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Copyright ©2002 by Susan Christina
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This battle of wits invigorated her. It was quite a challenge to manufacture answers in response to Lord Saybrooke's questions. Of course, it was easy to make a false step, but so what? Until Alaina did, she would let her imagination run rampant. Besides, her replies fueled the man's anger; she enjoyed that, she enjoyed that very much.
With both elbows, Lord Saybrooke leaned on the mantle and observed her from his superior height. "Perhaps the strangest piece of the puzzle is you addressing me differently. I have known you many years, m'dear. You have never used my first name."
For once, Alaina was stumped. She had called him "Richard," following his mother's lead. Wasn't that his name? What else could her double have called him?
Then, very clearly, Alicia's words came back to her: "Saybrooke" she had said.
Slowly approaching the fireplace as if it was the lion's den, Alaina looked up into his face. How good-looking he was. Such a hard and lean jaw-line, smooth and square. His hooded eyes had brows that threatened to meet at the slightest sign of displeasure.
"Well, I decided I would get your attention if I called you 'Richard.'"
Those brows moved together as she prophesied. "And why did you want my attention?" he asked dangerously.
She fidgeted with the folds in her dress. If only he would look at her with less disgust. Avoiding his probing eyes, she struggled to come up with a reason. "I hadn't seen you in a long time. I wondered ... if ... if...." Her voice trailed off. Her imagination finally failed her.
"You wondered if you could still make my life miserable." He supplied the rest of the words. "Indeed, you can be assured on that count. As you have surmised, you retain that particular talent, m'dear."
The Earl of Saybrooke made a small bow and quickly left the room, allowing the solid mahogany door to slam, giving evidence to the violence of his feelings. The echo was the only sound in the grand State Dining Room to keep Alaina company.
This is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the characters, incidents, and dialogs are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2002 by Susan Christina
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Oh, no. It can't be happening! Not again.
Sitting at one of the long wooden tables in the New York Public Library, Alaina Sawyer felt her stomach drop. Her view of the stacks of books resting solidly by her elbow misted over, to be replaced by ... the unknown.
Good Lord, it was happening again. The nightmare visions were returning with a vengeance. She slammed her eyes shut and gripped the table's smooth edge in a last-ditch effort not to be dragged away. It wouldn't work, though; she'd had three other visions so she knew it wouldn't work. Being contrary or optimistic, she held on anyway. Maybe this once she wouldn't be hauled off someplace beyond space and time. Usually not one to beg, she'd beg now. Please? Pretty please?
Cooler air goosebumped Alaina's skin. A chilly breeze of fragrant flowers assaulted her nose---scents not normally associated with a library.
Drat! Obviously begging hadn't done one iota of good.
Inhaling, she bowed to the inevitable and took a peep at whatever was out there.
Oh, heavens, this time it was worse. A thousand times worse. She'd landed smack in the middle of ... someplace else. A museum or a castle---someplace as far as she could get from a staid, public library. A fabulous ballroom, right out of the "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous," seared her eyesight. Expensive paintings lined the walls. Heavy draperies reached from high ceilings to polished parquet floors. If her very life depended on it, she couldn't move a muscle.
She gulped down hard. Wide-eyed, she stared at the other occupants of the room. A man and a woman, dressed to the hilt, waltzed past, oblivious to anything but themselves. As they swept by, the woman whispered to the man, "Soon, my darling."
Soon what? Before Alaina had a chance to give voice to her question, the scene before her faded. She was back in the library, at the table, as if she'd never left! Blinking, she patted at her heart, now beating to a frightening crescendo. What, in God's name, was going on?
"Alaina, are you all right? Jeez it, girl, you're the color of moldy bread!" Jack Morrison, a fellow doctoral student, slid down next to her and gently pulled one of her still-clenched hands into his.
Relaxing her grip, she took several steadying breaths. No need to be afraid now. She was back here, where she belonged. But where she had been for those few seconds was anybody's guess. It all seemed so real. And although she hadn't seen the woman's face, she recognized her from the previous visions.
Alaina's mouth went dry. This ... business was getting downright scary.
Jack still waited for her answer. Giving herself a minute to gather her wits, she shook her hair back from her face. Remember, be cool, calm, and collected. She had to pretend everything was fine. She had to get her emotions under control.
"I'm okay, Jack. Really."
As carefully as she could, she extracted her hand from his. Jack had a crush on her, although he'd bristle if he heard that term. Twenty-eight year old men don't have crushes, he'd insist. Maybe, but since she had a three year edge on him, sometimes his moonstruck behavior did seem childish.
Accepting her withdrawal, he sighed. "So what happened? You looked as though you'd seen a ghost."
Close. Two ghosts. How could she explain what happened when she didn't understand it herself? Obviously she hadn't left her chair. At least not physically. But she had traveled someplace, someplace very different from this low-key reading room. Over the last four days, she'd experienced three other visions. But this one was stronger, more real, more intense. She still hadn't seen the woman's face, but this time she'd heard her speak: Soon, my darling. Something was going to happen soon.
Alaina twirled a long lock of hair around her finger. She didn't like the sound of those words. Especially if "soon" had something to do with her.
Jack tapped on her shoulder. With an ego as healthy as his, he wouldn't believe that she'd forgotten all about him. "Well?"
Stuffing research papers back into her briefcase, she shrugged. "It's nothing, honest. I've just been working too hard. Y'know, studying for my doctorate is a drain, plus teaching full-time. Plus the volunteer work. Everything's taking a toll. I probably need a vacation."
Leaning closer, he smiled a slow sizzling smile. "Christmas recess is coming up. We could go someplace together."
She smiled back. Redheads could be devilishly attractive. "Right. I wonder what your latest girlfriend would say to that?"
Alaina stood, which threw him off balance. Why did men feel they had to put the make on women? Even Roger Farnsley, her next door neighbor, had started to look at her with a proprietary gleam in his eye.
That she always declined Roger and Jack's advances seemed to fan the flames of love---or lust. Whatever. She had no time for phony sentiments; she liked her life just the way it was.
Minus these annoying visions, of course.
Pulling on her heavy overcoat, she grabbed her briefcase. "I'm calling it a night, Jack. Too much Sophocles versus Euripides for a Friday night."
Never in a million years would she have foreseen she'd had enough of her chosen field---Greek and Roman literature. "See you in class on Monday." Thank heavens she could sleep in tomorrow.
As she walked through the library's doors into the frigid December weather, she buttoned her coat. Maybe a vacation was a good idea. Someplace free from stress, if there was such a place.
A chilling wind flipped back her hair, bringing an all-too-familiar fear. Her sixth sense screamed in warning: Brace yourself. It's happening again. In a split second, Alaina's safe, predictable world would vanish, and, drat everything in heaven and on earth, there was nothing she could do but go along for the ride.
An eyeblink ... or an eternity later, she found herself in a bedroom. An elaborate bedroom, with a ceiling about twenty feet high. A ball-and-prism chandelier hung down from the center, blazing brightly from countless candles. Real wax candles. Beautiful, but impractical. Imagine cleaning the wax drippings.
Moving over to a gaudy, brass mirror, she received a second shock. Good heavens, she was invisible! She glanced down at herself and spotted the black wool coat and her gloved hands; everything was in place just as she expected. But the mirror reflected nothing back. Was this an out of body experience? What did it all mean?
Huge cherry-pink tapestries set in gilded frames caught her eye. Ornate figures of nymphs and cupids cavorted everywhere: on the rugs, on the chairs' pink cushions, and over the alabaster fireplace. No doubt about it, the room belonged to a sensualist---a woman enamored with the French Rococo style of art.
Alaina shrugged. Not that there was anything wrong with Rococo. It was just too elaborate, too lush for her tastes, especially for a bedroom.
Voices drifted in through the paneled, double doors. Banishing her first thought---to hide, after all, she was invisible, wasn't she?---she watched two people enter. They were the same two from the last vision. The man ranged above average in height with a gangly type of build. He wore skin-tight, glaringly yellow trousers; a purple suit jacket, and a pointy shirt collar that reached up to his ears. The collar, or cravat as was its proper name, was clearly not designed to promote range of motion for the neck.
Alaina cataloged his attire as late eighteenth century/ early nineteenth century. And if she remembered her costume history, his apparel identified him as a dandy.
Hmm, this ought to be interesting. She sat down, unseen, on one of the pink chairs to watch the drama unfold.
The man paced in front of the fireplace and ran his fingers through his carefully styled dusky curls. "A---Are you certain you want to go ahead with this pl---plan, my dear? Dash it, it all sounds preposterous to me!" He stopped to look in the mirror and fixed a renegade curl. "Damme, there must be another way!"
A British accent. Nervous, too. Alaina turned her attention to the man's companion. The woman's back was directly in front of her, and although Alaina tried to maneuver around, she couldn't get a clear view of the woman's face. How odd.
Wearing a slinky peignoir trimmed with real fox fur, the woman lovingly fingered a cupid guarding the fireplace. She must've been the Rococo fanatic.
"There is no other way, Derek. Not if we want to be together. You know Saybrooke---he has spies constantly observing me. Surrounding me. I never have a moment to myself. We must be thankful we have this time today."
Her voice vibrated low and seductive, then a slight shudder traveled through the woman's slender frame. "If he ever found out...."
The man, Derek, pulled her to him. "I cannot bear one second away from you. My love! My life!"
As he noisily kissed the woman, Alaina rolled her eyes. Cripes! What kind of British soap opera had she fallen into? Obviously Saybrooke, poor man, was this deceitful woman's husband. Infidelity was, at best, a sordid affair. Mrs. Saybrooke had some sort of plot up her diaphanous sleeve, that much was certain. But what was it and how did it affect Alaina?
The lovers separated and the woman slashed her hand through the air. "Enough of this! I must tell you what I have found out. Madame Reena was difficult to convince, but she has finally agreed to help us---for a price. Indeed, her services run very high. But money is no object!"
Derek made a strangling sound. "No, it is not, my precious. However, what she proposes---"
"Madame Reena is already working on our problem. She says she has found a perfect substitute for me. We shall exchange places and no one will be the wiser."
The man fiddled with his high-necked collar but remained silent. There could be no doubt that Mrs. Saybrooke ran the show. He was just part of the chorus.
She weaved her arm through his. "Think of it, Derek. We will be able to take up our new life in society, unhampered by Saybrooke, that brat, and the disapproving dowager!"
Pausing, she then struck the palm of her hand with her other fist. "I will never forgive Saybrooke for subjecting me to that ordeal. I had no idea childbearing was so painful, so ... deforming." Her voice shook from the remembrance.
Here was another area where Alaina wasn't in sympathy with the woman. Children were life's true miracles. Her own biological clock ticking, Alaina wasn't certain the select club of motherhood would ever open its door to her. And that was a lack she keenly felt.
Derek went to soothe Mrs. Saybrooke but she avoided him. In a whinny tone, he protested, "But this, what does Reena call it---an enchanted sleep? This is madness! Let us run away together. We can travel. See the world. My friends in Rome say it is lovely this time of year."
Reaching out to take her hand, he kissed it reverently. "You can be mine then. Saybrooke will have to give you a divorce."
The woman pulled away. As she restlessly walked up and down the room's vast length, her face still remained out of Alaina's view.
Derek dropped his hands to his sides as if his courage failed him. "What Reena proposes is much too risky, even if it works. How can we trust her? She is only a peasant---she cannot be reliable."
"Madame Reena has the gift!" Mrs. Saybrooke placed her hands on his shoulders, perhaps to smooth away his fears. She purred, "Reena can to this---she can give us a new life together. Perhaps not in London, but here in England."
After soundly kissing him, the woman said matter-of-factly, "As for running away, leaving our homeland, we have discussed that before. We could never return, the censure of polite society would be too great. I would never be able to hold my head up proudly again. And to live the rest of my life in a foreign land...."
She shook her head. "That would be barbaric. I will never do it!"
The man remained mute.
"Is that how it is to be, then, Derek? So, I shall undergo this exchange by myself. It is the perfect escape for me. You need not accompany me, but I must leave. I cannot bear another day being the wife of that heartless beast!"
Mrs. Saybrooke threw herself down on a crimson divan and proceeded to sob her eyes out.
Good actress, Alaina thought. Good melodrama. Now comes the part in the script when the man kneels by her side and begs forgiveness.
As if on cue, Derek went to the woman's side, albeit clumsily, and offered reassurances of his love. "Never fear, my angel. I will journey with you to whatever demmed place the mystic Reena sends you. And gladly! You will be mine forever!"
Mrs. Saybrooke lifted her bowed head, propped herself up on her elbow and gave him a wavering smile.
Alaina gasped. She finally saw the woman's face. The tear-stained countenance of the woman now hugging the hapless Derek was the very same as her own! Mrs. Saybrooke and Alaina Sawyer could have been twins!
Without warning, inky darkness descended.
A small group of strangers crowded around Alaina, now propped up against one of the library's marble lions on guard duty. Murmurs of concern hung in the air, contradicting the belief that New Yorkers were an unfriendly bunch.
Smiling weakly at the good Samaritans, she managed to utter, "Thank you, thanks for the help. I'm all right now."
She lied, of course. After this most recent vision, she didn't think she'd ever be all right again.
"Give her room to breathe." Jack broke through the throng and leaned over her. His broad and open face reflected his worry. "Alaina, you should go to the hospital. This is nothing to fool around with. Fainting is serious business."
Removing her woolen gloves, she rubbed her forehead. Fainting. If only that were all that bothered her. No, fainting couldn't explain how she'd stared point-blank at her own face, looking into the same identical dark chestnut eyes ringed with black.
She shuddered. If that didn't frighten a person, she didn't know what would.
Just she and Jack now remained hunkered down on the outside steps. She deeply exhaled, and her frosty breath disappeared into the night. "I appreciate your concern, Jack, but really, I'll be fine. Maybe I need that vacation a little sooner than winter break."
He dug his fingers into his red hair. Her stubbornness must have troubled him. "I dunno, Alaina. Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor?"
"No, a good relaxing bath and a glass of wine should cure what ails me."
An urgent desire to forget about the troublesome twosome, Derek and Mrs. Saybrooke, swept over Alaina. Maybe Monday she'd set up an appointment with a counselor or a psychiatrist. She needed help, no denying that. But not tonight. Tonight she'd pretend none of this happened.
Jack took her arm, and led her down the stairs onto the busy street. Although rush hour traffic had already passed, in addition to holiday lights, Fifth Avenue was still illuminated with wall-to-wall car headlights. Frenzied shoppers and excited sightseers bustled about to view elaborate stores displays and the nearby Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.
Alaina was interested in none of those things. Her apartment and her bed called out to her like a sea siren to a lost sailor. Home. Thank heavens she could sleep late tomorrow.
"Maybe I should see you to your place? Make sure you get in okay?" Jack wasn't flirting; he was genuinely anxious.
Why oh why couldn't she think of him as boyfriend material? "That's sweet, but it's not necessary. How 'bout if you walk me to the subway?"
Growling, he obviously didn't think much of her peace offering. But he gamely maneuvered a path toward 42nd Street, through the horde of holiday revelers and up toward the subway station. At the entrance, he bent down to place a soft kiss on her cheek. "Give me a call tomorrow, so I'll know you're okay."
After agreeing, she walked down the stairs. Jack really was very nice. Why couldn't she fall in love with him? Why couldn't she allow herself to have a relationship with him or with Roger Farnsley? Or with any man? Why did she always back away?
She slipped her subway token into the turnstile and headed down the ramp. Her head began to ache. Why worry about men and relationships when her very sanity was in doubt? People always complained about the holiday blues, but this was ridiculous.
Nearly falling asleep in the white, frothy bath, Alaina blew some fragrant bubbles off her chest and reluctantly stood. She couldn't stay in the tub forever. And she also couldn't banish the unholy trio from her thoughts: the drippy Derek, the unfaithful wife, and the mystic Reena.
Toweling dry, Alaina slipped into her floor-length, silky robe and zipped it up, taking care to avoid snagging her dangling gold leaf earrings. For no reason at all, a heavy feeling of dread ... alarm...something settled over her.
"Get a grip, kiddo. What are you worried about? It's party time. Christmas is almost here, Dad's flying up for a few days, and Vicki and the boys are coming to visit. Everything's fine. Fine."
Her pep talk didn't work. "Darn, I need a drink."
Alaina poured a glass of peach wine and took a sip. The pinkish liquid filled her with a warm glow. Ahh! Feeling better, she swallowed more. Now fortified, she plopped down on her sectional couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table.
"I do need a short vacation. Where should I go?"
Without looking, she groped under the cushions, then pulled out some travel brochures she'd stashed away. "Let's see. Bermuda? Puerto Rico? Nassau?" Strangely enough, these exotic locales sounded insipid.
She poured more wine. An image of big, brown eyes bored into her mind. Her eyes ... and yet not hers.
Flinging the pamphlets aside, Alaina stood. "What's wrong with me? Why am I having these visions? What do they mean?"
She downed the remaining liquid but the alcohol did little to solve her problem. Her hands to her temples, she tried to drive away the haunting images. They refused to be dismissed. Even her own bare feet proved ornery; her toes tripped over the fibers of the carpet, making her fall.
"I'm a mess." She sprawled out on the floor with her rose-colored robe bunched up at her knees. "How could I be drunk? I'm never drunk."
After refilling her glass, more wine burned her throat. "I'm never drunk and I never drink alone."
A voice of fast-vanishing reason broke through. Kiddo, you're tipsier than a vibrating top and more alone than in solitary confinement. Face it. You're as drunk as a skunk.
She giggled. "All right, so I am." She could drink if she wanted to. And she wanted to. Nothing wrong about that. Way past the legal age and everything. But, oddly enough, she felt compelled to overindulge. A steady drumming in her veins urged her into intoxication.
Well, why not? No one could've had a weirder day than she had. Tottering over to the coffee table, she jumped when the telephone rang.
"Drat!" Ignoring the phone just set her teeth on edge so she answered it. Less than cordial she snarled, "Who's this?"
A slightly wheezy voice answered her. "'Evening, Alaina."
Good grief, it was Roger Farnsley---her amorous neighbor. Not in the mood for his shenanigans, she contorted her lips. But that was mean of her. So she'd had a bad day---to put it lightly. Why take it out on everyone else?
"Oh, hello, Roger. What's up?" And make it fast, she silently added. Her wine glass was almost empty.
"Alaina, Mother gave me two tickets to the opera for tomorrow and I---"
"Cripes!" Shaking hands caused pinkish liquid to seep through her robe, darken the material, and wet her thigh. "Sorry, Roger. I just spilled some wine." The thought of Mother Farnsley would make anyone's hand shake.
"Well, we haven't seen each other all week, Alaina, and Mother said---"
Alaina could imagine what Mother said. "No, thanks, Roger, I'll pass. I plan to stay in tomorrow and get some rest." Right now she'd kill to get some rest.
"I could come over. I could come over now."
She rolled her eyes. "That's not a good idea. I had a rough day. I...." Picking up the wine bottle, she made a face. "Drat, the bottle's empty." She licked its rim to catch the last drops.
"I'm coming over, Alaina. You don't sound like yourself."
She withheld an hysterical laugh. Of course she didn't sound like herself. She didn't look like herself, either. She looked like Derek's paramour!
Dropping the phone from her ear, she tapped her foot. After a minute, she resumed conversation. "I appreciate the thought, Roger, but I'm fine. I don't need you to come over."
"But---"
"Tell you what. Come tomorrow instead, okay? Around one o'clock." Anything to get rid of him.
"How about earlier? Say eleven?"
He always had to push. No wonder she shied away from relationships. "No! Not before one." Why did her nerves feel stretched to the limit? Why was she acting this way?
She welcomed the pause on the line. Maybe he'd get the hint and hang up.
"You know, Alaina, if you moved in with me, we could be together all the time. Mother says---"
She had to suppress a primal scream. Something was making her blood pressure skyrocket. The man drove her crazy. She didn't need this. Not from Roger---not from anybody. "I can't say it any plainer. I don't want to move in with you. Don't be ridiculous. We hardly know each other." Why couldn't he leave her alone?
His next statement caused her heart to go into arrhythmia.
"Alaina, let's get married."
Married---to Roger! God forbid. Steel bands slowly tightened around her chest. Trapped---she'd be trapped.
That thought also sobered her up. "No way. I'll get married when---"
A vision interrupted her. Her casual, well worn living room dissolved into a chaotic jumble, like television static. Then the scene coalesced. Seated at an immense desk was a dark, handsome man with hair of midnight black.
