Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

A lexander would be damned before he let his father's legacy fall apart. He had made a promise—a promise to protect their family, to safeguard their name. And though he had failed before, perhaps cleaning up after Percy would grant him some redemption. Perhaps this was his chance to fulfill that vow after years of bitter self-recrimination.

Marriage. The very notion was a violation of the promise he had made to himself—never to marry, never to tie himself to someone in such a permanent way. But if this was the price he had to pay to protect the family honor and repair the damage his brother had wrought, so be it.

Lady Elizabeth was unlike any woman he had encountered before. Her temper, her sharp wit, her refusal to be cowed—qualities that in another might have been off-putting, but in her, they only seemed to fan the flame of her magnetism. She possessed a spark that made her impossible to ignore. She was a fire—dangerous, yet captivating. He couldn't deny that he rather liked her spirit.

"The Marquess of Broughton is waiting for you, Your Grace," the butler's voice interrupted his thoughts as Alexander entered his home after the tumultuous meeting at the Dowshire residence.

Alex nodded and made his way to the study, where Colin was already helping himself to a glass of brandy.

"I thought I might go grey waiting for you," Colin said with a smirk, pouring another glass and handing it to Alexander. "I've heard about what happened with Percy."

Alexander took the drink with a grim nod. He needed it more than he realized. The weight of the day pressed heavily on him, and the liquor offered a momentary reprieve.

"I should have known he had a motive when he insisted on returning to his lodgings last night," Alexander said bitterly, yanking at his cravat, the frustration boiling to the surface once more. "He's always been sly."

"He has," Colin agreed. "But how did the family take the news, now that it seems there's no way to salvage this?"

Alexander downed his brandy, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction. "They were shocked, naturally. But I had to clean up after Percy, as always. So, I suppose they're in a calmer state now."

"What do you mean, you ‘cleaned up' after him?" Colin's brow furrowed as he reached for his own drink.

"What else could I do?" Alexander said, his voice tight with frustration. "I offered to marry the lady, of course."

Colin nearly dropped his glass. "You did what?"

"Do you see my brother here, ready to take responsibility?" Alexander shot back, his tone clipped. "It is either that or allow the family name to be dragged through the mud for eternity. I couldn't let that happen. Not again. Not after everything."

Colin shook his head, disbelief etched on his face. "Alex, you don't have to bear all of this alone. You are not a failure. I've told you that a thousand times. You couldn't have saved everyone."

Alexander's chest tightened, the familiar bitterness clawing at him once more. "Percy's lost something he'll never get back," he muttered. "But the others... the others lost everything ."

"And you?" Colin's voice softened. "What about you? Don't you think you've lost enough? Don't you think you deserve to let go of this burden, this guilt?"

Alexander snorted, the sound bitter in his throat. "My existence is to take care of my family. Percy is all I have left. I failed the rest of them. I cannot fail him too."

Colin's gaze was steady, concerned. "Percy is a grown man. More than capable of taking responsibility for himself. It's time to let him live his own life, Alex."

Alexander knew what Colin was getting at. His friend had always tried to lighten his load, to make him see that the weight he carried was too much for one man to bear. But Colin didn't understand. He didn't know the promise Alexander had made. He didn't know what failure truly tasted like.

"And what are you suggesting?" Alexander asked, his voice cold. "That I rescind my offer to Lady Elizabeth? Leave her to deal with the consequences of my brother's actions?"

"That's not what I'm saying, and you know it," Colin replied, his voice steady, his concern evident. "I just don't want to see you destroy yourself over something that was never your fault."

Alexander turned away, staring out the window, his jaw clenched. Colin's words tugged at him, but he couldn't allow himself to listen. He'd made a vow, and he would keep it—no matter the cost.

"I'll need to obtain a special license for the marriage," Alexander said, changing the subject with finality.

Colin sighed, giving him a knowing look. "Well, at least I'll still get to hear those wedding bells," he said with a faint smile, though the concern in his eyes lingered.

"You know... For a sworn bachelor, you certainly seem to be getting excited over a wedding," Alexander remarked lightly, glancing at Colin with a smirk.

Colin chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Excited? Perhaps I just enjoy watching others fall into the parson's trap, so I don't have to."

Alex raised a brow. "Don't you think it's high time you entered the trap yourself?"

"Oh no," Colin waved off the suggestion with a laugh. "I still have my freedom, thank you very much."

"And I don't?" Alex countered, his brow arching in amusement.

"Well," Colin began with a grin, "you are getting married."

They shared a good-natured laugh, but as the afternoon slipped by, Alexander found Colin's company an unexpected relief. For a few fleeting hours, he forgot the weight that hung over him, the responsibilities that had accumulated like stones on his back. It was only later, as the evening grew quiet and Colin took his leave, that the reality came crashing back down on him. His impending marriage, the promise he had made to his father, the looming responsibility—it all felt suffocating, pressing in on him as he retired for the night.

He was on his way to his chambers when the butler interrupted him with a rather unexpected announcement.

"Your Grace," the butler said, his tone careful. "There is a late-night caller for you."

Alexander's brow furrowed in confusion as he entered the drawing room, only to tense at the sight of his guest. Georgianna Proctor.

