Theo stretched out on his bed with his arm folded over his eyes. Not a single sound came from the adjoining chamber. Not that it would have. He was an idiot. Of course, he’d suspected—she’d never come close to even being kissed, let alone ravished. He was a monster. There was certainly no option now when it came to marrying Giselle.
He tried to still his brain, analyze how he felt about that. His father was gone. He and his uncle could never bring him back. Perhaps it was time let go of Percival’s notions of vengeance.
Percival would be furious, of course. He was a man who demanded control of every situation. Not unlike Giselle, perhaps.
There was a perverse sort of pleasure in upsetting his uncle’s plans. No. Theo’s plans. God, he was so confused. Why was Percival so dead set against the duke? Theo was the one whose father had been put to death wrongly.
But Giselle had said something that pricked at him. What was it? He racked his head for her words. That perhaps someone had been in love with the first duchess? The hair at his nape lifted in a bizarre clairvoyance that was too prominent to ignore. Like perhaps his uncle. Had Percival known the previous duchess? Someone else perhaps? How, after almost thirty years, was he to learn who?
Theo had been a child when they’d come for his father with their ugly accusations. His father’s thriving antiquities business soon lost valued customers, and his uncle had stepped in taking Theo and his mother in. The business eventually fell by the wayside under Percival’s ministrations. The only thing that man did well was spend. Their livelihood now depended on Theo’s talent with architecture and design. Since Sir William’s passing, there was work aplenty.
Theo didn’t remember much regarding his mother except she’d been pregnant and was lost birthing his baby brother or sister. Uncle Percival had been horribly upset. Angry even but Theo had been so young, recalling the details was difficult.
He heard a noise from the window and he rose from the bed and looked out, uncertain why hearing a carriage on the street would seem so out of place. This was London. But there was still snow on the ground and traffic had been unusually mute.
He looked down just in time to see a carriage he didn’t recognize, pulling away. A nice carriage. A private carriage.
Dashing from the window, he barged into the adjoining chamber without knocking. He scanned the room, his gazed stopping at something shiny that caught the fire’s light, and knowing what he feared.
She was gone and she wasn’t wearing shoes.
Alex shivered within the confines of Belle’s carriage. Her friend’s coachman had done his utmost to keep the inside warm with heated bricks, but he’d likely waited on the street for hours before Alex realized he was there to make good on an escape. The streets hadn’t quite cleared of the snow, but thanks to a steady rain, the snow was melting off, leaving behind muck. Her bare toes were covered in mud and frozen.
The clock in Alex’s room had said it was well after three in the morning, and she would have said it was much later considering the lack of traffic.
In the less than fifteen minutes to Belle’s, Alex had plenty of time to reflect. Why shouldn’t she force Mr. Millburn’s hand? He would honor the loss in their wager. Or would he? He had, in fact, already collected. She may not have spent the night in his bed, but she’d relinquished her only bargaining chip—her precious virginity. Though, God knew what a woman of eight and twenty needed with such a commodity.
Thankfully, her pragmatic sense stopped her from actually opening the trapdoor she’d reached for to instruct the driver to turn around. Oh, but how tempting to marry the lovely Mr. Millburn. Kiss those lips at her leisure, explore his body in a way she’d been denied.
No. She would just have to be satisfied with the fantasy of being mistress of his home, welcoming him in her bed. Their joining had been quite… decadent. Again, she reached for the trapdoor—then slowly lowered her arm.
Holding him to their ridiculous wager would be jesting no one but herself in forcing Mr. Millburn’s hand in marriage. She’d behaved exactly as he thought her—a lightskirt. Marrying him was a castle in a cloud for a woman born on the wrong side of the blanket.
The carriage drew to a stop. It was too late to turn back.
The coachman didn’t bother letting Alex’s feet touch the ground. He simply opened the carriage door and tugged on her arm, pulling her tumbling out and catching her in his arms. He carried her to the portico before setting her to her bare feet and pounding on the door. She was quickly whisked inside by a waiting butler. Belle was coming down the stairs in her wrapper just as the door closed behind Alex.