Wow. Alaina blinked, then blinked again. This man radiated pure, unadulterated sex appeal---from the heavy lock of hair hanging over his high forehead; below to his blazing blue eyes; over to his slightly flared nostrils; across his firm, sensual lips; and down to the tip of his angular, strong jaw. Even his corded neck was a symbol of male virility. He would've made any woman drool.
Dressed similarly to Derek in style but not in garish color, the man's generous mouth twisted in a scowl. He held a letter in his large hand, and didn't seem pleased with its contents, to put it mildly. A savage pulse beat at his temple. He crumpled the paper, then threw it into a fireplace.
Alaina shivered. She sure wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that man's anger.
Before she had a chance to feast upon his magnificent face again, the scene faded. Back in her own living room, she stood shell-shocked, and closed her gaping mouth.
"Alaina? Alaina?"
She stared at the telephone in her hand. At Roger's prompting, she finished her sentence. "I'll get married when ... when I feel like it."
She'd never feel like it, but curiously enough, remembering that dark-headed man made her insides tingle. Who was he and what part did he play in this bizarre drama her mind created for her?
Throbbing pain blinded her sight. Time to call it a day. "Listen, Roger, I've got to go. See you tomorrow."
Tomorrow she'd put an end to his late-night phone calls. He was being too possessive and if there was one thing she was certain of, she never wanted to belong to anyone. Besides, Roger was just her neighbor---nothing more.
That mouth-watering, dark-haired man intruded on her thoughts again. Sweet, like forbidden candy.
She smiled. Well, maybe she'd make an exception about belonging to someone, but of course that man, whomever he was, was only in her visions. He wasn't real. Being with him was impossible.
Reaching for another bottle of wine, she suddenly changed her mind about drinking more and headed for the bedroom. Every nerve and every cell in her body demanded that she lie down. Sensations of sleep washed over her. Why was it hard to remain standing? She didn't have a choice about not staying awake. It was as if she wasn't in control of her actions anymore; someone else was in the driver's seat. Her bed beckoned and there was no way she could resist.
Each step she took had a surreal quality to it. Drifting into the bedroom, she lowered herself on top of the covers, unable to even draw them aside. As she dropped onto the fluffy pillow, her head seemed to spin. With all the alcohol she consumed, that wasn't too unusual. At first the revolutions were slow, then they increased to a breakneck speed. An eerie voice intruded. The low drone grew louder to become a horrendous chant.
The last thing Alaina remembered before blacking out were the words, "T'will happen soon ... soon. Tonight!"
Someone used a jackhammer inside Alaina's skull. Pounding through her temples; blasting through the top of her head; hammering at the base---the pain was exquisite.
"My aching brain," she groaned. That'll teach her to overindulge. Her hangover promised to be one heck of a doozie.
From a distance, a voice seemed to chirp. "What did you say, Milady?"
Alaina froze. No one was supposed to be in her bedroom, least of all a bright-sounding female. She really must've tied one on last night. Should she chance a quick look? Would pink elephants greet her wobbly gaze?
Swallowing her fears, she opened her eyes ... then swiftly shut them.
Good heavens, not another vision! Sheer curtains hung from a poster bed, a pudgy cupid grinned down at her, and a ball-and-prism chandelier centered in the room. Although these things didn't belong in her bedroom, she knew where she was. But she was in no mood for Derek and his dearest darling. No way. She'd keep her eyes closed until this grotesque nightmare went away.
"Milady, what is wrong? You seemed ever so much better. Are you still in pain?"
The woman's voice, while sounding concerned, was maddeningly cheerful---and also British. Alaina wanted to strangle her. Instead, she buried her head under the soft pillow. Maybe she could go back to sleep.
"Milady?"
This vision insisted on being stubborn, didn't it? Giving way to the inevitable, Alaina came out from under the pillow. She couldn't shut her eyes forever. Sighing, she forced them open. A pretty, young woman dressed in black and white hovered by the bedside. She applied a cool compress to Alaina's throbbing forehead. The fragrance of fresh lavenders floated in the air.
"You gave us all quite a turn, Milady. Why, you have been unconsh ... lud, I cannot say the word! You have been asleep since yesterday morn."
To sympathize with Alaina's head pounding, her heart raced in the most alarming way. This morning was not starting out on a very good note---the understatement of the year.
The woman, whose long white apron and longer heavy dress identified her as some sort of maid, fluffed up the bed pillows. The unnatural silence in the room obviously didn't bother her. "A fair pucker everyone has been in, I can tell you, Milady. Doctor Yates rushed over yesterday noon-time." Her hands on her slim hips, she jutted her rosy lower lip. "But what does he do? He just says to let you sleep. Humph!"
Alaina shifted position in the bed. For a vision or a dream, this young woman was disturbingly real. Slowly reaching out her hand, she touched the maid's fingers.
No. It couldn't be. Alaina touched warm, flesh and blood skin. No airy fantasy. A jagged dagger of fear stabbed at her stomach.
The maid patted Alaina's hand. "There, there, everythin' will work out fine. Mayhap the Doctor knew best. Your Ladyship's color came this mornin' and now you are awake."
Turning away from this light-hearted maid, Alaina bit at her lip. Awake, yes, but how in God's name did she get in Mrs. Saybrooke's bedroom? And if Alaina was here, did that mean the other woman traded places and slept in Alaina's bed, smack dab in the middle of Manhattan?
Lady Saybrooke. Nobility---British nobility. Alaina wrinkled her nose. And what had been her words? Oh, yeah---"Madame Reena had said she found a perfect substitute for me. We shall exchange places and no one will be the wiser."
That couldn't be true. No. Impossible! Alaina couldn't have swapped identities against her will. What did Reena do, drug both women then transport them across the Atlantic---overnight?
No, I don't buy that. But this maid thought Alaina was Lady Saybrooke, no denying that. And why did everyone wear clothes straight out of a historical costume book?
The maid let out a squawk, stooped down, then peered intently at Alaina. Not a pleasant sensation to have every pore in one's face scrutinized. Had her skin turned the color of Jack Morrison's moldy bread, or what?
"This cannot be! I do believe too much color came back." Running to one of the windows, the maid inspected the closed pink drapes. "Please believe me, Your Ladyship, the sun never entered Milady's bedchamber. The drapes have remained shut since Milady's taken ill. I vow it to be so!"
She fell to her knees, visibly quaking. "Please, Your Ladyship, you mustn't think me backwards in my duty. Haven't I been takin' care of Milady these past seven years? As sure as my name is Dana, a stray sunbeam had no chance to darken Milady's skin!"
Dana's distress was pitiful to see. She must've expected to get fired, or something. And all these Miladys and Your Ladyships sounded like something out of the Middle Ages. Cripes! People still didn't act that way around titles, did they? How positively medieval!
Whether they did or not, Alaina had to calm this poor kid down. Sitting up, she leaned against the gold headrail. "Please ... um, Dana, why don't you get up? Don't worry about my, ah, tan. It'll fade."
Alaina's skin tone was the least of her problems. Dana could see her, which meant that unless this was an extremely vivid dream, Alaina had indeed somehow switched places with Lady Saybrooke. Of course she couldn't be certain the other woman had landed in Alaina's bed, but it was a safe assumption, all things considered.
The imp of mischief egged her thoughts on. What did the pampered lady make of Alaina's Spartan apartment? Had Roger kept his word and knocked on her door at one o'clock? What did he think of Lady Rococo and vice versa? Actually, the pompous Roger might fit Mrs. Saybrooke to a tee. Maybe she'd end up wanting to marry him. But then Derek would be there too, wouldn't he?
Alaina groaned. No sense thinking that way, but when she did finally get back, her life would be in a shambles.
Dana tentatively stood up and reapplied the lavender compress. "Why, Milady! I just now realized you have not had a thin' to eat in two days. I'll have Cook assemble ham and sausage, with your favorite, kippers, and---"
"No, please! Um, just some toast would be great." Fish in the morning was one treat Alaina'd pass on.
"And your chocolate, too." Dana obviously took the beverage for granted.
"Sure. Why not?" Alaina closed her eyes. Her head screamed with inner fireworks exploding. But she was missing something. Something she needed to check on. What was it?
Oh, yeah. Just where in blue blazes was Lady Saybrooke's house? But she couldn't ask that question outright. "Dana? One more thing---"
Halfway out the huge mahogany double doors, the maid stopped. Another wary expression covered her sweet face. "Yes, Milady?"
"Could you bring me a newspaper? I'd like to, ah, catch up on what's been happening."
"Certainly, Milady." Dana's shoulder sagged with apparent relief. For some reason she acted as if Alaina was going to beat her. "Would you care for The Mornin' Chronicle or The London Gazette?
London? Good grief! Alaina's stomach twisted. How could she possibly be in England?
"Milady?"
Alaina shook herself out of her shock. "B---Both, I guess, if that's okay."
Dana gave a proper little curtsey, but not before Alaina caught a look of puzzlement on the maid's face.
I'm probably not acting in character. Lady Rococo must be a real joy to work for.
Just as Alaina started drifting back to sleep, Dana entered the room, then set down a silver serving tray.
"Thank you, Dana." Alaina eyed the two folded newspapers, but picked up the delicate china cup first. Without thinking, she scrapped off the whipped cream generously topping the hot chocolate.
Dana gasped.
Alaina followed the maid's gaze to the spoon dripping with cream. Oh darn! Another boo-boo. Lady Saybrooke must be a fiend about her whipped topping. "Don't mind me, Dana. I'm not quite myself yet." That was putting it mildly.
The maid bobbed her head a few times, reminding Alaina of a wobble doll. "Yes, Milady. Pardon me for sayin', but I do know how you dote on your whippin' cream. I can tell Milady is still out of frame."
That was as good as an excuse as any. One which she'd be using in the days ahead until she returned to New York. "Thank you for understanding, Dana."
Emboldened, the maid continued, "And your voice, Milady. You do sound ever so strange. I could ask Biddleton to prepare his mum's special emollient gargle, which, as the butler says, softens the tongue."
Alaina coughed; she couldn't help it. How could she have forgotten about her American accent? Plus her more informal way of talking. She took a sip on the chocolate and almost made a face. Bitter didn't describe it. "I think I'll pass on the gargle, Dana. I'm sure my voice will be back to normal soon."
As soon as I find Lady Saybrooke and drag her back where she belongs!
Setting the teacup in its saucer, Alaina picked up a newspaper. "Well, let's see what's new in the world."
Dana understood it was time for her to leave. She quietly made her way to the double doors, then pirouetted around. "Oh, Milady, His Lordship's been informed of your condition, but he sent no word on whether to expect him. Biddleton says that since His Lordship is in the village of Fishbourne, his return cannot be at least until tonight."
"Thank you, Dana. Um, you may go now." Collapsing with relief against the pillows when the maid finally closed the door, Alaina was alone. She'd finally have some time to figure what she should do next before Lord Saybrooke, most likely that handsome hunk, came back to his house.
If, in fact, he was the man from her vision. But what would he say when he found out his wife had escaped from her gilded cage?
Alaina chuckled out loud. Having had a preview of his temper, she guessed he'd tan the woman's Rococo hide!
But none of these domestic matters were her concern. Hopefully, she'd be able to hightail it back to her own apartment and pronto.
She flipped over the newspaper to read the top headline. "Spa Fields Riot Pre-planned!" Skimming the column, she went on to read how a riot on December 2 at Spa Fields, north of London, had engulfed most the city.
Alaina smoothed down the paper's crinkled surface against the bed covers. Funny, she didn't remember hearing about a riot. She continued reading. Something about a large group of men going to a peaceful meeting with the express intent to riot.
So she was definitely in London, then. Or in England. Same thing. But the article was worded so strangely, almost antiquated in its usage. She glanced up at the masthead. The Morning Chronicle shouted out its own name. And the date was December 13, 18---
Alaina's heart stopped. There, in black and white, was the number 1816.
Whoa! Wait a minute. She riffled through the rest of the paper. Sure enough, 1816 was stamped on each page.
A buzzing sensation zapped up and down her veins, while her heart now pounded out an urgent SOS. This couldn't be happening. This was some kind of joke. A joke in extremely bad taste. She grabbed the other paper to check the date. The London Gazette also glared at her: December 13, 1816.
God in heaven! Could it possibly be true? Gulping down shallow breaths of air, she scrambled over to a window and flung aside the drapes to look outside. A carriage, of the horse-drawn type, waited upon a gravel pathway. In the distance, two more old-fashioned coaches lumbered away from the house.
It was true, then? Really, really true? As the old saying went: truth was stranger than fiction. For better or for worse, she had somehow been transplanted back to the early nineteenth century.
Hysterical giggles enveloped her and she slid down to the floor to rest her head on her knees. "I wanted a vacation," she gasped through sobs of tear-stained laughter, "but not back in the time of the English Regency!"
As Ann Landers was so fond of saying, "When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade." An opportunity of the most unusual kind presented itself to Alaina and she wasn't about to sit and bemoan her fate.
And what an unusual fate it was. Evidently she and "Her Ladyship" had exchanged places. Of course Alaina couldn't be certain that her apartment now contained Lady Saybrooke, but it was reasonable to assume that the difficult woman had also awakened in a strange bed.
That thought sparked a million questions. How was the woman reacting to this switch? To modern day life? And what had happened yesterday when Roger knocked on her apartment door? Would Lady Rococo even know how to open it? Would she try to assume Alaina's identity?
No! Alaina shook her head. She couldn't afford to think about what was going on in her own time, with all the awful ramifications. The first order of business was to find Madame Reena and get her to unswitch the switch.
Pacing up and down the pink and gold bedroom, Alaina eyed its sumptuous decorations with distaste. On the wall next to her were two gilded, pink couches or settees flanking a magnificent fireplace. A huge tapestry hung over the fireplace and covered the width of the room. More chubby cupids and nymphs, of course.
These mythological figures only fueled her desire to track down Madame Reena. But Alaina had to be careful, for from what she'd heard from Lady Saybrooke's lips, the mystic had pulled a fast one on her.
And me.
That was a depressing thought. But, given enough money and jewels, Reena would be persuaded. At least that was what Lady Saybrooke had implied.
"So, the best way to accomplish my goal is to impersonate Lady Rococo." Alaina stepped in front of the room's gold-framed cheval mirror. Her rosy robe certainly wasn't in character with the Regency mistress of the house. Too slinky and, of course, there was the telltale anachronism: the zipper.
Slipping out of the robe, she glanced around the room looking for someplace to hide it. A petite satinwood writing table next to the window boasted of many small compartments. Perfect! Who'd look in a desk for a robe? She scrunched it up and stuffed it into a drawer.
That done, she had to find something to wear. Walking around au natural wasn't exactly Lady Saybrooke's style either.
The closet wasn't hard to locate. Inside, gowns of all colors sparkled and shimmered in the waning daylight.
"Wow. Which one to choose? I'll close my eyes and ... voilà!"
A low-bosomed, provocative gown seductively winked at Alaina. "Ho, not this one!"
She tried again and picked a plain muslin high-neck gown with a bright pink sash and a ruffled collar. "More my style---a nice, respectable school-marm."
Buttoning all the tiny buttons in the back was a trick, but finally she finished. But now for the real headache. Ferreting out Madame Reena didn't really pose a problem, but how would she handle Lord Saybrooke? Alaina might be able to fool Dana, but a husband would know his own wife.
She couldn't tell him the truth. That much was certain. She'd sound crazy. But the truth was crazy. And, given the way the two of them felt about each other, he might welcome the chance to lock his wife away---stash her in the attic, or send her to an institution.
Not that Alaina would ordinarily object, but in this case, the wife was her.
No, she had to play her new role very carefully.
Dana walked into the bedroom, causing Alaina to jump, almost guiltily. Didn't anyone knock around here?
"Milady! Why, I never! Who dressed Your Ladyship for dinner? The other chambermaids all know 'tis my job." Dana exclaimed with hurt in her voice. Her lower lip trembled. "Milady should never have allowed it."
Alaina sighed. Another faux pas. She curved her arm around the little maid's shoulders to soothe ruffled feathers. But maybe that was another wrong move, for Dana's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Don't worry about it, Dana. I just got tired of wearing my robe, that's all."
"But Milady, I have never seen that robe---"
Of course the maid hadn't. Alaina spoke quickly to bury the topic. "Something I picked up someplace. I forget where. Am I late for dinner?"
"Milady jests! As if I would be so remiss!" Dana then eyed Alaina's dress with bewilderment. "Is Milady certain about wearin' that mornin' dress tonight? 'Tis not quite the thing for dinner. What with the chance His Lordship might be arrivin'."
Now that was a sobering thought. Lord Saybrooke---Lady Rococo's husband. Would Alaina's trial by fire begin so soon?
"I, um, want to dress simply, since I'm still a bit under the weather.
Dana then dropped to her knees and examined the gown's hem. "Lud! Of all the--- This gown only reaches as far as the ankle! Your Ladyship, please believe me, I do not understand how this happened."
So, I must be taller than Lady Saybrooke. Alaina had to think fast. "Maybe it shrunk in the wash," she said lamely. "Or perhaps I've grown." Might as well say that. After all, shrinkage couldn't explain the length of all the other gowns in the wardrobe. "Never mind, Dana. We'll fix it later."
The maid wasn't happy but she held her tongue and steered Alaina to a vanity chair. "Such goings on, Milady. But, here, 'tis time to fix Milady's locks."
Having her hair brushed was relaxing; Alaina closed her eyes to enjoy the movements.
"Milady's hair has grown so. There is hardly enough short locks to make the curls. 'Tis a shame Milady will not let anyone but Monsieur Philippe cut it. Only the Lord above knows when His Lordship will allow Milady to go back to London."
Dana gasped at her inadvertent mention of an obviously tender subject. "Oh, I beg Your Ladyship's pardon. I did not mean to brin' up Milady's banishment from London and cause you distress."
Alaina wrestled with that tidbit of news. With London off limits, hopefully Madame Reena was close by.
"But, Milady, don't pay me no mind. I will arrange these curls famously," Dana added proudly.
The result of the maid's hairdressing was tight rings of curls framing Alaina's face with the remaining hair pulled back into a soft chignon. Alaina rose from the vanity chair to gaze into the cheval mirror. An image of a conservatively dressed young Regency woman reflected back. Alaina stared at her transformation. She grinned. She'd have to remember this look for her next Halloween party!
"'Tis time for dinner, Milady. Cook prepared a special feast for you tonight." Dana almost hopped on one foot with her impatience lest her mistress be late.
Alaina twirled around, liking the sensation of petticoats rustling about her legs. Now that she was dressed for the part, she needed to learn the lay of the land, so to speak. "Come help me to the dining room, Dana. I still feel a little weak."
Dana was more than happy to oblige. With this subterfuge, Alaina mapped out the way to her destination.
Lord Saybrooke never showed for dinner. Inexplicably, Alaina's relief soon turned to disappointment. After all, the man from her visions was one of a kind. He'd given her pause about the state of matrimony, and that was unusual in itself.
Back in the bedroom, she shrugged away her fidgets. She had enough to worry about without getting starry-eyed over Mr. One Hundred Percent Prime Beef. Not the least of which was being stranded---albeit temporarily, back in the past.
"Milady!" From out of nowhere, Dana rushed at her, preventing Alaina from attempting to unbutton her gown. "I am here to serve you, Your Ladyship. Truly, Milady cannot mean to prepare for bed without me."
Alaina sighed. And she'd thought she was alone. As a pliant doll, she stood and allowed the maid to fuss over her. But maybe this was her chance to ferret out some information. "Dana, I was just wondering, do you know of a woman named Madame Reena?" Fingers and toes crossed, Alaina glanced at the little maid.
Dana wrinkled her small forehead, intent on stripping Alaina down to the bare essentials. "No, I cannot say as I do, Milady. Mayhap Biddleton has heard of her. Or mayhap Mrs. Hendly."
"Mrs. Hendly?" And who is she?
"Why, certainly, Milady. If anyone knows what's what and who's who, 'tis the housekeeper."
Hair brushed until it sparkled and dressed in a filmy peignoir, Alaina smiled at Dana for this valuable tidbit. "Heavens, I look too fine to go to bed."
A yawn fought its way to the surface and Alaina stretched her arms up to the ceiling to give full expression to it. "But sleep refuses to be denied. All in all, it's been a very peculiar day."
Dana curtsied, then pulled back the down comforter covering Lady Rococo's bed. "As you say, Milady. I'll go get Milady's chocolate---"
"Don't bother, Dana, unless you want some for yourself." Ignoring the maid's squeak of surprise, Alaina continued, "Right now, all I need is between these covers."
And what covers they were. Soft as a cloud and more cozy than lamb's wool, she snuggled into the sheets as waves of delight washed over her.
She might have already been dreaming when she heard a tiny voice murmuring through the ear muffs of sleep.