"What are you doing invading people's homes at this hour, Georgianna?" he asked, though he was hardly surprised. If there was one thing he had learned about the widowed Countess over the years, it was her persistence. Especially when she wanted something.

"Such a warm welcome, Alexander," she replied smoothly, her back to him as she seemingly admired the ornate clock on the mantel.

Alexander sighed inwardly, willing himself to muster some patience. She was a guest, after all, despite the hour. "If you are lost, I can summon a coachman to point you in the right direction," he said, ignoring her attempt at pleasantries.

"Oh, there's no need to trouble anyone," she said, finally turning to face him. "I know precisely where I'm going."

"Going?" He raised a brow. "Am I to presume you're still on this supposed journey of yours, then?"

"But of course," she said with a thin smile. "How quickly I reach my destination depends entirely on you, Your Grace—and the answers you give me."

"I thought I had already given you my answers, Georgianna," Alexander replied, his voice steady but firm.

"And I told you I wasn't satisfied with them," she countered, stepping closer. "But tonight, I'm not here for those particular answers."

Alexander narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for her to explain herself. His patience was wearing thin.

"I've heard certain news," Georgianna began, her voice carrying a new edge of seriousness. "Disturbing news, in fact. And I've come to confirm its veracity."

"Pray tell," Alexander said, crossing his arms. "What is it you've heard?"

She didn't hesitate. "That you made an offer for Lady Elizabeth Sutton after that dreadful scandal," she said, her words slow, as though testing his reaction. Her expression, however, betrayed the faintest hint of apprehension. "Is it true your brother has fled England, and you intend to marry the girl in his place?"

Alexander felt a surge of irritation, though he kept his composure. He was surprised at how swiftly the news had spread. He had made the offer only that morning.

"News doesn't remain private for long in society, does it?" he muttered.

"What kind of Countess would I be if I didn't have eyes and ears everywhere?" she retorted with a small snort, attempting to mask her unease.

"Spies, you mean," Alex corrected, his tone dry.

"If that's your preferred term," she shrugged, unbothered by his remark.

Georgianna's gaze sharpened as she pressed forward. "So, is it true, Sterlin?"

He let the silence linger for a moment, deliberately goading her. "What happened to calling me Alexander?" he asked with a smirk.

"Are you marrying the girl, Sterlin?" she demanded, refusing to be drawn into his teasing now, her voice hardening with impatience.

"Haven't your ‘eyes and ears' already answered that for you?" he asked, meeting her gaze coolly.

"I prefer my answers directly from the source," she said, her chin jutting forward defiantly.

"Then that rather defeats the purpose of having those ‘eyes and ears' in the first place, don't you think?" Alexander said, his voice dry with a hint of amusement.

Georgianna sputtered, momentarily thrown off balance. But, in true form, she quickly regained her composure, smoothing her expression with the grace she always managed to summon.

"Are you purposefully refusing to answer my question?" she asked, her tone cutting, but he could sense the underlying tension.

"Why ever would I do that?" Alexander countered, his voice deceptively calm. "Yes, Percy is gone. And I've decided to do the honorable thing in his stead."

"Why?" Her voice cracked just slightly, and for the first time that evening, she sounded genuinely hurt.

"Have you any family, Georgianna?" he returned, the question heavy with meaning.

She shrugged, her response indifferent. "If you count my dead husband, then I suppose."

Alexander's lip quirked in an almost rueful smile. Of course, she wouldn't understand. She was playing a game—one she had mastered. But the gravity of his decisions was beyond her, and he had no desire to explain himself further. He owed her nothing beyond the barest civilities shared between peers.

"What happened to us, Sterlin? Why are you doing this?" Georgianna pressed again, her voice edged with something that almost resembled vulnerability.

Alexander's patience, already wearing thin, snapped. "Listen here, Lady Winston," he began, his tone firm, leaving no room for ambiguity. She grimaced at the sudden formality, but he didn't care. It was time to end this once and for all.

"There was never an ‘us' to begin with," he said, his words deliberate. "I do not know at what point you chose to interpret my basic civility as something more, but I assure you, there was no special sentiment attached to it. I will say this clearly: there has never been an ‘us.'"

For a brief moment, Georgianna looked genuinely taken aback, as if she hadn't expected him to be so blunt. But it didn't last long.

"You think you can fool me with this marriage of yours?" she scoffed, her voice regaining its usual edge. "The rest of society, perhaps, but not me. I know you, Alexander. Far more than you give me credit for."

The air between them thickened, and Alexander's irritation flared again. This woman, with her persistence, her inability to accept the truth, had pushed him far beyond his limits.

"You should leave now," he said, his tone sharp with finality.

But Georgianna was not easily deterred. She stepped closer, her green eyes gleaming with challenge. "Your marriage will not keep me away," she vowed, her voice a dangerous whisper. "You may think you're securing your future, your family's honor, but you will not shake me so easily." Her lips curled into that familiar, insufferable smile. "Give my felicitations to your future bride, Alexander," she added, dipping into an exaggeratedly graceful curtsy.

She lingered in the act, her gaze tilting up to meet his, her hand hovering just above her bosom in a way that had captivated men—but had no hold on him.

Alexander clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he fought back his anger. He knew her games, and he knew her tactics.