Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“ W hy am I here, Father?” Alexandra asked. She could not keep her voice from shaking with anger and apprehension.

Lord Hartwell reclined on the sofa, looking smug and content. It was not the expression she’d have expected from someone indebted to a gambling hell lord like Gideon Lockwood.

“Where are your manners, Daughter? Should you not be greeting me? Asking about my health?” Lord Hartwell asked, shifting in his seat so he could sit up.

With a pang, Alexandra noticed that his back was no longer straight like when she was a child. Her father was getting older, but he had not changed. She thought about Oliver, about his compulsion to return to Devil’s Draw for another fight whenever he was frustrated or melancholy.

Was her father feeling sad about how his life had turned out? Was he feeling angry? There must be a reason he was drawn to the gambling hell. Why he was tied to it. But it still didn’t give him an excuse to be cruel and selfish.

What about Oliver? Would he grow old like her father? Would it be because he was always meant to tread that path, or would it be because she left?

He wanted her gone.

Alexandra steeled herself. She knew that she could not depend on any man.

“You’re lecturing me about manners, Father? Have we resorted to such ridiculousness? I’ve been trying to help you, and you have never once tried to help yourself. All I get from you are insults!”

There was a small whimper behind her. It was Ellen. Alexandra knew that she had someone she could trust. But would it be enough? Her father was a ruthless man, blinded by drink and gambling.

“Well, my dear, you may get something else from me. Not insults, not this time. I can even praise you! All you need to do is pay off my debts. All of them, Alexandra. Not a little here and there. Lockwood is greedy and will take more and more if I can’t leave Devil’s Draw for good,” Lord Hartwell explained.

For a moment, Alexandra believed her father, except for the part where he claimed he would praise her. That was simply absurd.

He wanted out.

However, she was also reminded of her attempts to pay off his debts only to discover that he had somehow accumulated more debts. The total was staggering even at the beginning. It continued to grow at an alarming rate. Her last composition at least gave her some hope that she could pay.

Her belongings—the ones paid for by Oliver—were mostly left behind at his London townhouse. She had to swallow her pride when she brought her jewelry to sell it. She wondered if her husband had noticed. He would certainly know the reason if so.

“That is all I can afford to give,” she insisted, her lower lip trembling. Her heart sank into her stomach as she realized just how far gone her father was.

He was a lost cause.

Some drunks managed to recover. Some gamblers steered away from cards and other types of games. They might fall hard, but they learned from their actions.

“All you can afford to give? You, the Duchess of Westgrave? If you have been listening closely to the news like a man would have—like your brother would have if he were alive—you would have learned that your husband is not only wealthy, but he has also made some wise investments. He is getting richer and richer.”

Alexandra shook her head in disbelief. She didn’t care about Oliver’s money. He had worked hard to make up for his past mistakes. He deserved what he earned.

“Did you hear me, Daughter? Do you want some whore to enjoy your husband’s money? Think. I thought you were the smart one of my two children.”

The threat in Lord Hartwell’s voice was evident. He rose to his full height to emphasize the danger he could pose to his daughter. Slowly and deliberately, he approached her.

“I can’t give you his money, Father. You should know that he asked me to leave his London townhouse. I am going to return to the country.”

“Perhaps that is for the best. You have not gained much from that man. He had made you starry-eyed. You fell for his false charms. A rake will always be a rake, Alexandra,” Lord Hartwell cautioned, widening his eyes at her.

“You made me marry him,” Alexandra retorted, recoiling from him.

“For the money. But that isn’t why I sent for you. We’re here because I know who you are, J. Lewis,” her father whispered, as if he was keeping the knowledge a secret.

“W-What?” she spluttered, swaying a little. Ellen was quick to steady her.

The maid did not comment on Lord Hartwell’s declaration.

“Yes, you heard me right, dear daughter. I found out that you had been writing music as J. Lewis, the mysterious composer. At first, I could not believe it,” Lord Hartwell said, shaking his head, his eyes gleaming with madness. “I could hear some familiar patterns, a small part of it similar to what your dear mother used to play all those years ago. Yes, she also played her own compositions. I thought that it was merely in season. Then, proof landed right on my lap. Financial records under your pseudonym. What a bold move, Daughter! Perhaps you are worthy to be called my daughter, after all.”

He rubbed his palms together in glee. Then, he clapped three times like a child.

“Who gave you the information? There must be someone,” Alexandra said, knowing that she was falling further into his trap the more she talked.

However, she wanted to know who had discovered her identity. Her father might have suspected it, but to obtain proof?