"Well, I'll be," came the angelic tones. "If the angry tigress who rants and raves at everyone and everythin' hasn't just gone and turned into a purrin' kitten!"
Finding Mrs. Hendly the next morning wasn't a problem. In fact, the housekeeper burst into the bedroom loaded down with enough breakfast for three people.
"Pardon me, Milady, for interrupting your morning rest. However, Dana and Biddleton say Milady's changed for the better and I do need your help."
Alaina sat up in the bed and wiped the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. No use in pretending she was back where she belonged---as her dream had implied; her bottom hadn't moved an inch from Lady Rococo's comfortable mattress.
Smelling rich, delicious food that would undoubtedly add calories just by inhaling, Alaina took stock of the lean, middle-aged woman hovering over her. "Good morning, Mrs. Hendly. Thanks for the breakfast." She avoided the cup of hot chocolate to pick up a pot of tea. "How may I help you?"
"Ooh, I vow I didn't put much credit in Dana's words, but goodness gracious! If you aren't a different person, begging Milady's pardon.
Alaina hid her smile behind the china cup. You can't begin to know how different!
Mrs. Hendly tucked a stray strand of grey-laced hair back into her white, cotton cap. "That's none of my nevermind, Milady. Leastways, I'm glad Milady's feeling more the thing." With a kind of internal anguish, she twisted the bottom of her heavy linen apron. "'Tis these Christmas preparations that's got me in a tizzy. What with the Saybrooke Hall Holiday Fête just around the corner, and the staff down two scullery maids, three footmen, plus a chambermaid, I was wondering if Milady could spare Dana for a few hours?"
As Alaina nibbled on a biscuit, she mulled on that tidbit of news. Saybrooke Hall Holiday Fête. Good heavens, that would be an excruciating formal event she'd give anything to miss.
"Milady?"
"Ah, sorry, Mrs. Hendly. My mind wandered. Yes, of course Dana can help you. And me too. I'd rather be busy than...."
Than dwell on my peculiar fate.
"Why, Milady! 'Tis a wonderful idea. Mayhap Milady would care to make the kissing bough?"
Kissing bough? Suggestive, that. Alaina shrugged. Doing anything was better than twiddling her thumbs. "I'm game, Mrs. Hendly. As soon as I'm dressed, you can show me how to make it."
The housekeeper curtsied then bustled to the door, her chains of keys hanging from her waist swinging behind her.
"Oh, Mrs. Hendly," Alaina called out to the woman. How could she have forgotten to ask that most important question? "Do you happen to know anything about a Madame Reena?"
Mrs. Hendly vigorously shook her head. "No, indeed, Milady. There's nary a female in these parts that goes by that name. None in Hambledon that I'm aware of."
Hambledon must be the closest town, wherever that is. Drat. This is going to be harder than I thought.
"If I may be so bold, Milady, who is Madame Reena?"
Alaina wasn't about to give the unvarnished truth. "I've heard she's something of a healer. Since my, um, illness, I have a small problem that she can help me with."
The housekeeper's eyes widened but she knew her place and didn't inquire what that small problem was.
A big sigh escaped Alaina's lips. "Well, keep your ears open for me, just in case."
Mrs. Hendly laughed. "Milady has such a colorful way of talking." She curtsied again and left the room.
With a crisp, linen napkin, Alaina wiped her lips. What little appetite she'd had, fled. While it was much too soon to give up hope, she could admit to a sinking of her spirits. But then again, despite what the housekeeper said, maybe someone in town knew of Reena.
If Lady Saybrooke found the mystic, then surely Alaina could. Thus cheered, she began to look forward to celebrating Christmas---Regency style.
Richard Cransworth, the seventh Earl of Saybrooke, approached his principal seat in Hampshire county with much trepidation. It was not Saybrooke Hall itself nor the dismal weather that engendered his apprehension. To be truthful, he could lay the blame for his inner turmoil on the prospect of seeing his lovely, unfaithful wife again.
From the mount of his favorite horse, Richard glanced back at the elegant, well-sprung carriage also along on the journey. Since he had been in no mood to listen to his mother's tedious marital advice, he had elected to ride instead, leaving his mother and son to the comforts of the enclosed vehicle.
Lady Wilhelmina, the Dowager Countess, had insisted on spending the holidays at the family estate. Richard could hardly refuse her. Tradition demanded that the present Earl of Saybrooke and kin gather at the ancestral home for Christmas. Ever since the first Earl of Saybrooke took possession of the Hall in 1588, this custom had always been followed by each succeeding earl. Number seven in the line was expected to hold with the tradition.
Richard loved the Hall and his happy childhood memories. But now he dreaded returning to it. Pulling roughly on his horse's reins, he silently cursed the woman responsible for causing him to avoid his home and his responsibilities there. He should have banished her to his farthest estate in the wilds of Northumberland, near the Scottish border. Instead, ten months ago, he packed his wife off to Saybrooke Hall with explicit instructions not to leave its confines.
This was her punishment for flirting outrageously with all the eligible males of the bon ton in London---eligible and ineligible. A man had pride, after all. The straw that broke the camel's back had been the insufferable Viscount Kincaid. Damn smug little monkey! Not only did Richard have to suffer through society's innuendoes but Kincaid's uncomplaining viscountess had to, as well. Embarrassment was an inadequate word to describe the ridiculous spectacle of Kincaid living contentedly in Alicia's pocket.
Of course there was no hard proof that Alicia took the flirtations any further, but if the smirking expressions on the haughty faces at White's Club were any indication, then his wife was on intimate terms with a great number of the beau monde.
Evidently, her most recent conquest was Sir Derek Donnehey. According to a neighbor's letter, that young popinjay had the nerve to come sniffing 'round Saybrooke Hall. When the unwelcome news arrived, Richard had crumpled the disturbing letter, wishing he could crumple Alicia instead. The fireplace had destroyed the evidence, however Lady Saybrooke was not as easily dismissed.
No man suffered cuckolding lightly, but Alicia's behavior made her just one step above the street doxies. What a fool his all-too-available Countess had made of him. Divorce was out of the question. And murder was only slightly less acceptable.
Richard snorted at his own grim wit. Like it or not, he was stuck with her. And he did not like it; he did not like it one whit.
God forgive him, but it would have been for the best if she had quietly passed on when she came down with that unusual malady a few days ago. Everyone's life would have improved: his, the Dowager's, Terrence's, and even the servants. But no, Biddleton had sent word that Alicia had, unfortunately, recovered. So there had been no reason to leave his archaeological site at Fishbourne to rush to her side. What would have been the purpose? He wouldn't have left now, only, of course, the Dowager insisted. And so, a confrontation was imminent.
The Dowager leaned out of the carriage window to attract his attention. "Richard," she called over the fierce wind whipping through snow-dipped trees. "I am certain we can finish our journey in the remaining daylight. There is no need to subject ourselves to an additional night at a posting house."
He guided his horse to ride parallel to the carriage window. "Mother, that would not be wise. With the deficiencies in the road---"
"Bosh! Why, you have set the pace for the entire trip as if you were an old lady. And, if you refer to my own age as advanced, do not let these silver hairs fool you. My retort is just wait until you are five and fifty. You will not find it so old."
Richard laughed. "I would not dream of mentioning a lady's age, Mother. I am a gentleman."
"Well, you must own that this dusting of snow is no excuse to toddle on the roads. Admit it, you are delaying the inevitable."
"You know me well, Mother. I cannot relish this visit."
She glanced back inside the carriage at the sleeping bundle that was his son. When she turned back, a pained expression marred her mature beauty. "Listen to me, Richard. I have three fine sons, but I will admit a slight partiality to my first-born. You have everything: looks, breeding, wealth, and a noble title. I shall overlook the fact that you have a peculiar hobby---digging up old bones. Ancient Roman remains best left underground. You call it archaeology, I call it grave robbing!"
Whether the Dowager actually preferred one son over another was a matter of conjecture. Personally, Richard guessed his youngest brother Nigel edged out the two older brothers.
But he had to defend his life's passion. "I am digging mosaic tiles out of the floor of an ancient Roman palace, Mother. There have been no bones uncovered."
His mother would have none of it. "Piffle, Richard! You should be sitting on top of the world. Instead, you are crippled by a shrewish wife."
As if I did not know. He urged his horse to pick up the pace. "So what would you have me do, Mother?"
The Dowager sank back into the comfortable royal blue cushions and sighed. Regaining strength, she leaned out the window once again. "I have tried to act as arbitrator between you and Lady Alicia, but there is no sense in denying it---your marriage is now a farce. Perhaps it would be best if you obtained a divor---"
"A thousand pardons, Mother. An urgent matter I must attend to." Richard rode ahead of the carriage on the pretext of speaking to his coachmen. An obvious ploy to forestall additional conversation, to be sure, however his mother's words cut deeply.
At one time, he had been very much in love with his beautiful wife. True, Alicia had been as vain and self-centered as a preening peacock, but he had been willing to indulge her. Indeed, he had loved her to excess. But once she found herself to be increasing, then she had changed.
She made it quite plain that her husband was a non-entity as far as she was concerned. After Terrence's birth, she never forgave Richard or Terrence for the changes motherhood had wrought to her body. She ignored them both and concentrated on her own pleasures. And from some damn place or another, she acquired a device to prevent subsequent births. She took great pains in making sure her husband knew that particular fact.
Richard shook his head sadly. Love had turned to revulsion on Alicia's part. A tragedy, for all three of them.
But he had shirked his duty long enough. Time to face the dragon, to use a phrase.
Doubling back to the carriage window, he called out over the wind. "You win, Mother. We should reach Hambledon by nightfall."
When Richard and his party arrived at Saybrooke Hall, he was gratified to learn that they were quite unexpected. Not a surprise, since he neglected to inform his staff of the precise day of arrival.
Uncharacteristically nonplused at their sudden appearance, Biddleton composed his features to welcome his lord home. "May I, er, say, Your Lordship, 'tis good to have you and the young master home again. I, er, trust Milord had an uneventful journey?"
Richard handed the butler his weather-sogged coat, then ushered a hungry Terrence into the arms of his governess. The Dowager was also eager to see to her own comfort, leaving Richard and Biddleton alone in the entryway.
Richard rubbed his jaw as if he had a toothache. Something was amiss but he could not quite put his finger on it. The way the butler repeatedly cleared his throat was one clue. Another was the apparent fascination Biddleton had with the tips of his black serviceable shoes.
It did not take a genius to put two and two together. Whatever troubled the Saybrooke household, it was a certain bet Alicia was the driving force.
"Biddleton, where might I find Lady Alicia?"
The butler bowed. "If Milord wishes to have a glass of brandy in the library, I will fetch Her Ladyship---"
"No. Just give me her direction." Catching Alicia unawares would give Richard a psychological advantage.
More clearing of the throat. "Her Ladyship has been, er, busy with holiday preparations. May I suggest it would be best if Milord were to wait here---"
"You may not suggest." What the deuce was going on here? Was Biddleton aiding and abetting the fickle Alicia? Was Richard to be duped in his own house by his own staff? "Blast it, where is my wife?"
"Er, Milady can be found in the Long Gallery. Shall I announce---"
"The devil you will not!" Taking the grand staircase two steps at a time, Richard called back to the butler. "You will stay here and make certain no one intrudes upon My Lady and myself."
Once again, Biddleton bowed, giving Richard a clear view of the man's balding pate. "Very good, Milord."
Hell and damn. Richard continued his climb to the picture gallery. Did he now have to wonder about his staff's loyalty? Why, he would dismiss the lot of them and hire...
Up ahead in the long corridor that housed monumental portraits of his ancestors, his wife stood, holding onto something leafy and green. What the devil?
He proceeded stealthily down the hallway. By Jove, she held a traditional evergreen kissing bough, made shiny with red apples, bright oranges, and candles, with a clump of mistletoe suspended from the center. An ornament for the upcoming ball? Alicia never involved herself with any mundane activities such as decorating the Hall. What was she about?
Dressed in an unbecoming morning gown---extremely inappropriate evening attire---she suddenly stopped in front of one of the paintings and tilted her head. She was obviously so engrossed with the portrait, she had no inkling she was no longer alone in the gallery.
Richard quietly watched, as a voyeur might. The picture she evidently was committing to memory was of him, one year into their marriage. This was passing strange indeed. Had she already forgotten what he looked like?
Too bad he was not closer for he could not discern her expression. At that moment he would have given his prime set of matched horses to learn what she was thinking.
He heard her sigh, and again, he would have given his eyeteeth to understand its cause. Then, sated with the image of him, she moved a chair from its position against the wall over to the Long Gallery door frame. Pulling up on her dress, which afforded him a generous view of her slender ankles, she stepped up upon the chair and hung the kissing bough in the middle of the wooden frame.
As difficult as it was for him to believe, Alicia actually leaped off the chair.
Time to end this ... whatever the devil was going on.
As he moved closer, she stepped back, still gazing upward at the bough, apparently admiring her handiwork. "There! It looks perfect."
With that, she bumped into him.
"Indeed." He could not resist commenting. "An appropriate object to compliment your generous behavior, m'dear."
"Oh! Good heavens---" Twirling around, Alicia gasped at the sight of him. Her dark brown eyes widened to dominate her entire face and her rosebud lips gaped open to quiver with surprise. Indeed, she slapped at her chest as if to calm a wildly beating heart.
Richard grinned at his wife's discomposure. Bitter enemies they had been for the past six years, but now, at last, he had the upper hand. "Rustication becomes you, m'dear. I have never seen you looking so ... quaint. Is this gown high gig for the country set? If so, you fit in extremely well."
With satisfaction, he noted the rush of color to her delicate cheeks. Giving Alicia a setdown had, on no other occasion, been this easy. He might enjoy this visit after all.
She jumped back from their brief contact. "Ah, hello. I didn't know you were here."
He frowned. Alicia not responding to his two insults? The first being that she was as wanton as a kissing bough, and the second on her ragged appearance. That was not the only thing different. She looked taller and thinner, even darker in complexion. And her voice, the inflection was off.
Although she didn't meet his gaze, she seemed to be aware of his every movement.
"Christmas is just around the corner, m'dear." He captured her chin and stared into the pools of her eyes. Begad! It was almost as if looking into the eyes of a stranger! A shiver crawled up his spine. "Have you forgotten the Saybrooke tradition of the gathering of the clan? Such a short memory."
She pulled away from his touch. "Ah, well, I've been busy. So much to do."
"Indeed. I applaud your newfound propensity to frivolously decorate the Hall." He gestured toward the kissing bough hanging above them.
She shrugged, obviously regaining her aplomb. "Somebody has to do it."
Narrowing his gaze, he then carefully flicked a speck of lint from the sleeve of his navy blue tail coat and watched her with peripheral vision. "The Dowager arrived with me." Wherever his mother went, so did Terrence.
As expected, Alicia did not acknowledge her son. However a questioning look did appear in her eyes. "Good," she said calmly. "It will be nice to see her ... again."
Something snapped inside Richard. Perhaps it was his wife's cool voice sounding so much like a stranger's. But most likely it was her brutal hatred of her only child. He advanced upon her, causing her to back away. The Long Gallery door frame blocked her escape. With that, he smiled cruelly. He had nothing but scorn for her.
"You persist in ignoring Terrence, I see. You are the most unnatural, despicable woman in existence." Richard leaned closer to her, forcing her to flatten her body against the frame.
At one time such intimate contact would have enflamed his desire. Now her nearness only enflamed his animosity toward her. With relish, he encircled his hands around her velvet throat, feeling her frantic pulse. "I only suffer your presence here for his sake. The poor lad is mistakenly excited about seeing his mother again."
She gasped for breath. "B---But---"
"No buts, m'dear. It disturbs me greatly to have my son so abused. Of course, that is no concern of yours, is it? Your heart has hardened against both of us ... that is, if you have a heart."
His hands tightened their grip. Lord help him, but he delighted in this power over her. "Perhaps I should succumb to my baser instincts, eh? Get rid of you ... and tell him his mother had an accident?"
If possible, her eyes widened further. Her fear reflected back at him. Fear that he would lose control and actually do the unthinkable.
Sometimes man had a bestial nature. By all that was holy, this was one of those times. He could not, in any way, be proud of his actions.
Richard glanced up and saw they stood in the shadow of the kissing bough. With a sneer in his voice, he said, "You will forgive me if I forgo the pleasure."
Releasing his wife, he then strode down the corridor.
Alaina was in no mood to eat, but darn her bad luck, Lord Saybrooke had requested her presence in the State Dining Room. Dinner was the furthest thing on her mind. Nerves still on edge from that unexpected encounter in the Long Gallery, she sat in her assigned chair with her back as straight as a board and sipped on a crystal goblet brimmed with a fruity type of wine.
She didn't believe the man would have actually strangled her, but those strong, firm hands around her throat hadn't filled her with goodwill, either. In a soothing gesture, she smoothed her fingers over the side of her neck where her skin throbbed. Did she have bruises? Maybe Lady Rococo was justified in wanting to leave her husband. Who could ever condone violence?
Even now, here at the head of the table, he almost vibrated violence in capital letters. And Lord Saybrooke was a man not to be taken lightly whenever he expressed any emotion. His dark, thick, curly hair; his stormy blue eyes; and his strong, impossibly broad shoulders would turn any woman's head, no matter whether he ran hot or cold. Here was no milquetoast of a man, like Roger Farnsley or even a womanizer like Jack Morrison. This man was a mountain of male virility. But tonight he looked distant and foreboding, almost smoldering with the intensity of his feelings. His somber-colored waistcoat and tail coat mirrored the darkness of his eyes---two obsidian rapiers flashing at Alaina, waiting for her to make a mistake.
Forget sipping. Alaina gulped down the remainder of the wine. In spite of his antagonism, something about this man made all her senses quiver. Good grief, when he had cornered her up against the wall, if she didn't gaze at his lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss him---even as he tightened his hold on her neck!
Cripes! Did she have a problem here, or what?
But from what the man had said, he did have legitimate grievances. He wasn't all thunder and anger. Lady Saybrooke was not a loving mother; Alaina had heard the woman's comments with her own ears. And her husband obviously cared for his son.
Tears stung at her eyes. Poor little Terrence. I wonder how old he is.
"Lady Alicia, are you feeling all right?" asked the other female seated at the overly large table for eighteen. "We have all worried about you with your recent illness."
Lord Saybrooke had referred to this woman as the Dowager, which probably meant she was his mother. She sat across from Alaina, next to her son at the head of the table. A petite, charming woman with pure silver hair, she had her son's sharp eyes---blue and piercing.
Alaina set down her goblet and smiled at the woman. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Alicia was Lady Rococo. Alicia and Alaina. Almost uncanny in similarity.
"Thank you for your concern ... um, Ma'am." Heavens, was that the correct way to address a dowager? "I still am not quite myself."
Every time Alaina said that, she had to chuckle.
"Obviously," drawled Lord Saybrooke as he cut into a slice of roast venison. "You never cared for Madeira before."
Ouch. Another boo-boo. Deliberately signaling to a footman to refill her glass, she glanced over at her rude tormentor. "Is that so? I wonder then why Madeira is served at the table?"
The Dowager coughed into her napkin. Was she possibly covering a laugh?
Lord Saybrooke flicked his dagger-like gaze over Alaina, then turned his attention back to his plate. "My preference is for congenial company at the table. However, you are here, Madam. Therefore, we do not always get what we want."
This time the Dowager gasped and she was unable to hide it.
Wow, this guy was impressive. Alaina took another sip, enjoying the buzz from the alcohol and pitting her wits against this clever, attractive man.
"No, I suppose not," she agreed. "But just to put your mind at rest, Doctor Yates said because of the illness, it might be a little while before my, um, memory completely returns."
The white lie concerning the doctor wouldn't hurt. Just insurance for her peculiar behavior until the real Alicia returned.
"How awful for you, Lady Alicia," the dowager murmured. "Still, I do believe the country air agrees with you. You have such a healthy glow."
Evidently, Lord Saybrooke couldn't stand hearing a compliment about his "wife." He speared a broccoli and chewed it with relish. "Unfashionably browned, more like."
"A rose is a rose is a rose," Alaina returned. She then glanced at the Dowager. "Thank you, Ma'am. Um, I might be out of line, but I think it's too formal for you to be calling me, 'Lady Alicia.' Why don't you use my first name?"
Mother and son exchanged looks, but Alaina shrugged it away. Bad enough to be called another name, but to have "Lady" tagged onto it was more than she could handle.
"Certainly....Alicia." The Dowager beamed. "That is a wonderful idea, isn't it, Richard?"
Alaina leaned back in her chair to study him. Richard. She liked the name; it suited him. Richard the lionhearted. King Richard, the despot facing a usurper to his throne.
