Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
T he unceasing knocks on Alice’s door had her turning in her bed, irked a bit about the disturbance. She had not had much sleep the night before; half the night she had tossed and turned not sure if she had really met the Marquess or if it were a fever dream.
Now, in the cold light of day, she was riddled with insecurity and guilt; canoodling with the Marquess was the very thing she did not need right then. She had to find Rutledge and get him to do the honorable thing by Penelope.
On the other hand, she could not dare let go of this chance to marry well and bring her family with her—her Aunt Agatha would never forgive her.
Trapped betwixt a wall and a hard place.
Unhappy, she slid out of bed, hoping that it wasn’t her aunt there, asking her to do some infinitesimal task for Eliza, like measuring a new length of ribbon.
Tugging the door open, she was ready to face her aunt—only to find Penelope on the other side, holding a massive bouquet of pink roses and white Hyacinths.
Stunned, she looked to the bouquet and her sister, not sure what to say or even think. “Elly?”
“May I come in so we can talk about your suitor?” Penelope whispered. “Please, before aunt finds us?”
“There is no chance of that happening,” Alice said even as she stepped away to let her sister in. “You know they do not rise before nine and it is barely six thirty now.”
Closing the door with her heel, Penelope handed her the vase and the card she’d hid in her skirt’s pocket. “They are so pretty.”
Turning the card over, Alice gazed at the filigreed edges and monogrammed seal at a corner. “To Miss Alice. She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.”
“Oh my,” Penelope sighed, “Such sweet words!”
“They match the flowers too,” Alice added.
Fingering a silky petal, Penelope asked, “You used to tell me that there is a language to flowers. If that is true, what do they mean?”
“You know red roses mean love, but pink means admiration and appreciation. The Hyacinths mean beauty,” she noted, tilting her head. “He is surely a gentleman.”
A telling silence had forced Alice to face her sister, but when she did, she instantly felt her stomach coil with nervousness at how astute her sister's gaze had become.
“What?” she asked.
“You don’t like him that way… do you,” Penelope asked quietly.
Suddenly, Alice felt fearful. How is it that her sister knew this when she had not even admitted it to herself? Benedict Landon was handsome, titled, and did not look down on her for her gentry class: he was perfect in every respect and had come into her life the very moment she needed it. Even her aunt approved of him, and rarely did she and her aunt agree on something.
But as sweet as the man was—she couldn’t find the instant spark she expected to feel, especially since she had felt it already with… him . Duke Valhaven.
Just thinking of the man made her heart quiver. He had not touched her or spoke with her enough for her to get that reaction; but the sensations—the look in his eyes, the touch on his hand, the heat of his body—still lingered.
“I suppose I am still reeling with the shock of him choosing to humor me,” she half-lied. “It is not a typical thing for me to walk down the street and gain the attention of a Marquess.”
What about a Duke?
Penelope smiled sympathetically. “It is all a bit astonishing, is it not?”
“Very,” Alice said, then reached out for her sister. “But even with this, I am very firm on getting Rutledge to own up to his wrongdoings and honor you.”
Her sister’s smile was faint, “I know you will, Alice, but what if he doesn’t? There is no guarantee he will marry me, and if we come to it, it is his word against mine. If he doesn’t do the honorable thing—”
“He will .”
“—then I will have nothing else to do but accept it and use it as a lesson learned,” Penelope smiled emptily. “I made my bed, one day I’ll simply have to lie in it.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Alice assured her. “I found him once, I will find him again.”
Penelope blew a strand of her hair from her eye and smiled, “Every day I wake up, I thank the good lord above that I have you.”
Wrapping her arms around her sister, Alice replied, “And you always will.”
In the silence of his study, Edward’s eyes dropped to the sketch he’d labored on for most of the previous night, and while he knew there was little chance of crossing paths again—he couldn’t help but wonder what could have been.
His finger traced her lips, and his fingertip came up coated with graphite; the things he wanted to do to those lips. Edward knew his inclination in the bedchamber would make a virgin Miss faint, but something inside him felt—deeply felt , this Alice would meet him halfway.
