28. Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
A lice sat rigidly in the cramped country church, her side pressed against Elias as sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows. The entire guest list from Fairfax Hall had descended upon the modest building, forcing the regular congregation to shuffle and squeeze into unfamiliar pews. Though there was some quiet grumbling from the locals, they managed to accommodate everyone—if only just.
Mrs. Montrose fanned herself vigorously in the stuffy air as the vicar delivered his sermon. From their position, Alice could see Lord and Lady Fairfax seated with the dowager in the front pew, but her eyes searched in vain for a flash of scarlet among the assembled crowd. Of course, she would not find it—Victor had told her himself that he had not stepped foot in this church since Violet’s death.
“Just think,” Mrs. Montrose whispered, leaning close enough that her breath tickled Alice’s ear, “soon we shall read the banns in our own parish.”
The banns. The words were like a bucket of ice water. She was engaged—truly engaged—to the man beside her, and it was finally sinking in. When it came time for hymns, Elias lifted the book between them, holding it so they could share. The familiar scent of citrus and salt wrapped around her, but instead of comfort, it brought only confusion. She yearned for an entirely different scent—iron. Sharp as the edge of a knife. Her mind wandered to the dripping of bright blood on emerald grass, to the delicious feeling of snaking her fingers through chestnut locks, to the heat of desperate lips against hers ...
Mrs. Montrose’s sharp elbow connected with her ribs, startling Alice from her improper thoughts. She had stopped singing entirely, staring into space as the congregation’s voices rose around her. Clearing her throat quickly, she lifted her voice to join the hymn, though the words were slightly off key. When she glanced at Elias, his warm smile held a hint of concern that made her cheeks burn with shame.
They would be horrified to know she had been fantasizing about kissing another man—and in church, no less. Not just any man, but her fiancé’s dearest friend. Heat crept up her neck as she forced her attention back to the service. She was engaged to a duke. She would be a duchess. This was everything they had worked for.
When they sat again, Elias returned the hymnal to its place, then reached for her hand. Alice went still, unsure how to respond, but he simply took her fingers in his and held them through the remainder of the service. Though the gesture should have brought comfort, she found herself hyper-aware of the contact, her entire arm growing tense as stone.
She could feel Elias glancing at her periodically throughout the sermon, but she kept her gaze fixed forward, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the vicar’s words. In truth, she heard nothing but the thundering of her own heart, her mind consumed by the weight of her secret. If the man beside her was the one she would covenant with before God, why did thoughts of another man feel so sacred?
When they finally rose for the blessing, Elias placed his other hand over their joined ones, the gesture unexpectedly tender.
“You were so attentive,” he whispered. “I usually find myself nodding off during such lengthy sermons. I only stayed awake because I would have felt terribly guilty beside you.”
“To be perfectly honest,” Alice replied, “I did not hear a single word. I am only good at acting as though I had.”
The truth of her words was like a slap. The acting never stopped—not for a moment.
As they filed out of the church behind the other guests, the vicar stood at the door, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with his congregation. The morning air held a crisp freshness that made Alice’s head spin after the stuffy confines of the church. She walked beside Elias toward the waiting carriages, their path taking them past an iron gate that led to the church grounds.
A figure emerged suddenly from behind the gate, causing Alice to startle. Her breath caught as she recognized Victor, though he wore a black coat rather than his usual military red. The change made him seem somehow smaller.
“Ah, apologies,” he said, executing a stiff bow when he noticed them. “Gainsbury.”
His eyes moved to Alice and seemed to freeze there, the moment stretching a heartbeat too long. Elias’s head tilted slightly, his brows drawing together as he observed the exchange. Victor cleared his throat.
“Miss Montrose. You must pardon me. I have not offered my congratulations on the happy news.”
Alice could only stare.
“Thank you, Lacey,” Elias said when she did not reply. “Were you in attendance? I did not see you inside.”
“Oh, no. I am only waiting for the Dowager Countess. I am picking her up for a cup of tea at the cottage.”
As Victor spoke, Alice noticed details that had escaped her at first glance. His fingers were clenched around something—a handkerchief she recognized as the one she’d given him, still bearing traces of blood. His eyes were rimmed with red, as though he had been weeping.
She pushed the thought away quickly.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Victor said, bowing again. “Ah, here she is.”
He withdrew before Alice could say anything, leaving her staring after him as Elias frowned thoughtfully.
