“When she grew tired and went to sleep, I stayed, holding her hand as if by doing so I might keep her from slipping away. At some point I must have dozed off, for when I awoke, all the candles in the room had burned out, save one . . . the one you held.
“I’ve no idea when you arrived at her bedside, but your candle gave off such a faint glow that I remained shrouded in darkness. When I heard you baring your soul to her and whispering prayers of forgiveness . . . I had no wish to intrude. So I sat there, still holding her hand as her life slowly ebbed away. But the sorrow I felt at her passing was quickly outshone by your heart wrenching display of grief.”
Alexandra sat in silence, doing her best to gather her emotions under some form of control. She could hear her voice quiver and quake as she spoke, and she knew that once she allowed the grief to grip her, she’d lose her ability to speak. Trying to avoid her own feelings surrounding the subject, and aiming for a detailed account of the facts alone, she took a deep breath to calm herself.
“You’re a military man, Papa. You’ve led countless numbers of troops into battle without a moment’s hesitation and without ever considering your own safety. You’re strong and fearless—nothing can harm you. But when I saw you so easily defeated . . . so easily crippled by something as intangible as love . . . I didn’t really give it much thought. I just knew that love, the sort that binds your soul to another . . . I knew it wasn’t for me, and from that moment on, I would do everything in my power to always avoid it.”
“Oh, Alex.” Bryce’s voice was filled with a mixture of pain and compassion. “I had no idea. And you were so young. I can’t begin to imagine the sort of impression such a moment must have made on you.”
Snuffing the last of his cigar in a nearby ashtray, Bryce got up and walked across to his daughter. He sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms, giving her all the paternal comfort that she needed. When the tears had passed and she drew away with a trembling sigh, he reached out and took her hands in his. “You mustn’t turn your back on love, Alex. Life is meaningless without it.”
“But the way you suffered . . . not just then but for years afterward. I could see it in your face, the way you pulled away from us, feel it in your demeanor . . . I still can. How can you ask me to embrace something that has caused you so much grief?”
“Because, it’s also been the source of great joy for me. And though the grief was intense, the joy always lingered. You have to understand, where there is love, true and unblemished love, the sort most people only ever get to dream about, grief is the price you have to pay. But speaking as one who’s been fortunate enough to know that kind of love, I can promise you it’s been worth it all. Never in a million years would I trade the pain for all the happiness your mother brought me.” He squeezed Alexandra’s hands—his eyes were glistening and his voice had begun to wobble . “And I count my blessings every day that I’ve known what it feels like to be held in her arms, to walk hand in hand and steal a kiss from her below a willow tree. Yes, your heart will be on constant alert, just waiting for disaster to strike, but such is love, Alex. The best you can do is bury your fears and focus on all the good it will bring you. Because I promise you, if you don’t follow your heart, you’ll wake up one day, knowing you squandered the most precious gift life has to offer you, feeling nothing but emptiness inside and with a mind filled only with regret. This should be your greatest fear, Alex. Not love.”
Alex sat, stunned and shaken. She’d been so busy focusing on all the pain and heartache that came from love that she’d completely missed the point. Worse than that, she’d spent the last nine years running from the only thing that really mattered and straight toward that which promised true anguish—the knowledge that she’d deliberately spurned a chance for true happiness.
“I need him, Papa,” she suddenly whispered as she gazed up at her father. She felt suddenly struck by an overwhelming sense of wonder, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. It soon fled as worry took over. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I’ll always love him and he’ll never love me? Oh God, Papa . . . what if he won’t have me anymore? I’ve been so stupid, so selfish . . . I’ve made such a mess of it all. He’ll never forgive me. How can he? I’ve treated him terribly and now . . .”
Bryce held up his hand to quiet his rambling daughter. He looked serious, though, she couldn’t help but notice the beginnings of a smile. She could hardly imagine what a mess she must seem in his eyes as she aimed for what she hoped to be a less besotted expression. The tears were gone, that was true, but she still wasn’t her old self. No, she was acting like a nervous lovesick girl mooning over her own prince charming—probably with big red hearts glowing in her eyes.
“Pull yourself together, woman,” her father told her firmly. “Now that you’ve got your head back on straight, I’m quite confident everything will work itself out.”
“Really?” she asked with genuine concern as she bit down on her lip. “I’m just so . . . I’ve never felt like this before . . . this need to chase after him as fast as I can while I shout my love for all the world to hear.”
Bryce grinned. “Steady on, Alex, or you’ll scare him off. Now I know how you feel, because I felt the very same thing after meeting your mother.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Well, it would hardly be love if you didn’t feel that way, but you see . . . it’s never good to just charge ahead. Take your time and make a statement that won’t leave him wondering about what’s in your heart. Now, I do believe an opportunity has presented itself.”