“It does not matter who told me or gave me the proof. What’s important is that we now know we don’t need your husband anymore. You merely must compose more music. We keep on selling as J. Lewis. We take advantage of everyone’s curiosity. Then, we secure another marriage for you, this time with someone who will provide us with the money we need.”

“You mean the money you need. I’m already married, Father,” Alexandra protested. She couldn’t believe how serious she was about that. It wasn’t that long ago that she was willing to risk her reputation just to get a divorce. “Even if I were not, I can live in the country without much.”

“You consummated your marriage, I assume,” her father said with a sneer.

Alexandra couldn’t believe that once upon a time, she looked up to this man. He was her father, nothing was going to change that. But her affection for him was slowly fading.

“Yes,” she said evenly, tilting her chin up. “It’s a marriage, after all.”

“Why didn’t he just leave you alone like he did for more than a year?” her father grumbled, pacing back and forth.

Somehow, she had ruined more of his plans.

“So, what were you planning to do? Take his money and then have the marriage annulled?” Alexandra asked.

“Precisely! Keep up. Your brother would have understood the task immediately. But you—you let yourself be swayed by a rake! One day, when he finds a woman more beautiful or more interesting than you, he will leave you. You’ll find yourself alone, Alexandra, with no money. But as J. Lewis, we have more opportunities.”

“I can’t keep on hiding as J. Lewis, Father. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m glad you know that for a fact, dear daughter. You’d rather risk yourself than ask your husband for money, then?”

“I wanted to know if I can help you without begging anyone else to assist me. I wanted to know if I am any good at composing music, and I was right. It was you who kept on digging a deeper grave for yourself. When I came here, your debt was still manageable. I didn’t have to sell my best composition for a laughable sum.”

“Pride. You want to be as brilliant as your mother,” Lord Hartwell said, a hint of sadness breaking through the arrogance. He seemed to have chosen not to hear the part about him drowning in debt.

“I won’t help you anymore, Father. I am leaving. The townhouse. You. Your debts. I did what I could do, and I know I did well.”

“Whether you are staying here or leaving, Alexandra, you will pay off my debts,” he insisted, his voice now menacing. He sounded like one of Lockwood’s men, not her father.

“I won’t. I’m leaving,” Alexandra said, folding her arms over her chest and staring at him defiantly.

“I will send your husband a letter revealing who you really are. I heard that he thinks J. Lewis is nothing but a coward hiding in the darkness, afraid of criticism!”

Alexandra laughed with derision.

Her father’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “He knows?”

“Yes, he does. Didn’t I remind you that I am married? It’s a real marriage, Father. As for you, you must learn what it means to be a true father. All you are right now is a beggar.”

Lord Hartwell roared with anger, stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. It was probably his drink-addled brain. All the brandy and the gin, as well as the smoke and dark corners of Devil’s Draw, had stripped him of the last bit of his humanity.

“You will still pay off my debts, Alexandra,” he said, the muscles in his face twitching. He reached for his daughter as if he was trying to reach for her neck.

Alexandra did not step back.

“I might, but I can’t promise I can pay for everything. The last composition sold well, but your debts are still greater, Father. I am not trying to say no because I don’t want to. I came to London to help you. I left my quiet life in the countryside for you.”

“If you don’t, the ton will find out who J. Lewis truly is!”

“You wouldn’t dare! I can tell them you have fabricated evidence! Oliver will help me!” Alexandra shouted, clenching her hands into fists.

Even as she said those words in anger, she realized she believed them. Oliver would come to her aid, even if she wasn’t his favorite person at the moment.

“Fabricated? Well, I have stronger proof that you are J. Lewis,” Lord Hartwell said, grinning widely as he rubbed his palms together.

“No, you do not. Who will believe a drunk and gambler over a duke and his duchess? If you had been listening to the ton’s talk, you would know that we are well-liked among our peers,” Alexandra declared, her hands on her belly as she tried to muster as much courage as possible.

“I do. Let me call for a friend. He will certainly tell you that he will support my claim—no, it isn’t even a claim. It’s a revelation. Oh, how the ton will be shocked to learn that their beloved J. Lewis is nothing but a young chit playing duchess!”

Alexandra choked back a sob, not because she was afraid of being discovered. She was devastated that Devil’s Draw had turned her father into this monster.

“Who? Who can it be? Nobody else knows about—” She faltered as she thought of the only two people who knew her secret.

And no, Oliver would never go to her father and reveal her identity.

Her lower lip trembled as she realized that she had been betrayed by someone she had always trusted—someone her husband thought she trusted better than she did him.

“Yes, I know that you know, Alexandra. Come out from where you’re hiding, Prescott!”