He returned her gaze with such malice, she actually shivered. "Certainly, Mother. Alicia has not been a lady in years."
Alaina couldn't help sighing. Why was it that when she finally met a man who aroused strong feelings in her, the man in question absolutely loathed her? Or rather loathed the woman she pretended to be. Fickle, fickle fate.
But she couldn't allow his taunt to remain unchallenged. She delicately dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin. "That was a low blow, even for you."
Raising an eyebrow, he folded his arms against that massive chest and stared at her.
Nervously fingering her earlobe, she dropped her gaze. It wouldn't do for this man to discover her deception. It wouldn't do at all.
The Dowager dropped her napkin on the table. "Well, my dear Alicia, it is time for us ladies to leave Richard to his port." Her comment made it plain that she considered her son to be behaving abominably.
The footmen assisted the Dowager and Alaina with their heavy pink chairs.
"And I have a request for you," the Dowager continued as she adjusted the train on her gown. "I would be so pleased if you called me Wilhelmina."
"I'd be delighted to." That was speaking God's honest truth. Alaina had come through her ordeal with flying colors. Neither mother nor son suspected their dining companion was someone other than Lady Alicia.
The Dowager touched her son on the shoulder before passing by. "We shall be in the White Salon when you are finished with your port."
"Yes, do join us, Richard," Alaina said with sugar in her tone, following the older woman's lead. It was a heady feeling knowing she put Lord Saybrooke in his place.
Suddenly, he was out of his chair. He grabbed Alaina by the upper arm and glared hard into her eyes.
Why had her feeling of success lasted only one second? Fear sizzled her insides. God in heaven, what had she done this time? This man was a pressure cooker of emotions.
To the Dowager, he ordered, "Go to the Salon, Mother. Alicia will join you shortly." He also dismissed Biddleton and the footmen.
Wilhelmina, or maybe her correct title was Lady Wilhelmina, and the servants slowly obeyed the order. As the Dowager complied, she sighed mightily as though she knew better than to question her son. The footmen followed the older woman to the door, obviously reluctant to leave an explosive situation behind.
Alone with her enraged host, Alaina looked up at the vaulted ceiling and prayed for inspiration. "You're hurting my arm," she said matter-of-factly.
Instead of releasing her, he yanked her to an upholstered bench and shoved her down. He bent over her, legs astride and hands fisted on his hips. Actually, he was quite ... intimidating.
Rubbing her bare forearm, she frowned. She'd had just about enough of his abusive tactics. "Well, what do you want? Do you always use force on a woman, like some type of primitive?"
"Explain your behavior, Madam. What is the meaning of all this?" His hands gestured out to encompass Alaina from head to toe.
She moved to get up but he roughly pushed her back down. "Answer me. What devious plans are you conceiving?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. You've no right to manhandle me."
Lord Saybrooke dug his fingers in her shoulders, seeming to take pleasure in the action. "I have every right, strumpet. The thought of harming you, you unfaithful beauty, is very tempting. Very tempting, indeed. I should have done this six years ago."
He shook her violently, causing her hair to escape from the chignon Dana had worked so hard on.
Alaina fought to keep her composure but it was hard to think, and physically, she was no match for this man. "Stop it! Please stop!" she implored.
The sound of her voice must have penetrated his Neanderthal mind for he abruptly released her. Clasping his hands behind his tail coat, he began pacing the patterned floor in front of her. It was several minutes before he spoke.
"My conduct is reprehensible. I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "I would appreciate an explanation of your inconsistent conduct."
He lounged against the nearest fireplace---hard to believe the room had four of them. With his elbow on the mantle, right leg crossed in front of the left, and a superbly polished toe of his boot resting on the floor, he was a picture of unconcern. What a change from the ferocious fellow of a few minutes ago. His poise didn't fool her, however. The tightened cords in his neck betrayed his true feelings.
"To what, specifically, are you referring?" she asked cautiously.
He seemed annoyed with her mild demeanor. "What about suggesting my mother drop the title of 'Lady'? After all these years, it is suspicious. Indeed, I believe that is why you married me, is it not, m'dear? An earl's wife has privileges similar to those your father's house accorded you."
"I thought it a nice gesture. More friendly---nothing sinister in it, believe me." So his rank was that of an earl. One more tidbit of information. But now that his temper was back on an even keel, her sense of humor reasserted itself. "You can still call me 'Lady Alicia,' if you like."
"You are too kind," he said sarcastically. "What about your tanned skin, then? You always went to great lengths to preserve its ivory color."
"I went outside a lot when the sun was shining." Weak explanation but that was all she could think of. "I think I look rather healthy, don't you?"
Hopefully that answer satisfied him about the difference in her appearance. But to divert his attention, she tried a frontal attack; it had worked before. "Don't you like my complexion?" She turned to him, wide-eyed, and fluttered her lashes. Gosh, this was fun!
Of course he didn't see it that way. "When have you ever considered my preferences?" he asked bitterly.
At that, her heart went out to him.
"What about your mode of dress?"
His disapproving tone erased her sympathy. She glanced down at her gown. White muslin, arranged in a classical style, and girdled under the breasts, fell full and long to the ground. A Greek motif was embroidered in gold about the hem and train of the gown, which fell in a straight line from the empire bustline. The neckline formed a "V" shape and the short sleeves puffed gracefully on her upper arms. A matching shawl completed the outfit.
"What's wrong with my gown? I think it's beautiful."
It was the type of gown that made one aspire to be a Greek goddess. She'd been delighted with her appearance this evening. But evidently, Alicia's husband was not. First he caused her hair to tumble about her shoulders, then he criticized her dress. She spread the material out on the bench and glanced at her gold slippered feet peeping out from the bottom of the dress.
He sure could deflate a person's bubble, couldn't he? "Really, there's no pleasing you, is there?"
"Do not waste your time practicing your wiles on me, Alicia. I am immune to them. That dress was beautiful---over a decade ago. Now, it is an antidote. Your fashion sense is the envy of the ton. What would they say if they saw you now?" The inflection in his voice left no doubt as to what the ton, whoever they were, would think of her.
Eager for movement, Alaina stood and twirled around, throwing caution to the wind. The filmy fabric made an airy dance around her lower legs, then floated gently to the ground. "Oh, who cares? The ton probably would say my fashion sense has gone on vacation! Anyway, this dress reminds me when I was young."
College days to be exact. Toga party and all that.
This battle of wits invigorated her. It was quite a challenge to manufacture answers in response to Lord Saybrooke's questions. Of course, it was easy to make a false step, but so what? Until she did, she would let her imagination run rampant. Besides, her replies fueled the man's anger; she enjoyed that, she enjoyed that very much.
"Young? At seven and twenty, you are not yet in your dotage, Madam. Your words explain nothing." He lowered his voice as if he was confused.
She could understand. None of this really made sense to her either. Then what he said sank in. Evidently, her "twin" was four years younger. Interesting.
With both elbows, Lord Saybrooke leaned on the mantle and observed her from his superior height. "Perhaps the strangest piece of the puzzle is you addressing me differently. I have known you many years, m'dear. You have never used my first name."
For once, Alaina was stumped. She had called him "Richard," following his mother's lead. Wasn't that his name? What else could her double have called him?
Then, very clearly, Alicia's words came back to her: "Saybrooke" she had said.
Slowly approaching the fireplace as if it was the lion's den, Alaina looked up into his face. How good-looking he was. Such a hard and lean jaw-line, smooth and square. His hooded eyes had brows that threatened to meet at the slightest sign of displeasure.
"Well, I decided I would get your attention if I called you 'Richard.'"
Those brows moved together as she prophesied. "And why did you want my attention?" he asked dangerously.
She fidgeted with the folds in her dress. If only he would look at her with less disgust. Avoiding his probing eyes, she struggled to come up with a reason. "I hadn't seen you in a long time. I wondered ... if ... if...." Her voice trailed off. Her imagination finally failed her.
"You wondered if you could still make my life miserable." He supplied the rest of the words. "Indeed, you can be assured on that count. As you have surmised, you retain that particular talent, m'dear."
The Earl of Saybrooke made a small bow and quickly left the room, allowing the solid mahogany door to slam, giving evidence to the violence of his feelings. The echo was the only sound in the grand State Dining Room to keep Alaina company.
The next morning, Richard breakfasted early, hoping to avoid both his mother and his wife. Usually ice-cold in his dealings with Alicia, he was mortified that he had lost control. And to such a degree! The woman could incite turmoil in him---deadly turmoil. Intense emotions such as anger and betrayal burned within him last night, and to his shame, he had allowed them to have full rein over his actions.
He was still irritated at his loss of composure. All of his carefully rehearsed sermons and coolly expressed distaste for Alicia's activities had evaporated at the sight of her impure beauty. If she had only acted as he expected her to act. But, no. Alicia was not being Alicia. Now, or at least last night, she had been an unknown quantity. That unknown quantity threatened to unleash the unreasoning fury that he kept pent-up inside him. He needed more time to restore his emotions---away from his mystery of a wife.
The good Lord above knew he was no saint. And his wife, with her alluring ways and seductive smiles, could tempt a man to do his very worst. Perhaps she was playing some kind of game---torturing him by acting virtuously, in retribution for her exile here.
He plowed his fork into the pile of fried eggs on his plate. Devil take it, but the next few weeks at Saybrooke Hall were bound to be a living hell.
His mother entered the room, looking cheerful in a gown of peach brocade. "Good morning, Richard. I did not expect to see you so early."
"Much to do." He shrugged. "I have been absent from the estate for the greater part of the year."
She gave his shoulder a motherly pat, then helped herself to the array of food arranged on the sideboard. "It is a lovely day---not too cold. Perhaps Charles and Nigel will arrive today."
Richard relaxed back in his chair. His brothers' arrival was, at least, a safe topic of conversation.
"Nigel is truly applying himself at Cambridge," she continued on in this vein. "I am so proud of him. Why, do you know, Lord Grumsbee told me Nigel has a natural aptitude for politics?"
Richard smiled indulgently at his mother. During their journey to the Hall, she had related the news about Lord Grumsbee and his youngest brother several times. "I always knew Nigel was a downy one, Mother."
The Dowager accepted the compliment for her "baby." Buttering a hot biscuit, she glanced at him from under her lashes. "Neither you nor Lady Alicia joined me in the White Salon last night." She then abandoned the demur tactics and stared hopefully him. "Did you two get your differences sorted out?"
"Just Alicia, remember?" he corrected, his tone heavy with irony. "No, we fenced with words as usual. But I must confess, she baffles me. She must be hatching a scheme."
"You are a pessimist, Richard. Perhaps this exile you imposed on her has changed her for the better. Let us hope so, for Terrence's sake."
The Dowager took a sip of coffee. "You must know that I never rise early, but I was so convinced that you both would come to an understanding. I hardly slept last night, anticipating the good news." She raised a plump wrist to her forehead in a theatrical gesture. "You cannot comprehend how happy that would make me!"
Richard sighed. Sometimes his mother excelled at manipulation. He and his brothers had felt her subtle pressure many times before. "The past six years cannot be erased by one night's tête-à-tête." He shook his head at the very thought. "Besides, Alicia's sins run too deep for forgiveness, even if she were to turn over a new leaf. Which she is not, believe me."
A sudden thought occurred to him. "Is Terrence becoming a bother, Mother? Is his governess, Miss Kerns, not controlling him properly? I could have him reside with me at Fishbourne."
Throwing her napkin down with indignation, the Dowager exclaimed, "Nonsense. That boy is a delight! And, I might add, he is my only grandchild. I have given up hope of you siring another child. Adding insult to injury, I do not have expectations for Charles and Lucinda either. Regrettably, we both know which way the wind is blowing there, after two years of marriage. Nigel is, of course, much too young to consider the state of matrimony."
She picked up the napkin and sniffed into it. "Terrence will be the only comfort I have in my old age."
Richard was wisely silent during his mother's discourse.
"No, Terrence is no problem, no problem at all. It is not as if I am not familiar with raising boys, you know. Not with three of my own. And as for you taking him, what kind of life would he have, living in nasty conditions on those archaeological sites? I will never understand why you bother with those heathen ancient Romans, Richard. What excitement can you possibly find in digging up broken bits of floor tile, pottery, and ... bones?"
As they had already discussed his favorite pursuit of uncovering Roman artifacts and the lack of human bones found, he again allowed his mother to unburden herself.
A shudder traveled through the Dowager's frame. "What I desire is for you and Alicia to reconcile and provide a home for Terrence so that he can be with his parents. That is what he needs."
Richard stood and took a deep breath. Although inwardly he still seethed, he took care to school his features to look indifferent. "I know what my son does not need. He does not need a lightskirt for a mother. I would appreciate no more words on the subject. If you want me, I shall be spending the day in the Library with my business agent."
The Dowager glanced at him with tears glittering in her deep blue eyes. "I do hope I have not pushed you too far, Richard. But it would be heavenly if things worked out. I can dream, can I not?"
Before he could comment that his mother's dream would be his nightmare, the breakfast room door opened. Biddleton entered, then announced, "The Honorable Charles Cransworth."
Charles swept into the room like the whirlwind that he was. "Mater! You are in shocking good looks! Richard, good to see you again. Mind if I help myself to these treats on the sideboard? I am famished."
Modishly dressed as always, Charles began filling a plate without waiting for anyone's reply. He then flung a well-muscled leg over the mahogany Chippendale chair, and proceeded to stuff his mouth with a pork sausage.
Richard delayed his escape to the Library to sit down again at the table. He hadn't seen his brother in almost a year, however tales of his indiscretions had reached his ears even in Fishbourne.
"Charles, Charles, you are too impulsive," the Dowager scolded fondly. "Why, look at you eat! One would think you are eight and ten instead of eight and twenty and a married man."
"'Tis my devilish boyish charm! Nigel will be down in a trice, I know you are agog to see him." Charles knowingly directed his mother's attention to her youngest son.
Richard smiled at his brother's ruse to get her attention away from him and onto the favored son, Nigel.
"I was not aware that you arrived, Charles." Richard casually studied his brother's strained face. His blue-green eyes seemed hardened while the corners of his mouth drooped downward. "How is your wife?"
Charles' frown deepened. "Lucinda took to her room as soon as we arrived---sick as a dog."
The Dowager's eyes lit up, probably thinking her daughter-in-law had morning sickness.
Her son dashed his mother's hopes with his next words. "Doesn't travel well, that girl---not up to snuff. So tiresome."
If the Dowager looked cheerful when she had entered the room, she certainly was not cheerful now. Her lower lip trembling, she stood and pointed her finger at both her sons. "Truly, it is monstrous unfair that you two have unhappy marriages. It is ... more than a mother can bear!"
With a rustle of fabric, she regally departed the breakfast room.
"Dash it! What was that all about?" Charles leaned over the table to look Richard in the eye. "I'll lay a pony Mater's snit has to do with sweet Alicia. Fireworks flying already?"
Richard accepted the challenge. "Have you added gaming to your list of vices, Charles?"
A telltale blotch of pink reddened Charles' cheeks. "Don't prose at me, brother dear. I don't tell you how to conduct your affairs and I won't abide your sage advice on my marriage---or lack of one."
Lingering over his coffee, Richard calmly replied, "No, Charles. I will not meddle, unlike our dear mother. It is none of my business. However, I have heard your name linked with a rather notorious French enchantress."
Now Charles' eyes reflected remembered passion. "Monique, my latest paramour." He licked his lips. "How can my mouse of a wife compare with the magnificent Monique? Believe me, Richard, it was with great regret that I tore myself away from my mistress's side to attend these holiday festivities."
A shudder of monumental proportions shook his very frame. "The thought of two weeks in Lucinda's company makes me yearn to bow out, even now. Let me tell you, traveling with her to journey here was outside of enough!"
Richard steepled his fingers. His brother's infatuation was worse than he thought. "I am glad you changed your mind. The Dowager would have been disappointed. Family is so important to her."
A look of secret delight crept into Charles' eyes. "I also am glad, brother dear. I have a feeling the visit will prove to be amusing. Very amusing, indeed."
Richard nodded, then took his leave. After he left the room, he twisted his lips with displeasure. His brother was turning into the most profligate rake in London. How could he detour Charles back onto the path of goodness and honor?
Another thought hit Richard. What the devil did his brother's parting words mean?
After dressing, Alaina hurried over to Terrence's bedroom. If what the Earl had said about Alicia being an abominable mother was true---and Alaina didn't doubt it---then she wanted to try to rectify the situation. At least for as long as she was trapped back in 1816, anyway.
Her sister, Vicki, had two boys, and Alaina always loved playing with her nephews. Maybe she could give Terrence the attention he craved while she'd get a much-needed friend in the Saybrooke household.
Butterflies in her stomach, she opened the door to the nursery. The great room---filled with colorful toys, rocking horses, and other childish paraphernalia---surprisingly stood empty of life. Walking inside, she scanned the nursery, looking for clues to where the Earl's heir might be.
"Terrence?" she whispered. For some reason, the hushed atmosphere reminded her of a library where loud speech would earn her a rebuke from the staff.
From behind a chair, a small boy peeped out of his hiding spot. "Hullo." His dark eyes never blinked. "Are you my mother?"
Goodness, what a strange question. Alaina sat on her heels so her height wouldn't frighten the child. "Hi, Terry. Come out and let me see you. You're such a big boy now."
"I'm six," he announced proudly. Getting off his knobby knees, he cautiously approached her.
His face still rounded with youth, he was quite a handsome little boy. Actually, a carbon copy of his father. But his eyes were his mother's---deep chocolate brown, ringed with black. Alicia's eyes, and also hers.
"Mama?" Again there was a question in his voice.
Alaina hated to lie, but she really didn't have a choice. "Yes, Terry, it's me."
With that, he ran into her arms, giving her a crushing hug---astonishing strength in one so little. "I've missed you, Mama. Will you play with me?"
She snuggled his raven haired head against her shoulder, enjoying the wondrous feel of it. How in the world could anyone not love a child as sweet as this?
"You know, I haven't had breakfast yet, Terry. Would you like to have some with me?"
"Golly! Could I?" His pert mouth formed a perfect "O".
Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she then stood. "Sure. Let's go now before my stomach starts to grumble."
His bubbles of laughter were like pure music. But then his giggles died. "Miss Kerns says children aren't allowed to eat with the adults."
A governess, no doubt. "Well, I think Miss Kerns will permit it, just this once anyway. We'll tell her and then I'll race you down to the breakfast room. What do you say?"
"Good-o!" Terry slipped his hand into hers then tugged her toward the door. "C'mon, Mama. This'll be great fun! Maybe we can race Papa, too."
Alaina crossed fingers on her other hand to keep Terry's father away. The less she saw of the Enraged Earl, the better.
The breakfast room door creaked open, and Alaina entered, holding Terry's hand. In fact, he refused to let go of her even though they were supposed to be having a contest for speed.
She smiled at the Dowager, who had just walked into the room from another door. "Good morning, Ma'am. Did you sleep well?"
Lady Wilhelmina gaped at her, then sank down on a chair as if her knees were Jell-O. "Y ... Yes, I did, Alicia."
"Good morning, Grandmama," Terry said in his high voice. He paraded Alaina over to the Dowager, then stood on his tiptoes to kiss her forehead. "Mama invited me to breakfast," he added proudly.
"So I see," his grandmother managed to utter.
It was then Alaina noticed a striking young man sitting at the table. Good grief, the resemblance to Lord Saybrooke was unnerving. The same strong jaw, straight nose, and high forehead, but his eyes sparkled turquoise blue and his hair was deep russet brown. A younger version, but the Earl all the same.
Terry also saw the man. "Uncle Charles! You're here, too!" He looked longingly over at the man, but was reluctant to let loose of Alaina's hand.
"Go ahead, Terry. Give your uncle a hug." Alaina squeezed the boy's fingers and she could tell he was grateful for the encouragement.
The Dowager patted a seat by her. "Here, sit by me, Alicia."
As Alaina obeyed, Lady Wilhemina continued, "How wonderful for you and Terrence to be together. He is a joy, is he not? I must say, this is the first time I have ever seen you smile at the boy."
The Dowager's own face was alight with excitement. But Alaina felt unaccountably depressed. How could her "twin" be so cruel to her own son?
With Terry lost in his uncle's bear hug, Alaina glanced over at the Earl's younger brother. Another heart-throb, all right. Muscular and virile, but his lips did contain a bit of a petulant pout.
After Charles set his nephew aside, he ruffled the boy's hair. "There you go, you little monkey. Then he gazed back at her, with much speculation in his vivid eyes. "So, Alicia, it is good to see you again. How long has it been?"
