Wrong Place. Wrong Time. Right Viscount.

Chapter 17

The next few weeks passed in a blur, and Alec hardly remembered much of anything. He knew he’d done everything he was supposed to, fulfilled all of his duties, but he’d done it as if he wasn’t truly there. It was as if someone else had done all those things and he’d merely watched from a distance, numb and unmoving.

Dead.

His father was dead. Gone forever. Alec would never again hear his laugh or come to him for comfort and advice. He would never get to admit to his father that he had found someone to teach him how to be happy, and that, against the odds, he was fairly certain that she loved him back as fiercely as he loved her. The way she’d looked at him just before…He shuddered, shaking away the memories of seeing his father lying on the floor of the MacTavish ballroom, of squeezing his hand and begging him to hold on, of trying desperately to think of something, anything, to stop this from happening. Elle had fallen to her knees on Jonathan’s other side and grabbed his other hand, her face stricken. Jonathan had smiled at her, though there were tears in his eyes, and thanked her softly before turning his gaze back to Alec. He told Alec that he loved him and was proud of him, just before the light left his eyes and death finally took him.

Now, Alec was the viscount. He was the head of the house. He was…empty.

“I’m an orphan,” Alec said in a dazed tone one evening as he and Elle walked in the garden with Callum and Jocelyn. They’d all remained in the country to help Alec get all of his affairs in order, even Percy. Alec was fairly certain he’d planned to propose just after the ball, but had refrained out of respect to Alec and the MacTavish family given that they were so close to Jonathan. Alec reminded himself to tell Percival that he should by all means ask Rosie, the sooner the better. Their happiness shouldn’t wait just because of him.

They all turned to stare at him.

“Well, I have no mother and no father, so that makes me an orphan now, doesn’t it?” He pursed his lips. “Or does that term not apply once you reach a certain age?”

Callum came and clamped a big hand on Alec’s shoulder, gripping him tightly and holding his gaze.

“Alexander William Kentworth, your mother and father by blood may have passed on from this world, but you are no’ alone. You have a mother and father by choice just here.” He gestured to himself and Jocy, whose eyes were shining with tears, a heartbroken look on her face. “You canna tell me you doona know that.”

Alec’s throat felt thick and his eyes pricked uncomfortably. He gripped Callum’s wrist, squeezing it in thanks and giving him a nod.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, barely able to force the words out.

Callum and Jocelyn walked ahead, giving Alec and Elle a bit of privacy. They walked in silence for a few minutes, their fingers brushing every so often, making his body jolt.

“I’m an orphan too, you know,” Elle said after a bit of time. Alec turned toward her, brows raised. He knew that her parents had died, of course. It was the reason she’d come to live with Jocy in the first place, but they’d never really spoken of it. He wanted to laugh, though there was nothing remotely funny about the situation: they had yet another thing in common now.

“They were killed in an accident.” His chest constricted at the quick flash of pain that darkened her beautiful features. “Their…carriage was struck and sent off of a bridge into a river.”

He sucked in a shocked breath. “Oh God, Elle. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t even imagine. At least he’d had some time to prepare for his parents’ deaths, whether or not he’d used that time wisely. To have them both taken so suddenly, with no warning? No chance to say goodbye? He hurt for her, wanted so badly to be able to take her pain or change the past for her.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I was nineteen. It still hurts—some days more than others—but…well, I just wanted you to know that I understand what it”s like, and I’m here if you need to talk about it.”

“Talk about it,” Alec repeated flatly, not even really knowing what he would say. Everything was still so unfocused, like he was trying to see it through a rain-soaked pane of glass: he could see what was outside, knew it was there, but couldn’t make out all of the details, just vague shapes and outlines.

“Or cry, or scream, or break things,” she added with a soft smile. “I highly suggest the screaming and breaking things first, followed by the crying, and then the talking. Maybe more crying afterwards.”

Alec’s lips actually curled upward for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.

