Chapter 6
Chapter Six
On Obligation.
Whatever you do, do NOT run away if you are asked for a kiss.
Although you may, indeed, take strategic action to avoid it, once caught beneath a sprig, and a kiss has been requested, you simply must comply, or you will risk never receiving a marriage proposal for the duration of the year—worse yet, you might risk the fate of becoming a spinster! Remember, ladies: Every Season counts!
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep,
On a cold winter’s night that was so deep…
It was true: Alexandra might still be impaired by the spirits she’d drunk, though it didn’t help matters very much that it had been so long since she’d practiced her piano—really, what was the point in practicing when there was no one about to entertain?
And regardless, no one seemed fazed by her blundering, and the more joyous everyone sang, the testier she became.
This was all Ben’s fault.
How dare he speak to her so rudely!
How dare he make her feel as though she were the one to blame for all his ills!
He was the one who’d courted ruin. Ben did—not her! He was the one who’d put himself at her father’s disposal.
Blast and damn. Alexandra didn’t feel like singing nor making merry, not even when Mr. Cameron and the brothers joined the chorus, belting out the words with voices that were perfectly in harmony. Their joy should have been infectious, but Alexandra felt only like shouting, bah, humbug!
Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell
Born is the King of Israel!
Her emotions simmering just beneath the surface, she tapped out the keys, when, really, what she longed to do was give in to a rare fit of temper and pound angrily upon the keyboard.
Bloody damnation! Ben had done this to her.
He had made her feel like an undesirable—once again!
Precisely the way she’d felt that night when Prince Merrick discarded her so rudely at her mother’s side.
The disgrace of it all nearly choked away her breath and it didn’t help matters at all that she was still jug-bitten besides.
Together, they all sang…
…drawing nigh to the northwest,
O'er Bethlehem town took its rest;
But in Alexandra’s livid mind, she heard:
…drawing that nasty cheroot with his fingers.
Why, oh, why did I linger…
Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell
Born is the King of Israel!
“Huzzah!” said Chloe.
“Beautiful,” said Claire.
And then the entire lot clapped generously despite all the many ways Alexandra’s piano playing must have sorely offended their ears.
One man clapped louder than the rest: Ben.
Rosy-cheeked from the weather, he’d come in from the garden, and was now standing beneath the arched entry, beneath a miserable sprig of mistletoe. Eyeing Alexandra very purposefully, he reached up, popped a drupe from the sprig, inspected it with disgust, then lifted a brow and tossed it away.
In that instant something mad came over Alexandra. Everyone faded from the room, and there was only her and Ben—miserable rotten cad that he was—and she longed so desperately to tell him exactly how she felt.
She hardly knew what possessed her, but whatever it was, it was a long, long time coming—every time she’d said yes when she’d rather say no, every smile she ever gave when she preferred to weep, every heartbreak she ever knew came rushing to the moment.
“I know a song!” she said sweetly. “An oldie but goodie—Welsh, I believe. Taught to me by my mother. Nos Galan. Here it is…” And before she could stop herself, she tapped out the keys, playing the pianoforte as loudly as you please, and then, tipsy though she was, she began to sing…
Cold is the man who cannot love
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
“I don’t believe I know that one,” said the entirely too delightful Lady Morrissey.
“Oh, Lexie,” said Claire, perhaps recognizing the New Year’s carol from their youth, warning of bills that followed the holidays and spending more than what was earned—a cautionary tale for wastrels, a jab from her mother to her father.
And what better manner of delivery than to employ one’s own daughter to deliver it!
Alexandra ignored everyone, desperate to sing the next verse.
Chilling are the bills
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Alexandra peered directly at Ben as she sang one final verse, not caring that she sang completely out of tune and her fingers were missing the keys.
Never spend more than you earn,
Fa. La. La. La. La! La. La! La! La!
She ended the song on a discordant note, realizing only belatedly how much sentiment she’d put into the last fa, la, las.
“My goodness. That certainly isn’t very cheerful,” said Lady Morrissey. “Someone should rewrite those atrocious lyrics.”
Surprised by her outburst, even Ben looked appalled. His brow furrowed, and he looked at her as though she were a viper that had slid out from beneath the settee and she suddenly felt like one too.
It was all too much!
Alexandra was suddenly ashamed.