Alaina had no idea of the answer, so she took the safe route in being vague. "Too long, Charles. How have you been?"
She poured herself a cup of coffee and handed Terry a large sticky bun. With that she crossed her fingers again. Here's hoping the Earl's brother isn't as perceptive ... or as hostile.
His eyes widened, then he fingered the complicated arrangement of material on his cravat. "Dash it, I'm fine, Alicia, but what the deuce happened to your voice?"
The bun Alaina had been eating stuck in her throat.
Fortunately, the Dowager came to her rescue. "Alicia is recovering from a serious illness, Charles. Her voice and her ... memory have been affected, is that not so, my dear?"
"Um, yes. Exactly. I hope you don't mind, Charles." Alaina eyed the door, planning her escape. Things were getting a little uncomfortable for her.
Thankfully mother and son kept the conversation going, catching up on the latest gossip currently circulating London. They both tried to draw Alaina into their talk, but she just smiled and focused her attention on Terry. The sooner he was done, the sooner she could leave.
The paneled door opened again, and she braced herself. Who else would enter except the Earl? Only it wasn't Lord Saybrooke, it was another clone of his. Younger, maybe twenty, with the most charming dimples on either side of his smile.
"Mother, Charles. And Terrence, you old boy!" the young man greeted. Then he lost his pose. "Alicia! Zounds, you look bang up to the mark!" He promptly turned beet red.
Alaina also blushed. She murmured, "Thank you, I think."
Terry ran over to the man and clasped him about legs. "Uncle Nigel! How smashing you're here too!"
Of course, another brother. One with obvious admiration in his blue eyes. In fact, in a way he reminded her of Jack Morrison.
Alaina wiped a bead of perspiration from her brow. She was in no mood for such heavy scrutiny from the Earl's closest clan members. Before she made a mistake she couldn't recover from, she'd better cut her losses and run.
Standing, she held her hand out and, in a flash, Terry was right by her side. "Please excuse us. I've got to return Terry to his governess."
Disregarding the murmurs from the two brothers and mother to stay, she led Terry out the door, then stopped to release her pent-up breath. The child's warm hand and worshipping gaze took away most of her fears as they walked up the staircase to the nursery. If only she could have him by her side the entire time.
Always look on the bright side, her mother often told her. The bright side this morning was that the Earl hadn't come down for breakfast. So major battle avoided.
But there was still dinner. And he would have his two backup lieutenants nearby just in case he ran out of ammo.
She couldn't help sighing. Maybe she could plead a headache.
A headache was a coward's way out, and Alaina refused to see herself in that light. But the dinner atmosphere seemed no better than the night before. Although the new arrivals, excepting Charles' wife, were lively conversationalists, she could still feel disapproval emanating from the Earl, seated at the end of the great table. Disapproval aimed in her direction.
So what else is new? Feeling mutinous, she deliberately requested Madeira for her dinner drink. As she sat on stall until the holiday season was finally over so she could pursue any leads on Madame Reena's whereabouts, Alaina leaned over to speak with the newest member of the group: Lucinda Cransworth.
"So, how was your trip over here, Lucy? You don't mind if I call you Lucy, do you?" Alaina spoke in a low tone so the others wouldn't hear.
The young woman must've been startled for she dropped her fork. "N---not at all." She paused as a footman replaced the utensil. "The j---journey went very w---well, thank you."
An obvious lie. From her pale, washed out appearance and also from the Dowager's previous words to Alaina. Evidently Lady Wilhelmina had to prod Lucy into leaving the sanctuary of her bedroom and come down to eat with the rest of the family.
Lucy Cransworth reminded Alaina of a fragile, faded rosebud. A pity not to see the rose in bloom, since Lucy could be an attractive woman if ... if only her husband paid attention to her. Positive attention. No wonder she drooped and stammered. Charles blatantly ignored her at the table, and his only words to her all evening had been "Stop sniveling."
Appalling. The two older brothers had a lot of improving to do on their manners.
Using a sympathetic approach to break the ice, Alaina said, "You must be a good traveler then. Those long hours in the carriage give me a headache."
To be truthful, Alaina hadn't ever left the confines of Saybrooke Hall, but she'd read about some of the discomforts concerning that mode of transportation. It wasn't hard to imagine the pounding of horses' hooves vibrating the carriage. After hours on end, a person was bound to get a headache or worse.
The younger woman sent her a look of astonished gratitude before she directed her gaze to her plate. So transparent was her expression, it was easy to read her thought: Why was her sophisticated sister-in-law condescending to speak with the gauche and clumsy Lucy?
Alaina tapped her chin. Maybe she could help Lucy gain some self-esteem.
Returning to the contemplation of her food, Lucy murmured, "Y---Yes, Lady Alicia---"
"Please, just Alicia."
Lucy smiled timidly. "You are right. Traveling can be difficult."
Charles must've overheard part of the conversation, for he set down his goblet with a thud. "Difficult? Dash it, 'tis Lucinda who is difficult! After we picked up Nigel, she was disgustingly ill for the whole of the trip."
His wife noticeably whitened at this assault. Alaina's heart went out to her. Poor Lucy was like a small, defenseless animal with her husband as her prime tormentor. If she grew any paler, she'd pass out at the table.
This won't do, it won't do at all.
"Well, Charles," Alaina wagged her finger at him, "how very ungallant to mention that. Riding in close quarters all day---"
"And night," Nigel broke in. "It was demmed uncomfortable."
"Faith!" the Dowager exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell us, Charles Cransworth, you did not stop overnight at a posting house?" She glared at her middle son as only a mother could. "It is no wonder Lucinda is under the weather."
Lord Saybrooke flicked his pensive gaze over everyone at the table but didn't enter the fray. Try as Alaina might, she couldn't tell what he was thinking.
Not so with his brother. Charles admitted his guilt, but the look he sent over to Lucy verged on murder and mutilation. Fortunately his wife still studied her plate.
To lighten the mood, Alaina said flippantly, "Remind me never to travel with you, Charles!"
But evidently Charles had a temper on par with his older brother. With clenched teeth and flared nostrils, he ground out, "How now, sweet Alicia? You shorten Lucinda's name and also Terrence's. Do you not have a term of endearment for me?"
That must've been news to the Earl for he raised his eyebrow. "Indeed? Is this true?"
Gosh. If looks could kill. Both barrels from the Cransworth shotgun were aimed right at her. Alaina took a measured sip of wine from her glass and directed her question to Charles. "Would you like a nickname, then?"
"Only from you, Alicia." His glittering eyes now hooded, masked his thoughts as well.
"Okay." She raised her goblet. "Here's to Charlie. Charming, comely....and callous."
Lord Saybrooke coughed. A ghost of a smile even hovered on his lips.
"I admit to the first two," the now-dubbed Charlie conceded. "But callous?"
"Heartless and unfeeling, to some, Charlie." She wouldn't make it any plainer.
"What about my noble brother? Have you an appellation for your husband?"
Charles' words took her by surprise. Her husband. Not Alicia's, but hers. She glanced at the man in question. Just looking at him set all her nerves tingling.
Again, he lifted up that eyebrow, dissecting her with his gaze.
Her mouth suddenly dry, she crossed her fingers under the table. If he were my husband, I'd call him....
"Rick," she whispered.
Charlie hooted. "Rick! 'Tis a common name for one so high in the instep!"
Neither Lucy or Lady Wilhelmina joined in with Charlie's laughter. But Richard Cransworth, most noble Earl of Saybrooke, asked in a dangerous voice, "And what words do you associate with Rick, m'dear?
Alaina's mind went blank. Desirable and sexy were two, but she'd set the stage for using the first letter, so....
A flash of inspiration hit. "I'd say regal, respectable ... and rude."
Even the Dowager and Lucy couldn't help chuckling at those descriptions. The Earl, however, only glared.
"What about me?" Nigel insisted. "You must give me a name, too, Alicia."
Puppy love. That was what the Earl's youngest brother had for her. Smiling at him, she announced, "But you are perfect just as you are. How can I improve upon Nigel?"
His chest puffed out with her compliment. "How do you declare me, then?"
Her head buzzed with all this thinking. "Um, how about noble, naughty, and, um, nice."
"Nice?" he expressed with distaste.
"Okay, then a nonpareil. You have no equal." Whew, now she really had a headache. Hopefully, she satisfied all the male egos in the room. She glanced at Lady Wilhelmina. "Are we ready to...."
"Precisely." The Dowager stood. "Let us leave the men to their port while we adjourn to the White Salon.
Only one male expressed regret, the naughty but nice Nigel. With Lucy eagerly leading the way and Alaina a close second, the ladies left the dining room.
Now comfortable on the white couch designed by someone named Robert Adam, Alaina enjoyed talking with her two new friends. The safest topic to discuss was the upcoming Christmas party, so she steered the conversation that way.
"I can hardly believe the big night is just a week away." She mentioned all the preparations Mrs. Hendly had made for the holiday ball for Saybrooke Hall's neighbors, then asked the Dowager, "Have we forgotten anything?"
"No, my dear. You have been quite efficient, just as a countess should be." Lady Wilhelmina was clearly pleased. "I am assured the ball will be a decided success."
Well, that was debatable. After all, Alaina could count---on no hands---the times she planned events as huge as this one.
"Okay, that's settled." She folded her hands in her lap. "Now, let's get to the really important matters---what would you like for Christmas?"
Lady Wilhelmina set down her teacup with a clattering sound. "Gracious, Alicia! There is no need for a gift."
And yet a secret smile played upon the woman's lips. A smile that made Alaina uneasy. She had a very eerie feeling that what the Dowager wanted for Christmas was something out of Alaina's power to give. Like a reconciliation with the Earl, and maybe even more children. If so, Lady Wilhelmina was doomed to disappointment. Only Alicia could give the Dowager what she wished for.
Alaina smoothed back her hair into the netting that held her chignon in place. "How about you, Lucy? What's on your Christmas list?"
Lucy's face lighted with pleasure whenever Alaina spoke to her. Sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, she smiled shyly, then lowered her dark blonde head. "I do have a Christmas wish, and I---I hope, perhaps, that you have already granted it."
Alaina laughed a little nervously. Whatever was the girl talking about? She glanced at the Dowager but the Earl's mother obviously was also in the dark. "I'll bite, Lucy. What's your wish?"
Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, Lucy murmured, "I wish to have you as a friend."
Tears stung at Alaina's eyes. "Oh, Lucy!" She jumped up off the couch and gave the woman a hug. "Of all the sweetest things!"
The Dowager also had misty eyes. "What a wonderful holiday this is turning out to be. All because of you, Alicia. Tell us, what is your wish this Christmas?"
Alaina blinked rapidly to curb any tears that threatened to spill over. She released her new friend Lucy, then sat back against the plump couch cushions. There was no way she would divulge her true wish: to find Reena and return home, so she said the first thing on her mind. "Well, considering the pummeling I took at dinnertime between all three of your sons, I wish they would decide not to join us tonight."
As if on cue, the brothers entered the White Salon. Handsome, handsomer, and handsomest.
While Lucy giggled, Alaina sighed. "So much for my wish!"
Even Lady Wilhelmina had to laugh.
The Earl stopped to take in the obvious merriment, then strode over in front of Alaina. "At your convenience, Madam, I would speak with you in the Library." Nodding at his mother and Lucy, he then left.
Alaina turned to the Dowager. "What is it now, I wonder?"
"Don't go yet, Alicia. Why, Charles and I just arrived." Nigel tugged on her arm, reminding Alaina of Terry.
"I know, Nigel, but I really must see what the Earl wants."
Excusing herself from the company, she made her way to his domain alone. That was how she viewed the Library: his domain. It was a heavily masculine room---decorated in dark, somber colors and heavy fabrics. The solitary brightness within those four walls was given off by the fireplace while flickering gas lamps on the desk and side tables seemed to plunge the room into further gloom.
Alaina sat, without invitation, in the comfortable tub-shaped chair in front of the Earl's desk. He was shifting through piles of paper on his desk and ignored her. After waiting patiently, Alaina cleared her throat. "I was under the impression you wanted to see me?"
Lord Saybrooke raised his head and looked dispassionately at her. "That is correct." He reflected for a moment and arched his hands, fingertip to fingertip. "I spent the day with various people on the estate. It seems most of them have been alarmed by your persistent questions concerning a woman named Madame Reena."
Alaina jerked to attention in the chair. "Do you know her?"
"That is not the issue. You, as my wife, should not be causing a panic among the servants or the tenants."
She waved away his words and repeated, "Do you know her?"
He bent forward, the light accenting the harsh planes on his face. "Tell me why you are searching for this woman."
Man, oh man. He enraged her. He absolutely enraged her. "Listen, I need to find her. The reason, well, it has nothing to do with you."
Before she could even detect movement, he lunged forward and seized her by the wrists. "You will tell me, Madam. Make no mistake."
Her heart pounding, she looked down at his hands, now cruelly imprisoning her. "First it was my neck, then my shoulders, and now my wrists. I was beginning to wonder when you would revert to your true animalistic colors."
"Animalistic," he growled only inches from her face. "A far cry from respectable."
Maybe his nearness temporarily rendered her daft, but she stared blankly at him. "What in the world are you talking about?"
His masculine scent drifted over to her. It was fresh, strong, and sexy.
For a long moment he didn't speak. His blue eyes actually mesmerized her. "As I recall," he began, "regal, respectable, and...."
"And rude," she finished for him. Even though he still held her with a death grip, she grinned. Imagine him remembering her words. "Hmmn, seems I was right about the rudeness, anyway."
He laughed, albeit reluctantly. The tension had been broken. Releasing her, he then sat back in his chair. "Will you tell me now, Alicia?"
She stalled for time. "Maybe. Do you know Reena?"
"Not personally."
Drat. Alaina got up and paced the room. "Do you know where she is?"
"No."
His response was slow and drawn out. She glanced over at him to find him staring at the rapid rise and fall of her chest---from exertions ... or something. And with the low neckline on this gown, he did have a lot to look at.
Flushing, she snapped her fingers in front of his eyes to get his attention up higher. "Yoo-hoo, Richard, this is important. I need to find Reena to ... help me undo something."
He wanted to laugh again. She could tell by the way he sucked in his cheeks. But he refrained. Stiff upper lip and all that. "Yoo-hoo. That is a curious term, is it not?" He raised that infernal eyebrow. "And what happened to calling me Rick, m'dear?"
"Oh, you're impossible!" She stamped her foot. "Only when you're regal and respectable, okay? But believe me, you have a long way to go."
"Do I?" He gestured for her to sit. "Enough of this nonsense. Back to the matter of Madame Reena. I only know of her. Her reputation, if you will. Something of an occult figure. Uses spells and whatnot. The woman inspires fear in simple hearts."
Now serious in tone, he cautioned, "It does no good to upset the worthy people tilling our land, Alicia. I will not permit it."
She slumped down in the chair. What was she going to do now? Where was she going to get her information? "I understand."
"Had this woman performed a spell for you?"
"Something like that," she muttered, chewing on her lower lip.
"And you wish to undo this ... charm?"
"It sounds crazy, but whatever Reena did, it worked. I need to have the spell ... undone."
He was curious. Every movement, from the drumming of his fingers to the rapid pulse in the cord of his neck gave him away. But to his credit, he didn't press her to explain.
"I see," he said. But of course he did not. "If it will ease your mind, I will initiate a search for the woman."
"Will you?" Alaina clapped her hands together. "Oh, thank you, Richard!" Carried away by her enthusiasm, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
The action was a mistake, or perhaps it was the most wonderful thing she had ever done. Her entire body vibrated with the feel of his roughened skin, with the scent of his after-shave.
She pulled back, embarrassed and confused. "I, um, I think I'll go now. It's been a long ... day."
Without looking back, she raced out the door to her bedroom upstairs.
After his wife left the room, Richard remained motionless, plagued by conflicting emotions. Then he buried his hands in his thick hair. Alicia had kissed him, of her own accord! Indeed, the act had startled her as much as it did him. Did he dare hope they could bury the differences separating them and once again live as man and wife?
Miracles sometimes did occur, however he was far too cynical to believe he might be the beneficiary of a heavenly blessing. His countess had been known to use her wiles to convert a misogynist into a Don Juan. If she so set her mind to it, she could falsely turn into a paragon of virtue---trying to turn him up sweet with her winsome ways.
Richard skimmed his fingertips over the spot that Alicia had kissed. His skin felt different---more alive.
Returning to Saybrooke Hall was becoming much more difficult than he ever imagined. Could he be strong enough to withstand Alicia's deception?
He had to be. For his own sake and for Terrence's, he could not allow himself to be fooled by the aristocratic, appealing....and adulterous Aphrodite whose bedchamber adjoined his.
With only one week to go before Christmas, Alaina scheduled a trip into the town of Hambledon to buy presents for the Cransworth clan. For some reason, Richard---she could think of him as Richard now and not the Enraged Earl---didn't kick up a fuss and forbid her to leave the Hall.
Her entourage including a coachman and footman, she made her way into town on a blustery, icy day. Hambledon itself seemed coated with grey, well prepared for the long winter ahead. Fortunately the color didn't suit her mood. How could she be down when she finally had a chance to explore an actual nineteenth century village?
Soon the novelty of seeing horses, carriages, quaint stores, and pubs wore off, and she got down to the business of shopping. Women were always easier to buy for than men, so it took no time at all to pick out a huge, white swansdown muff for Lucy, and a richly embroidered, lemon-colored shawl for Lady Wilhelmina.
Terry was also easy. A wooden set of brightly colored soldiers was perfect for a child his age. Vicki's boys loved that kind of stuff. In addition, Alaina planned to make him a small, stuffed animal. She started sewing stuffed toys for all the children on the estate. These Christmas presents would serve as a sort of apology. An ambitious plan, but she hadn't meant to frighten anyone with her questions on Madame Reena.
Richard's two brothers proved more difficult. After tramping through the chilling rain, Alaina found a dry goods store that sold silver tankards. By engraving two with the names of Nigel and Charlie around the base, she had her Christmas shopping almost completed.
The hardest person was, of course, Richard himself. She spent the better part of the day searching for that perfect something. He wouldn't care one way or the other about his present, but somehow she wanted to bribe him---to make him like her, even just a little bit.
She finally found a nice gift. Nice, but not ideal. It was a regal gold and mother-of-pearl snuff box that reminded her of him. Outside the shop, she pocketed the snuff box.
"I guess that'll have to do." Just about to return to her carriage, she paused, working up courage to walk out into the bone-freezing rain.
As she did, the wind blasted against her, taking her breath ... and her bonnet away. The fussy hat sailed down the street, its silky ties fluttering behind it.
"Oh, drat. Now I have to catch the darn thing." With her skirts swirling, she followed the bonnet's path to a brick and tile building. The hat rested long enough to allow her to pick it up.
Fate must've deposited her on the doorstep because this particular shop was a bookseller. Maybe she could find that perfect gift for Richard after all.
Opening the heavy, wooden door was difficult at first. Another wet and blustery gust slammed against her, preventing her action. But she managed to slip inside and find herself truly in another era. The aura of centuries past hung heavy in the stale air, along with the scent of tobacco and decayed books.
A wizened clerk perched on a stool peered at her over his thick glasses. "Y'be brave t'face this weather, lassie," he wheezed. "Brave or foolish."
Alaina agreed with the latter. "I was wondering, sir, if you might have a book---"
"Aye, I 'ave a book or two."
More like two thousand books neatly arranged on shelves around the store. Obviously the man liked to joke around. "So I see, sir. Do you have something on ancient Rome?"
Richard would really appreciate it if she got a book on his amateur hobby. Anything to make brownie points.
"Mayhap I do. But you'd best be more specific."
She glanced at the man but his face was lost inside its own wrinkles. "Oh, well, um, something on Caesar?"
"Which one?"
This man was up on his history, for there were actually twelve individuals who used the term "Caesar." "Which one would you suggest, sir?"
A mouth appeared amidst the man's furrows. "Mayhap The Annals Of Imperial Rome will do?"
She was quick to show her knowledge. After all, her doctorate was in Greek and Roman literature. If, in fact, she got the chance to finish it. "By Tacitus? No, I think he's too difficult to read."
"Publius Cornelius Tacitus," the man corrected.
"Okay, you win." This guy was good. Very, very good. "So what else do you have?"
The mouth now grinned, showing broken knobs of teeth. "Y'be a game one, lassie. 'ow about The Twelve Caesars? No fancy cove's library be complete without a copy."
Picturing Richard as a fancy cove made her grin, too. "By Suetonius." She waited for the clerk to make his move.
Almost like chess. "Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, lassie." He must've widened his eyes for now they appeared large and rheumy behind his spectacles. "Well, wot'll it be?"
