10. Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
A lice stepped out of the dowager’s chambers into the corridors of Fairfax Hall, her new pin catching the morning light. The quiet felt oppressive after the intensity of her meeting with the dowager, broken only by the distant sounds of breakfast service echoing up from below. She touched the rose at her breast, still amazed by its craftsmanship, as she began her search for her mother.
Descending a curving staircase to the ground floor, Alice’s mind raced with how to explain her meeting with the dowager. Her mother had always insisted on being present for every significant moment in Alice’s life—every lesson, every social call, every interaction with potential suitors. To have something of such magnitude occur without her oversight would surely cause distress.
Lost in thought, Alice rounded a corner too quickly and nearly collided with Miss Eastridge. Their maid’s quick reflexes saved her as she caught Alice’s elbows, steadying her before she could stumble.
“Careful now, Miss,” Miss Eastridge said, her grip gentle but firm until she was certain Alice had found her balance. The maid’s cap was slightly askew, as though she had been rushing about the enormous manor.
“Your mother is currently breakfasting with the rest of the guests,” the maid said before Alice could ask.
“Breakfasting? But I thought we were preparing to leave.”
Miss Eastridge shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the elaborate wallpaper as though it held great interest.
“The staff informed your mother that the carriage had broken down after such a vigorous journey. They say it will take two full days to repair it.”
Alice studied their maid’s nervous expression, wondering if this convenient mechanical failure was truly chance, or if the dowager had instructed her servants to buy Alice time. Given the older woman’s cunning, she strongly suspected the latter.
“Thank you,” Alice said. “How is she?”
“Your mother is ...” Miss Eastridge pursed her lips, “very cross.”
Alice nodded, well acquainted with her mother’s temperament when denied her wishes. Squaring her shoulders, she turned toward the breakfast room, bidding her maid farewell, her heart pounding at the thought of facing the ton after last night’s disaster.
The breakfast room was as large as some assembly halls she’d attended, set up with multiple tables as though it were some public tea house. Groups of guests gathered around trays similar to the one she’d shared with the dowager, their quiet conversation filling the air with a gentle noise.
As she entered, heads turned in her direction. Some faces registered awkward shock—clearly surprised she hadn’t fled in the night—but the worst were the sympathetic looks, as though she were some wounded creature. She half-expected them to approach and pat her head as though she were a whimpering puppy in the gutter.
Her mother sat at a far table in the corner, and Alice could not determine whether the isolation was self-imposed out of shame or if the other guests were deliberately avoiding them now that they were social pariahs. Either way, Mrs. Montrose’s expression darkened further when she spotted her daughter approaching.
“My dear, where have you been?” Her mother’s whisper was sharp and raw. “And what are you doing out in public? Do you not see how they look at you?”
Alice opened her mouth to explain, but her mother cut her off.
“I have had the worst of mornings. Who knew that wealthy people lacked the resources to do such simple things as fetch a carriage?—”
Mrs. Montrose’s words died in her throat as her eyes fell to the pin at Alice’s breast. She went still, like a hare spotting a fox. Alice knew this pause was an opportunity to speak, so jumped at it.
“Something strange has happened, Mama,” Alice said, sliding into the chair beside her mother and leaning forward to grasp her hands. “While you were away, the Dowager Countess requested me, and she made the queerest offer.”
Her mother remained silent, but Alice could see color rising in her cheeks as she stared, transfixed, at the rose pin.
“I understand why you were quiet about your intentions in coming here,” Alice continued, squeezing her mother’s hands. “That you wished me to become a flower as well, and now it has happened! She has offered me assistance in finding a match. Is that not wonderful, Mama?”
Mrs. Montrose snatched her white napkin from her lap and threw it onto the table with sudden violence. It landed in her teacup, the fine linen slowly soaking up the dark liquid. Her countenance had turned thunderous, and for once Alice could not comprehend why. This was exactly what her mother had wanted …
Wasn’t it?
“I cannot believe you accepted such a thing without my permission!” Her mother’s furious whisper carried further than intended. Alice’s eyes darted around the room, noting how several guests had turned at her outburst. She watched as a lady with a tulip pin leaned in to whisper something to another wearing a daisy.
“Mama, I did not mean to?—”
“Here you are, sneaking behind my back with the dowager when I did not know where you were. Disgraceful!” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “What flower did she give you? A thistle?”
Alice frowned in confusion. Surely her mother had seen the rose—her eyes had fixed upon it just moments ago. As if drawn by the thought, Mrs. Montrose’s gaze dropped once more to the pin, and her face flushed an even deeper shade of red. She stood abruptly, her spine rigid.
“Well, if it is only the dowager you wish to receive instruction from, I think perhaps I should make myself scarce.”
Before Alice could formulate a response, her mother pushed past her and stormed from the room, practically vibrating with fury. Alice stared after her, utterly bewildered by what she had done wrong. Her fingers brushed the rose at her breast as she glanced around at the other breakfasters, who quickly pretended they hadn’t been watching the entire scene with avid interest.
Though she considered following her mother, she knew her presence would only further inflame the woman’s temper. Instead, she remained at the isolated table, the untouched food before her. She had already breakfasted with the dowager, but to avoid looking awkward, she filled a plate and pushed the food around while staring out at the rain-dampened gardens. Though rays of sunlight had pierced the clouds, the warmth they brought did nothing to improve her spirits.
As breakfast drew to a close, groups dispersed, leaving only a few tables occupied by those lingering over their tea. Alice sat lost in thought, wondering if she should even remain at Fairfax Hall if her mother was so opposed to her participation in The Dowager’s Garden. Without a proper chaperone, how could she possibly build a connection with the duke without ruining what remained of her reputation?