“I… I… am sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.” She put a hand to her belly, and said, “I… I don’t feel very well.” And without another word, she rose up, pushing away from the pianoforte, nearly tripping over the bench in her hasty escape.
In all her life she had never dared succumb to such vociferousness, and in doing so now, she didn’t feel any better. To the contrary, she felt far worse than before, and so much as she’d tried to stay strong, she needed desperately to cry.
* * *
“There, there,” said Claire, patting Alexandra on the back.
How many times had they comforted each other just so?
Ofttimes, it was Alexandra comforting Claire through some bit of outrage, most notably over the world’s many injustices.
Claire was precisely the sort to hand out pamphlets in the park or scold a man for shouting at his wife.
And really, Lexie had understood that inclination only too well, so she’d often told Claire all the same things she told herself in order to tamp down her own sense of outrage: Not everything in life was fair—this wasn’t: the simple fact that her father had effectively destroyed her two most cherished relationships, not to mention her relationship with her mother as well.
And yet, though Claire had so often taken the weight of the world upon her shoulders, she had never once been spiteful. Alexandra could never again claim such a thing.
Laying atop the strange bed she was meant to share with her dearest friend—perhaps for the last time ever—she sobbed inconsolably into a fat, fluffy pillow.
Claire sat beside her, patting her tangled hair, and for the briefest instant—so fleeting an instant—it felt as though nothing really had changed, that they were still young women, fresh-faced and ignorant of all the ills life held in store.
Except… that was no longer the case… they were not in familiar surroundings.
These bedrooms with their oak-paneled walls and shuttered windows were not at all brightly lit or cheery.
Never mind all the scandals they had seen; Alexandra herself had never behaved so poorly!
Claire’s life was taking a beautiful, magical turn—she was marrying a prince, quite literally. And meanwhile, Lexie was left to choke on her grief. And here, again, she lay sobbing on account of Ben—that terrible, heartless cad!
How many tears had she shed over him by now?
And mostly over these past six months.
“I am so, so sorry,” said Claire. “I didn’t realize… I should never have asked you to play for us.”
“No! Please! Don’t be sorry,” Alexandra wailed. “We are celebrating, after all!”
“Yes, well,” said Claire, tilting her head. “Still, I didn’t realize you were feeling so… melancholy. And I really should have remembered… this time of year has always been so difficult for you.”
Alexandra swallowed convulsively, rolling over onto her back, swiping tears from her eyes as she faced her best friend.
Who else in her life would know such a thing—that she cried despondently nearly every single Christmas?
“Please, Claire… don’t feel badly,” she said. “You had every right to ask.”
“Oh, Lexie… I do hope you will come to spend holidays with me in Meridian. I promise you; I will see to it you are pampered and adored.”
Alexandra wiped her eyes yet again and then hiccoughed, realizing that, no matter how many tears Claire had watched her shed, Claire could never truly understand.
It had never been easy with her parents so at odds, but it was downright miserable after her mother refused to allow Ben and Claire to join them in Shropshire.
In retrospect, Alexandra had only ever been despondent when not in their company, and only ever aware of her misery because of the stark comparisons of their households.
In so many, many ways, their relationship was a double-edged sword, and even so, Alexandra couldn’t bear the thought of losing her dearest friends—and, yes, this included Ben.
Somehow that was the worst of it all. “I’m only sad to be losing you,” she confessed.
Claire’s expression softened. She tilted Lexie a questioning glance. “Losing me? Why ever would you think so?”
Alexandra swallowed yet again, only this time with great difficulty, because the knob in her throat seemed to have grown large enough to choke her.
“You are not losing me,” insisted Claire, and she reached out to take Alexandra by the hand, squeezing very gently. “You will never lose me, Lexie! You’re my oldest, dearest friend, and this you will always be, no matter where I live. And really, I have so much to thank you for…”
Alexandra grimaced, only thinking about all her father had done to Claire. “Equally as much to spite me for as well.”
“This is not true,” said Claire, shaking her head.
“I already told you, Lexie. I do not blame you for what your father did. He was a despicable man, but you, his only daughter, are no less his victim. And if you do not mind me saying so, your mother is a selfish prig!” She lifted Alexandra’s hand and pressed it to her breast, hugging it fiercely.
Lexie swallowed yet again. “Your brother blames me.”
“He does not!”
