Chapter 8

Alice shot up from her seat, her heart racing.

"Papa," she murmured brokenly, tears threatening to spill from her eyes at the sight of her frail father making an effort to face this "suitor" of hers.

She wanted to run to him, to bury her face in his chest as she did when she was a child, but pride held her in check.

"Silly girl." He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with more life than she had seen these past few months. "What is that look for? I always knew that you were bound for greater things."

No!Alice wanted to scream. No, Papa. It is not what you think it is.

She wanted to tell him the truth, to confess the entirety of her faults. But his eyes were so warm. He looked so pleased, as if the mere arrival of the Duke of Thorns had injected more life into him than any of the medications that their family physician had given him.

She tried to open her mouth, but the words were stuck in her throat. Nothing came out. Not even a croak.

"Lord Brandon."

She closed her eyes when she heard Colin's deep voice greeting her father. When she felt him press his hand to her back, she had to force herself to open her eyes and smile as if everything was perfectly fine, even though she wanted nothing more than to run away.

There was a special place in hell for liars—or so her superstitious nurse used to tell her. She thought that the old woman was silly most of the time, but she was right about this at least.

She was in hell, and she had not even died yet.

"Your Grace." The Marquess managed to sketch a bow, but Colin stopped him. "You must pardon me," he wheezed with a tremulous smile. "My years are showing."

"What are you talking about, Papa? You have many, many more years left!" Phoebe cried, rushing to her father.

"Of course, my dear. Of course." He patted her hand reassuringly and gave her a fond smile. "Look at you, acting like a child all over again. You are about to make your bow in a few days."

The Marchioness laughed at this, but even that joyful sound was tinged with sorrow. "Indeed," she murmured with a sharp look directed at her youngest daughter.

Phoebe smiled and immediately stood back, perfectly composed once more, although her eyes were still tinged with sadness. Her gaze landed on Alice, who had been staring at their father unwaveringly ever since he entered the room.

"You must forgive my daughter, Your Graces. I am afraid we have spoiled them." The Marquess shook his head.

His words spoke of censure, but his smile spoke of his great affection for Alice and her sister. It was that smile that nearly drove Alice to her knees before him.

"And they have grown up to be perfectly wonderful young ladies whom you should be proud of, Lord Brandon. Lady Alice in particular," Colin added with a meaningful look at Alice, who had fallen strangely silent.

"Yes, my beloved wife tells me that you mean to discuss something with me regarding our dear Alice, if I am correct."

Colin nodded. "That is correct, My Lord."

"Very well, then." The Marquess smiled grimly at him. "I suppose this is a conversation best had between us both in private. If you would please follow me to my study, young man. We have much to discuss."

Alice watched as Colin followed her father out of the room, hanging at his elbow in such a solicitous manner that one would think he was the biological offspring of the Marquess and not Phoebe. She caught his eye just before they walked out of the parlor, and she pressed her lips into a grim line.

They had to talk, the two of them—and soon.

* * *

The Marquess of Brandon walked feebly as he led the way to the study. There might be some who would say that he was a man diminished, but that was not how it appeared to Colin. His steps might be measured, he might be taking more time than usual, but there was a certainty in his gait that came with a knowledge of his place in the world—and an acceptance of the inevitable.

Both men stepped into the study, and the Marquess motioned for him to take the seat opposite him.

"I must admit that your visit today surprised me," the older man admitted with a faint smile. "Alice has not mentioned any suitor to me previously."

A loaded question, that one, and one that carried a lot of implications. It was best that Colin answered this carefully, or he risked exposing himself as a fraud.

"I do not suppose she would be able to, My Lord," Colin answered him politely. "The truth of the matter is that Lady Alice herself might not have expected me to hasten here."

The Marquess raised an eyebrow at this. "Oh? Do carry on."

Colin nodded gravely. "I had just returned to London for the Season when I saw Lady Alice promenading in the Park. I confess I was utterly entranced at first sight as I had never been before."

