23. Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
V iolet Lacey.
Alice stared at the name in an elegant script, reading it over and over as though repetition might somehow change its meaning. Her mind raced through possibilities, each more unsettling than the last. Perhaps she was a mother? But no—a man would not address his mother so intimately, using only her Christian name. A sister then? Yet that failed to explain why an earl’s cottage would bear her name.
The last possibility loomed before her, though her mind shied away from it. It was the simplest answer, the one that explained everything, yet somehow made her chest constrict painfully.
Victor Lacey had been—or perhaps still was—a married man.
As she studied his handwritten dedication, searching for some clue she might have missed, footsteps sounded behind her.
“What are you doing?”
She whirled around, the book still open in her trembling hands. Victor stood in the doorway, having changed into a fresh shirt that gleamed white in the dim light. Though he had cleaned away all traces of blood, angry purple bruises bloomed beneath his eyes, spreading outward from his nose like ink pooling in water. His gaze fixed on the volume in her hands with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“I apologize. I was only trying to pass the time,” she blurted. “I saw the book and I ...” She swallowed hard before asking, “Who is Violet?”
Her words seemed to knock the air from his lungs. He moved with frightening speed, crossing the room in two long strides to snatch the book from her grasp. He clutched it to his chest, his breathing ragged as though he’d run for miles.
“Out.” The word emerged as barely more than a whisper.
Alice let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head in confusion.
“What?”
“Get out.” His voice had grown harder, his shoulders rigid with barely contained emotion.
“But it is dark outside and?—”
“I do not care what you do as long as you leave me .”
The last words tore from his throat with such violence that Alice stumbled backward. Her chest tightened painfully as she recognized she had crossed some terrible line. Though tears threatened, she refused to let them fall. She would not cry simply for picking up a book, no matter how viciously he reacted.
“I ... I ...”
Before she could form a response, another voice filled the room like a sudden breath of chill air.
“What a splendid idea, Captain Lacey.” Lady Fairfax’s words were sweet, though her eyes held daggers as she regarded Victor. They had been so distracted neither of them had heard her enter. “Miss Montrose is missed at Fairfax Hall, and it is time for her to be returned to her mother. Do you not agree?”
Victor turned to face Lady Fairfax, his lips pressed into a thin line as though caught in some unsavory act. He set the book down on a nearby table with exaggerated care, then cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“Indeed. I think that is for the best. Miss Montrose.”
Alice glanced between them, unable to comprehend the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Victor stood as though a shadow had fallen across him, while Lady Fairfax’s expression suggested she might strike him dead with a single look. When the countess turned to Alice, her features softened with obvious effort.
“Pardon me, Miss Montrose. There is a carriage waiting outside to take you safely and discreetly to Fairfax Hall. The Dowager Countess awaits your company within.”
Alice’s stomach dropped at the mention of the dowager. Whatever conversation awaited her in that carriage would surely be uncomfortable.
“Are you not joining us?” she asked Lady Fairfax.
“Oh,” Lady Fairfax clasped her hands together. “I must have a private word with Captain Lacey. My driver has been informed to return the carriage to fetch me once you are safely back.”
Alice glanced at Victor, who had found something fascinating to study on the ceiling, his hands balled into fists at his sides and jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
“If you would please, Miss Montrose,” Lady Fairfax said.
Taking the clear dismissal, Alice executed a stiff curtsy. She cast one last look at Victor before fleeing the room, pressing her hand to her mouth once she was out of sight. The front door stood open, and no servants were present to attend it. She supposed she should be thankful for the lack of staff. Fewer eyes meant less gossip. As she crossed the threshold, she paused. At the end of the path, beyond the hedges, she could make out the carriage’s dark silhouette against the glittering lake and the warm glow of Fairfax Hall.
Just as she gathered her courage to face whatever awaited her, voices drifted from within Violet Cottage. She stepped to the side of the doorway, concealing herself from view as the conversation grew heated.
“You utter fool,” Lady Fairfax’s voice had lost all its musical qualities, replaced by venom. “This has gone far enough. We could excuse the drunkenness for a time. The belligerence. The brawling. But to ruin a poor young woman on your mother-in-law’s birthday?”
Mother-in-law? The words struck Alice like a thunderbolt, but before she could process their meaning, Victor’s bitter laugh cut through the air.
“Ruin her?” he said. “I was only trying to help her.”
“By bringing her to your private residence. Without a chaperone. At night? You must be mad, for no person of right mind wouldn’t see the implications of such a poor decision.”
“You do not understand, I was injured and?—”
“It is always some excuse with you. I can understand you need to grieve, but it has been years Victor, and there is only so much your family can take of this. Yes, Violet loved you. But that does not mean we have endless patience. That does not mean you may waltz in whenever you please, act as though you own the place, and then take advantage.”
“I was not taking advantage.”