“Oh, but he does, Claire! I see it in his face whenever he looks at me.”
Despondent over the thought, Alexandra began to sob again, tears spilling from her eyes as she remembered the bitterness in Ben’s words and that horrid look in his eyes as he’d tossed away that drupe.
Bittersweet though it might have been, that kiss was a memory Alexandra cherished, and he was willing to throw it away so easily!
“Ben…” Claire paused for a long moment to better consider her words.
“I must admit, he’s still quite troubled by his time in Fleet.
I cannot imagine what atrocities he endured there.
But I promise you, Lexie, he will get over it, and I must confess, I did hope that in close proximity you two might find a way to come together. ”
Lexie remained silent, fervently wishing the same. It was bad enough that Claire would be leaving London… only with Ben she might bear it…
“It would please me immensely to know you were… close. Supporting each other in my absence.” She squeezed Lexie’s hand yet again, then let go, and then she, too, laid down on the bed to gaze up at the ceiling.
“When will you leave?”
Claire sighed. “The end of February.”
“How wonderful,” said Alexandra, and then… really… she didn’t know what else to say.
She had always dreamt Claire would stand for her at her own wedding, and she would stand for Claire…
“I’ve asked Chloe and Lady Morrissey to stand as my bridesmaids,” Claire said finally, as though reading Alexandra’s mind.
“How nice.”
“Very,” said Claire, reaching out and taking her again by the hand, lacing her fingers through Alexandra’s. “And you… I rather hoped you would stand as my first bridesmaid… will you?”
“Me?”
Claire nodded.
Bleary eyed, Alexandra tightened her throat so she wouldn’t sob like a baby, and then they laid together without speaking, holding hands.
“I don’t have a dress,” Alexandra said after a while, but that wasn’t a refusal… to the contrary, nothing would give her more pleasure.
“Oh, but you do,” said Claire, with a smile in her voice. “I was going to give it you when I asked… not here, but at home. The dressmaker from Courtauld’s made it in your favorite color.”
“Blue,” said Alexandra with a hitch to her voice. It wasn’t a question.
“Blue,” said Claire.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure than to stand at your wedding.”
“Good,” said Claire. And then there was nothing more to say. They were two old friends lying side by side, staring at the ceiling, and nothing would ever change that—not even marriage.
“Shouldn’t you go down and tend to your guests?”
“Oh, no,” said, Claire, with a smile in her tone. “They’ll fare well enough without us. It’s time to retire anyway, and…” She placed a hand to her belly. “I’m afraid you’re not the only one who overindulged.”
Alexandra giggled drunkenly, thinking of the first time Claire ever tried arrack punch—that night of her party at Vauxhall Gardens, at some gala planned by the Duchess of Kent. “I did warn you,” Alexandra said.
Claire giggled softly. “But you didn’t heed your own warning.”
Both girls fell into sudden fits of giggles, squeezing each other’s hands. They laughed until they couldn’t any longer, then sighed contentedly.
“Say Claire… do you remember that night of Merrick’s reception?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“That look on your face when Merrick put the ring on your finger!”
“Ian,” Claire corrected.
“Ian,” said Alexandra. “He’s nice,” she relented.
“He is, and so is Prince Merrick… if you’ll give him a chance.”
Alexandra tried to reconcile that man belowstairs with the man she’d met at Almacks—the one who’d made googly eyes at his wife and tried so hard to put a stranger at ease at the dinner table. “I suppose there’s more to everyone than meets the eye,” she said.
“Yes, which brings me to Ben,” she said. “Really, Alexandra, you must know he blames himself.” Claire squeezed her hand. “He’ll never speak an ill word of my father, but you must know that my father left us in too deep, and Ben… well, he tried to save us.”
“Really?” said Alexandra, turning to look at Claire in surprise, and Claire nodded very soberly. “But I thought—”
Claire shook her head, knowing only too well what Alexandra must have thought… that Ben was the one responsible for all their woes.
“I see,” said Lexie, and suddenly she did.
She understood something she didn’t before…
Ben didn’t so much blame Lexie… he blamed himself…
no less than she blamed him as well. It was no wonder he’d responded so coldly to her…
he knew her well enough to see it all in her eyes…
so then… if she wanted that to change, she must look at him another way…
“Feel better?” asked Claire.
Alexandra smiled. “I do,” she said. “I really do.”