That was partly true—except that he had not seen her first at Hyde Park but in his own residence in the dead of the night. But, of course, her father did not need to know about the specifics of their first meeting.

"She… was not as impressed with me, however," he added with a rueful smile.

The Marquess smiled at that, undoubtedly proud of his daughter. "She is rather hard to impress, is she not?"

"Lady Alice is… sensible."

"I do not think sensible is the right term to describe my daughter, Your Grace," Lord Brandon scoffed. "She is a great many things, to be certain, but sensible? Not all the time, I'm afraid. She is, however, extremely finicky. One would say that she is trying to avoid the subject of matrimony altogether."

"I understand."

If he did not know better, Colin would think that the Marquess was actually dissuading him from pursuing Alice.

"However," the older man continued in a more wistful note, "if—and only if—Alice wants you as much as you profess to want her, then I shall agree to the betrothal. I will not throw her at the first Duke who shows her particular attention."

The last sentence was issued as a stern warning from a father who truly loved his daughter. All fathers wanted to see their daughters find suitable matches so that their futures might be secured, but the Marquess was truly the rare kind of father who desired not only his daughter's financial stability but also her happiness.

It was commendable, although a touch whimsical.

It also managed to have the surprising effect of actually stabbing at Colin's conscience.

A funny thing. I thought I had lost that a long time ago.

"Now that I have voiced my thoughts on this matter," Lord Brandon said calmly, "what do you think of this, young man?"

The Marquess of Brandon had casually thrown the gauntlet at him. It was up to Colin whether he wanted to pick it up or not.

"I sincerely hope," he said carefully, "that Lady Alice would consider my suit."

Lord Brandon's smile was one of satisfaction. Colin could swear that the older man was even snickering when he said, "Then I wish you well on your suit, Your Grace. I must warn you, however, my daughter is not so easy to please."

But Colin was not one to back down either. "I have always relished a good challenge, My Lord. Winning Lady Alice's heart will be my greatest honor."

* * *

When the two men returned to the parlor, a beautiful melody filled the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter. Colin heard his friend narrating yet another of his stories—albeit a watered-down version so as not to shock the ladies—followed by another burst of feminine laughter.

"Oh my! The way you have us dissolving into these fits should be prohibited, Your Grace!" Colin heard Lady Brandon chortle. "It is rather impolite to be laughing this loud. Our neighbors might think that we have lost all sense of propriety!"

In the sunlit parlor, the youngest Barkley daughter was seated at the pianoforte, coaxing a far more appealing tune from the instrument than her sister did earlier. Ethan was seated on a chair, opposite a sofa that was shared by both Lady Brandon and Alice, his handsome face animated as he regaled the ladies of the house with yet another of his stories.

From Colin's point of view, the sunlight shone softly on Alice until she was bathed in a halo of golden light, turning her dark hair a burnished gold. Her green eyes were bright with merriment, her luscious lips stretched into a smile over pearly white teeth. When she laughed at yet another of his friend's punchlines, he felt the sound shoot straight to his groin, heating his blood with very little effort.

He glared at Ethan, who seemed thoroughly unaware that Colin was now harboring rather resentful emotions towards him.

Only I should be making her laugh like that. Or moan. Or make any other sound.

His furious train of thought was halted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The Marquess of Brandon leaned in and whispered, "Good luck," before he ambled over to his wife and daughter. Alice looked up at her father, her face a mix of unreadable emotions.

Colin, however, turned towards Ethan with a curt nod, a signal that they should leave. A moment longer and he would have been unable to keep himself from thinking, doing things that were so out of character for him.

Thirty days,he reminded himself, taking in a deep breath. Thirty days and I shall be rid of this insanity.

Just as Ethan was about to excuse himself, Alice stood up and stared at Colin intently, her vivid green gaze holding him rooted to the spot.

"Your Grace," she said suddenly, "might I have a word?"

He should have known his little lamb would never let him off so easily.