24. Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
W hen Alice returned to Fairfax Hall that evening, her mother had embraced her with unexpected tenderness. Mrs. Montrose’s arms shook slightly as they wrapped around her daughter, and Alice found herself stunned by the display of maternal affection.
The dowager stood nearby, offering a gracious explanation for Alice’s tardiness during the afternoon walk—something about one of the elderly groundskeepers taking a spell of dizziness while tending the hedges, and Alice waiting with him until help could arrive. Mrs. Montrose practically groveled in gratitude, while Miss Eastridge observed from a careful distance. Alice wondered if gossip had already begun circulating among the servants about her true whereabouts.
Her mother’s uncharacteristic gentleness continued as they prepared for supper, fussing over Alice’s appearance without a single criticism. Perhaps she still felt guilty about the carriage incident, treating her daughter with newfound care. When Alice attempted to apologize for causing worry, Mrs. Montrose merely pressed her lips together and adjusted Alice’s hair with trembling fingers.
Supper came before Alice had time to catch her breath.
The grand dining room glowed with hundreds of candles when they entered, their light reflecting off the polished silver and crystal that adorned the long table. Footmen moved efficiently, directing guests to their assigned seats marked by decorated name cards. Alice found her place and settled into her chair, her stomach tightening as Elias joined her.
“Good evening,” he said softly.
His presence should have been comforting—his broad shoulders and gentle demeanor usually provided an anchor in social situations. And yet, guilt twisted through her chest as she managed a squeak, having to clear her throat before trying again.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
Servants filled their glasses with wine as Alice took in the seating arrangements. The dowager commanded attention from the head of the table, while Mrs. Montrose sat between Lord Fairfax and their hostess, her fingers worrying at her napkin. Lady Fairfax’s musical laugh carried from further down the table where she sat beside?—
Alice’s breath caught as her gaze fell on Victor. The bruising around his nose had deepened to an angry purple, spreading beneath his eyes in deep pools. He stared resolutely at his empty plate, refusing to look at anyone.
Beside her, Elias stiffened. His grey eyes darted between Alice and Victor, and she could practically see him piecing together the evidence before him. She plastered on her brightest smile, though it felt odd on her face. His frown only deepened at her obvious playacting.
“And just how was your walk earlier?” he asked carefully.
“Oh, uneventful,” she managed, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.
“It certainly seems some sort of event transpired.”
Alice lifted her wineglass, buying time as her mind whirled. Elias turned to study Victor again, his usually warm expression growing troubled.
“Something happened, didn’t it?” he asked.
“Oh, no, no. Everything is ... everything is ...” She set her glass down slowly, the crystal making a soft clink against the tablecloth. The lie pressed against her chest until she could hardly breathe. This seemed to concern Elias further, for he leaned closer until his words could only reach her ears.
“Do not lie to me, Alice.”
The use of her Christian name startled her. She turned to face him fully, taking in his alert posture and tense jaw. Of course, he would be concerned—his closest friend bore the marks of violence, and both she and Victor were acting strangely. The urge to tell him everything warred with her instinct for self-preservation.
Their conversation paused as footmen served the first course—a delicate cream of mushroom soup. Alice stared into the steaming bowl, gathering her courage.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace. I tried, I really did. But I do believe Captain Lacey despises me down to his bones.” The memory of Victor’s fury at Violet Cottage made her voice crack slightly.
Elias shook his head, letting out a sound between a scoff and a laugh.
“You must trust me on this—that man does not despise you.”
“And you must trust me, Your Grace, when I say that the walk was an abject failure.”
He studied her face for a long moment, his expression growing more concerned with each passing second.
“I wished to lie to you,” Alice continued softly. “I am sure Captain Lacey would play along so that everything went splendidly. But just look at him. It was a disaster of our own making, though not for lack of trying from both parties.”
“Then I thank you for your honesty,” Elias said. “But then the question becomes just how Victor came to have such an ugly mark?”
Alice drew in a steadying breath.
“... I hit him.”
Elias set his spoon down with exaggerated care, the silver making barely a whisper against fine china. He stared at her as though she had announced her intention to join a circus.
“You ... what? “
“I hit him, Your Grace.”
“Good Lord.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling the careful arrangement. “I trust you had good reason to do such a thing?”
She could tell him everything—how Victor had goaded her into violence, how the afternoon had spiraled into ruinous chaos. But what would that accomplish? They would still be at odds, still trapped in this web of tension and unspoken things.
“He did not treat me untoward, if that is your question.”
