Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Alexander rode his steed slowly back to the house, his surroundings quiet but his thoughts loud and crying for attention. He didn't see any of the area he had been hoping to explore, nor did he pay much heed to the countryside through which they rode. He couldn't, because all he could think about was the strange woman he had met at the lake.

She was a confounding thing. She spoke with the air of aristocracy and moved as a noblewoman would. And yet she behaved with such abandon as one would never find in a well brought up woman. She exuded freedom and, in that freedom, she looked happy. She was like no other woman he had ever met—noblewoman or maid alike. And that was more than a little appealing.

"Oh, to be so free," he muttered as the horse plodded, head down, through the fields and over the same paths he'd traversed just after the sun had come up.

There was something enviable about the way the woman had been, whomever she was. She was like a character in a play that no one would ever find believable because she was everything everyone wanted to be, yet no one could— or had the courage—to be.

"And she is beautiful with it," Alexander murmured.

His eyes searched the gravel along the driveway to the house as he approached, as if the answer to his thoughts were somehow between the stones. Not that he even knew the question, only that he was unsettled. Her presence had switched something within him. He hardly knew her, had barely spoken to her, and would most certainly never see her again. And yet he felt somehow changed by their meeting.

He laughed at himself as he approached the stables, jumping off the horse before it had even stopped. He led it into the stables, handing the reins over to the stable hand who still had sleep in his eyes, then made his way into the house. To be as free as her would be a gift. To be as light would be more.

"The wanderer returns," Stewart said as Alexander walked into the entrance hall.

His friend had just reached the bottom step of the grand staircase that swept into the hall, its bright red carpet running down the center. Stewart had his hand on the banister, his eyes equally as sleepy as the stable hand's.

"And sleeping beauty awakens," Alexander retorted. "Do you always spend half your day in bed?"

Stewart snorted. "It's barely nine o'clock. Breakfast time. Would you care to partake?"

Alexander made a show of stretching, though his muscles thrummed with energy. No, he didn't want breakfast. He wanted to scoop up the woman at the lake and whisk her to his bedchambers. He wanted to lay her down, to peel off her wet gown, and run his fingers over every part of her body.

"Yes, I think so," he replied instead, knowing he didn't truly have much of an option. "I could do with a little sustenance after a morning's exercise."

Stewart looked him up and down curiously as the pair turned past the staircase and into the narrow hall that led to the breakfast room at the back of the house. "Are you always this chirpy in the morning? What time did you rise, anyhow?"

"Always," Alexander confirmed. "And always with the sun. It's the best time of day. You should try it sometime."

"I don't think I could pull myself from the comfort of my bed," Stewart replied. "Too many good memories, if you catch my drift."

As he pulled his chair out, Stewart wiggled his eyebrows comically. Alexander rolled his eyes.

"Does everything come down to the sins of flesh with you?"

Stewart shrugged. "A fair few things, yes. Are you telling me that you don't feel the same urges? The same drive?"

As Alexander took his seat, his mind drifted again to the woman at the lake. If he was honest with himself, he'd felt the stirrings there, as he watched. His body had responded as it might at a peep show, with curiosity and wonder and just a hint of desire. He was scandalized by the flash of her ankles, but he was as much enticed by it too.

Stewart raised his eyebrows again. "I see from that glint in your eye that you are thinking of someone in particular. Am I right?"

Alexander scowled and picked up a triangle of toast. It tinkled on the plate as he dropped it, then he leaned over for a hard-boiled egg—still in its shell, naturally. "I am choosing not to answer that."

Stewart groaned. "It's not the lovely Lucille, is it?"

Alexander shot him a look. He had quite forgotten about Lucille's existence until that moment. Another thing the stranger in the lake had done for him.

"No," he replied firmly.

"Because there are far more beautiful women in the city, and ones who would lead to far less heartache. You know that you can take one just for the night, if that's your fancy." Stewart once again raised his eyebrows as he picked up his tea.

"Indeed. I hear you take one most nights, like the rake you are."

