Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Early morning light filtered through the windows as Marjorie stirred, surprised to roll over and discover Alfie awake and watching her. She stretched and smiled as he dropped a kiss on her forehead.

"Good morning," he whispered.

She tilted her head down as if to hide, but he peeled back the sheet, refusing to let her slip away.

Stubborn man.

"I'm so hungry," she said. "I can't believe we stayed out here all night."

His voice was low and rough when he replied, "I can."

"There'll be no living with you now, Your Grace."

He reached over and pinched her nose. She wiggled her bum against the mattress, then he dove in and kissed her. First a fun, teasing kiss that slowly melted into desire, simmering and stirring. The kiss made it clear in her mind that, above all, they would no longer be just friends.

"Let's return to the house," she said. "Find something to eat."

"Then?" He brushed the hair back from her shoulder with his finger, drawing small circles there against her skin.

"I suppose I should return home."

"Do you have to?"

"Yes. All good things must come to an end," she said dramatically, though she had a long way to go before she treaded the boards of Drury Lane.

He snickered softly.

"I should see Emily. And I don't wish for any gossip."

She rolled away even as he tried to snatch her back into bed, and she glanced over her shoulder and laughed, quickly running her eyes from his head to his feet, soaking up every small detail of him. Admiring how handsome he was, her heart felt happy for once.

"If I don't find something to eat—" Her stomach cut her off with a grumble.

Alfie nodded, reaching for his buckskins. She laughed. She loved how easy things had become between them. Things hadn't changed between them—not really. It felt right, as if it should always have been this way.

He tidied the bed linens while she finished dressing, and then he came over and helped her with the fastenings of her dress. She brushed back her hair and held out her hand for his, glancing toward the door of the small glass folly, wondering if he would have a problem leaving. He surprised her and walked out, hand in hand with her.

On the first morning of October, they walked back slowly, talking about this and that, nothing important. He never let go of her hand. She wasn't sure she had ever had a more perfect morning in her life until she spotted the carriage in the drive at the front of the house.

Alfie stilled beside her, then pushed her behind him, squeezing her hand tight. She peeked around his body, trying her best to see who it was, only coming to the devastating realization that it was his mother, the duchess.

"Go ahead," she whispered. "I will continue home. This doesn't have to be a problem."

He shook his head as his mother spun on the drive, and her eyes met them both, her face settling into stone. She might as well have been Medusa.

Dash it, Marjorie cursed under her breath.

It was still so early. The sun had barely risen, and here she was, found walking hand in hand with the duke.

He glanced toward Hollyvale, staring a beat too long at his room. A sharp, sour taste overtook her mouth.

"Alfie," she said, hating the plea in her voice, or the way she suddenly felt ill to her stomach. Her heart raced in her chest, her palms sweaty. "Alfie, stay with me if it's?—"

"This would have had to happen at some point," he said, and his voice sounded distant. He tore his focus away from the house and back to his mother. "S-stay here. Give me a moment with my mother."

He cast one more look up at his bedchamber window before he set off toward his mother, too far away for her to hear their conversation. But the duchess shot a hard stare in her direction, nodding abruptly. She'd always hated Marjorie.

It was obvious what had happened.

Marjorie hadn't bothered to fix her hair. She wore yesterday's wrinkled dress now wet from walking through the fields so early. Her slippers were stained. She looked a mess, certainly not fitting for a morning visit in a parlor with the Duchess of Abinger.

She blew out a breath and closed her eyes as a high-pitched ringing pierced her ears, and the sounds of Hollyvale faded away. The same thing had happened when she had heard Percy read her novel out loud to her, claiming it as his. Shock and knowledge that her life was forever changed.

Alfie suddenly turned and waved her forward, and she knew she had little choice but to obey. As much as she wished to turn around and retreat, she couldn't. She clenched her hands as she walked over to Alfie and his mother.

She bowed her head. "Morning, Your Grace."

"Miss Merryweather," his mother sneered. "It is early for a visit, and Alfie here has said he found you walking this morning and invited you for tea."

Marjorie didn't miss the way the duchess swept her gaze over her, picking her apart piece by piece. She was no better than a vulture, eager to tear apart her prey until nothing remained.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Very well," his mother said, and she turned abruptly, setting off into the house.

Marjorie drew back, a little stunned, as Alfie came to stand beside her.

"What did you say to her?" she whispered.

There was a gleam in his eye. "Pretend as if we haven't seen one another."

"You told me she was in Bath," Marjorie countered.

He shook his head. "She was. I don't know why she is back so soon, but I think her finding me outside of my room has shocked her into being somewhat pleasant for the moment. So, let's take advantage of that, shall we?"

Marjorie agreed and quickly hurried inside, glancing around the once-familiar halls of Hollyvale. She hadn't been here in years. It was still as magnificent as ever, though dark due to the intricately carved paneling and collection of tapestries.

She certainly felt the loss of Alfie's father and Harry. It was much too quiet.