The words were true, yet felt like ashes in her mouth. She could still feel Victor’s warmth as she had pinned him against the tree—could hear his voice—rough with something dangerous as he’d praised her. She was the one who had acted untoward. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she focused intently on her soup, stirring the creamy liquid without taking a bite.
“Ah.” Elias’s halfhearted smile did not reach his eyes. “Well, I am glad you both gave it an honest try, at the very least.”
The disappointment in his voice cut deeper than anger would have. He seemed about to say more, then thought the better of it, turning his attention to his meal. The silence between them stretched taut.
Alice glanced toward her mother and found Mrs. Montrose watching them with barely concealed panic. Though she couldn’t have heard their low conversation, her mother’s instincts for social disaster were finely honed. Her face had gone pale as she clutched her wine glass like a lifeline.
The remainder of the meal passed in waves of obvious discomfort. Though Elias made several attempts at pleasant conversation, each topic seemed to fade into awkward silence. By the final course, he had grown somewhat warmer, though hesitation colored his every word.
But worse than Elias’s disappointment were the looks from others around the table. The dowager’s sharp gaze missed nothing, while Lady Fairfax’s perfect mask of civility couldn’t quite hide her fury.
And then there was Victor.
Every time Alice’s gaze crossed the table, their eyes met like flint striking steel. Once, the shock of their connection made her drop her fork with a jarring clatter. Each glance left her breathless, while Victor seemed to curl in on himself like a wounded animal. She tried to focus solely on Elias, but somehow she could still feel Victor’s presence—his stare burning against her skin like a brand.
When supper concluded, Victor sprang from his chair with such suddenness that several guests startled. He strode from the room without waiting for the other gentlemen to retire for drinks, his hasty exit drawing curious murmurs from those assembled.
Alice watched him go, guilt settling in her stomach. She rose to curtsy to Elias, but before she could withdraw, his hand caught her wrist. The impropriety of touching her before so many witnesses seemed to dawn on him immediately, for he released her just as quickly.
“Alice,” he whispered. “Do not despair. I see you are trying. And that is all any of us can do.”
His kindness struck her for a moment. Here was everything she should want—a handsome, gentle duke offering comfort with perfect sincerity. Her throat tightened.
“Your Grace?—”
“Call me Elias,” he murmured.
“Then I will try—not to despair, that is—Elias.”
His smile brightened at her use of his name, but before he could respond, Mrs. Montrose appeared at Alice’s shoulder.
“Your Grace,” her mother executed a perfect curtsy. “Thank you for being such a delightful dinner partner to my daughter.”
“It was my pleasure, Mrs. Montrose. Miss Montrose. I will see you shortly in the drawing room.”
They left him to enjoy his after-dinner drinks, and the moment they entered the hall, Mrs. Montrose seized Alice’s arm.
“Well? What did he say? Did it go poorly? I saw his face—he seemed dejected.”
“I ... I do not know, Mama.” The words came out thick with exhaustion. For once, it was the complete truth—she felt utterly overwhelmed by everything.
The drawing room hummed with activity as ladies settled in to await the gentlemen. The dowager gave Alice an approving nod, apparently pleased by her recovery with Elias. But Alice could not shake the hollow feeling in her chest. The duke had made it clear that his relationship with Victor was paramount—and she had thoroughly destroyed any hope of harmony there.
Victor.
Even as the evening wore on, as the men joined them for cards and conversation, as the pianoforte filled the air with elegant music, her thoughts returned to him again and again. Mrs. Montrose had patted her arm, retiring for the night, but Alice knew she was too antsy to join her, convincing her mama her reputation would be fine among the other ladies. After Mrs. Montrose was truly gone, Alice retreated to the open terrace doors, letting in the cool night air. Wrapping her arms around herself against the chill, she gazed across the moonlit grounds toward Violet Cottage.
The sight sent emotions cascading through her chest—guilt, confusion, and something deeper that she dared not name. She turned her gaze from it quickly, only to spot a solitary figure standing at the lakeside gazebo. He was somewhat difficult to spot, somewhat obscured by flowering vines and hedges. The man’s scarlet coat caught the moonlight as he leaned against the balustrade, cutting a lonely figure against the silvered water.
She knew at once who it was. Something deep within her chest pulled taut, like an invisible thread connecting her to that solitary man. Alice looked over her shoulder, checking to see if anyone in the dwindling party was looking her way, and found everyone distracted. Her feet carried her forward before her mind could protest, drawn by a force she dared not examine too closely.