Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Marjorie awoke the next morning in her bedchamber to the faint sound of tapping against glass. She smiled to herself, sprang out of bed, and threw open the window as her raven flew in and perched beside her desk.

"Hello, Benny. My handsome boy. It's been some time."

She had left out presents for him yesterday, hoping he would realize she had returned.

Just then, the door opened, and her twin sister walked in, leaning heavy on her cane.

Emily had nearly died of smallpox until a doctor arrived at their London home and escorted her to their country home. It was a long recovery, and she still had difficulty with her sight and feeling in the left side of her body.

Emily had never returned to London. Their parents thought it best, considering the scarring.

"Oh, you and that bird," she snapped, then settled into the armchair by a large open trunk.

"Benny is an excellent companion."

"Birds have no business being kept inside."

"Good thing he doesn't live inside, then." Marjorie turned and cooed at the beautiful bird. "He only comes to visit because he loves me so."

"So does the duke, but he hasn't shown up since you arrived."

Marjorie stiffened, pulling her wrapper tight, pretending such a casual mention of Alfie didn't affect her.

But it did.

She swore the ground had just shook beneath her feet. Or maybe her knees wobbled. Or maybe she had just jumped from bed too quickly.

Either way, climbing into his bedchamber yesterday might have done more harm than good. And she wasn't sure he could help her when he was so thoroughly convinced he couldn't help himself.

"Where have you been?" she asked her sister instead.

Emily wagged her eyebrows, folding her arms across her chest. "Assisting the good doctor."

"Mother and Father will not be happy to learn of that."

"It's a good thing they're otherwise occupied in London then, isn't it?"

Wasn't that the truth? Their mother loved many things in life, but minding after her daughters wasn't one of them luckily.

"Besides," Emily continued, "I could ask you the same. Except I know the answer. You were over with the duke yesterday."

No bother denying it. Marjorie strode to her desk and shuffled through a few papers before turning. "Have you seen him since he returned from France?"

"He wasn't accepting visitors. When his father passed, I tried to call and pay my respects, but his mother sent me away. I haven't tried since. I know when I'm not wanted."

Funny that anger and sadness could be but a threadbare difference. Alfie needed a friend in this world, even if he believed he wasn't fit for one at the moment. But his mother…

"Yes, well, I saw him."

"Is he still in love with you?"

She didn't care for her sister's nonchalance at such a claim. As if it were common knowledge.

"I don't wish to speak of it."

"I take that as a yes."

"You must be exhausted," Marjorie said, attempting to change the course of the conversation. "Would you like me to help you to your room and ring for something to eat or some tea?"

"I don't need your help," Emily snapped. She stood, then adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses up her round button nose. "I only mean I have been by myself for some time. You have been in London, and I have been here in the country. If you would like my advice, I suggest you attempt to see the duke again today. Be there for him. He is grieving, true. But loneliness is altogether consuming and a different kind of sadness."

"You could come to London," Marjorie said. "I wouldn't allow Mother and Father to overshadow you."

"I don't wish to go to Town. I am happy here. I can study medicine and attend my plants and keep to myself. It's a quiet life, but it's comfortable, and I can do as I wish. I don't have to worry about gowns or balls or marriage."

"You used to want to be married. You used to make me pretend to be the groom and walk me down the hallway outside the nursery to your doll overseeing the ceremony. Do you remember? Why, that one time you wore one of Mother's gowns, and I thought she would?—"

"I grew up, and things changed. I changed." Her sister gestured at her body. "I've been left here in the country like a shameful secret, but I refuse to allow their embarrassment to dictate my life. I'm content here. No need for love to muck it up."

Marjorie leaned forward in her chair, her eyes wide with a teasing smile. "Don't you wish to be mucked up? Just once even?"

Her sister playfully gasped before standing up and winking. "La, Sister, ladies don't speak of such things!"

She giggled to herself as she turned toward Benny. "Well?" she called out after her.