“He was acting rather strange, was he not?” Elias glanced between Alice and Victor’s retreating form.
“I suppose. Though he is not one to act with any sense of normalcy.”
Elias shook his head. Something clearly troubled him. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned to Alice with an apologetic smile.
“I have something I must attend to,” he said. “I will meet you at the carriage.”
Before she could respond, he strode off in the direction Victor had taken, his long legs carrying him swiftly across the grass. Mrs. Montrose remained deep in conversation with the vicar near the church entrance, suggesting they wouldn’t be leaving immediately.
Alice’s attention drifted back to the iron gate where Victor had emerged. Her heart seemed to stop as she realized what lay beyond—the church cemetery. Ancient headstones rose from the grass like grey pillars, some simple slabs, while others displayed elaborate carvings. But among the weathered stone, a splash of color caught her eye.
A fresh bouquet of violets lay before a grave.
Her hands shook as the weight of what she’d witnessed settled over her. After years of avoiding this place, Victor had finally visited his late wife’s grave. And she, of all people, had interrupted that private moment of grief.
The urge to follow him—to offer comfort or seek forgiveness, she wasn’t sure which—rose within her. But she remained rooted to the spot, remembering his words from their last encounter.
‘ Forget this moment. Forget this selfish act—this selfish man.’
How could she possibly forget when every breath seemed to urge her closer to him?
Lady Fairfax had joined their table for tea in one of Fairfax Hall’s elegant sitting rooms. Elias had not accompanied them, citing some unnamed business that furrowed his brow as he helped Alice into the carriage. She had smiled and nodded, but watched through the window as he wiped a hand across his face when he thought she couldn’t see. The gesture left her wondering what thoughts troubled him—and whether they centered on Victor.
Her teacup clattered against its saucer as she set it down, earning a sharp look from her mother. But nothing could dampen Mrs. Montrose’s spirits today—not when her greatest ambition was finally within reach.
“Of course, the wedding breakfast must be held at Gainsbury House,” Mrs. Montrose declared. “Though we would be honored if you would advise us on the arrangements, Lady Fairfax. You’ve done such a magnificent job with the birthday celebrations.”
“How kind of you to say.” Lady Fairfax’s musical laugh filled the air. “I would be delighted to assist. Have you given thought to the flowers? And of course, the guest list must be considered carefully ...”
Alice stared into her empty cup as the women’s voices washed over her. They discussed colors and decorations, seating arrangements and wedding clothes—her mother having apparently planned every detail down to the color ribbon Alice would wear.
“How wonderful to have a mother so attentive to every particular,” Lady Fairfax remarked.
“Yes,” Alice murmured.
They were describing a dream—a beautiful dream, but false nonetheless. The perfect duchess, the perfect wedding, the perfect life stretched out before her like a path paved in gold. Yet she felt nothing but hollow emptiness at the prospect.
There was another path, she knew. One she had not allowed herself to think of. It was too impossible, too messy. A path paved in social ruin and broken hearts.
But it would allow her to be with him.
With Victor.
She reached for the teapot as the women continued discussing potential honeymoon destinations. As she poured, something strange happened. Her mind, usually whirling with anxious thoughts about proper angles and careful movements, went completely still.
She watched, almost fascinated, as the dark liquid filled her cup. When it reached the brim, she did not stop. Tea spilled over into the saucer, then onto the pristine tablecloth, spreading in a growing stain.
“Good heavens, child!” Mrs. Montrose snatched up her napkin, dabbing frantically at the spreading puddle. “Whatever has gotten into you?”
Alice set down the teapot calmly, a strange laugh threatening to bubble up in her throat as she stared at her reflection in the spilled tea. The woman who looked back at her was not a duchess—would never be a duchess.
“I beg your pardon, I must excuse myself,” she said, rising from her chair and dropping into a curtsy executed with perfect precision. Then she turned and fled the room, that peculiar laughter still threatening to escape.
Once in the hallway, she pressed her back against the wall, one hand clamped over her mouth as hysterical giggles finally broke free. For her entire life, her every breath had been so tightly controlled. And now, as she’d listened to them planning out the rest of her days, something had released inside her.
The pressure of holding everything in—every gesture, every masked emotion—had finally grown too great. Like tea overflowing a cup, she could contain it no longer.
She wanted something else entirely.