A shadow fell across her table, and before she could react, someone dropped into her mother’s vacated chair in a decidedly ungentlemanly manner. Alice turned to confront the intruder, only to find Captain Victor Lacey lounging beside her, resplendent in a fresh red uniform free of yesterday’s mud and grime. Without so much as glancing her way, he plucked her mother’s sodden napkin from the teacup and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor.
“Pardon me, sir,” Alice began, but he ignored her, his attention fixed on the platter of remaining food. His gaze swept over the offerings before settling on Alice’s plate. With swift precision, he stole a cucumber sandwich from her dish and took a large bite, then slouched back in his chair, propping his gleaming boots on the table.
Alice gasped at his scandalous behavior. Her mother would have expired on the spot if she’d ever attempted such a thing. She glanced anxiously at the remaining guests, but none seemed to notice—nor care about—the captain’s shocking breach of etiquette.
“I was told you wished to speak to me?” he drawled, then stuffed the remainder of her sandwich into his mouth.
Alice struggled to process the scene before her. Once again, her training failed her, leaving her feeling like a carriage that had lost its wheel. Then she remembered the dowager’s promise to help facilitate a connection with Victor. This must be her doing.
“I, erm ...”
“Pass the biscuit, please,” Victor said, pointing at her plate. When Alice selected a buttery one, he shook his head. “No, not that one—the one with the dusted sugar. Yes, that’s the one. Cheers.”
He devoured the biscuit in one bite, and Alice could not help but notice identical treats sat well within his reach on the serving tray. It seemed the captain enjoyed taking what was hers, just as he had done with her wine at the assembly.
“I did wish to speak with you,” Alice said, smoothing her skirts. “I just was not expecting you to call so soon and must admit that I find myself quite out of sorts.”
“Still nauseated from last night?” His grin was sharp enough to cut steel.
Alice drew herself up, determined not to let the rude man needle her.
“I am quite alright, no thanks to you.”
“I am afraid I do not take your meaning.” He batted his eyelashes with false innocence, though his knowing smile remained firmly in place. They both knew he had been the one to set off the chain of events that led to her ruin.
“Have you spoken with His Grace since ...” Alice’s voice trailed off uncertainly.
“Since you splattered your sick all over him? I have, coincidentally.”
“Is he ... well?”
Victor’s barking laugh drew startled looks from across the room. Alice gave the onlookers a placating smile before frowning at his vulgar display.
“Do you think this is all a jest?” Alice demanded.
“It is quite funny,” he mused. “His Grace asked the very same thing about you.”
Heat flooded Alice’s cheeks as Victor motioned to her plate once more.
“Is that apple and brie?”
Rolling her eyes, Alice simply pushed the entire plate toward him. A flash of disappointment crossed his face, as though he took particular pleasure in bothering her for each individual morsel.
“I have thought about what you said, Captain Lacey,” Alice began carefully, trying to marshal her thoughts into perfect order. “When you commandeered my wine.”
“About your fortune hunting?”
Alice paused, swallowing hard at the words that still stung.
“Yes. About that. And I must say that I agree.”
The captain tipped his head to one side, finally dropping his boots to the floor and leaning forward, elbows planted firmly on the table in the most unbecoming manner.
“Do tell.”
Taking a deep breath, Alice forged ahead.
“When we first accepted the invitation to this celebration, I knew it would be an opportunity to seek a match.” She lowered her gaze, but Victor remained unmoved. “I knew little about the Dowager Countess or her ... projects ...” Her fingers brushed the rose at her lapel, and she noticed how Victor’s eyes widened slightly at the sight. So he knew about the Dowager’s Garden. “I did not realize how desperate my mother had become for a man of fortune, and while I do not wish to speak ill of her, I realize she was out of line last night. I am sorry you overheard it.”
“So you mean to tell me the fact that the Duke of Gainsbury has a vast fortune does not interest you?”
Alice met his piercing gaze. Everything about him seemed designed to cut through pretense, and once again, his scrutiny sent a chill down her spine. She knew instinctively that any lie would be detected instantly. There was something in his very bearing that demanded truth.
“To be perfectly frank, sir, I do not believe a vast fortune would make me happy.” Because nothing could make me happy. “But it would give my mother peace to see her only daughter settled well. And while I wish to give my mother that peace, I will not consider a match in which I am ill-suited only because of that man’s fortune.”
“So you would go against your mother’s wishes?”
Alice turned to stare out the windows, wrestling with the question. She had always honored her parents—was that not what ladies of virtue were supposed to do? She cherished her mother’s advice and felt dismayed whenever she fell from favor, as she had now. But the dowager’s words were at the forefront of her mind. She must forge this path without her mother’s help.
Finally, she nodded.
“I am not here to trap His Grace, or woo him in some unseemly manner. I barely even knew of him until my mother pushed for an introduction. But what I wish to have … is an opportunity.”
“From this vantage, it appears as though you had an opportunity and quashed it.”
“Do you not believe in second chances, Captain Lacey?”
He huffed and looked away, his expression distant. When he finally spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft.
“Some things cannot be undone.”
Alice nodded, certain now that the dowager had misplaced her faith in her. It was foolish to think there was any potential in someone so thoroughly embarrassed—so fundamentally broken.
“But ...” Victor said, standing and brushing powdered sugar from his jacket, “while your showing last night was particularly dramatic, I do not believe it is entirely unforgivable.”
Alice’s breath caught as her gaze snapped up to meet his, but he was already turning to leave, as abruptly as he had arrived. He threw up a casual hand in farewell.
“I will see you around, Lady Rose .”