She gave him a sad smile and hiked a shoulder. “I miss him too,” she said softly. “I wish I’d had more time with him.”

“And I know that he wished the same. He cared about you very much.”

“And he loved you more than anything in the world. And he was so proud of you, Alec. You have to know that.”

His chest tightened and he gripped her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

He didn’t deserve her. He’d been in a fog since his father had passed, but he did know that Elle had been there. She’d quietly helped him organize papers and make arrangements, despite Bennett insisting she needn’t bother herself. Alec vaguely recalled her telling the man that she was happy to help and wanted to be close by, just in case Alec needed her. He hadn’t even realized until now how much her presence had soothed him, even in his stupor. Just having her near had kept him from falling into the dark abyss that was calling him when he thought of his loss.

She’d gripped his hand during the funeral, not seeming to care at all what others might think. He’d squeezed it so tightly, he thought for sure he must be hurting her, but couldn’t seem to stop, and she hadn’t flinched or drawn away. She’d squeezed back, letting him know that she was there. He’d felt like a drowning man at sea, and her hand was a raft, the only thing keeping him from being pulled beneath the waves.

If he hadn’t loved her before, he most certainly did then.

***

Without meaning to, Alec had taken Elle’s advice and broken several glasses and a bottle of something, he wasn’t even sure what, admittedly having drunk far too much. He screamed until his throat was raw while the broken glass scattered across the floor and the amber liquid trickled down the wall. He wasn’t even sure what had happened, really. The bottle had been in his hand one moment, and the next, it was flying across the room. He was having a drink, seemingly fine—or as fine as he could be—and then he thought of the fact that he would never again share a drink with his father. He would never again sit before the fire and sip on brandy and talk about nothing and everything.

But instead of sorrow, it had been rage that boiled up inside him. A rage so white and hot and sharp, he was sure that it would somehow destroy him from the inside out. He was furious at the unfairness of it all. His father was a good man, a truly good man, so why was he fated to be taken from the world so soon? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right!

And the rage exploded.

He”d thrown the bottle with all his might. It sailed across the room and shattered against the wall with a satisfying crash. He screamed as he swiped the rest of the glasses off of the sideboard, sending more glass scattering across the floor. He wasn’t even yelling words, just awful bellows of rage and fury. He fell to his knees and let himself break, the rage transforming now into utter agony, a terrible, bottomless abyss of loss. He let the darkness take him under, just for a time. He let his grief surround him and strangle him. He wrapped his arms around himself and cried as he hadn’t before, even after his mother’s death. Alec had loved his mother, but Jonathan Kentworth had been like the sun. He’d burned so brightly, had been the light that had guided Alec his entire life. How could he be expected to survive without the sun? How could he possibly continue on? He felt as if he could actually feel his heart splintering, a crack forming that would never, ever heal, a part of himself being cut away forever.

Alec didn’t know how long he stayed there on his knees, but at some point, the tears stopped coming. He sat back, leaning against his father’s desk. He supposed it was his desk now, but in his mind, it would always be Jonathan’s. He let out a long, shuddering breath. He felt…better, actually. He huffed out a laugh. Of course Elle had been right. She always was, wasn’t she?

Now he could think on everything without the pain tearing him apart. He regretted so much and that guilt clawed at his chest, like an animal trapped within his body, desperate to escape. He should have come home sooner, should have spent more time here with his father once he knew that Jonathan was ill. But after his mother and then Colette, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. Alec told himself that if he didn’t see it with his own eyes, if he didn’t acknowledge it while he stood in front of it, it couldn’t be real. Of course, that had been ridiculous and the physician in him knew that his father was dying whether he accepted it or not. Now, he’d wished he’d spent the little time they’d had left together, here in their home. Riding and hunting and talking together in front of the fire deep into the night.

But the bitter tragedy of life is that it was far easier to have clarity when looking back, after it was too late.

