Chapter 29

Chapter 29

The maid pulled back the drapes dramatically, and Alexander groaned, turning over in the bed to bury his face from the invading light.

"Tell it to go away," he muttered.

"Tell what?" the maid asked, her brow furrowed.

"The sun," he said with a huff. "I'm not ready for it to be morning."

I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for morning again.

"Come now, Your Grace. Cook's prepared you a lovely breakfast to set you up for the day. It will be a grand one, no mistake."

She busied herself with preparing a fire while Alexander stared at the ceiling. His eyes stung and his head pounded. The brandy had seemed such a good idea the night before, a way to block out all his misery. But now it came rushing back, compounded by the taste of ash in his mouth and the queasiness of his stomach.

The maid stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. "Forgive my saying so, Your Grace, but staying in bed full of self-pity will do you no favors. You need to get up and out and embrace the day. That's what Papa always used to say."

Alexander chuckled lightly. "And did you speak to my predecessor with such boldness or is it only me to whom you chastise as if I am a child?"

The maid's cheeks colored, and she turned away, but Alexander smiled at her. The entire household had a habit of looking after him, as if he were some fragile thing, and while other nobles might find it disagreeable, he found it somewhat endearing. He appreciated their care.

"I'm teasing you," he said, hoping to ease her concern. "You are probably correct." With a deep sigh, he dragged himself out of bed and prepared himself for another day.

When he got to the breakfast room, he was surprised to find a letter had already arrived and had been placed next to his plate. He frowned as he looked down at it, not quite taking his seat. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but he had a bad feeling about the entire thing.

He pulled his chair out and lowered himself slowly, his eyes focused on the letter in hand. He stared at his name on the front when the maid dashed forward and poured him tea from the pot.

"Thank you," he muttered though he was distracted.

"Would you like some eggs this morning, Your Grace?" she asked.

"Hmm."

The maid scurried away, presumably to prepare the eggs, and Alexander turned the letter over, snapping the plain wax seal.

Dear Duke of Ashbourne,

I hope this letter finds you well. I must apologize for my husband's rashness yesterday. We would like to invite you over for tea at three o'clock this afternoon, if it suits you, for us to discuss the matter further.

Yours Sincerely,

Lady Lydia Fairchild.

Alexander read the letter three times before it truly sank in. Hope swirled with fear, the feeling pinching at his stomach. Could it all have been a silly misunderstanding? Maybe. Maybe this was his chance to win Charlotte back, to ensure she became his wife.

But something didn't feel right, and he wondered whether there had been a disagreement between Lord and Lady Fairchild. Perhaps Lord Fairchild had declined Alexander's offer, only to find Lady Fairchild furious that he didn't accept.

"Maybe," he muttered to himself as the eggs were placed in front of him. He looked up at the maid. "I'm sorry, I have rather lost my appetite." With that, he left the breakfast room and went to prepare himself for his meeting.

Alexander arrived at 3pm exactly, as instructed. He had made sure to put on his best tailcoat and tie his smartest cravat. He had combed his hair several times, and had the valet shave his beard. Yet still, as he knocked on the door, his heart shook with nerves.

"Ah, Your Grace," the butler said as he answered the door. "You are expected in the drawing room. Follow me."

He turned on his heels and marched away before Alexander could say a single word. Instead, he snapped his jaw shut and followed as requested. There was a peculiar feeling in the air, as if he were in a dream and he floated through the corridors.

"His Grace, the Duke of Ashbourne, my lady."

My lady? Alexander's brow furrowed as he waited by door. Was it only Lady Fairchild? He hoped not. He felt as if he hadn't seen Charlotte for a century or more, though in truth it was only a day and a night.

"Thank you," the female voice said, and Alexander froze. It was not Lady Fairchild but Lucille! Had he been duped into coming here?

The butler bowed then took his leave, nodding to Alexander as he left.

"What's going on?" he asked immediately. "Where are Lady Fairchild and Lady Charlotte?"

To his fury, Lucille shrugged, though the grin on her face told him she knew very well. "I'm sure they'll be back soon. Why don't you take a seat?"

Alexander hesitated, unsure for a moment. But he could never be impolite, no matter what this woman had done to him. He glanced at the open door then took the seat as far away from Lucille as possible.

"Perhaps we ought to call the maid in," he said, bouncing his legs up and down and pointedly avoiding Lucille's eyes. He had never felt so uncomfortable in his entire life, and Lucille's intense gaze did nothing to make him feel better.

Her high-pitched giggle floated through the air, making him cringe. How had he ever thought himself in love with such a woman? She was nothing compared to his beautiful Charlotte, and now he could be grateful that she had betrayed him.

"I am serious, Lucille," he said, glaring at her from across the room. "This is inappropriate, and I do not wish to be the subject of gossip again. Neither do I wish to damage your own reputation. I should have thought you bothered by that, given that appearances are so very important to you."