"I love you, but you are trouble. Stop being a coward and go see your duke. Maybe he can stop your moping."

"I was not moping!"

"Stay late and make terrible decisions. I won't tell. Cross my heart."

Marjorie pulled her legs up and hugged her knees, gazing out the window across the park toward her neighbor's estate. She couldn't see the house from here, but it was much like the moon—always guiding her even when she couldn't see it. He was a constant.

And it wasn't as though she didn't consider herself a friend. He was her best friend in the world. But maybe it was the time away from one another or the kindness lingering in his green eyes, but she wasn't sure that was all that was between them now.

Some cosmic pull. Or fate. A force much bigger than themselves, surely, because if not, then she was to believe what? She missed years of being loved by a man?

That same echoing tug pulled at her chest at the very thought.

Marjorie had turned down Alfie when he proposed. She was set on his charming friend from school. The very friend who shattered her heart and stole her book now. But she hadn't been ready to be Alfie's wife, never mind a duchess. She had been seventeen, and he had been…

Well, yes… she could admit she had been surprised by the way she felt around Alfie sometimes. Even then. Even before.

And now?

She tossed her head back and groaned. It didn't matter whether her heart was confused. All she knew was his heart was broken, and she could help. She could be a coward later. Now, she had a duke to visit.

* * *

Marjorie had climbed into his window yesterday as if she hadn't walked out of his life three years prior. As if time hadn't lapsed between them, when in truth, it hadn't been years but lifetimes.

And now, he sat in his chair, reading the newsprint as the morning sun dappled across the rug, and he pretended he hadn't positioned it to watch the window for her return today. Because that was ridiculous. Alfie wasn't waiting for her.

He never had been.

Lie.

Last night he hadn't slept well. Nightmares again. Almost always since returning from France. But last evening he had thought she had been there beside him. Could have sworn her hand cupped his cheek and pulled his focus to her dark eyes and whispered until he calmed. Could have sworn the moonlight kissed her bare shoulder from where her nightgown slipped low. Smelled her perfume.

And her smile.

Christ, that smile of hers would forever strike at the center of his heart.

But no matter. That, too, had been a dream. The memory of her. The wish for what could have been.

She deserved someone who could love her.

But it wasn't as if Alfie was a good match for her either. Not now. What sort of future could they share if he couldn't even leave his room? Sure, she was a wallflower, but she lit up when she experienced the world around her. He had watched her often enough from across the ballroom.

A soft rustle sounded outside his window.

For a moment, he nearly sprang to his feet, then decided to wait. He hid behind the paper and stifled a laugh as Marjorie cursed under her breath, before crawling through his window and tumbling down onto the floor in a heap.

She sat up, brushing her long brown hair, the soft dimple in her chin prominent as she shrugged. "No books to the head today? Careful, I might fall under the impression you enjoy my visits."

I do.

"I have a door," he said instead. "And a parlor."

"But you won't leave your room, so how am I able to pay you a visit?"

"What makes you believe I wish to have you call on me?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, then rolled over to jump onto her feet. It was then he noted the large bag at her boots.

"Had enough of the country? Ready to run back to London?"

"I think it's high time you see someone other than your own reflection. Your manners are rusty."

"You were never one to stand on ceremony, Jo."

Again, she shrugged, then removed a peach from her bag. "If you must know, I brought my manuscript here today so I may work, and you may endure my company because I am an excellent friend in that way."

He never suffered through her company. She was not a burden. Alfie was afraid, however, of how badly he wanted her. Worried the truth would work its way out between them one way or another.

"I don't mean… That is, you do not have to suffer because I cannot get out of my own way."

The way her eyes snapped to his mouth was altogether delicious. He set down the paper on his lap, hiding the unfortunate and sudden cockstand in his trousers.

"Who said anything about suffering? Nonsense. But I would do with a spot of tea."

Just as quickly, her attention shifted, and she stood, surveying his room before settling over at the desk by the large window overlooking the hedge maze and rose garden in the rear park of Hollyvale.