He would have to live with his regrets about his father, but he would not have regrets with Eleanor. He loved her, he knew it in a way he couldn’t explain or comprehend. It was as if it were something that had been written into history long ago, something that was inevitable, and they had only needed to wait for the right time. What had started as a simple mutually advantageous arrangement, had turned into the most significant relationship in his life. He’d never felt a connection to another person as he did with Elle, had never laughed with another or confided in another as he did with her. God knew he desired no one else the way he desired her.

And surely she felt the same for him. He could feel it, could sense it whenever they were near, knew it from the way she helped him through his grief. He knew it, but that didn’t stop him from being riddled with nerves as he slid off of Apollo and walked up the front steps of Chestwick Hall. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears, faster than it had ever beat before. His throat felt dry and he was entirely too hot, tugging at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling as if it were strangling him.

He eyed the sky warily, the dark clouds swirling overhead making an ominous feeling settle deep in his bones. Was this an ill omen? A sign he shouldn’t be doing this? No. No, this is right. He gripped the flowers he’d picked from his mother’s garden so tightly that he crushed the stems and stained his palm green.

“Bugger,” he hissed as he wiped it furiously on the leg of his trousers and waited for the door to open. He gave Lottie a wide smile when she answered, and the girl flushed a deep crimson, as she always did.

“Lord Kentworth,” she said with a bow before gesturing for him to enter. “Are you here to call on Miss Montgomery?” Lottie asked with a smile as they walked down the wide hallway to the drawing room.

“I am, as a matter of fact.” For the last time, I hope.

Jocy, Callum, and Elle were all laughing about something when he entered the room, and he was struck again by Elle’s effortless beauty. Her hair was pulled back from her face and pinned loosely at the back of her head with sapphire pins that matched her eyes almost exactly. A few tendrils were pulled free around her face in a way that only Eleanor seemed to be able to make look elegant. Alec practically stumbled forward, not acting at all like the viscount he now was.

She met his gaze, and she looked so damned happy to see him his chest ached. She had to feel the same way he did. Callum caught his eye, and gave him an encouraging, surreptitious nod. Alec had spoken with him about this already and he had given his enthusiastic blessing. She just had to. He took a deep breath and tried to quiet his obnoxiously loud heart. Better get to it.

“Miss Montgomery. I’ve come to…That is, I’d like to…” Damn it. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say all morning. He’d penned a lovely proposal with all of the expected sentiment, even quoting Shakespeare for God’s sake, but now it all suddenly felt far too stiff and formal for his Eleanor. Abandoning what he’d stayed up half the night writing, he instead held her gaze, letting the feeling of belonging wash over him, settle into every inch of his body and soul. Home, he thought. She’s my home.

“Elle,” he started again, holding her gaze as he drifted ever closer. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly parted, and she seemed to be holding her breath. “I never wanted marriage. At least not the kind of marriage that it seems most in the Ton have, a marriage to be treated as a business arrangement and nothing more. I knew others could exist, ones based in true love, in two like souls finding each other. I saw it with my mother and father, and with Jocelyn and Callum,” he glanced to the pair who were watching on with soft smiles, “but I never imagined that lightning could strike a third time so close to my heart, that I could ever hope to be so lucky.” He paused, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, Elle. Beautiful not just in body, but down to your very soul. You have become a friend and confidant, a partner in mischief and grief, the sunrise on the horizon of even my darkest nights. You are stubborn and wily and smart and unlike anyone I have ever met. I still find you vexing,” she huffed out a soft laugh, eyes shining, “but I thank God that I did not, in fact, stop finding you at all because in you, I have found everything I could ever want, Elle. I have found the other half of my soul.” He smiled, squeezing her hands. “All that to say, that I’m afraid that I’ve gone and fallen madly and inconsolably in love with you.”

“Idiot,” she whispered, making everyone in the room laugh. Her eyes were shining with tears—ones of joy, he hoped.

“Just so,” Alec said with a grin. “I cannot fathom an existence where you are not with me, cannot tolerate even thinking of it. You are truly my dearest friend, and now I am asking you to also be my wife, so that you may call me an idiot for the rest of our lives.”