“Really? Because from the outside, it appears that way,” Lady Fairfax snapped. “You are lucky the Dowager Countess has such a sharp eye and her guests are easily distracted. The girl’s mother, however, is a mess, thinking the worst. And she should be worried. No man would marry her now, having been caught in such a situation. His Grace included.”
Alice pressed a hand to her chest, her heart pounding so violently she feared they might hear it from within. Everything she and her mother had worked for, everything the dowager had attempted to salvage—all of it crumbling because of one impulsive afternoon.
“His Grace trusts me,” Victor said, his voice tight.
“And he is a fool for doing so.”
The silence that followed was stark. A cool breeze rustled through the ivy covering the cottage walls, making Alice shiver in the growing darkness.
“I do believe,” Lady Fairfax continued, each word precise as a knife stroke, “that one can forget that it is not the dowager who runs Fairfax Hall, but me . And it is well past time I use that power to protect the people beneath my roof. You will attend supper tonight. The Dowager Countess expects you. But you will not speak unless it is to her. You will be amiable and quiet for the rest of this cursed birthday week, and then, the moment you wish her a happy birthday, you will leave Fairfax Hall and never come back. Do I make myself clear?”
The pause that followed seemed endless before Victor finally responded, his voice barely audible.
“Crystal.”
“Good.” The musical quality had returned to Lady Fairfax’s tone, its artificial sweetness more frightening than her anger.
Fearing discovery, Alice carefully pulled the front door closed and hurried down the stone path. She paused at the iron gate, knowing its loud protest would betray her presence. With trembling hands, she pushed it open as slowly as possible, wincing at each metallic groan. When no one emerged from the cottage to confront her, she released a shaky breath and practically ran to the waiting carriage.
The driver helped her into the small cabin, and immediately the enclosed space seemed to shrink around her. Her breath caught as memories flooded back—the rattle of wheels on gravel, her mother’s cold dismissal, the terrible peace that had settled over her as she’d stood waiting in the road. The same road that had brought them here, to this moment.
The dowager sat watching her with one eyebrow arched, but Alice barely registered her presence. Her hands gripped her skirts as she took a seat. She could almost hear her mother’s sharp words, clear as day.
“If you wish to act like a willful child, then you may walk back like one.”
But she hadn’t walked back. She had stood still, waiting for oblivion.
Until Victor had saved her.
The thought of him—how he had plucked her from death’s grasp, had shown her kindness in his own prickly way—made something crack inside her. All at once, the events of the past week crashed over her like a wave—her mother’s violence, her moment of despair on the road, Elias’s fury, Victor’s bloodied nose, and now whatever had transpired at Violet Cottage. Great, wracking sobs tore from her chest as she struggled to draw breath.
“I—I am s-so sorry,” she managed between gasps, though she wasn’t sure if she was apologizing to the dowager or to herself for ever thinking death was the answer.
The dowager watched her display with cool detachment before rapping sharply on the carriage roof. The sudden forward motion jarred Alice from her spiral of memories, though tears continued flowing freely down her cheeks.
“Whatever happened?” the dowager asked, her tone brooking no evasion.
The entire story spilled from Alice in a torrent—the fight in the woods, their retreat to Violet Cottage, the discovery of the book, and finally the devastating conversation she had overheard. As she reached the part about Violet, she noticed a subtle shift in the dowager’s bearing, though the older woman’s expression remained carefully neutral.
When Alice finally fell silent, the dowager released a long breath.
“Yes, Victor is a widower. We rarely speak of it in his presence—he has a history of ... difficult behavior when Violet is mentioned.”
“Who was she?” Alice asked carefully.
“My daughter.” The dowager’s voice carried a weight Alice had never heard before. “She married Victor during the war. And we lost her three years ago.”
“So then, Captain Lacey is your son-in-law?”
“Was.” The word fell between them like a stone. “He no longer holds that position now.”
Alice shifted uncomfortably in the upholstered seat.
“It seems very kind of you to maintain his standing invitation to Fairfax Hall.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken to do so,” the dowager said, “especially since he seems determined to undo all my matchmaking ventures.”
Her sharp eyes fixed on Alice, who could not maintain the gaze. Instead, she looked out the window toward Violet Cottage, remembering the raw anguish in Victor’s eyes when she’d discovered the book. She wiped fresh tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers.
“You are playing with fire, my dear,” the dowager continued. “I see how he affects you—how chaos seems to follow in your wake whenever you two cross paths. If you wish to salvage any hope of a respectable match, you must now keep your distance.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Lady Fairfax will ensure Victor poses no further threat to your reputation for the rest of your stay. This should give you ample opportunity to secure His Grace’s affections.”
Elias . The name felt hollow in her mind.
“Of course,” Alice said.
The carriage jerked to a halt before Fairfax Hall. As Alice moved to exit, the dowager’s hand shot out to grasp her wrist.
“Remember, my dear—some roses bloom best when pruned back severely, while others wither at the slightest touch. Which will you choose to be?”