Harry was always singing or humming or laughing, following Alfie around as if he were responsible for hanging the moon in the sky. Their father preferred to play the pianoforte. The house had been alive with noise and laughter and joy, even if it had been made clear to Marjorie that she wasn't allowed to take part. She had caught glimpses, and it had felt different from her own home, which was a different sort of chaos growing up.

Her parents had visitors from all over the world who shared grand adventures, and they hosted wild parties. Marjorie was always lost in the shuffle, finding a way to keep herself busy and not so lonely. Especially after Emily was sick, and she was in London by herself.

Alfie peeked over his shoulder at her and winked. If she hadn't been marching after the stodgy figure of the duchess, she might have allowed herself to smile back. Instead, she quickly glanced at a mirror in the hallway, brushed back her hair, and followed, walking into the parlor and sitting down in the chair offered to her. She sat straight, quiet, and swallowed hard.

"Alfie, I'm so pleased to see you," his mother said as she sat opposite Marjorie and poured everyone a cup of tea.

The woman was grace and polish—everything, she supposed, a duchess should be.

Shame filled Marjorie's chest because of how foolish she had been to think, even for a few days now, that she could be Alfie's duchess. Most days, she never left her room. She preferred it that way, lost in her stories.

She glanced around once more, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all. The duchess had made it a point for years to make sure Marjorie knew her place, and it was not at Hollyvale.

"Why are you back, Mother?" Alfie set his tea down on the table, not touching it, and then refused a scone. Marjorie grabbed one but was afraid to eat it, certain she would be ill. Her stomach was far too unsettled by the unpleasant surprise.

"Well, I received an invitation from Lord Chadwick," she said. "Surely you remember Percy. He visited here often while you were at school together."

Marjorie dropped her scone. It fell against the spoon resting on the saucer and clinked against the fine porcelain, before flipping off and falling into her lap. She felt the heat of embarrassment burn her cheeks as she quickly picked it up and pretended to stare into her teacup. Even as that strange whooshing sound washed over her, Alfie's voice seemed miles away.

"Yes," he said.

"Well, he has a literary event and has invited me. Such a kind gesture, and you know I always wish to support the arts. He wrote that he hasn't heard from you, and he wishes for you to attend as well."

"Have you considered I don't want to speak to him?" Alfie shot back.

She never let her displeasure slip, instead turning her disgust toward Marjorie.

"Why are you here, Miss Merryweather?"

Marjorie's eyes widened. "I was taking a walk this morning, and I happened upon Alfie in the park. It has been years since I've seen him."

His mother glanced between them. There was no hiding the fact that she knew. Marjorie wished she could fall through the floor at that moment. She had never felt so small in her life, so insignificant. She glanced once more over to Alfie, waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, she knew she must leave.

"Thank you kindly for inviting me in for tea. But I shall return home. It was lovely seeing you both, truly." She stood up, trying not to fall when her skirt got stuck in the chair. She pulled the fabric free, jumping as Alfie reached to help her, wishing to give his mother no need for further gossip.

"Have a lovely time in London, Your Grace," she said as she turned around, leaving the room, only hearing the duchess's soft, chittering laugh.

"Her rude manners—it's no wonder why London won't embrace her," the older woman remarked. "What a strange creature. I'm surprised she's not married, though I'm not sure who would want to marry?—"

"Mother," Alfie warned.

Running out into the drive, placing her hands on her knees, and bending in half, she felt as if she would cast up her accounts at any moment. She glanced up at the sky, then back at Hollyvale. She had no business being there. No business sitting across from the duchess taking tea. She could pretend all she wished, but what had happened between her and Alfie could be nothing more than a fever dream. Now she was certain she needed to head to London.

"Jo," he said, and she winced at the nickname, furious he would even say so with his mother within earshot. She whirled upon him, balling her hands in front of her.

"Do not tell me what to do," she hissed. She wished to yell and scream and make a fuss. Her voice was all cold ice. "I was just humiliated in there. And I don't wish to pretend."

"Pretend what?" he insisted, reaching out for her. When she shook off his touch, he cursed under his breath and looked up at the sky before storming over to the carriage.

"At least take the carriage home," he said. "It would be faster. Let me ride with you." She noticed his white knuckles as he held the door for her. All hope sank in her stomach.

"No, Alfie."

Still, he insisted. She climbed into the carriage, settling over the bench, watching as his face paled. He stalled in the doorway.

"Damn it," he said finally after a few minutes, looking over at her. "Damn it all, I can't get in this carriage."

She reached her hand out for him, but it was his turn to withdraw.

"No, no pity," he snapped.

"Then let me go to London," she said.

"And what? What next?"

"I will return."

"Will you?" It was clear from his voice that he didn't believe her. She didn't believe herself. If she left, she wasn't certain she could return.

"Please," he said, his voice snapping. "Please, don't leave me here."

"I'm going," she whispered, her voice breaking. She wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "Be sure to answer my letters this time."

He pushed himself away from the carriage door and slammed it shut, stuffing his hands into his pockets as she took off. She glanced behind her through the small rear window as Alfie grew smaller in the drive, never moving.

She had been the biggest coward for running away, when she hoped leaving would be the right answer.

And reclaiming what was stolen from her.