Stewart laughed. "Not most nights, no. Probably no more often than you, I'd say. I'm far more of a gentleman than that."

With a chuckle, Alexander said, "There is no such thing as a gentleman when it comes to sins of the flesh. We all become beasts when the chance arises."

"Ah, profound as well as innocent," Stewart teased. "Mornings really do suit you."

Alexander's lips twitched into a smile, but he decided to change the subject all the same, lest he accidentally reveal his desire for the stranger he'd met that morning.

"Tell me, then," he said. "Where is everyone this morning?"

Stewart laughed again. "I'd wager they are all still in bed, Alexander. Not everyone like to rise with the sun as you put it. The ladies are probably enjoying the chance to rest after so many weeks in London. It's what you should be doing too."

"Ladies? I thought it was only Lady Chelsea?"

" I thought I'd told you that Chelsea has brought along a little friend. Probably the same one she has be whispering with since she was a girl." He laughed, stirring sugar into his tea. "They always were such a naughty pair. My aunt and uncle are due to follow in a week or two."

"And is the friend anyone of interest?" Alexander asked, hoping that someone new might spark something within him, though what he could not say. Maybe a solution to his financial problems or a way to mend his broken heart.

Or a chance to meet someone like the stranger at the lake.

Stewart snorted. He held the teacup to his lips and blew across the surface. "I doubt it. They're mere children, Alexander."

Alexander raised a single eyebrow. "Your cousin is getting married at the end of the summer. She won't be a child for much longer."

Shuddering, Stewart said, "You're quite right, of course, but I'd rather not think about that."

He put his tea down on the saucer with a clatter. He hadn't taken a bite to eat, but then Alexander supposed he'd had plenty the night before, and he'd hardly done anything since to build an appetite. He dipped his own egg into the little pile of salt on his plate, then took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully.

Part of him wondered whether he should return to the lake while he was there, if only for a chance to see her again. The beautiful stranger so filled with abandon. He had probably frightened the poor girl away, but there was a chance, he supposed, that she would return to the same spot. She seemed so happy there—as if she belonged.

So free.

That word again. Free. Alexander felt anything but free, and his restraints became tighter by the day. If he didn't do something soon, he would earn the moniker The Destitute Duke. He dropped the remainder of his egg on his plate and wiped his fingertips on the white cotton napkin beside him. His appetite was quite lost to worry. All it took was an instant.

"What are your plans for the day?" he asked Stewart, hoping a change of subject would ease the burden of his relentless thoughts.

"I need to pop into town to run some errands," Stewart replied.

Alexander sat back in his chair and considered his friend. "I don't suppose you'd like a little company, would you?"

Stewart chuckled. "You're not scared of my cousin, are you? She won't bite—she already has someone to sink her teeth into."

"Of course not," Alexander protested. "Though I would far rather you be with them when we meet properly. I am a guest in their home, after all."

"Join me, then," Stewart said. "Though I warn you, we won't be back until dinner."

"All the better for me," Alexander muttered. "I'll see you at the coach in fifteen minutes."

***

It was almost midday by the time Charlotte found her way back to the house. She skipped in happily, her mood returning to the positive one she had when she woke. She had thought of little else but the stranger at the lake, but it was a dream, a safe imagining of a man she would never meet again. And that made her smile.

As does the feel of his arms around my waist, pulling me in. As does the warmth of his lips as he showers me with kisses.

The sun was high in the bright blue sky, barely-there wisps of clouds floating by. The grass seemed greener, the peonies pinker and the hollyhocks brighter. It was a strange sensation, but Charlotte felt aware of everything, from every slight movement in her body to the way the birds dipped and swam in the distance.

"Have you been swimming all morning?" Chelsea asked.

Charlotte jumped at the sound of her voice. She had assumed she was quite alone in the garden, but now she saw Chelsea peering at her from over the rose bush.

"What are you doing hiding there?"

"I'm not hiding," Chelsea said, stepping out onto the path. "I was examining."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "Examining… roses?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes. " I received a letter from Mother this morning, suggesting I come out to decide which flowers we'd like for the wedding."