"You are merely the Minotaur at the moment, my dear friend. I am here to free you. I am your Theseus."

As if Alfie hadn't thought of that symbolism before. He did so appreciate her enthusiasm for Greek mythology, but it meant nothing when the monster was inside of him, and he was trapped in this room with plenty of exits but no will to leave.

It was safer here.

If he remained, he wouldn't fail anyone else. Anyone beside himself. But he had made peace with that sometime around Christmastide last year.

Instead of answering, he rose and rang for tea, then strode across the room and drew back the curtain panel to allow more light to fall across the desk.

"What else might I prepare for you?"

Her cheeks blushed. She sat and ducked her head, grabbing her peach and taking a bite. "You can continue sulking or pacing or whatever you do here. Don't let me ruin your plans."

"You're baiting me."

"Is it working?" She grinned to herself, pleased, then wiped away some peach juice from her chin. "Don't be such a bear."

He ruffled his hand through his hair. His valet had luckily been keeping it trimmed, but given enough time, the brown curls would stand up on end like coils.

"What are you writing this time?"

"The usual. Death, intrigue, romance."

"I'm sorry for what happened to you." His voice dropped to a whisper. She froze in her seat at his desk, gazing up at him. Once again, he was struck that in another life, this was only another morning, and they were a married couple bickering and flirting. Except then, he would have reason to lean down and lick the peach juice off her chin.

Friends didn't do that. But he hadn't thought of her as a friend in years.

And really, this was the damn problem. He was in love with his best friend. Had been, had proposed, and when she turned down his foolish plan, his love for her never escaped. Instead, it kindled his heart, bringing him home after almost dying in France, saving him from himself on the longest, loneliest days after burying his younger brother and his father's death shortly after.

When it came down to it, Marjorie was his reason for living, even after breaking his heart. He treasured her and would help her even if it meant he would hurt himself in the process.

Nothing about it would be easy, but for her, he would do it.

* * *

It wasn't lost on Marjorie that the day slipped by faster than she wanted. It often was the case when she was writing. But that wasn't the only reason why.

She stretched from her spot on the floor beside Alfie in the chaise behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled. He was reclined back with a stack of her manuscript pages beside him, reading intently.

"I don't know how you do this," he said, looking up from her writing. "This is brilliant. I can't stop reading."

Difficult as it was, Marjorie accepted the compliment, even though she wished to hide under the rug at the praise.

She stood, gathering up her inkwell and the few pages she was revising, and wandered to the desk. It was time to leave, but that didn't explain why she wanted to climb onto the chaise beside Alife and rest her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. Or how she wished to thread her hand into his and pretend nothing else mattered.

Stalling her departure wouldn't help. Certainly not as she watched the day's last burst of golden light wash over Alfie. A glimpse of what she had refused, this lovely, tender familiarity.

Alfie was her friend, wasn't he?

And what she was beginning to feel for him felt far more romantic than that. Or maybe she had always been attracted to him. The way his lips spread into a wide smile, and his warm green eyes filled with joy. She loved the way smile lines creased around his eyes, made him friendly, familiar, and did something funny to her heart she didn't understand.

Marjorie traced her fingertips over the top of her pages, waiting for something to make sense. But none of this made sense.

She had come back to seek his help in revenge against Percy. And it wasn't as if she didn't want Percy to make amends for what he had done, but seeing Alfie made her remember something else entirely.

She had loved her friend when he had proposed. She was seventeen. He was heir to a dukedom. It was ridiculous to even consider agreeing to marry him when his parents had made it clear that they didn't like her family. The ton would never accept her, and she said no. But it would be a lie to say it didn't break her heart to say so. Even then, even when she had thought herself in love with Percy, what she thought she felt for Percy had always been what she shared with Alfie.

"I need to go," she said, first speaking softly to herself, then spinning and resting against the desk. She set down the pages and tried to steady herself. Even so far away, she could swear she felt the back of his hand against her cheek.