She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut as a single tear spilled down her cheek. A flash of lightning speared through the sky outside, a rumble of thunder not far on its heels. The storm was baring down on them faster than he expected.

“I…I can’t,” she whispered, face pinched as if she were in pain.

It took a moment for the words to register. Alec’s smile faded and his brow furrowed. He felt as if Apollo had kicked him in the chest. She was saying…no? He didn’t understand.

“Elle? I don’t—”

She rose quickly. “I—I have to go. I’m sorry.” She ran from the room as Alec stood motionless, watching her go and struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Had he done something wrong? Had he misunderstood her feelings? No. No, he knew that she loved him too. He knew it. So why?

Jocelyn placed a steadying hand on his arm.

“Oh Alec,” she said quietly. “Just give her time…she’s…things are…complicated,” she finished, sounding anxious.

“I thought,” Alec shook his head, still staring blankly at the spot where she’d just been sitting, “I thought she felt the same. I thought that she loved me as well.” His voice was so low he wasn’t even sure they could even hear him.

“We all did, lad,” Callum said before he oompfed as Jocelyn elbowed his stomach.

“Callum,” she scolded in an annoyed hiss. “That isn’t helpful.”

“What? She looks at him the way I look at you, Jocy. And you said she’d even told you as much. It’s why I gave my blessing in the first place.”

“In confidence,” she hissed again, outraged. “I told you that in confidence! And you knew about this? And didn’t tell me?”

Callum shrugged, as if he wasn’t bothered. “I thought it would be best to keep it a surprise.” Jocy narrowed her eyes at him, but Alec needed to know.

“Is it true? Jocelyn, please tell me…”

“Yes,” she said on a wary exhale. “Yes, she does love you, Alec, I’m sure of it.”

“Then why—” Movement outside the window caught his eye and stole his words. Elle was flying across the lawn on the back of a white mare. Lightning flashed again, spearing towards the ground in the distance and the rumble of thunder came faster now. The storm was almost on top of them. And Elle was riding off into it.

Away from me.

“Go, Alec,” Jocelyn urged him, knowing exactly what he was planning. It was all the permission he needed to go after Elle, even knowing it would put them alone together. Callum and Jocelyn didn’t seem to care and it wasn’t as if it were the first time they’d been alone together. Not that they knew about Puck’s, of course.

Alec sprinted from the room and nearly tripped down the front steps in his haste to reach Apollo. He mounted and then they were off.

“Go, boy, go!” he begged. Apollo shot across the drive like a bullet, tearing across the lawn in the same direction Elle had gone. The mare had been quick, but Apollo was quicker. They would catch up soon enough. “The woman is as vexing as ever,” he grated through clenched teeth just as the sky opened, the rain coming down in a thick waterfall all around him. Lightning and thunder filled the dark sky and he urged Apollo faster when he caught a glimpse of Elle in the distance, cutting towards the trees.

“Eleanor!” he yelled, but the wind and rain took the words before they could reach her. “Where in the devil does she think she’s going?” he muttered.

Alec leaned low over Apollo’s back and squinted against the rain as the two of them flew through the woods, Elle and her mare a light streak against the darkness ahead. When he made it to the clearing around the pond, Elle had already put her horse inside the small barn and was running up the steps to the enclosed gazebo. Apollo whickered loudly, stomping at the already-soaked ground, making Elle turn.

“Elle!” Alec called, rain pelting his face like stinging bites.

“Go away, Alec!” she yelled over the rain. “Just go!”

She didn’t wait for a response or to see if he obeyed, just simply ran up the remaining steps and inside, slamming the door behind her.

“That little wench,” he gritted out, somewhere between astonishment, annoyance, and, damn him, a bit of amusement. Alec slid off of Apollo and quickly got him settled into the other stall. Lightning illuminated the sky and thunder cracked. Alec ran a hand down the horse’s neck. “You’re alright, boy.”