Lucille pouted at him. "Oh, don't be like that, Alexander."

Alexander huffed. "I'd far rather we stick to formalities, please."

Lucille giggled again. She rose from her seat and swayed across the floor, closer to him. "You're always so fretful, but honestly, there's nothing to be concerned about. Especially not about us being alone."

She was standing so close that he became overwhelmed by the rose water she had daubed herself in, the scent cloying and suffocating. He looked up at her, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"I mean it. There's nothing to worry about. We are quite alone in the house."

Alexander froze, the muscles in his shoulders tense and uncomfortable. He wished he was anywhere but there, and yet he was too polite—and too eager to see Charlotte—to leave. To his surprise, Lucille sashayed away from him, but she only went to the door. She pushed it with a single finger until it swung shut, closing them together in the room. Alexander sucked in his breath and stood up.

"I really think that's quite enough," he said. "I ought to get going."

But by the time he was on his feet, Lucille was in front of him again. "Don't be silly," she said. "Isn't it time we rekindled our love? It was a lot of fun, wasn't it?"

She ran the tip of her finger down his cheek, making him shudder. He cursed his body for enjoying the sensation while his mind screamed for escape. He didn't want this. He didn't want her.

"No, it was not," he replied through gritted teeth. He went to move away but before he could, she pushed his shoulder, and he tumbled back into his seat, eyes wide with surprise. "Lucille, please, I…"

She sat on his lap, an arm around his neck, and she leaned in close, her face barely an inch from his while her fingers played with his cravat. "You can't honestly tell me that you don't want me. Everyone wants me."

***

"We really ought to hurry," Charlotte said, scooping up her skirts and rushing along the street.

Aunt Lydia pulled out her pocket watch, the one she had borrowed from her husband, and frowned. "Not just yet," she said.

Charlotte spun back around to face her and huffed. "But the duke is coming, and I really cannot be late. I need to change into a clean gown and fix my hair before he arrives."

"You need do none of that," Aunt Lydia said with a tut as she pulled up beside her niece. "And besides, he is not due to arrive until three-thirty. You have plenty of time."

Charlotte wanted to scream in frustration. She had not even wanted to go out on this walk, but her aunt had insisted that it would make her feel better. A little fresh air, she said, would improve her mood no end, but Charlotte hadn't been convinced that her mood even needed improving. She was to see Alexander that afternoon, and all she felt was excitement. There was no doubt in her mind that this misunderstanding would be easily cleared up, and that she would be officially engaged by the end of the day.

They turned onto their street, and Charlotte rushed past the houses to their own steps. She trotted up them, but before she could turn the handle, her aunt called out to her.

"Wait for me, will you! What sort of brute leaves an old woman on the streets alone?"

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at her. Aunt Lydia considered herself old when she wanted help but otherwise insisted she was as young as ever. She didn't know why the woman was so determined to hold them up, but she stopped all the same, albeit with a huff, and waited for her not-so elderly aunt to catch up.

"There," Aunt Lydia said as she reached the top step in pretend breathlessness. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"Can we go inside now?" Charlotte asked. Aunt Lydia nodded, and Charlotte turned the handle and entered the house.

"Ah, my ladies," the butler said as he took their cloaks. "The Duke of Ashbourne is waiting for you in the drawing room."

Charlotte gasped. "He's here already? Why on earth is he so early?"

She glanced at Aunt Lydia, whose smile seemed nothing if not smug. "I suppose there is no time to change your gown now, dear. We have guests to greet."

"Did you know about this?" Charlotte demanded, but that only made her aunt tut.

"Of course not! But if he truly loves you, then the state of your gown shouldn't matter one iota. Come along, let's sort this mess out and finally discover the truth."

The butler and Aunt Lydia went ahead. Charlotte paused for a moment, her panic rising, but she quickly scuttled after them. Aunt Lydia was correct—her gown didn't matter. They loved one another.

"Oh, the door is closed," Aunt Lydia said as they arrived.

That was when Charlotte felt the first crush of dread. There was no reason for the door to be closed.

Where is Lucille? The giggle that came from inside the room told Charlotte exactly where she was. The dread crushed her further.

The butler pushed down on the handle and the door swung open.

Charlotte cried out when she saw it. The duke jumped up quickly, pushing Lucille to the ground, but it wasn't quite quick enough. Charlotte had seen it all. The way he had lounged on the couch, not caring for propriety nor who might walk in on them. And Lucille, on his lap, her hand tickling the back of his neck as if they were lovers.

Because they are lovers.

"Charlotte, wait," Alexander said, stepping over Lucille's body, his hand out as if to stop her. But Charlotte couldn't wait, and neither did she want anything to do with him ever again. Sobbing, she turned and ran to her room, locking herself in.