To that, she met his gaze. He was always so good at pulling the truth from her. Even now, when he considered himself broken and beyond the capability of love.

She had to leave today, but she wasn't ready to return to London just yet and leave him behind.

"Do you have to?" he asked.

"Yes," she laughed. "Of course."

"Let me have a carriage bring you back."

She walked over slowly to collect the rest of her manuscript. When his hand reached for hers, he pulled her down to the edge of the chaise.

She twisted so she covered his chest with her body. They stared at one another, waiting, the silence filling up between them.

"I could stay a little longer," she said after a minute.

"I would like that. We can have dinner."

She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. He was so close. She could kiss him here. Kiss him and see if all the wild spinning thoughts consuming her now made sense. Or if they were only worries.

"That sounds lovely."

He reached up and placed his thumb on the soft dimple of her chin. She hated it. Always had, always felt self-conscious about it. No one else she knew had the same jawline.

"Stay for dinner," he urged. "Then we can read again together afterward."

"I can't stay here, especially not alone after dinner." Her fingertips brushed over the buttons of his shirt. "It's bad enough I'm holed up in your room. If someone were to say something?—"

"You'd be ruined."

"Yes," she said after a minute. But even then, she couldn't take her focus away from his mouth. How close he was. Her fingers itched to touch him.

"I can ruin you," he said, "and I'd be the perfect gentleman about it."

She knew he was teasing. At least somewhat. But the way his voice dropped, she realized he had also spoken some truth there as well. That frightened her a little, maybe excited her a bit more.

"Ruin me?" She licked her lips as the space between them grew even smaller.

"I don't think it would be considered ruining you if I still intend to marry you."

She drew back a little, laughing. "Marry me? You were talking about ruining me. I was talking about leaving a minute ago." She jumped to her feet, putting her forehead in her hand. "Alfie, I must go. I think it's best. I don't know what…"

She swallowed hard, watching emotions play across his face until he finally sat up, gathered her manuscript, and stood.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know a lot of things to be true in this life. Hell, I can't even leave this room. But I know I still care for you, Jo. I do enough that, if it is a crime, I am willing to pay for it. I am already a man condemned."

He sighed again, and she noted his hands fisting along his waist. "I already can't get out of my own mind. Being stuck in this room has also made me realize what is in my heart. And I know I wasn't wrong all those years ago. I knew then I wanted you to be my wife. I still want you to be my wife. Be my Duchess, Jo. Go to London and we will see that Percy acknowledges what he did, and more importantly, you receive the praise you deserve."

He stalked closer. Marjorie's heart hammered in her chest. She remained still, afraid to move, afraid to speak. Marry him? He wanted her to marry him. After all this time?

"Alfie," she gasped, shaking her head, overwhelmed. Because this time it didn't seem so ridiculous an idea.

"I love you, Marjorie. And however inconvenient a truth that is to hear, I have to tell you. I don't know if I told you enough then. I don't think you were ready to hear it. I know you've just come back, and I realize I have been my only company for months now, and I've had plenty of time to consider this, but I don't see any way out. Because you are it for me, Jo. You have always been the only woman for me. I want that. I want you. I want to learn what love is because I'm learning it with you. I know it's a lot for you to hear. I'll be patient if you need time. I'll wait. I'll wait until my dying day."

"Alfie, you're the Duke of Aldridge," she said.

He straightened, putting a little distance between them. "I need you. I don't care about the rest. I've spent too much of my life worrying about what I should do, what I was born to do, what I needed to do. But duty only saw me locked up in this room. And it took you crawling in through my window for me to recognize this doesn't have to be the end of my story. I don't have to say goodbye. All I'm asking is for you to allow me to love you."

Marjorie waited, stunned.

Only moments earlier, she was preparing to return home. She had come this morning to be a friend because her friend had been hurting. She was quite positive she had just had a duke propose to her.

Again.