17. Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
A lice settled in front of Victor on his horse. The steady rhythm of hooves against earth filled the silence between them. As the initial shock of her rescue faded, the full force of what she had almost done hit her. Her hands shook violently, her whole body trembling like a leaf.
Victor noticed immediately. Without a word, he reached around her, his large hand covering both of hers without comment. The warmth of his touch steadied her, and she unconsciously leaned back into his solid presence. It was confusing, how someone so thoroughly disagreeable could provide such comfort.
As they approached Fairfax Hall, Alice noticed a small crowd had gathered at the entrance. Apparently, the occupants of the carriage had witnessed the incident on the road and raised the alarm. Lady Fairfax stood at the forefront, her face etched with concern. When they drew near, Victor dismounted smoothly before turning to assist Alice. His hand was firm as he helped her down, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze before releasing her to face the approaching group.
Mrs. Montrose pushed through the crowd, her face pale.
“My dear girl!” she cried, putting on a show of maternal concern. “You must come inside at once, where it is safe.”
Alice felt Victor go rigid beside her, then he swept forward, and for a moment, Alice wondered if her mother felt what a defenseless French soldier on the battlefield might have when faced with his wrath. When Captain Lacey spoke, his voice carried across the gathered crowd with deliberate clarity.
“How fascinating to see you so concerned with your daughter’s safety now, Mrs. Montrose.”
Her mother’s brows drew together. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Tell me, Mrs. Montrose,” Victor’s voice cut like a blade, “is it common practice in your household to abandon young ladies on dangerous country roads?”
“I hardly think this is appropriate conversation?—”
“I should think the act of abandoning one’s daughter would be far more inappropriate than merely speaking about it after the fact.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Though perhaps such behavior is to be expected from someone whose reputation is nothing but a string of vulgar scandals. One might think you’d show more compassion, given your own sordid history.”
Mrs. Montrose’s fingers flew to her daylily pin.
“You dare?—”
“I dare quite a lot, madam, especially when I witness a mother’s hypocrisy destroying her daughter’s spirit.”
A collective gasp rose from the onlookers. Alice should have felt shocked at Victor’s brazen rudeness to her mother, but instead found herself filled with an unexpected energy. His words about her mother’s history puzzled her—she had never heard any whisper of scandal about her youth, though it would explain quite a few things. After the slap, after all the berating, Victor was giving voice to things she had never dared say herself, while hinting he knew more about her mother than she ever did.
Lady Fairfax pressed a gloved hand to her mouth before stepping forward.
“Captain Lacey, I must insist you not speak to our guests in such a manner.”
Victor’s jaw clenched, practically vibrating with barely contained fury. Alice glanced around the growing crowd and caught sight of Elias hovering at the edges, his face creased with concern. Yet he made no move to intervene, content to watch from a safe distance like all the others. She noticed movement at the side of her vision, and had not realized that another carriage had arrived, its occupants drawing closer to the conflict, one of them being the dowager.
The older woman’s voice cut through the air.
“Lady Fairfax is quite right, Captain Lacey. Do mind your tongue.”
Alice watched as Victor visibly fought against his desire to argue with the old woman. But one pointed look from the dowager seemed to make him heel, though his jaw remained set in defiance.
“Perhaps,” the dowager continued smoothly, “Mrs. Montrose and Miss Montrose would care to join me in overseeing the preparations for the Whist tournament?”
Alice did not know whether to laugh hysterically or fall into pieces before them all. Such a task seemed more appropriate for the lady of the house, not a woman who had only just stood at the threshold of death’s door. It seemed absurd. Impossible. She glanced at Lady Fairfax, catching a fleeting look of surprise before the countess quickly masked it with a gracious smile.
“What a lovely idea,” Lady Fairfax added. “We would so appreciate your help.”
Before Alice could respond, Mrs. Montrose shook her head, seeming to barely hold herself together.
“I-I believe I require rest before the evening’s entertainment,” Mrs. Montrose said.
There was a desperate quality to her mother’s gaze that made Alice’s chest tighten. But something had shifted between them—the slap, the abandonment, Victor’s defense—and Alice found herself reaching deep within and finding some semblance of strength to move forward, even if it seemed utterly outrageous.
“I would be happy to assist the Dowager Countess,” she said softly. “I hope you will join us at the tournament, Mama.”
The despair that crossed her mother’s face was palpable. While it pained Alice to watch her mother retreat in such obvious distress, there was something that released slightly at having finally stood her ground.
Even as the dowager motioned her to follow, Alice felt shell-shocked by the events of the day. She watched as Victor made his way to Elias, taking hold of his friend’s arm and steering him toward the gardens.
She could plod along. She would have to.