"And you're looking at roses?" Charlotte wrinkled her nose. There was nothing more cliched in her mind than roses.

Chelsea shrugged. "I don't know. All flowers are pretty, aren't they? I don't see why it matters as long as I'm marrying the man I love."

"But you can have both," Charlotte said with a laugh. "You can marry Lord Leming and have a pretty bouquet. How about sweet peas?"

The grin on Chelsea's face told Charlotte that she approved of the idea. "You always think of the best things."

"I just don't like the same things as everyone else."

"And that is endlessly refreshing."

Chelsea approached her and slipped her arm inside Charlotte's. The two young ladies began to stroll along the path, admiring the garden.

"Do you think there will be enough sweet peas in the garden to fill all the vases though?"

"Well, you don't need the same flowers in every single one of them though, do you? You could mix and match."

Chelsea gasped. "Mix and match?" She hesitated, thinking through the idea, and then she grinned. "Good Lord, Charlotte. You've hit on it again. Let's go peaches and pinks, a variety of flowers."

"Wonderful idea."

Charlotte hugged her friend's arm closer to her, grateful to have her. They had been friends for so long that to Charlotte, Chelsea felt like the sister she had never had.

"There is so much to organize," Chelsea said as they wandered over the paths, pointing out different flowers in her chosen colors. "I am glad I shall only have to do this once."

Charlotte laughed. "I should imagine you will have a whole ballroom full of daughters for whom you will have to do this for as well, given how lustful you so evidently are. "

Chelsea giggled. "You would be lustful too, had you felt the touch of a man so close. It is a temptation too much, and it is worth a marriage, I'd wager."

Perhaps.

" And if I do have that many daughters, I shall I irritate them so much that they leave me alone and plan it themselves," she replied. "I wonder if that's what Mother is doing. She's managing to irritate me even from a distance!"

The girls broke into giggles as they approached the house, climbing the four stone steps that led up to the double oak doors. It was a beautiful estate. Charlotte had always admired it. The gray stone frontage stretched into the distance, eight large windows on each side of the door, sixteen chimneys pouring smoke out into the world.

The butler, seeing them from inside, opened the grand door with a loud clunk, bowing as they passed. Charlotte nodded her gratitude, but they didn't speak to him.

"It's the cook next," Chelsea said, guiding Charlotte toward the kitchens. They slipped to the left, down the steps that led to a bank of kitchens and larders. "Mother suggested guinea fowl. What do you think?"

Charlotte wrinkled her nose again. "Surely a banquet would be more appropriate. We had guinea fowl last night, and that wasn't a special night at all."

"Let's see what Cook says, shall we?"

They skipped through the hallways, ever narrower for being a servants' passage, until it opened up into the large and bustling kitchen.

"What can we do for you, Miss Chelsea?" the cook asked from where she stood kneading dough. She didn't even look up.

"We wanted to talk about the wedding, if you have time, of course."

The cook finally looked up and beamed. "Time to talk about a celebration? Always."

She directed a young maid to take over the kneading, then led Charlotte and Chelsea out into her small room that contained only a desk, a ledger, and a sheaf of parchment. She sat down with a contented sigh, dipped her quill into the ink, then looked up at them again.

"Where shall we start?"

They talked about the wedding plans for hours, and soon it became apparent that evening had befallen them. Charlotte was positively exhausted and more than a little overwhelmed by everything.

"Goodness," the cook said. "Look at the time! You'd best get yourselves ready for dinner."

"Actually," Charlotte interrupted, wincing at the sharp pain in her head. "Do you mind sending my dinner up to my room?"

Chelsea whipped around and looked at her. "Are you quite all right?"

"A little headache, that's all."

Chelsea pouted. "But I was hoping you would meet Stewart this evening. We have all changed so much from the little girls who used to run away from the boys."

Charlotte smiled weakly but the truth was, she could not muster the energy. "I will meet him tomorrow, Chelsea dear. I really need to rest."

She slipped away quietly and tiptoed to her room. The silence enveloped her, and she relaxed into it with relief.