"I'll take Suetonius."
"Good choice, lassie." He slowly eased up from the stool and rummaged through the dusty stacks of books. "'ere we go. 'Tis old. Much older'n me."
Alaina could hardly contain herself. In her hands was a copy on the biographies of Roman rulers Julius Caesar through Domitian: The Twelve Caesars by Suetonius. For her doctorate degree, she'd bought a copy translated by the notable Robert Graves. But this book was translated by Philemon Holland, published in 1606! Richard couldn't help but be excited to add this classic to his collection.
After she paid the man, she had a sudden thought. "Maybe you could help me with something else. Would you, by any chance, know a woman by the name of Madame Reena?"
His face disappeared again inside his wrinkles. That must've been a sign of disapproval. "Wot's a lassie like yourself a-wanting with Reena?"
"I, um, I'm in a kind of fix, and I was hoping---"
"Old Reena. Last I 'eard of 'er, she be at West Meon." He shook a stubby finger at her. "'er be a sly one. Like dealing with the devil 'imself. Best be careful, now."
"West Meon!" Finally, finally Alaina could plan to go home. Not that she'd wouldn't hate to say good-bye to Saybrooke Hall. Richard... well, she'd never met a man like Richard before.
But she didn't belong here. And soon she would be on her way back home.
After thanking the clerk profusely, she opened the door out into the foul, English weather. As the wind tugged at her skirts, she didn't care. Why should she?
Well satisfied with her booty and her information, she returned to Saybrooke Hall.
In the Library, Richard poured over research papers he had gathered for his upcoming talk on his archaeology work at Fishbourne. He was to present his findings to the Dilettani Society in London early next year. The Society, whose membership only included those who had been to Italy and also had an interest in archaeology, boasted of several prominent men in the field. True, he had until the sixth of April to prepare, but focusing on his papers was an effortless way to forget about his domestic problems.
Settling in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, he took a drink of brandy and began to read. But not for long. Alicia slipped into the room with a secretive air about her. She was looking lovely, as usual, this stranger he had for a wife. So lovely, with her hair casually tumbling down on her shoulders, that the stir of desire tightened his loins.
By some stroke of luck, she was unaware of his presence. By remaining still he could watch her at his leisure. Just what the devil was she doing in his Library?
She first perused his book collection, housed against the wall opposite the fireplace. From ceiling to floor, she scanned every title, stopping occasionally to remove a book and flip through the pages.
Deuce peculiar didn't describe her activity by half. As he sipped his drink, he also drank in the sight of her slim figure, modestly dressed in a gown fit more for a scullery maid than a countess. The skirt of the dress inexplicably did not reach as far down as the modeste intended, treating him to the sight of a trim pair of ankles.
After she finished this task, she brushed her hands together as if to clean them. "Good," she whispered cryptically.
What the devil? Had she been looking for a particular title or just taking inventory?
Alicia then walked over to his desk, in such a fluid movement he was reminded of the gentle sway of willow trees on a warm and balmy day. Her delicate eyebrows drawn, she scrutinized an atlas he had commissioned celebrated map-maker Thomas Moule to prepare.
Richard could no longer resist. Advancing quietly, he padded to a spot right behind her and looked over her shoulder. Inexplicably, her finger pointed at the very town of Hambledon.
So intense was her concentration, she remained unaware of his presence. Taking advantage, he inhaled her sweet floral fragrance. As soon as he spoke, she would no longer allow him this proximity.
"Looking for something, m'dear?"
"Oh!"
He was treated to the vision of Alicia's agitation: a heaving bosom---to use a phrase, and wide, startled doe eyes.
"Oh, goodness, you gave me quite a scare." She slapped at that selfsame chest, even as he would have caressed it. Then his prophecy came true; she stepped away, placing the desk between them. "I---I didn't know you were here."
"Obviously." He leaned closer, enjoying her consternation. "Perhaps I can help you, Alicia. Are you, by any chance, planning a trip?"
Although he had allowed her to travel to Hambledon, her exile was still in force. He waited for those tempting lips to utter her usual lies.
She composed herself quickly. Only her breathlessness revealed her true state. "A trip?" she questioned as only a bewitching deceiver could. "But that would mean I was defying you, wouldn't it? Unless you allow me to leave."
Her crafty response irked him. "Your banishment has not been revoked. So what were you doing?"
She met his gaze unflinchingly. "I wanted to look again at the distance between here and Fishbourne. It's not very far, is it? When I was ill, I felt ... neglected that you didn't come home."
If only that were true. He spun away. "A Banbury tale, Madam."
"Maybe. But maybe you wouldn't know the truth if it hit you over the head."
He took his place behind the desk. "This is a violent sentiment, Alicia."
She shrugged, then turned for the door. "I leave violence to you."
"Wait."
Tilting her head at his command, she complied.
"I am glad for this interruption, Alicia. What is this I hear about stuffed objects for the tenants?"
"Animals. Two hundred of them as gifts for the children." His wife's angelic face took on a beatific glow. "Won't that be fun for them on Christmas morning? Dana and some of her friends are helping me---"
"I do not approve. You shall immediately stop this project." Of course he was aware he would not appear to advantage by forbidding this latest whim of hers. However his cunning little wife had something up her appealing sleeve. He had no wish for the Saybrooke estate to be part of her scheme.
"I see." Calm and poised, she accepted his order.
"Good." He gave his attention to his archeological papers. That she agreed so readily was disturbing in itself.
Evidently she was not finished annoying him. "Well, on another matter, I don't think I told you what I wanted for Christmas yet."
This was more like the spoiled Alicia he was familiar with. "What bauble has caught your fancy this time?"
As she glanced at him from under her lashes, he ground his teeth at her femme fatale tactics. "Will you give me what I ask for, Richard?"
"You needn't flutter those brown orbs at me, Madam. Save them for your puppy admirers. Tell me which jewel you want so we can end this fruitless interview." That Alicia was acting true to form was unaccountably depressing.
The woman had the temerity to half sit on his desk and leaned over to him!
"What I really want is for those stuffed animals to be distributed. That would be a perfect Christmas present."
"Hell and damn---" Richard swallowed an oath. What game was Alicia up to now?
He stood up and paced the carpeted floor to relieve his restless energy. Only after a few turns around the Library, did he trust himself to speak. "How noble and unselfish of you. Indeed, your do-gooder deeds are becoming most tiresome."
"Really?" She had the effrontery to smile. "I apologize then. I'll try to curb those nasty tendencies in the future."
Standing, she joined him at the window. "Well, what do you say? Sewing those toys will keep me out of trouble."
The smell of her sweet perfume assailed his senses. He clenched his fists for control. "Tell Biddleton to proceed with the distribution when you are ready," Richard said through tight lips. "You understand that this will be your only gift."
"Thank you, Richard." She paused, but he refused to look at her.
After she left the room, he sank down on the window ledge. "Dear sweet Lord, give me strength to withstand the lures of this traitorous Delilah."
The Cransworth clan celebrated Christmas morning in a subdued way, not at all what Alaina was used to. While the Hall was decorated in festive branches of evergreen and assorted colorful trimmings, no Christmas tree towered inside any of its rooms. The custom of packages around the tree must not have been "invented" yet. And whether "Santa Claus" made his famous rounds, was a matter she could only speculate on.
Gathered around the breakfast table, everyone was busy eating their food instead of exchanging presents. Alaina couldn't stand the suspense anymore and handed out her packages.
"Good-O!" Terry bobbed up and down in his chair. "Look, everybody! Soldiers! Just like the ones at Waterloo."
Lady Wilhelmina and Lucy passed out presents as well. Alaina was now the proud owner of a pair of gloves and an embroidered handkerchief.
"What a lovely shawl," the Dowager exclaimed at Alaina's gift. "And how thoughtful of you, my dear." She draped it over her shoulders and modeled it for the group. "I shall wear it tonight at the ball."
Lucy came over and gave Alaina a kiss. "Thank you for the luxurious muff. My hands will never be cold again."
The tankards were also a big hit. Nigel especially liked having his name engraved on the base, while Charlie laughed at the informal spelling of his name.
Richard hadn't looked at his yet. Evidently he was more interested eating ham and eggs than in opening presents.
"Mama, Mama!" Terry pulled on the sleeve of Alaina's gown, impatient for her attention. "See this soldier? He's got big black boots. D'you think he's the famous Wellington?"
She smiled down at the boy next to her. Allowed to eat with the grownups on this special day, he unwrapped each of the wooden figures she had given him and lined them up for review.
"Gosh, I don't know, Terry. Do you think the Duke wore that funny hat with hair hanging down?"
Richard walked over to the sideboard and heaped more eggs on his dish. He then lifted the figure from his son's hands to study it. "This is an officer of the First Dragoon Guards. The helmet has a horsehair crest, denoting the proud tradition of the King's Guards."
Alaina sighed at his disapproving tone. Really, there was no pleasing some people. "I stand corrected."
"Indeed," he commented, returning to the head of the table.
Terry placed his Wellington back with the troops. With his dark head bent, he was a carbon copy of the Earl.
Glancing down the table to make sure Richard couldn't overhear, she whispered in the boy's ear, "You look so much like your father."
Terry gazed up at her, his eyes almost as dark as his pupils. "Why do you dislike Papa? But you like me now, don't you?"
The questions stopped her cold, as well as tugged at her heart-strings. What in heaven's name should she do? Any good that she did or said was bound to be erased when Alicia returned back home. Wouldn't it be horribly traumatic if Alaina told Terry that he was a darling little boy and then later, when his mother came home, he had to experience her aversion again?
Alaina's thoughts hardened. Spoiled Alicia never knew how good she had it. It didn't take much imagination to picture how she was making a mess of Alaina's life, too. God forbid that the woman said yes to Roger's proposal. And what if she fooled around with Jack? What if he wasn't her only victim?
Darn it, the sting of tears blurred Alaina's vision.
Terry tugged on her sleeve to reclaim her attention. He was so sweet. Really the perfect son, and all he wanted was her love. No one had ever looked at her with adoration the way he did right now.
Fortunately, most of the Cransworths had finished eating and now cleared the room. Only Richard and Charles remained, standing by the door and having a serious chat.
The disruptions gave her time to think. She picked up Terry's small hand and clasped it between her own. "Terry, your father and I do have our differences. I admit that. But every day I love you more and more. You must believe that."
Somehow, in that moment, being his mother was more important than anything her previous life had ever held. She did love him. Honest and true.
"Mama!" He squeezed her with the affection that his young heart had been denied all of his six years. At least it felt that way to her bruised ribs!
She ruffled his thick hair. "C'mon, let's go to my bedroom. I still have one more present for you." A crude but cuddly teddy bear waited for him. She'd made it herself.
As they passed by Richard, he reached out and held her by the upper arm. "A moment, if you would, m'dear."
"I'll take Terrence," Charlie offered. He lifted the boy to his shoulders and said, "I have a stick of candy in my pocket. Would you like some?"
"Would I ever!" was the animated reply.
After they left, Richard released her arm, then brushed away at something invisible on his waistcoat. "I have not thanked you for my presents."
"I hope you like them." Hope was, of course, an inadequate word.
He removed the gold and mother-of-pearl snuff box from his pocket and flipped the lid open. "I do not use snuff."
"Oh!" The heat of embarrassment enflamed her cheeks. "I ... oh, goodness. How could I have forgotten that?" Drat. Didn't she feel foolish?
"How indeed?"
She couldn't meet his gaze. "Darn this loss of memory." Fiddling with the lace edging her sleeve, she gave herself an "A" for the thought behind the gift. "Well, it's a pretty box, anyway. Do you like the ... book?"
Richard returned to the table and picked up The Twelve Caesars, turning it over from front to back. "It is a valuable addition to my library. Indeed, it shows considerable knowledge in the field of Roman history to procure this particular book." He put the book down, then folded his arms across his chest. "What made you select this one, Alicia?"
He liked it! Thank God. He was tougher to buy for than anyone she'd ever met. "I can't take the credit, Richard. The bookseller in Hambledon suggested it."
"Then he must be commended." A rare smile lit Richard's face. If only he'd smile more often.
"I must confess," he continued, "I am somewhat chagrined that I have naught to offer you this Christmas."
"But you gave me exactly what I wanted." Alaina hurried to ease his mind. "Biddleton distributed the stuffed animals earlier. He says they were a big hit."
A strange look came into Richard's eyes. Almost haunting in its intensity. In response, her heart hammered out an uneven beat. Dressed to perfection, his raven hair seemed a bit more adventurous today and a thick curl tickled his left ear. How she wished she could tickle it as well!
She stepped away from temptation. "Well, I'd better get the ball rolling for tonight. No pun intended!"
Turning, she rushed to the breakfast room door and called back, "Merry Christmas."
A sadness leadened her spirit, knowing that this would be the last Christmas she'd have to spend with him ... and his family.
The big Christmas ball was just getting underway. Alaina stood back to drink in the beauty of the scene in front of her. Women, elegant in vivid gowns, moved gracefully among the crowd. Men, dignified in their evening dress, smiled indulgently at their womenfolk. Once she returned back where she belonged, she'd never see anything like this again. Ever.
Unfortunately, gossip was the same, no matter what the century. Clusters of guests grouped all the walls to exchange words on the latest scandals. And the topic on everyone's lips was the estrangement of their hosts, Lord and Lady Saybrooke.
Alaina made an effort not to listen to individual words which, consolidated, made up the hum buzzing through the Long Gallery. Words like "separated this whole year," "her latest being Donnehey," and "Saybrooke more interested in Roman bones." But of course, bad news always circulated faster than good news.
A moment of anxiety gripped her when Biddleton announced a guest by the name of Donnelevy, sounding so much like Donnehey. But Sir Derek Donnehey was in the future. She didn't have to worry about running into him here at the Christmas ball ... or anyplace else.
To hide her unease, she smiled warmly at the many strangers who knew her name. Standing in the Long Gallery---but not under the kissing bough---she listened to music drifting in from the adjoining Grand Ballroom. The first set of dancing had not yet begun.
"There you are, Alicia," Lucy called out. "I have been looking for you everywhere." She glided over, radiant with happiness. "Truly, this will be a wonderful party. Everyone looks so grand and elegant."
Alaina saved a special smile for Lucy. A touch of color here, a riotous curl there, and she looked like a million dollars.
"The most amazing thing, Alicia. For the first time in my life, I feel like I belong. It is a dream come true!"
Lucy twirled around in her periwinkle-blue satin gown. The short, puffed sleeves were slashed in the Spanish style and her hairdressing---thanks to Dana---was complete with a wreath of white roses encircling her head. "I cannot thank you enough for this dress. I feel positively attractive in it."
"Don't thank me, Lucy. Blue's not my color. But it does wonders for your complexion." Alaina gazed fondly at the younger woman. The change in Lucy's increased self-confidence was a miracle.
She had protested wearing makeup, saying that only actresses paint their faces, but subtle color applied to the lips and cheeks gave her an assurance to sparkle, as she was meant to. Several young men had already asked her for a dance later in the evening.
Charlie had not noticed his wife's radiance tonight---yet. Alaina kept her fingers crossed that when he saw Lucy being sought for each dance, a stab of jealousy might cause him to reevaluate his marriage's status quo.
"You look so lovely too, Alicia." Lucy dimpled a smile. "Of course, you always do. I cannot wait until Richard leads you out onto the dance floor."
"Oh no, that's impossible." Alaina shook her head. There was no way in heaven or on earth that she could do the steps for these old dances. Quadrille, cotillion, and the country dance ... forget it.
Lucy worried her lower lip with her teeth, a sure sign something was wrong. Just then the Dowager walked over, wearing her new yellow shawl. "Here you are, Alicia. Richard will be over in a trice to lead you in the first set."
Alaina's stomach dropped. "I can't, Ma'am! I mean, it would be far more appropriate if he partnered you, his mother."
"Alicia dear, how could you have forgotten that the ball's first dance is always led by the present earl and his countess. Here comes Richard to claim you."
Who could have foreseen this predicament? When Richard, looking very handsome in a tightly molded black tail coat and form-fitting knee-breeches, touched her arm, her mouth was dry with fright. English dances consisted of intricate patterns and steps that took a lifetime to learn! She didn't even know the first step!
Fighting her panic, she whispered urgently, "Richard! "What type of dance will this be?"
He looked down and must've noticed the terror on her face. "It is the minuet. The first dance always is. You are aware of that."
"Please, I can't dance that! Couldn't you and your mother lead the set?"
"Impossible," he said implacably.
Surely he could feel her shaking beside him. She tightened her grip on his arm. "Please! I can't explain, but I just can't do those dances---the minuet, the quadrille, the cotillion---none of them."
Inspiration hit her. "It's, um, because of the illness. I've ... forgotten how."
He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Surely you have not forgotten the waltz? Will you do that?"
Although it had been a long time, she did remember the steps. "Why, yes, I know how to waltz."
"Wait here," he commanded. After taking long strides to give instructions to the musicians, Richard quickly returned to her side. "Have no fear," he murmured in her ear. "The first dance will be a waltz."
Relaxing, Alaina gave him a smile that conveyed her relief. "That's another Christmas present for me! Thank you."
Without another word, he escorted her into the ballroom.
As the music began to play, a low buzz of surprise swept the ballroom. With his arm around his wife's waist, Richard glanced at his guests. Several of them seemed scandalized that the opening number was the immoral waltz instead of the traditional minuet. Let them be scandalized. Earning Alicia's gratitude was ample reward for any inconvenience his neighbors experienced.
He tightened his hold on her waist. This new Alicia was rapidly becoming a mystery he could not hope to unravel. After all, she was an accomplished dancer; the minuet, cotillion, quadrille and company were part of her feminine talents.
And yet Alicia says she cannot dance them. She admits only knowing the waltz.
However, she was genuinely terrified; that had been no act. Indeed, what purpose would it serve to lie about her ability?
The suspicion that she did not desire to dance with him crossed his mind, but quickly vanished at her eager acceptance of the waltz as a substitute. Now that he was holding her in his arms, he was glad of the change. Glad, and yet, her nearness made it all the harder to ignore his inner needs and desires.
She must have felt his gaze because as she gracefully swayed to the rhythm of the music, she looked up at him. For no apparent reason, she blushed.
"I would say you waltz very well, Alicia."
She reddened further.
As other dancers joined them on the parquet wood floor, he savored the feel of her. How strange to have tender thoughts concerning his wife. She easily was the most fashionable woman in the ballroom ... and the most desirable. Her deep emerald green crêpe gown, had a low, revealing bustline that hugged her feminine form to perfection.
Richard darted his tongue over his lips. How the devil could he keep his gaze from straying to her exposed décolletage? He was only human. And when was the last time he had touched those rounded breasts?
Her sweet scent brought back other memories. Memories of a more intimate nature.
Hell and damn! Why was he torturing himself? Alicia was Alicia. Enough said.
Inadvertently, he executed a rough turn, which caused her to be thrown, full breasts and all, against him.
"I see I can't say the same about your waltzing," his partner teased.
Richard almost audibly groaned at the impact. Close contact with his wife was obviously wearing down his self-control.
Again Alicia surprised him. She shook her head, displacing the loose ringlets that hung high from the back of her head and barely touched the base of her lovely neck. "I'm sorry. I was just kidding."
He succumbed to temptation and flicked a ringlet off her shoulder, skimming the surface of her velvety skin.
She trembled at his touch. By all that was holy, she was not indifferent to him.
A cooler head prevailed. To be cozened by an actress greater than Sarah Siddons was outside of enough!
When the waltz ended, Richard made excuses and abruptly left his wife in the middle of the floor. He was in dire need of a drink.
Alaina sighed. Just as she was making headway with Richard, he bristled up with more quills than a porcupine! And yet, when he'd held her, if he hadn't looked at her with affection in his eyes....
Or maybe she was mistaken. Anyway, it was for the best that they keep their distance from each other. When Alicia returned, there would be hell to pay.
Walking over to the ballroom fireplace, she warmed her hands against the heat from this year's Yule log, a tradition that demanded it be kindled with a piece of wood from last year's log. Romantic couples gathered around the immense log to listen to it crackle and feel its pervasive heat.
Romance. Alaina sighed, again. The Yule log was expected to burn the whole twelve days of Christmas or it would bring bad luck on the household. Saybrooke Hall had bad enough luck with Alicia being its mistress. Somehow that thought made Alaina unaccountably depressed.
"Alicia! I've been looking everywhere for you. 'Tis time for the Christmas supper." Nigel tapped her on the shoulder and shouted in her ear at the same time. 'Tis a bloody commotion in here. My eardrums won't stop ringing 'til next Boxing Day!"
