility of him wanting to repeat that scene.

Even the letter she had written him had been returned, unanswered. For all she knew, unread.

Just as the thought passed through her mind, the door to the hall opened once more, and the glowering figure of Mrs. Colfer appeared.

"M'lady," she grunted, stepping into the drawing room.

Instinctively, though knowing it was ridiculous of her to do so, Alice rose to her feet and curtsied. "Mrs. Colfer. How nice to—"

"Letter for you," said the older woman with a glare, thrusting it into her hands and immediately returning to the hall. "And keep that child under control."

The door slammed behind her.

Alice looked at her daughter. Maude had crumbs all round her mouth, true, but she was seated on the rug playing with the soldiers in almost complete silence.

Under control, indeed!

Sinking back into the armchair, Alice looked at the letter she had been given. It was not thick, nor large. Perhaps a small piece of paper folded inward and pressed with a red seal. The blob of wax had clearly been firmed down when it was molten, for it had spread out so wide, it almost covered the entirety of that side of the letter.

The emblem within the seal was difficult to spot. An A, perhaps? An L? It could almost be a P, if one turned it the other way.

Alice turned it around again, holding it up to the light. Honestly, it was so dark in here it was probably time she rang for a light. A few candles and she may be able to make it out.

Her hand had actually reached the bellpull by the fireplace when her mind caught up with her.

She hesitated. Would the servants of the Dower House wish to wait on her hand and foot? Perhaps it would be better if she just did what she could in the light she had.

Alice broke the seal. The wax broke into little pieces in her lap, making it impossible to decipher any further. But what did it matter? No one of any real importance would be writing to her. It was probably just a note from Mrs. Ransome at the house in London. Perhaps they found a trunk of hers and wished to inform her it had been sent on.

Yes, that would be it. It would be short and plain and matter of fact. There was no point in getting her hopes up, she thought.

And that was why, when Alice opened up the small piece of paper, she was astonished to find it was not a practical note from Mrs. Ransome or even Mr. Nicholls. It was something else.

For a wild heartbeat, she hoped it was from William.

An apology. An explanation. A love note. A question, even, an attempt to discover more about her, more about Maude.

But the instant her eyes fell across the few short lines, Alice could see it was not from him.

Alice,

I was sorry to hear of the break between you and my brother. Fight for what you want. Fight for what you know is right. I'd keep a look out if I were you. The fight may just be coming to you.

Chance

Alice's eyes widened as she tried to take in the rather vague lines.

That it was from one of the Chance brothers, that much was clear. It was signed Chance, and mentioned a brother who was undoubtedly William.

But which Chance brother had written it, Alice could not tell. There was no clue in the writing, short as it was, and the seal was destroyed.

She bit her lip as she looked at the remnants of the wax in her lap. Bother. That would have been rather useful, in hindsight.

What were the letters she had thought it could be? They had been such passing thoughts, she'd barely paid any attention to them. A? P? D, perhaps? There was an Aylesbury and a Pernrith in the family, but no D—or had she misremembered that?

"Mama, look!"

"Yes, lovely, dear," said Alice vaguely, not looking up from the letter. It was perhaps not the best mothering in the world, but it had been a long day. A long few months. She could be forgiven—

"A carriage!"

"Just be careful with it, dear," Alice said, still examining the letter. "All the toys you play with are borrowed from someone else."

Just like she'd been doing. She had borrowed a snippet of someone else's life, it seemed. The life of a duchess. But it wasn't hers, and she'd had to give it back, just like Maudy would eventually have to give back the toy soldiers.

It wasn't their life. It wasn't theirs to keep.

Alice frowned as she reread the letter.

Fight for what you want. Fight for what you know is right. I'd keep a look out if I were you. The fight may just be coming to you.

Now what on earth did that mean? There was no sense to it, no sense at all. If her brother-in-law, whichever one he was, truly wished to help her, why did he not make his meaning as clear as possible?

Alice gave a slow laugh as she considered the final words.

The fight may just be coming to you.

That would suggest that William would be coming here—but that was impossible. The man had made it quite clear he had absolutely no desire to see her again. Why would he waste his precious time traveling all this way just to see her?

"There is no us."

Alice leaned back in the armchair, the soft cushions welcoming her in as she attempted to understand what the point of this short letter was.

The door to the hall opened.

"She is under control, Mrs. Colfer," said Alice testily without looking up.

"So I see," said a quiet voice that was most definitely not Mrs. Colfer.

Alice rose so rapidly that the letter and all the wax pieces of the seal dropped to the floor. She didn't give them a second glance. How could she when her lungs were tight, her heart beating fast, and before her was—

William. Standing in the doorway. Top hat in his hands.