Chapter 23 #2
Five years had dimmed the fire, made it so she could mostly go about her day without feeling as though she was a crumpled sheet of paper destined for the fire, but when the pain did hit, it felt just as potent as before. There was no escaping this.
The ache in her chest extended all the way through her body. She felt the breath stop, jagged, in her lungs. Every heartbeat felt like cut glass. This pain was visceral, and she could not escape it.
How could she go through her life moving on when they were trapped in her past?
What if she forgot them? How could she live with herself if she betrayed them in such a cruel way?
Tears splattered across the page as she moved her pen, letting her hurt spill across the paper.
Her nib scratched; ink splattered along with her tears.
All her frustrations. Her acknowledgement of her luck, and her guilt that she had survived when her parents had not.
What made her life so worthwhile when they had lost theirs?
How dare she move forward and become someone new when they had made her who she was.
Logic told her they would have chosen this for her, but she couldn’t let go of the guilt, and it felt as though it was eating her alive.
Two pages passed, more—before she finally felt as though she had purged her feelings. She stopped, hollow and empty, and replaced the pen, wiping ink from her fingers. Her hands shook and she put her face in them. Breathed through the past of the pain and wiped her face.
For years, she had been trapped in limbo, unable to move in any capacity. Now that she had, it made sense that she was finally experiencing these feelings. And if she let them, they would eat her alive.
She would not allow it.
Not for Frederick.
Downstairs, she heard a commotion, and she dropped her hands, listening. It sounded again, and she rose, taking her stick and hobbling down the stairs.
Lady Rutland entered the house, accompanied by Frederick, his hand under her arm.
“There you are,” she smiled to Alice. “You look wonderful, my dear. I hope you don’t mind me telling you that you are positively glowing.” She pinched Frederick’s arm. “You must have been doing something right.”
But Frederick’s gaze traveled over her and he abandoned his aunt to come to her side at once. “What happened?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
Alice shook her head and put her hand on his arm. “It’s nothing.”
“Alice—”
“Leave it alone, Frederick.” She hadn’t meant to snap, but she couldn’t relive her pain just for his sake, and he shouldn’t ask her to. As though he’d been slapped, he stepped back and her hand slid from his arm.
“Of course. Sorry.”
“Come with me, Alice,” Lady Rutland said, holding out her arm. “Let me look at you. Yes, it looks as though your leg is a lot better.”
“It is,” Alice nodded and managed a genuine smile. “I can now walk short distances without my stick.”
“The physician is pleased with her progress,” Frederick added too.
Lady Rutland held up her own twisted hand, partially concealed by her glove. “Perhaps I ought to try again after all.”
“All you need do is say the word,” Frederick beamed. “I will arrange for him to come and examine you.”
“Perhaps. Now tell me what you have both been up to. I’ve heard that you have been riding, Alice.”
“I have.”
“And with Frederick. That’ll show the naysayers.” She nodded once for emphasis. “And I’m glad of it.”
Frederick led them both through to the drawing room, and Alice touched his arm again, this time in apology. He leaned over to brush a quick kiss against the crown of her head, and she knew all was forgiven.
“My reputation is still damaged,” he said. “I must do more to improve matters. As it stands, the patronesses at Almack’s are not inclined to grant either of us a voucher for next Season.”
Lady Rutland sniffed. “Who cares about them and their dour opinions? You have your wife, Frederick. There’s no need to be invited there.”
Alice chewed her lip pensively. As far as London entertainment went, Almack’s was particularly stale, but there was no denying that it was the pinnacle of respectability, and the patronesses reserved the right to refuse entry to whoever they chose.
This was the final obstacle standing between them and an unencumbered future.
“He’s right,” Alice said, and both sets of eyes turned to her.
“It’s not about whether we would enjoy spending our evenings there—a dull place, if you ask me—but it’s about whether they would permit us to.
Frederick is a Duke, but if they believe him to be flawed beyond measure, then not even his rank will grant him leeway. ”
“Very well,” Lady Rutland said, folding her good hand over her bad. “What do you suppose we do about it?”
“We must be seen together,” Alice declared.
“Everywhere. Frederick must show good sense.
He intends to take his place in the House of Lords to make positive change—let those intentions be known publicly.
We must prove beyond all doubt that he is a different man from the one he used to be.
And that I hold no ill will toward him for everything that happened between us.
“I will spread that I am content in the marriage and the position he has offered me, and that we are on good terms.” She considered, a small tugging in her gut reminding her that although she had, in many ways, contrived to move past the accident, she did not know if she had fully forgiven him.
Publicly declaring she had under those circumstances seemed foolish. Yet what else was she to do? Frederick needed her to stand by his side to repair his reputation, and ever since they had lain together—ever since before then, in truth—she had abandoned her intention to ruin him.
She could not throw away the chance of happiness all for the sake of this man’s unhappiness. Especially when seeing the flashes of pain in his eyes, now that she could identify them, made her own heart lurch unpleasantly.
Frederick looked across at her. “You would say that?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Is that not how things are between us?”
“They are, but—” He released a ragged breath, then gave a decisive nod. “Really, it is more of the same. Aunt, have you any friends you can speak to about this?”
“Now I know the lady’s sentiments truly”—she sent Alice a sly smile—“I can do so with far more confidence.”
“Excellent. And I will make mention of her leg, too.”
“I will do that,” Alice nodded. “After all, it is my leg and my limp. I intend to take ownership of it, and credit you with being so diligent in finding a man who would help me.”
“When shall this begin?” Lady Rutland asked.
Alice pursed her lips as she thought back to the invitations she and Frederick had received. Not to everything—there were still doors that were closed to them both after her display and his failed wedding day. But still, she had some to choose from.
“There’s a picnic on the bank of the river next week,” she decided. “Let’s go. Is there anything more delightful than a May day spent in the sunshine? We shall be the picture of good health and happiness.”
Frederick held Alice’s gaze as he took her hand and pressed her fingers to his mouth in gratitude that went far deeper than mere words ever could.