“Knock, knock,” Benedict said as he strode into Edward’s study, bearing two cups of coffee.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in a lecture hall now?” he asked his brother, shifting the picture to the other side.
“I should be,” Benedict replied. “But I am absconding in favor of a croquet game at Lady Islington’s home.”
Askance, Edward asked, “ You ?”
“Yes?”
“Croquet?” Edward added dryly. “The very sport you told me was the most nonsensical sport ever invented from the dawn of creation? Why are you even attending, much less playing it?”
Twisting the cup in his hand, Benedict took a mouthful. “I’ll suffer through mind-numbing tedium because the lady I want to court is there.”
“Ah,” Edward nodded. “Now the truth comes out. The things we men do to gain the woman we want. We will wade through the fires of hell to get her.”
Lips twitching, Benedict added, “Coming from a man who has sworn off marriage—much less courting, I find that incredibly amusing and heavily ironic.”
“Touché,” Edward said.
Looking down, Benedict sighted the paper with the drawing and spun it to him. Brows lowering, he gazed at it and Edward could see confusion mark his brother’s face. “What is it?”
“I—” he stopped. “I don’t know. This drawing looks very much like the lady I want to court. How did you know to draw this? This is very detailed, even with half her face covered.”
What?
“Pardon?”
“Miss Alice,” Benedict said, tapping the drawing. “She looked exactly like this.”
Alice—the very same name. What are the odds of both of us meeting the same Alice?
“You don’t say…” Edward slid the drawing back to himself.
If she was the woman that had drawn his brother’s interest, he certainly would not interfere, but a devilish need to see this lady for himself and find out if she was the one from that night arose in his mind.
“How much do you know about her?”
He didn’t know if he wanted—or preferred—to play a game of I-found-her-first but he did want to know if this lady was the same one. He wanted to be strategic and subtle about it though.
Even if she is the same one, what will you do about it? You have decided on not courting or marrying…
“I know she has a sister, who, admittedly, I have noticed is very pretty and quiet,” Benedict confessed. “She also has a cousin that reminds me of a pretty kitten, spoiled as can be.”
“I see,” Edward nodded, wondering if this sister was the same one Alice had mentioned inside the Club. “Well, I won’t be keeping you long. Do you remember what part of the croquet mallet hits the ball?”
Benedict’s eyes narrowed. “The same end I will use over your head if you keep needling me.”
Laughing, Edward waved him off and then lifted the drawing, her eyes as haunting to him this moment as the second their gazes had met. “Alice, Alice… do I dare find you playing croquet?”
Stepping back, Alice sat her mallet aside as Marquess Brampton—or Benedict as he had a moment ago asked her to call him—lined up his last shot on the green and tapped the ball, sending it right through the last of the wickets and solidly winning the game.
“He is so very handsome,” Eliza sighed lovingly, coiling a lock of her dark hair around a finger and gazing fondly at the Marquess, clothed in flattering shades of brown and bronze.
Penelope looked at their cousin with horror and a twinge of disgust. “Eliza, stop. He is courting Alice.”
Twisting her face into a nasty sneer, Eliza huffed, “He wouldn’t have if he had met me first.”
Of course you would be unhappy with something good happening to me while you have had everything you’ve ever wanted handed to you.
Training her gaze on the man, she smiled as he cocked the mallet over his shoulder and ambled to her side. Self-conscious, she went to brush her hand down the bodice of her stylish white taffeta dress and wondered if she should put on her bonnet.
“I wonder if the lady of the house will let me keep this mallet as a keepsake?” he pondered out loud.
“She might,” Alice said. “If you ask for the pair. I don’t think her ladyship would do with a rogue mallet.”
He cocked a brow, his smile sly. “It is more sensible to replace two than one.” Extending an arm to her, he asked, “Care to join me for a drink?”
“I would love to,” she smiled, taking her mallet with her.
As they moved off, gently picking their way over the green, he said, “Have I told you how ravishing you look today?”