It was noisy. The gaiety of the crowd was almost deafening.
"Most likely everyone's wondering what they will feast on." Nigel took hold of her hand. "May I escort you to the table?"
At least one of the Cransworth brothers didn't look at her as if she had an adulterous "A" branded on her forehead. "Sure, Nigel. That would be great."
"Great for me, too, Alicia. I'm the luckiest fellow alive to have this privilege."
She laughed. Obviously Nigel harbored no grudge against his brother's wife. In fact he worshipped her as only the young and foolish could.
Passing by the main table, Alaina shook her head at the opulent spread. Three types of meat: swan, venison, and bustard---a type of game bird---graced the display in addition to a boar's head and three peacocks, rainbow tails extended and beaks gilded. And that was just for openers. The opulent spread dazzled most of the party.
When they reached their table, Nigel manfully held out her chair for her to sit. She had to smile when his hand brushed up against the nape of her neck and lingered there.
How different he was from his brother. So considerate and attentive.
Charlie and Lucy were also at the table, along with a couple they knew from London. Fortunately Lucy introduced them: John and Clarice Penterbury.
Alaina nodded her hello, then took a quick look around to see where Richard was. At the far end of the room, he sat talking with an attractive brunette. Apparently, he wouldn't be eating with his relatives.
A lump in her throat suddenly materialized. Perhaps his absence was just as well.
Turning her attention back to her companions, Alaina overheard John Penterbury complimenting Lucy on her appearance. "Oh I say, Lucinda, you are bang up to the mark tonight! Do you know, Charles, I asked her for a dance---and her card was full? Promise me a set later, fair Amethyst."
"Do give over, Penterbury," his wife, a lively redhead, said. "I believe you are making me jealous! Truly, Lucinda, you are dressed to the nines. I predict Charles will have his hands full from now on."
"Y---You both put me to the blush," Lucy stammered. As she self-consciously twirled a tendril of hair lying close to her cheek, she shyly glanced at her husband.
He growled something, and then helped himself to more champagne.
"I have to thank Alicia for my appearance," Lucy boldly continued. "She has the most wonderful fashion sense, you know."
Alaina gave an ironic chuckle. "That's not what Richard thinks." She finished her own glass of champagne. When Nigel refilled it, she thanked him, and took another sip.
Clarice looked sideways at Alaina. "Yes," she agreed, "everyone knows Lady Alicia's styles are the envy of the ton."
The woman wanted to know more, as did the rest of the party. They were just dying to know why Lady Alicia Saybrooke was not acting in character.
Alaina grinned. I'll give them food for thought. "Oh, I don't know about that. I just like to dress comfortably. And all Lucy needs is the right colors to bring out her delicate features."
Charlie sat openmouthed at that comment. Again, his thoughts were easy to read: Richard's wife going out of her way to help Lucinda? He dipped his chin into the square of his palm and stared at his wife.
From over the top of her glass, Alaina also observed Lucy. The periwinkle color of her gown deepened the blue of her eyes. She had an innocent sultriness about her that must have aroused him because he drummed his fingers with some kind of inner compulsion. And when Lucy laughed at one of John Penterbury's inanities, Charlie frowned as if discovering of a new emotion.
When he caught Alaina observing him, his frown grew more pronounced. She had no mercy; she gave him a wink. The poor man finally suffered from jealousy.
Charlie cleared his throat. "So, John, have you heard the latest on what Prime Minister Canning said about Prinny's disenchantment with Carlton House? 'One white elephant deserves another!' Droll comment, what?"
The two men chuckled, but Nigel protested. "But Charles, I'm the one who told you that. And I heard it straight from Canning's grandson, at Cambridge."
While the others enjoyed a good laugh at his expense, Charlie had the presence of mind to appear sheepish. "In any event, isn't it unbelievable that Carlton House, under reconstruction for almost thirty years, now is considered antiquated, run-down, and decrepit by the Regent?"
"That sounds to me like a plea to Parliament to build a new palace." John nodded sagely.
"Will every future king plan on building a new royal home?" asked Clarice plaintively. "I can see why we are all so dipped in the pocket!"
This led to a discussion on who would succeed to the throne after the would-be George IV died. Alaina listened intently for she had the names of the successors at her fingertips. Coincidentally, the last book she had read back in her own home was titled Accident Of Birth---a history of British rulers, plus interesting tidbits concerning their private lives. She almost remembered that book word for word.
After a slow sigh, she polished off another sparkling glass of champagne.
"Poor Princess Charlotte." Tender Lucy wiped away a tear. "She was so young to die."
"Hard to believe it has been a bit over a year now. Useless to look for more heirs from her father," John declared.
"No, not with the way Prinny and Princess Caroline lead their separate lives." Charlie shared a ribald laugh with John.
"Then who is next, the Duke of York? But he has no children either." Clarice noticed her husband's look. "No legitimate ones," she amended.
Lucy and Nigel blushed at that remark. Everyone but Alaina agreed that the heirs of the third son of George III---William, the Duke of Clarence---would be future kings. His young wife was due to give birth to their first child the beginning of March.
What got into her, she didn't know, but Alaina had to throw a spoke in their speculations. She finished another glass, her third ... fourth? and said, "No, you're all wrong. It'll be the descendants of Edward, the fourth son, who will succeed to the throne---after George IV and William, of course."
"Why do you say that, Alicia? What do you know about politics?" Charlie thundered. He set down his wine glass angrily. "That is farfetched. Didn't you hear what I just said? William's wife is with child, so that means that Edward, the Duke of Kent, will be fifth in line. Besides, the man has no issue!"
The champagne had gone to Alaina's head. She spoke without thinking of the consequences. "That's true, but William's child won't live and Edward's wife is also ... in the family way."
It wouldn't do to say "pregnant" in mixed company. "Victoria will be her name and she'll be born on the twenty-fourth of May, next year."
In a self-satisfied haze of alcohol, Alaina sat back, but then noticed the others' reactions. They were looking at her as if she sprouted two heads.
Cripes! They must think I'm some kind of fortune-telling gypsy. Why, oh why, did I open my mouth? I've been so cautious, and now I've stuck my foot in it.
A voice from behind broke through the tension. "That is very impressive, my dear wife. And on what, may I ask, do you base your predictions?" Richard walked over slowly and pulled a chair up to their table.
As they all stared at her, Alaina's face grew warmer. Her mind went blank. "Well," she stalled, "I'm curious about the future." Then an idea struck her. "I've been seeing a ... mystic. You remember, Madame Reena, and ... that's what she told me."
Alaina ended her speech on a triumphant note. Drinking too much was getting her in trouble. The last time it happened, she traveled back in time to here---and now this! Her explanation did sound plausible though. As the group accepted her statement, she could feel the atmosphere relax. Only Richard was still watching her with disdain shooting from his steely eyes.
"You went to see Madame Reena about the future rulers of England?" The question was laced with skepticism. "How ... curious." With that, he rose and left the festivities.
Two weeks into the new year of 1817, Alaina sat alone in one of the Hall's many alcoves---two conflicting desires warring inside her. In less than an hour's time, she would be alone for good; Richard and the rest of the Cransworth clan soon would be off to London for a season of high society fun.
She would miss them. God, how she'd miss them, but all the same, the shrouded figure of Madame Reena beckoned. With everyone gone, she could finally travel to West Meon, confront that elusive mystic, and return to her own life and her own time period.
Sadness seeped into her very soul. She would never see any of them ever again. In such a short time, each and every one of the Cransworths carved out a niche inside her heart. She almost wished she wouldn't find that deceitful woman.
Almost. She'd be crazy to wish herself in a relationship where her "husband" hated her guts. She sighed. Crude but unfortunately accurate.
A small voice called down the corridor. "Mama! Mama, where are you? I need you."
Alaina stood. Especially hard would be the separation from Terry. "Here I am, Terry."
The little boy turned the corner and, picking up speed, ran right into her. Hugging her around her legs, he said through the folds of her skirt, "Whyever are you hiding, Mama? Everything is packed. It's time to go." He then stood on his tiptoes and whispered, "I'm taking Bearie with me ... in the carriage."
Bearie was the stuffed teddy bear that she made him. Richard seemed to think his son was too old for that kind of toy so Terry had to keep his Bearie in his bedroom, out of sight. Every night when Alaina came in to give him a good-night kiss, he snuggled with his toy and went right to sleep.
It was brave of Terry to sneak his Bearie into the carriage. Experiencing Richard's displeasure was nothing to sneeze at, especially for one so young.
"I also stuffed my pockets with soldiers," the boy admitted proudly. "See? Here's Wellington."
Alaina's lower lip trembled, missing him already. Get a grip, kiddo, she chided herself. It's for the best. It's all for the best.
She curved her arm around the boy's shoulders. "I guess we'd better go downstairs. Miss Kerns is probably looking for you."
Terry put on a brave front at the imminent separation, but any second, Niagara Falls would spew forth. From her as well. How could she not be fond of the little boy?
The commotion in the entryway echoed loudly up the stairs. Large suitcases, or portmanteaux, stood waiting to be loaded while Lady Wilhelmina and Lucy dashed about making certain everything was in order.
From the staircase, Alaina and Terry stepped onto the marble floor. Everything was happening so fast, and yet the scene in front of her appeared to be in slow motion.
Dry-eyed, but with voice quivering, Terry looked up at her. "You won't stay here too long, will you, Mama? You'll come to London soon? Promise me."
Oh, how many times could a heart break? Alaina knelt down beside him and hugged him as tightly as she could. "I, um---"
Someone cleared his throat. She glanced over and saw Richard watching her. His cool appraisal, from her head to bent knee to her toes, made her shiver. He must've overheard his son's question.
"It's, um, up to your father, Terry. Tell you what, when you get to London, why don't you ask him if I can join you? Okay?"
She threw the ball in Richard's court, which was as it should be anyway. But if he did say yes, the woman getting out of exile would be Alicia. And right now, that did not bear thinking about.
Alaina glanced at Richard, but his hooded gaze resisted any attempts to penetrate his thoughts.
Terry sniffed agreement, then let her lead him over to his governess. Alaina permitted herself one more sweet kiss, then turned and walked away. It would be a miracle if she didn't break down during the Cransworths' departure and cry out a river, to paraphrase a song.
"Alaina!" Lucy lassoed her with a hug. "How can I manage without you? Oh, I wish...."
Alaina patted her friend on the back. She really would miss Lucy, too.
Charlie, being as disagreeable as his older brother, sauntered over to them and looked them up and down. "Isn't this affecting?" he drawled. "Theater dramatics between a shrinking violet and a tarnished lily!"
In a moment Alaina would remember forever, Lucy evenly replied, "Go to the devil, Charles."
The expression on Charlie's face was absolutely priceless. Stunned surprise whitened his tanned skin.
"But, Lucin---"
"Let's go, Alicia," Lucy cut off her husband. "You must come see us off."
It was that time. Everyone poured through Saybrooke Hall's portals out into the cold January air. Lucy and the Dowager embraced Alaina, then sniffed into their handkerchiefs while they climbed into the carriage. Charlie said his good-bye in a hushed tone, and Nigel gave her a crushing handshake.
But it was really Richard's farewell Alaina looked for. The last one to enter the carriage caravan, he walked over to her, with a swirl of the many black capes on his great coat. "Go inside, Alicia. You do not have on your pelisse."
That was his good-bye? She'd have only those words to treasure for the rest of her life?
"It doesn't matter, Richard." Her sentence formed white breaths in the chilly air. "Take ... take care of Terry."
"I shall." Richard hitched his leg up on the carriage step, intending to enter. He then turned around to her. "You are to stay at the Hall. You will not leave."
Her shoulders slumped. Evidently Lady Saybrooke was to remain a prisoner still. Lady Saybrooke, yes, but not her. "You needn't worry. Your wife will remain here until you send for her."
He nodded, then went into the carriage.
Standing on the graveled driveway in front of the impressive red-brick Saybrooke Hall, Alaina waved one last time to the departing vehicles. She must've looked a grim, solitary figure. She carefully avoided the ruts in the road caused by winter's ice and snow, and then opened the door into the warmth of the house.
Biddleton was there to greet her. "Will you be requiring anything, Milady?" he asked softly.
Alaina shook off her despair. "Not today, Biddleton." Silently she added, But tomorrow, I make my journey to West Meon.
It was with a heavy heart that Richard followed his wife's small barouche up to the north, past Hambledon. And for her destination, he guessed the sleepy village of West Meon. Not a surprise, given her inexplicable preoccupation with that mysterious Madame Reena.
He leaned back against the plush cushions of his town coach, secure in the knowledge that Alicia remained unaware of his activities. As far as she was concerned, her cuckolded husband was safely out of the way on the road to London. He had traveled yesterday with his family, to be sure, but then had doubled back to the Hall to await his wife's departure, as he felt certain she would leave her home.
She didn't disappoint him. Or rather, she did disappoint him---by fulfilling his prophecy. Never a slowtop, he recognized the signs of her secret intention to disobey him. How had she phrased her deceit? You needn't worry. Your wife will remain here until you send for her. As if she and his wife were two separate people. Perhaps, in her mind, she considered herself divorced from him. The Lord above only knew the true state of their irretrievably broken marriage.
However she did surprise him by her current destination. Instead of going to Derek Donnehey's estate, here she was, heading north. Richard had obtained the location of that demmed mystic some time ago, but had been reluctant to tell her.
And why was that? He stared out at the ice-covered trees on the road to West Meon. Perhaps his reluctance had something to do with the whole idea of charms and spells. Unsavory nonsense at best.
Or perhaps he feared that if Alicia did contact Reena, somehow the situation between him and his wife would revert to the open hostilities they shared before the holidays.
He shook his head. Neither he nor Terrence could handle that unpleasantness again.
Evidently Alicia had no need for his information, for now here was her carriage approaching the nearby village so similar to Hambledon. Once inside its confines, the barouche came to a slow halt. Stepping down, Alicia shook the wrinkles from her forest-green pelisse, then gave some instructions to the coachman. She walked down West Meon's main street and wasted no time in stopping a prosperous merchant.
Richard also ordered his town coach to halt. At a respectable distance, he stood in the shadow of a stone and thatch building, and watched the transaction.
What was this? The fellow suddenly appeared nervous. He snatched his woolen hat from his head and began kneading it with his hands. His gaze darted everywhere but at Alicia's face.
What the deuce did she ask the man? I can swear the fellow just made the sign of the cross. Superstitious devil! This is curst curious.
When she continued down the street, Richard followed. Instead of confronting her, he decided to wait until she reached her destination. In no uncertain terms, he had to find out what was going on with his wife.
Alicia neared the edge of the picturesque village. The only object in sight was a small church standing by itself, nestled among huge snow-encrusted conifers.
As his wife entered the building, Richard knitted his brow. "What the devil! What vagary can she be up to now?" he expostulated under his breath.
Striding inside, he walked past silent pews. No life stirred within the church's somber walls. Devil take it, the place was empty!
He found a back door and quickly exited in time to see the vicar guiding Alicia to a point a few yards from the church. There, bounded by a white picket fence, was a cemetery.
It did not require much of an imagination to deduce whose location was now underground.
When he reached his wife's side at a large, recent grave, she fell down on her knees next to the modest headstone. Her glazed eyes gave no recognition of his presence. Indeed, her face rivaled the very snow in whiteness.
Alarmed, he reached out for her, but she bent forward, touching the marble tablet's inscribed words. She then exclaimed, "Oh, dear God! This can't be. Now I'll never get home!"
Then Alicia did another unusual thing. She promptly fainted.
Alaina awakened to the rhythmic thudding of horses' hooves. Disoriented, she sat up and looked around to find herself the object of Richard's censorious gaze.
"What happened?" As soon as she asked the question, she remembered. The sight of Madame Reena's name on a tombstone was a sight she'd never forget.
"You swooned, Madam." He removed his gloves and slapped them against his open palm. "I took the liberty of lifting you off the grave and depositing you in my carriage."
"Oh, goodness." He carried her. He actually carried her. Alaina pictured his muscular arms lifting her around her shoulders and legs. Her head would've limply relaxed against his massive chest in an intimate gesture, yet all the while she was unconscious. A fierce and poignant yearning pulsed within her veins, and she closed her eyes to dream about what could never happen.
Wait a minute. She was forgetting something. Something very important. With Madame Reena gone, she was trapped here. Trapped here forever!
From his seat across from her in the carriage, Richard leaned over and cradled her hand in his. "Are you feeling better?"
She smiled wanly. He had every right to be concerned. She probably looked like an anemic ghost. Allowing her hand to rest in his, she explained, "It was just a shock, that's all. I didn't ... expect to find Reena dead."
Alaina glanced at him. His lips tightened and a pulse at his neck visibly throbbed. "I also didn't expect for you to follow me," she confessed.
"My injunction requiring that you remain at the Hall is still in effect." He released her hand and folded his arms across his wide chest, implicitly passing judgment. "You cannot be trusted, Madam. I have grown tired of your lies. Extremely tired."
His eyes flashed fire. "You took flight the very day after my family's departure, to procure ... what, devilish love potions? I shall instruct my servants that if you---once again---leave the immediate confines of the Hall, they are to restrain you utilizing any method they deem fit."
He made those words sound like a threat.
"But, Richard, you don't understand." How could he understand? She suddenly had an intense desire to tell him everything. "Listen, I'm not your---"
"Enough!" Curling his lip, he turned from her to stare out the carriage window. "I will not have my ears sullied with more of your lies. We will pass the remainder of this journey back to the Hall in silence."
And that was that. Obstinate man that he was, he had washed his hands of her. No matter what she said, there was no way he would listen.
Alaina rubbed her temples. feeling the traveling headache she had talked about with Lucy only last month. Now it was real and in full glory. And why shouldn't her head hammer out in distress? Not only did the horses' hooves pound, but she was effectively and completely cut off from everyone and everything she had ever known ... forever, plus the man who considered her his wife, believed her to be one step up from a prostitute.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she struggled to hold back tears. She couldn't bear it. She just couldn't bear it.
January rolled into February, which rolled into March. Alaina had, on the whole, resigned herself to her fate. The time for inactivity had passed. New life budded green around the estate. Spring struggled to replace winter, and so Alaina felt reborn. Destiny had dealt her a new hand and it was up to her to make sure it was a winning one.
She sat next to her bedroom window with several important decisions to make. "If I'm to take over Alicia's life, the first thing I have to do is to rid myself of the stigma of the Countess' reputation. But how can I do that? Especially since I'm stuck here and the Cransworths are in London."
Not only did she have to mend her fences with polite society, as the term went, but she also had her work cut out for her concerning her relationships with the Cransworths.
"Richard guards Terry from me like a ferocious lion protecting his male cub and heir. And as for Richard himself...." She broke off with a sigh.
She wouldn't mind a tryst with Richard. Not one darn bit. Muscular shoulders, narrow hips, and taut thighs. His crisp white linen shirts had to hold captive masses of masculine black chest hair.
Hmmm. She licked her lips. And his large hands. Imagine them slowly sliding down her sides to stop on the rounded curve of her buttocks. Dreamy.
But what was the use? That would never happen. "He's made it quite clear he puts up with me only because he thinks we're married."
Shoulders slumped, she stared out at spring scented greenery.
When Dana burst into the room unexpectedly, Alaina was glad for the interruption.
"Oh, Milady, this missive came by messenger! It has His Lordship's seal. 'Tis not bad news, I hope."
While the maid waited, Alaina opened the letter. Even the sight of Richard's crabbed handwriting and impersonal tone gave her a stab of regret. She quickly read the brief note.
"Goodness, Dana! Lady Wilhelmina has fallen seriously ill." Alaina stood and read the letter again to make sure. "We must pack and leave for London immediately."
A heavensent reprieve. From Richard's words, she inferred that he wouldn't have sent for her, however the Dowager wanted to see her. But that wasn't important. She was going to London!
Though the reason for the trip was tragic, Alaina could not help but be jubilant. This was her chance to make good on her resolutions.
Alaina gazed out at the gaslit, crowded street of London---the London of 1817. Safely inside the Saybrooke townhouse on Hanover Square, she somehow felt threatened by the city's primitive atmosphere. She had been to London once before on a stopover for her Italian trip. Playing the tourist, she squeezed in such notable sights as Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square, and saw two critically acclaimed plays. But that was almost two hundred years in the future. It wouldn't be realistic to expect the city to look familiar.
It didn't: the long shadows of the houses; the sinister figures lurking on the sidewalks; the private black gates barring entrance to the general public---all of these things contributed to the menacing air. Maybe it was the dim gaslight playing tricks on her unaccustomed eyes. Maybe the morning sun would soften the harsh edges of the city's face.
