30. Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
A lice and Mrs. Montrose stepped through the second floor entrance to the grand ballroom, and for the first time in her life, Alice felt perfectly content. She paused near the gilt door frame as they waited in queue to be announced, taking in the spectacle before them.
The ballroom stretched out below, transformed beyond recognition for the dowager’s birthday celebration. Where the opening ball had been elegant, this was otherworldly. Thousands of fresh flowers covered every surface—roses and lilies draped across marble columns, delicate orchids spilling from crystal vases, and garlands of ivy twisting up the grand staircase. Petals carpeted the checkered floor, releasing their perfume with each step of the dancers.
Acrobats in costumes embroidered with floral motifs performed feats of balance on raised platforms, drawing gasps from the assembled crowd. Even the servants had been dressed for the occasion, their livery adorned with hand-stitched blooms that matched the dowager’s signature style. Musicians played from a bower woven entirely of flowering vines, their instruments decorated with trailing ribbons and fresh blossoms.
“Mrs. Regina Montrose and Miss Alice Montrose.”
The assembled guests turned as one to watch their descent. Alice knew they would—her transformation over the fortnight had been the talk of the celebration. She wore a gown specifically chosen by the dowager for this evening, the silk the precise shade of a sun-kissed rose petal. Tiny crystals gleamed against the fabric, catching the light with each movement as though dusted with starlight. Her hair had been arranged in elaborate braids beneath a delicate headpiece that matched her rose pin, which sat proudly at her breast.
Her mother leaned close, voice barely above a whisper.
“Look at them all,” she said. “They adore you. A duchess! Can you believe it? It will be in all the London papers.”
It certainly would be—though not for the reasons her mother imagined.
They began their descent, and Alice’s gaze swept the crowd with practiced ease until she found the figure she sought. Despite their late-night conversation, Elias showed no signs of fatigue. If anything, he seemed more energized than usual, standing tall near the refreshments. When their eyes met, he gave her a slight nod, raising his glass of red wine in acknowledgment. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Her mother attempted to pause four steps from the bottom—their usual choreographed moment—but Alice swept past, forcing Mrs. Montrose to catch up, her skirts rustling as she hurried to match her daughter’s pace. Though her mother sputtered in surprise, she dared not criticize someone who was to become a duchess, especially not before such a distinguished audience.
Alice could feel the weight of countless stares as she passed the platform where the dowager held court without so much as a wave in the direction of their hosts. Her mother’s eyes widened at this clear breach of protocol, but Alice pressed on. While it might appear a snub, she needed the assembled company to witness this moment. Her reputation would require such careful social positioning in the hours to come.
Elias met her at the bottom of the stairs, leaving his wineglass on a passing servant’s tray. The musicians had tuned their instruments, preparing for the next dance. He reached for her with such obvious devotion that the watching ladies tittered behind their fans. When she took his hand, he drew her close with practiced grace.
“The Dowager Countess will not appreciate that entrance,” he murmured as he led her toward the dance floor.
“Well, it got everyone’s attention, and the dowager will receive her birthday present soon enough.” Alice squeezed his hand gently. “Do I appear suitably in love?”
He brought them to a stop among the other couples forming sets.
“Of course you do,” he replied softly. “Because you are. Though perhaps not with your current dance partner.”
The music began, and Alice and the duke performed their roles to perfection. Their movements flowed together with practiced grace, their expressions carefully crafted to show deep affection. The smoldering looks they exchanged caused more than one observer to reach for their fan. This would indeed be the talk of society—exactly as they needed it to be.
When the music faded, the applause thundered louder than usual, accompanied by excited whispers. Alice caught her breath, maintaining her radiant smile as Elias guided her through a turn, then brought her hand to his lips in a very public kiss. But movement on the platform caught her attention, drawing her gaze upward.
Victor stood before the dowager in his scarlet coat, bowing over her hand in what appeared to be a birthday greeting—though Alice knew it was truly a farewell. Lady Fairfax watched with barely concealed fury as Victor exchanged words with the dowager, whose expression had grown troubled. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew something, pressing it into the dowager’s hand. She stared at the object, her face paling visibly. When Victor didn’t immediately withdraw, Lady Fairfax grasped his arm. He shrugged off her touch with a sneer and turned to leave, executing one final bow before striding quickly from the platform. Lady Fairfax followed, no doubt to ensure his departure.
Alice’s stomach clenched. She had less time than anticipated. From across the ballroom, waiting against a wall, was Miss Eastridge. Alice signaled the woman, and the maid slipped away into the shadows. Next, Alice caught Elias’s eye, giving him a slight nod. It was time to present the dowager with her birthday gift.