“Oh, thank heavens.”
Alex ran over and hugged her friend, blinking back another bout of tears. What a waterpot she’d become.
“Your arms are like ice. Oh! And where are your shoes? Never mind.” Belle called for tea, gave instructions to inform the others that Alex had arrived, and ordered a hot bath for Alex.
“The others?” Alex asked, her teeth chattering with the cold.
“Everyone but Augusta, Faustina, and Harriet.”
Philomena, Thomasina, Elizabeth, and Victoria hurried in, surrounding her, hugging her, as a footman stoked the embers in the hearth, building up the fire.
“Bring a wrap,” Belle said.
Thomasina slipped out of hers, draping it around Alex. “Here. Take mine. Oh, Alex, we’ve been beside ourselves. Did he hurt you?”
“What? No, of course not.” Alex could feel the flush crawling over her skin. It irritated her that at her age she should be embarrassed for… for an act that was as natural as bathing without clothes. Her face grew hotter. How would she know what they did was natural? He’d put his mouth in unspeakable places. And why did she have to think about being naked? With all her friends staring at her? “Did my trunk arrive from Winsome’s?”
“Yes. I’ve put you in the green room,” Belle said with a pointed look. “I can see that your dress is ruined.”
Oh, lord. “If you all will excuse me, I’ll run change.” It was the only excuse Alex could coherently think of on the spur of the moment. By nature, she was not what one—or more specifically, her friends—would call impulsive.
“Oh, there you are, miss.” Patterson, one of Belle’s maids, was filling a basin with hot water. “I’ve laid out some warm clothes for you.” Her eyes fell to Alex’s bare feet. “I’ll bring some woolen socks. I imagine your friends will not let you rest until you return downstairs.”
“You have the right of it, Patterson. I suppose it can’t be put off until tomorrow.”
“I doubt you’d be able to sleep besides,” she said with a grin.
“What are you smiling at?” Alex demanded crossly, hating that she was likely right about that. “Am I now the jest of this entire household?”
“No, miss. Apologies.” Patterson’s grin was immediately extinguished, but Alex could feel her holding back laughter at Alex’s expense. It brought back memories of those early days at Miss Greensley’s, leaving Alex feeling lonely, humiliated, and… uncertain.
After a few calming breaths, safely stowing her anger, she washed her face, scrubbed her teeth, and donned her warmer clothing.
“I’m sorry, Patterson. I-I don’t know what’s come over me.” She spoke stiffly. She didn’t wish to sound pompous, she just couldn’t seem to help herself.
“Think nothing of if, Miss Blessing. I was out of line.”
With a sigh, Alex headed back downstairs for the inquisition.
“A letter, Alex. It’s from your sister, Sophia,” Belle said when Alex entered the warm parlour.
“Ugh. I don’t wish to go home yet.”
“Then don’t,” the ever-loyal Thomasina said.
Alex went to the windows, where cold air seeped through the panes, to see the snow all but gone under the pelting rain. “I can’t very well skip my sister’s come-out, can I?”
“No,” Thomasina said. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay here, right, Belle?”
Alex heard the frown in Thomasina’s voice and smiled. “I suspect Sophia is frustrated at not having someone at her beck and call. I jest, of course.” She broke the seal and read through her sister’s note. She spun around and leaned her hip against the sill, waving the vellum through the air. “Two words. Any guesses?”
“She can’t find favorite her necklace?” Thomasina muttered.
Alex’s frowned. “Right, first time.” She looked up. “What necklace?”
Belle poured out a round of tea. “Alex, Thom has the right of it. At eight and twenty you are most welcome to stay here for as long as you wish. You have my open invitation. Sophia is a spoiled harridan.”
“Thank you, darling.” She glanced down at the note. “But the duchess likely needs my help with the party, and I probably should do what I can to assist her. But rest assured I will come back. Right after Boxing Day,” she vowed.