“An opportunity for what?”
“For you to make your statement.”
Alexandra’s jaw dropped. Was her father seriously forging a plan for her to win Michael’s heart? “What are you up to?” she asked cautiously.
“Nothing. But I did receive this invitation earlier today from the Duke and Duchess of Willowbrook. They’ve invited us to attend a ball they’re hosting a week from today. It promises to be the highlight of the season if I am not mistaken.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Alexandra replied with a rather bland expression. “But I don’t see why their ball should be of any interest to me. You know how much I despise dressing up in frilly dresses and such.”
“It should interest you, my dear,” Bryce said with an almost victorious smirk on his lips. “Because the Duke and Duchess of Willowbrook, are none other than your beloved Michael’s parents.”
“Bloody hell!” Alexandra exclaimed as she plopped back in her seat to digest this new piece of information.
“Yes, well . . . I do hope you’ll watch your language when you venture out into public.”
“Hm? Oh . . . yes, of course, Papa . . . sorry.” Michael Ashford was the son of a duke. Why the devil hadn’t she heard about this before? Or maybe she had and she just hadn’t given it much thought. She wasn’t sure. In any case, her father was right in strategizing. Michael was probably the most sought after bachelor on the marriage mart. Young women would be swooning at his feet, and if he thought his relationship with her was over, then . . .
Oh hell!
There was nothing for it. She would have to dive into the middle of the London season and stake her claim before it was too late. “I’m going to London tonight,” she announced as she sprang out of her chair. “I need to pay Aunt V a visit.”
“Calling in the cavalry are we? Well, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you, especially once you tell her you’re finally giving her a shot at making a presentable lady out of you.”
Placing her hands on her hips, Alexandra gave her father her most convincing do not mess with me stance. “I am a presentable lady. I just need a bit of guidance that’s all.”
Sticking out her tongue in a way she hadn’t done since she was five, Alexandra sauntered from the room. A second later she popped her head back in. “Thank you for listening, Papa, and for all the advice.” She then served him her brightest smile before closing the door behind her.
Things were finally beginning to look up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Virginia Camden, the Viscountess of Lindhurst, was just finishing dinner with her husband, Henry, when a rather bewildered butler entered the dining room. “My lady . . . ah . . . er . . . well . . .”
“Whatever is the matter, Pierson?” Virginia asked as she set her crystal glass back down upon the table after taking a very tiny sip. She never overindulged in anything.
“I’m terribly sorry, my lady, but you appear to have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Lord Lindhurst asked in obvious disbelief and not without a great deal of annoyance. “Whoever would call upon us at such a late hour? Is there an emergency of some sort?”
“I don’t believe so, my lord. The lady . . .” Pierson looked as if he might turn purple from his effort to complete his sentence—he certainly appeared rather distressed. He took a deep breath, apparently finding it quite a challenge not to let his otherwise perfectly collected facade slide. “She says she’s a relative and that she wishes to see you, my lady, on a matter of some importance.”
“Good heavens.” Virginia quickly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin as she rose from the table. “I’d best see what all of this is about.”
As she came closer to the butler, he leaned toward her and subtly whispered, “She’s wearing breeches, my lady.”
Virginia stopped in her tracks. She had only one female relation who was daring enough to show up on her doorstep dressed like a man and that relation had run off the last time she’d been there. “Alexandra,” she muttered, hurrying past a visibly shaken Pierson in order to greet her niece.
“Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” Virginia exclaimed as her eyes settled on Alexandra’s slim figure. She turned back to frown at Pierson. “You didn’t even offer to take her cloak?”
“No, my lady. I didn’t expect her to stay for long,” he said as he sent a disapproving glance in Alexandra’s direction.
“Pierson, this is my brother’s daughter, Lady Alexandra. You will treat her with respect, or I shall have to ask you to personally polish every piece of glass in this house, including the windows. Do I make myself quite clear?”
Looking as if he’d just swallowed something very unpleasant, Pierson inclined his head toward Alexandra. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, Lady Alexandra. I had no idea that . . . ahem . . . may I take your cloak?”
With a crooked smile, Alexandra obliged, unclasping the heavy folds of fabric from around her neck and draping them across Pierson’s outstretched arm. “Thank you, Pierson,” she told him with a ring of amusement to her voice.
“Please have some tea brought to the parlor,” Virginia told him. Then, after a moment’s hesitation and giving Alexandra a quick once over she added, “And some sandwiches. I’m sure her ladyship must be quite famished.”