Her mother hurried to join her as she approached the platform, practically glowing with maternal pride.
“Oh, my darling girl,” Mrs. Montrose gushed, “how perfectly in love you both are! To think, everything I couldn’t achieve, you have managed so beautifully.”
Alice drew a steadying breath as they climbed the steps. The dowager still gazed toward the door where Victor had disappeared, her attention fixed on his retreat. As they drew closer, Alice noticed a small green book resting on the dowager’s lap—Violet’s poetry book, the same volume Victor had guarded so fiercely at the cottage. The dowager’s fingers worried at the cover’s frayed edges, her expression unusually vulnerable as she stared toward where Victor had gone. Alice’s stomach clenched with a strange dread. Why would Victor part with his most treasured possession now? But before she could go down that train of thought, the dowager’s gaze finally turned to them, brightening with forced composure.
“Ah, good,” she said. “Better news, I trust. You put on quite the show, my dear, though I did not appreciate your rushed entrance.”
“I apologize for my earlier indiscretion. Happy birthday, Dowager Lady Fairfax,” Alice said, executing a perfect curtsy.
“Look how my rose has bloomed,” the dowager replied, though her eyes held a hint of uncertainty. Beside Alice, Mrs. Montrose shifted uncomfortably.
“About that, my lady.” Alice straightened her spine. “I have your birthday present to deliver.”
The dowager’s eyebrows rose with obvious curiosity. “And what might that be?”
In one smooth motion, Alice reached up and unpinned the rose from her breast. She approached the dowager’s throne, extending the gift with both hands. The older woman stared at the fabric flower, making no move to accept it.
“I do not understand.”
“I must thank you for everything you have done for me during this fortnight,” Alice said carefully. “I have learned more about myself than I thought possible. But ...” She drew a steadying breath. “I cannot be your rose.”
“Why give this back now when you have already—” The dowager’s face drained of color as understanding dawned. She rose from her seat, drawing herself to her full height. “Please tell me,” she said, voice dropping to barely more than a whisper, “you are not doing something foolish.”
Alice met her gaze steadily, lowering her voice so only those on the platform could hear.
“The engagement has been called off.”
Mrs. Montrose’s sharp gasp cut through the air. Alice grasped her mother’s arm before she could cause a scene, shaking her head in warning.
The dowager accepted the rose pin, studying it as though it might provide answers.
“But ... why?”
“Because I am not a rose,” Alice said. “Perhaps I am a weed, or an herb, or perhaps even a daylily.” She turned to her mother, squeezing her arm gently. “A bloom that had its moment in the beautiful sun, and now must forge its own path.”
“What are you doing, girl?” Mrs. Montrose’s voice shook.
The dowager’s gaze drifted toward the door where Victor had disappeared, and understanding transformed her features.
“No,” she breathed, gripping her flower-covered throne for support. “ Victor? ”
“Yes.” Alice lifted her chin. “And while I do not need it, I would appreciate your blessing and the gift of discretion … for now.”
The dowager shook her head slowly, then let out a genuine laugh that seemed to surprise even her. She threw her head back, her shoulders shaking.
“It has been quite some time since I have been truly shocked.” Her eyes glittered with something that might have been respect. “But what can I say? Like mother, like daughter. You may go.”
Alice beamed, grasping her mother’s arm, guiding her quickly from the platform. Before they could fully withdraw, the dowager called after them.
“Oh, and do hurry, my dear. It seems the lady of the house wants the captain gone as soon as possible.”
As they reached the bottom of the platform, Mrs. Montrose spun to face her, grasping Alice’s shoulders with trembling hands, whispering furiously.
“Alice, Alice! What is happening? The engagement—what have you done?”
Alice caught her mother’s hands in her own, squeezing gently.
“Mother, I know that everything you’ve done has been to prevent me from sharing your fate. That you wished me to right the wrongs of your youth. But I am your daughter,” she pressed one hand to her mother’s cheek, “and though I love you dearly and do not wish to cause you pain, perhaps I am like you in some ways.”
The blood drained from Mrs. Montrose’s face.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“It means,” Alice said, drawing a steadying breath, “I must choose my own path, Mama. I only hope that when I return, it does not destroy our relationship as it did with your parents.”
“Alice—”
But she had already pulled away, no time remaining for further comfort or explanation. Her mother would have to carry those last words in her heart, and Alice could only pray they would not become something she would later regret.