Alec braced himself against the wind and rain as he ran the short distance to the gazebo. He threw the door open and stood dripping on the threshold, breathing hard and taking in the space. There was a low sofa, a beautifully carved desk of deep red wood, a matching chest, and a large easel, a half-finished portrait on it and others stacked against the walls. She must come here to paint and draw, he realized. The portrait on the easel was of him. It was similar to the sketch he’d seen her doing that day in the garden, the day before they’d explored his home and played like fools in the fountain. In this one, he was in profile, looking off in the distance a half-smile on his lips. How often does she draw me? he wondered. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

He tore his gaze away from the easel and finished taking in the room. There was a thick fur rug in the center, pillows and blankets piled in one corner, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Everything was in shades of blue, some light as ice, some the same deep blue as Eleanor’s eyes.

Elle was lighting the last lantern on the wall and whirled to meet his gaze.

“God, you can’t follow the simplest instructions, can you?” she snapped. He blinked. She was angry with him? She was the one who had refused his proposal! She was the one who had ridden out into a storm like a lunatic, putting herself and her horse in danger! And she had the audacity to be angry with him?

“What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Go. Away,” she seethed, but her anger seemed…odd. Like she was trying desperately to be angry, when really she was something else entirely.

“Eleanor, talk to me, damn you.” He strode forward and to his relief, she didn’t back away. He gripped her upper arms in his hands, her skin slick beneath his fingers from the rain. “Elle, I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“I thought that you felt the same way that I did, that we’d both become…more to each other.” He tried to keep the vulnerability from his voice, the pleading, but he felt like his heart were being squeezed by an iron-gloved fist. She held his gaze, the anger—or false anger—seeping away to reveal something that was a cross between adoration and agony. He frowned, not understanding.

“Alec, I…” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook herself, flinging her arms to force him to release his grip on her. Before he could even react, she was rushing back out into the storm.

“What in the bloodyhell?” he ground out through clenched teeth, eyes turning towards the heavens. He ran after her, catching up to her easily halfway across the grassy area between the gazebo and the tree line. Was she planning to run away from him now? Not even bothering with a horse, even in the middle of a storm?

“Elle! Stop this!”

She whirled on him, but whatever she’d planned to say got lost as lightning speared a towering tree limb that stretched over the clearing just above them. Thunder cracked almost immediately, so loudly his ears rang. She screamed as the branch came plummeting down towards them.

“Elle!” he cried out as terror gripped him. He yanked her towards him, stumbling back several steps just as the limb slammed to the ground in the spot she’d just been standing a moment ago, sending bark and splinters flying in all directions. Eyes wide in shock, Elle let him drag her back through the pelting rain into the relative safety of the gazebo. She moved across the room, hugging her arms around herself, shaking. From cold or fear, he had no idea. He ran a hand roughly through his wet hair.

“Would you truly rather get yourself killed out in this storm than talk to me? Than to marry me?” he demanded, voice laced with anger and hurt, chest heaving. “God, would it really be so bloody terrible, Elle?!”

“No,” she said, so quietly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

“What?” he barked, confused.

“You think I don’t want to marry you, Alec? I do. I want it so fucking badly that it makes me want to scream!” He stared, dumbfounded. “I want to spend every minute of every day of the rest of my life with you. I want to fall asleep with my head on your chest and to wake up wrapped in your arms. I want to do other things that would make that gentlemanly little head of yours spin, things that exceed your wildest dreams.” A rush of heat flooded through him at that, and he suddenly realized that they were alone together in the small space, the rain beating a steady rhythm against the roof and closing them off from the rest of the world. “I want to have a family with you, I want to grow old with you, I want…God, I want everything. I love you, Alec. More than you can possibly understand.”

Before he could stop himself, before he could wonder why, if all of this was true, she had refused his proposal, he closed the distance between them in two long strides and slammed his lips to hers.