The dowager led her to a large room where tables had been arranged for the tournament. As Alice passed a table, she picked up a deck of cards, studying the intricate illustrations. Each king and queen wore elaborate floral headdresses, the artwork clearly commissioned specifically for the celebration. She wondered at the expense of such details, at the wealth required to create something so beautiful for a single fortnight’s entertainment.
“Now then,” the dowager said, pausing before an elaborate floral centerpiece that crowned one of the card tables. She tapped her finger against her chin, studying Alice rather than the flowers. “What would you change about this arrangement?”
Alice approached the display, her mind drifting between the delicate blooms before her and the events on the road. How peculiar that such minor details could matter so much now. Roses and lilies formed the heart of the composition, their heavy blooms demanding attention, while delicate sprays of smaller flowers filled the spaces between.
A strange lightness bubbled in her chest as she considered the flowers. Her thoughts instead wandered to how Victor’s gentle hands had smoothed her hair—straightened her dress—touched her cheek.
“Take your time,” the dowager murmured. “A lady must learn to trust her eye.”
Alice continued her inspection. She pointed to the left side.
“The balance is off. See how the right catches the light? The left needs something to answer it—perhaps more baby’s breath? Just there, to create a sense of movement.”
Alice was amazed at how naturally these trivial observations came to her now. It felt as though floating through a dream, a dream that would not end.
“Interesting.” The dowager’s expression revealed nothing. “And you would not add more roses instead?”
“No, my lady.” Alice’s fingers traced the edge of a petal. “The roses are beautiful, but too many would overwhelm the composition.”
A slight smile played at the corner of the dowager’s mouth. Without comment, she moved to a side table where crystal decanters and glasses had been arranged. She poured a measure of punch and handed it to Alice.
“The servants prepared this earlier. Tell me your thoughts.”
Alice took a careful sip, letting the liquid rest on her tongue. She swallowed, focusing on the present moment. Sweet notes of berry and wine dominated, but underneath ...
“The balance is off here as well,” she said. “The sweetness drowns out the subtle flavors. More lemonade would brighten it, let the others shine through.”
“And if I told you this recipe came directly from the Duchess of Kent?”
She hesitated only a moment before responding, “Then I would say that even duchesses occasionally misjudge proportion, my lady.”
The dowager’s laugh was sharp and delighted. “Well said! Thompson,” she called to a hovering servant, “bring us more lemons. It seems we have some adjustments to make.”
As the servant hurried off, the dowager gave Alice an appraising look. “You have quite the eye for detail, my dear. And you’re not afraid to speak your mind, when asked directly. Both valuable qualities in a?—“
In a duchess.
Then dowager caught herself, smile turning mysterious. “Well. In many situations.”
Through the open windows, movement in the gardens caught Alice’s eye. She spotted Victor and Elias, and her heart quickened—not from fear this time, but from something else entirely. They were sparring, their coats discarded, wearing only their light undershirts with buttons loosened against the afternoon heat.
Alice found herself drawn to the window. Elias moved with the same grace he showed in dancing, his muscled forearms exposed where he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows. The two men circled each other with practiced ease, trading playful jabs and laughing between bouts.
“How vulgar men can be,” the dowager said, appearing at Alice’s elbow. “Though I notice you do not seem particularly offended by the display.”
When Alice didn’t react at all, staring out into nothing, the dowager’s tone shifted slightly.
“I couldn’t help but notice His Grace seemed rather vexed after speaking with you earlier.”
When Alice remained silent, unable to find the words to explain, the dowager changed tack.
“No matter. It seems you’ve managed something far more impressive—bringing the dog to heel. Even more so, I do believe Victor may think you are part of his pack now. Not many could have managed that.”
“I do not think anyone could bring Captain Lacey to heel,” Alice said softly.
The dowager let out a bark of laughter.
“Oh, you would be surprised. That one is easily tamed by the right woman.” She sighed, her gaze drifting past the gardens. Something in her expression seemed distant, lost in memory.
Then she shook herself, turning back to Alice with renewed purpose.
“Here, I need your help with this ...”
The dowager turned away from the window, motioning Alice toward a table laden with decorations still waiting to be arranged. But Alice’s mind lingered on that curious moment—on the dowager’s words about Captain Lacey. There seemed to be layers of history there that Alice wasn’t sure she wished to dig into.
Not long ago, she had stood in the middle of the road, ready to let darkness claim her. Now she found herself arranging flowers and tasting punch, watching men spar in gardens. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
She should be hysterical, her tears should be staining her dress… that would be the normal reaction to such a dramatic event, wouldn’t it?
Not whatever this was. Perhaps this was what plodding on looked like. In her mind, she was back on the road, Victor’s breath near her ear.
Day by day. Hour by hour. Moment by moment.