“You have mentioned it once or twice,” she tightened her fingers over his arm. “Possibly thrice, but I will answer the way I did the first time, you are so very kind, my lord. Thank you.”
His peal of laughter drew eyes around them and she did her best to hold her head up high even under the unwelcome scrutiny. “You looked like a savant wielding that mallet. How often do you play croquet?”
Benedict’s lips slanted to the left. “This is my first time in a very long time.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened fractionally. “You must have a fine-tuned intuition and a good memory.”
“My history professor would disagree with you,” Benedict replied. “But then again, Mister Weston is a crotchety old crone who does not agree with anyone.”
They came to the refreshment tables on the back porch of the lady’s palatial country home, and he poured her a refreshing glass of lemonade and took a water for himself.
Looking into her glass briefly, she began, “I’ve always wondered what the inside of a lecture hall would look like. I am sure you know women are not allowed into such hallowed places which might give them the ladder to achieve more than the simplistic life ladies are told they should expect.”
Leaning on a balustrade, Benedict nursed his drink. “It is wholly unfair, isn’t it? My first teacher was my mother who helped me spell my name and count my first numbers, but then we shunt women to the side and go on to achieve degrees.”
She took a sip. “It is lopsided, truly.”
“Tell me,” Benedict said, “If you could study at Oxford or Cambridge, what would you like to pursue?”
“Medicine,” Alice replied immediately. “I would like to know how to heal someone, how to take away someone’s pain and give them ease. Even if it is to learn herbs, I would take that with open arms.”
Benedict rested his glass on the wide balustrade. “I may be able to give you a tour of Oxford,” he offered. “Not on a day when classes are ongoing, but I would love to show you one of the bastions of male companionship.”
“No rivalries?”
“More than you can care to count,” he grinned.
Taking a bracing breath, Alice asked, “I know this is very presumptuous of me, but my cousin Eliza really admires you, and while she has not said it to me, I do know she would love to meet someone like you. Someone who has the morals and values and I would say, appearance you have.”
His smirk turned naughty. “Did I hear a compliment in there?”
She reddened. “Perhaps,” she replied. “You have been free with your compliments, and I decided it was only fair to return one, even as un-subtle as it was.”
“No, no, it was subtle,” Benedict shook his head. “And I feel honored by it.”
Against the sunny sky, the rays gleamed on his perfectly coiffed curls; he looked more like a storybook prince than ever, making Alice flushed with guilt.
It wasn’t Lord Brampton’s fault that she did not feel the pull she so desperately wanted to feel for him—half the women in Town would give their left arm to wed the man and the other half would give much more than that—but she felt trapped in the in-between of duty and guilt.
She had two duties at the moment, the first was to get Rutledge to do the right thing, but if he did not, she had to make sure her sister had a way out of the predicament she was in—and that was by marrying up.
Unfortunately, that was where the guilt came in. She didn’t like knowing that this courtship was being led on the basis of changing her fortunes and saving her sister’s life. Well, for her. She was not sure of the underlying reasons Benedict had for the courtship.
However, it felt as dishonest and deceitful to use him as a tool like an otter would wield a rock to open clams and then discard it.
What about yourself? Didn’t you once dream of marrying for love? What about your happiness?
“Someone like me, eh?” Benedict asked. “I can think of a few.”
Swallowing over the unwelcome thoughts, Alice knew she would get her happiness when everyone else was settled. Another twist of guilt turned her stomach upside down; it was beyond reprehensible to let the Marquess believe she felt something she did not, but were ton marriages ever based on love and affection?
No. She did feel a camaraderie with him though. Inhaling deeply, she told herself that she owed Benedict the courtesy of honesty—one day.
“I know my cousin would really appreciate your effort,” Alice said.
He nodded. “What about your sister?”
Instantly, Alice felt protective. “She is not ready to court yet.”
“Are you sure?” Benedict asked. “Forgive me, but I am sure I have seen her look at some lords the way many lords have looked at you.”
She laughed, while her stomach twisted, “You jest, my lord. How unkind of you.”
Tilting his head, Benedict asked, “Am I?”