Alaina shuddered and drew back from the Drawing Room window to seek solace from the friendly fireplace. Its warmth was likely to be the only warmth she found in this strange city.
The townhouse butler, Higgins, entered the room. "Supper is served, Milady."
She glanced at the large ornamental mantle clock. Eight o'clock---a late hour to eat a meal.
Alaina rose and followed the butler into the Dining Room. Here was another challenge for her: a completely new staff to learn about and a grand townhouse to become familiar with, though thankfully its scale did not rival that of Saybrooke Hall. She had no idea who her fellow diners would be. When she had arrived two hours ago, the Cransworth family members were mysteriously absent. And the Dowager Countess, she was informed, was not to be disturbed.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked into an elegant room filled with the Cransworth clan: Richard, his two brothers, and Lucy were present. Richard, as usual, looked magnificent in his deep grey tail coat with plain white starched cravat. When he caught sight of her, the small lines around his eyes and mouth seemed more pronounced. Because of disapproval, of course.
Seeing him again stirred more memories than she could safely admit to. Even her breasts tingled with ... anticipation?
"Alicia!" Lucy exclaimed. "When did you arrive? I did not know you were coming." She threw her husband's elder brother an indignant look.
The younger woman ran to Alaina and gave her a hug. "This is famous! What fun we shall have together."
The two older brothers cleared their throats and frowned, probably to remind Lucy of the circumstances concerning their mother.
Lucy reddened. "I forgot," she whispered. Nevertheless, she took Alaina in tow and prattled on about how good it was to see her.
The change in Lucy's appearance was amazing. Gone was the timid, pale, hopelessly gauche girl that Alaina first met. In her place stood a glowing, confident young woman dressed in the first style of fashion.
Alaina automatically glanced at Charlie to gage the effect his wife had on him. Instead of the bon vivant that he seemed at Christmas time, he now bore a stern face with frequent scowls. In short, he was more like his elder brother.
A smile of genuine amusement lit Alaina's face. This was going to be interesting.
Alaina took her place at the table. "Nigel, it's good to see you again. But aren't you suppose to be at Cambridge?"
"With Mother's condition," he explained, "I wanted to be near her. She protested, of course, but I can afford to lose a term. And, London does have its attractions."
Whatever attractions Nigel referred to, caused Charlie to frown.
"Do you have plans for this evening, Alicia?" Nigel continued. "I've a party headed for a concert at Vauxhall Gardens tonight. Be honored if you join us."
Nigel had matured in the three months. No longer tongue-tied or boyishly awkward, the young man was incredibly attractive.
Alaina's eyes sparkled at the invitation but she had to refuse. "Thank you but I---"
"Alicia cannot attend," Richard curtly told his brother.
"As I was saying, I'm much too tired tonight." Alaina struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Maybe another time, okay?"
She was not going to let Richard railroad her life. He had sent for her; he would have to take the consequences.
Nigel slipped her a conspiratorial wink. "Zounds, you're the only person I know that can take the starch out of my eldest brother!"
"I would not encourage her, Nigel," Richard said in a dampening tone. "M'dear, you are nibbling like a sparrow. Is the food not up to your standards?"
The sumptuous feast on the table could, in no way, fail to please even the most finicky eater. "It's not that. I'm not used to having dinner so late."
"Now you're roasting us, Alicia," Charlie gibed. "The night is just beginning for the beau monde, and doesn't end until dawn."
Lucy lifted her nose up at him. "It is too bad you are tired, Alicia, for I was about to ask you to join me. Lady Dartmoor is holding a small musicale."
Lucy's husband threw his napkin down in disgust. "Don't expect me to accompany you. Musicale, indeed. Crashing bore!"
She turned toward Charlie and said sweetly, "Oh no, I certainly would not subject you to, what you would consider, a tedious evening. George Slader is escorting me."
Charlie's color rose sharply and steam almost issued from his ears. "That jackanapes! That man is a notorious rake---breaks reputations like eggs. I won't have you---"
"Charles, dear, I do not understand why you take exception to George. He is a perfect gentleman. Says nothing but the kindest words about you. Besides," she added as she stood up from her chair, "I have never protested to you about Monique." With that bombshell, Lucy left the room.
Uncertain about what she should do, Alaina also rose. From the looks on all of the brothers' faces, it was apparent that Monique was someone Charlie did not want Lucy to know about.
"I'll go see to Lucy," Alaina murmured.
On her way to the door, she glanced at Richard. He must have felt her looking at him for he met her gaze.
Wow. A million volts sizzled inside her. It seemed an eternity before they broke the connection. Evidently the man could still turn on every button in her body.
When she knocked on Lucy's door, the young woman wiped at her tears. "Oh Alicia, I am so miserable! Can you believe that man? He has the effrontery to harass me about my friends. As if he cares! Then he goes to see that ... that Paphian!" She then broke down, weeping violently on Alaina's shoulder.
Alaina didn't know what a Paphian was exactly but she could figure it out. "But hasn't Charlie been paying more attention to you? Ever since Christmas, he seemed, well, to be reevaluating his feelings for you."
"All I can say is he has been growing more and more irritable. We have not even ... er, you know," Lucy muttered. "It has been months."
Alaina sat down with a sigh, thinking how long it had been since she shared physical intimacy. "Yes, I know. Charlie sounds more and more like Richard."
The humor in that remark hit them at the same time and they both burst into laughter.
The next day, Alaina was able to see the Dowager Countess in her cheery red and white boudoir and marveled at how well the older woman appeared. She lay propped up on her bed, drinking a cup of tea.
"Good morning, Ma'am. Goodness, but you look the picture of health."
"Alicia! It is so wonderful to see you!" Lady Wilhelmina accepted the hug, then took another sip of tea. Setting down the porcelain china cup, she sighed, "Ah, for a taste of French brandy!"
"Ma'am?" Invalids didn't usually request liquor.
The Dowager grew pensive. "Dear Alicia, you must think me a bit odd. It is just that I...." She patted a space by her bedside. "Here, sit down. I need someone to confide in. You see, I am only pretending to be an invalid."
Alaina's eyes widened.
"No, no, there was no pretending at first, my dear. I collapsed at the Marquess of Ravenwood's rout---with heart palpitations---and, I was not given long to live."
Alaina gripped the older woman's hands. "That can't be!"
Lady Wilhelmina smiled. "Exactly what I said. And after three days, I felt strong enough to resume my busy calendar---but I did not. During those days, I had plenty of time to think, so I hatched a plan. A dowager countess on her deathbed, you see, has certain privileges, and I certainly expect to have every whim of mine granted. I exercised my rights, and so requested to see you one last time."
She adjusting her white lacy mob cap and glanced at Alaina. "I still have hopes for a reconciliation between you and Richard, but nothing can happen with Richard here and you at Saybrooke Hall."
"Oh!" Talk about being put on the spot.
"Do you still care for your husband, my dear?"
My husband. If only that was the case. Alaina blinked rapidly. "Um, things are so complex between us, Ma'am. I---I don't know what to say."
"Do you care for your husband?"
"You're insistent, aren't you, Wilhelmina?" Alaina stalled for time. She reluctantly looked into her heart and found the answer. "Yes. I do. But he---"
"No buts. Throwing you both together again is bound to stir up a hornet's nest ... and then again, a miracle can also occur." The Dowager grinned. "I am hoping for the miracle."
Alaina gave the older woman's hand a squeeze. "I appreciate your support. Richard is ... well, he's being ... difficult."
"I know, dear. My son can be very obstinate at times. Indeed, let me tell you what he has planned for little Terrence."
Lady Wilhelmina paused to take a sip of tea. "Because of my ill health, Richard has decided to send Terrence off to Eton. What with Richard mucking around in archaeological holes, pardon my blunt speech, he believes Eton would be just the place to bring stability and discipline into his young life."
The grandmother's sigh came straight from the depths of her soul. "I cannot swerve him from his decision."
Alaina recalled what she remembered about the private boys' school. "Doesn't Eton have an excellent reputation? I mean only the upper crust of England and all that? But that aside, isn't Terry too young to go there?"
"True, attendance usually begins at age twelve but it is not unheard of for youngsters seven or eight to attend. As you know, Terrence will turn seven this year." Lady Wilhelmina shuddered. "To be subjected to that infamously cruel school!"
"Cruel? I don't understand, Ma'am."
"Perhaps you are unaware the boys have a name for Dr. Keate, the headmaster since 1809. They call him 'the flogger.'"
"Does Richard know this?" Alaina tapped her foot against the carpeted floor. If that were the case, then she agreed with the Dowager one hundred percent.
Lady Wilhelmina just shrugged. "You are my only hope." Settling back against her many pillows, she finished another cup of tea.
Alaina emitted a small sigh. "You're right, of course. It's unthinkable to even consider sending Terry to a school like that. But now, here's the problem. If Richard doesn't listen to you, he definitely won't listen to anything I have to say. I have no influence with that man."
The Dowager shook her mob-capped head. "You will think of a way to get around him, Alicia dear. He once quite adored you, you know."
That comment did not raise any hopes in Alaina's breast. Richard's love had turned into hate, and hate seemed to be a stronger and more lasting emotion.
After a timid knock on the door, Dana entered the bedroom. "Pardon me, Milady, but His Lordship wishes to have a word with you in the Study."
Alaina stood, then bent over to give the Dowager a hug. "More likely a dozen words---and all choice ones at that!"
Leaving Lady Wilhelmina laughing, Alaina took a step toward the staircase, then turned back around. "Dana, please inform His Lordship I'll be with him shortly. First I want to see Terry."
"But Milady. 'Tis certain that news will put him in a fair pucker."
Alaina patted the maid's shoulder to keep her from shaking. "Don't worry. I'll bear the brunt of His Lordship's 'fair pucker.'"
Dana curtseyed. "Yes, Milady." She continued on her way.
Entering Terry's Hanover Square nursery, Alaina immediately smiled. With splashes of toys thrown this way and that, it was definitely a happier place than the room at Saybrooke Hall.
Terry was in the middle of the play area, staging a mock battle with his troops. When he glanced up at her intrusion, a cry of glee escaped his lips. "Mama! Mama, you're here!"
Gosh, she felt like the most wonderful person on earth. "So, this is where you've been hiding, Terry." She sat down on her heels to review his soldiers. "Where's Wellington?"
Terry rushed at her to give her a hug, which caused her to tip over to the side. "I missed you so much! Can you play a game with me?"
Arms wrapped tightly around him, she enjoyed every sensation this closeness entailed. What a privilege being a mother was. Kissing his forehead, she then disentangled herself and ruffled his hair. "Sorry, tadpole, your father wants to see me in the Study. Maybe when I'm done, okay?"
The little boy stuck out his lower lip. "Tadpole. Isn't that a baby frog?" He also stood and set his pudgy hands on non-existent hips. "You calling me a Frenchie?"
She laughed. "Heaven forbid, no! Just a term of endearment, sweet pea."
"Good-O!" Terry ran to her again. "I like it when you like me, Mama."
Once again, regret filled her for this child's previous life. But now it would be different. She'd see to that. "Well, get used to it, Terry. Because I'm liking you a whole lot!"
One more hug and kiss later, Alaina closed the door to the nursery. Now she had the senior Cransworth man to deal with.
Although the Study door opened quietly, Richard instinctively knew, without looking up from his desk, that it was Alicia who entered. She hesitated by the door, then selected a Jacobean upholstered wing armchair near his desk to sit on.
"Well, Richard," she said in a light tone. "Here I am. You wanted to speak with me? I was having a chat with your mother, and then I went to see Terry."
Richard braced himself to view his wife head-on. She wore an enchanting pink morning dress of jaconet muslin that modestly clung to her figure. Masses of curls covered the top of her head, with the back arranged in a soft chignon.
Incredible as it seemed, every time he saw her, she was more beautiful than before. And as odd as it sounded, every time he studied her, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time.
Now she sat across from him, intently staring at something to his left---at the bust of Augustus Caesar. Irrational as the feeling must be, Richard was saddened at the thought that even when they were alone, she never had "eyes" for him.
More brusquely than he intended, he snapped, "It would not do for you to overtire the Dowager with your various intrigues. Your visits with her will be limited to five minutes once a day."
When Alicia didn't respond, he saw that she was still contemplating the statue. What the devil, it was as if nothing else in the room existed for her! Since she never cared a fig about antiquities, her pretense of abstraction was all the more enraging.
He stood and approached her chair from behind. As she gazed into the marble visage, the blasted woman was unaware of his presence. Abruptly blocking her view with his body, he pulled her by her shoulders to a standing position. "What is the meaning of this ... disrespect? Why are you in a trance at the sight of this statue? You called it 'hideous' when I first brought it home."
By all that was holy, she still had a dreamy expression on her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect to see a bust of Augustus here. This is a particularly fine example of Roman sculpture."
She broke away from Richard's grip to gently touch the smooth planes of the stone face and the idealized waves of the hair. "It's genuine, of course. Must have cost a fortune. Where did you get it?"
The devil of it was, she sounded sincere. He roughly turned her away from the bust. His fingers pressed deeply into her upper arms and he confronted her face to face. "Desist this act once and for all, Alicia. I will not be made a fool of any longer. Why this pretended interest in my acquisition? As you should know, it has occupied the same space in this room for three years. You are badly mistaken if you believe you can gull me. If it was not for my mother's condition...."
Meeting his gaze, she remained motionless, instead of pulling away from his grip. "Forgive me," she apologized again. "It's that darn memory loss again. I didn't mean to offend you. Perhaps we should sit?"
He did not release his grasp, but studied her features from this close proximity. She looked so familiar and yet seemed a total stranger. If only he could put his finger on it.
Having her so intimately near was beginning to flood his body with remembered sensations and long-buried desires.
"Richard, I did hear you," she said somewhat huskily. "You want to limit the time I spend with your mother to five minutes. The Dowager won't like it, I can tell you that much. Wouldn't it be more reasonable if she decided how long the visits are to be?"
"My mother does not understand what is best for her." Tight-lipped, he suddenly released her and quickly sat at his desk, placing more distance between them.
"That's better." Alicia also found her seat. "I was beginning to get a crick in my neck from looking up at you!"
The devil! Was she trying to lighten his mood?
With her hands demurely in her lap, she added, "You know, it might make your mother angry if you imposed a time limit against her wishes. I don't think it's a good idea to get her upset. What do you think?"
Damn it all! His wife's words made sense---hard to admit, but true. Busying himself with some papers, he grudgingly agreed. "Ten minutes then."
"That's a start." She had the effrontery to smile. "There's something else I would like to talk to you about, Richard. I---"
"Surely not your newfound interest in Roman artifacts?" he sneered.
Just for a moment, hearing her lilting laughter made him think he was the wittiest man alive.
Her brown eyes retained their sparkle. "No, but you did forget to tell me where you got that handsome head."
Obviously she meant Augustus Caesar, but she must have realized how her words sounded because she reddened.
Raising an eyebrow, Richard succinctly stated, "Pompeii." Her excuse of memory loss was becoming tedious. Nor did it explain an interest in an area she had previously loathed.
Perhaps his scrutiny made her uncomfortable for she stood and started pacing the room. "Well, I wanted to talk to you about Terry and Eton. How can you---"
Again, Richard interrupted. "I shall not discuss my son, whom you vulgarly call 'Terry,' with you. If you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend." He began piling papers into a brown leather case.
"But don't you know the school's reputation for brutality? It's unconscionable to send any boy, let alone a six-year old, to a place where the schoolmasters and the upper classmen prey on younger children---doing who knows what?" She stamped her foot. "I can't believe you would willingly send Terry there. That's ... that's inhuman."
An aroused Alicia was indeed an arousing sight. And may he fry in hell for admitting the fact.
"Why, your mother said the headmaster's nickname is 'the flogger.' How can you do this to Terry? To your son?" Small tears shone crystal-clear in Alicia's eyes.
"Save your dramatics for Drury Lane, where I am confident the theaters can use an actress of your talents and reputation. Your tears are wasted on me, Madam."
Richard rose and shrugged himself into his somber chestnut tail coat. Adjusting his cravat in the gilt-edged mirror, he shot back at her. "This conversation is at an end."
She allowed his slur against her to pass. Odd again, for Alicia. "This news is breaking your mother's heart and you act as if you don't care, Richard. I---I just can't believe it of you."
He angrily turned from his reflected image. Damn the woman. Was she always right? Why on earth had she changed so much? Or had she?
"Since there is no one capable of looking after my son, least of all you, I find no other alternative. Now, I take my leave for the Dilettani Society."
As he was about to exit, she placed her hand on his arm. "I'm aware of your opinion of me, you make it very plain. If someone else were found to take care of Terry---maybe a relation---would you reconsider? Together with Miss Kerns his governess, he would be in good hands. What do you say?"
By the good Lord above, Richard looked at his wife in a new light. She was resigned in accepting his feelings toward her but in everything else, she was a fighter. And here she was fighting on behalf of her son.
In addition, she had suggested the ideal solution to his dilemma.
He gently brushed away a tear that had slid halfway down her cheek. "If you can find a relation, then yes, I agree," he said softly.
Alicia touched her cheek and stared up at him.
His emotions unsettled, he murmured good-bye, then left for the archaeology society.
The search for a relative to take care of Terry didn't take long. Lady Wilhelmina remembered a genteelly impoverished distant cousin named Isabel, and, evidently, Cousin Isabel was thrilled to learn of her good fortune.
As the Dowager explained to Alaina, leaving the remote northeastern village of Bamburgh in Northumberland to take up residence in the metropolis of London was a stroke of luck granted only to a precious few. And a lonely spinster's dream of adventure fulfilled.
When Isabel arrived at the Hanover Square townhouse, her position was somewhat ambiguous since Terry already had a governess and a mother, albeit a surrogate one. With Isabel and Alaina assembled in Lady Wilhelmina's bedroom, the Dowager welcomed the country cousin and pronounced her Terry's new companion.
Alaina smiled at the newcomer. Terry would like her open face and twinkling green eyes.
As the sparse woman, probably about thirty eight or nine, bobbed her head happily, she prattled, "Yes, oh my yes! Just so. The very thing."
She sounded as if she would have agreed to just about anything to escape her dreary country existence.
"I'm so glad you could come here, Isabel," Alaina offered. And, it was going to be really good to have another woman's company in Richard's house.
"Thank you, Lady Alicia. I am thrilled, just thrilled. Oh, thank you."
"You must call me Alicia, please."
"Oh, but I could not. Truly." The woman's green eyes clouded with worry.
"I insist, Isabel. Okay?" Alaina held out her hand for a shake. Isabel must have never heard of Alicia's "sins," so now a friendship could be built without the taint of the past.
The woman ducked her head. "I am honored....Alicia. Just so. You are too good."
The only obstacle to friendship was the poor woman's extreme subservience. But that would change. Alaina rubbed her hands together, planning the makeover. If she could work wonders with Lucy, then there was hope for Isabel.
"Come, Isabel." Alaina stood. "Lady Wilhelmina needs to rest. I'll show you to your room."
The country cousin rose with alacrity and followed Alaina like a shadow.
Things were really coming together now that evil Eton was off her shoulders. After dropping Isabel off at her room, Alaina walked downstairs to the first floor. Not unexpectedly, Richard had thrown a few roadblocks in her way as she started her new life. In addition to timing her visits with Lady Wilhelmina, contact with Terry was also to be limited. And she was forbidden to attend any social event, embark on any social outing, or pay any social visits.
In effect, he restricted Alaina's contact with society. But, hey, that was okay with her. There was a number of things she could do that weren't "social" in nature. In a way, she was relieved not to go to any of these functions. After all, how was she to know which people were friends and which ones were strangers?
No, she had better ideas on how to spend her time. Slipping into the Library, she walked over to Richard's desk and picked up a pile of illegibly written papers. On top of it was a memo to his secretary, Mr. Ellis, informing him to transcribe the work. The note explained that the Earl was scheduled to present a paper on his Roman archaeology fieldwork to the Dilettani Society on Tuesday, the sixth of April.
She scanned some of the papers. Yeah, she could handle this---easily. She'd probably live to regret it but she forged a note from the secretary stating the presentation paper would be ready for His Lordship by the date requested.
Talk about being invigorated! She returned to her bedroom and started to read. For a tiny moment, her conscience niggled her at the deception. But why should it? She had a wealth of experience behind her in Greek and Roman matters; why not put it to good use?
Knee-deep in Richard's research, time flew by. Some of his conclusions were really thought-provoking. One such theory was that after the Romans constructed Hadrian's Wall in northern England around 120 A.D. to 123 A.D., the Roman legions took refuge behind the Wall's strength and became soldiers in name only, which weakened the Empire's hold in Britain. Prosperity often led to a country's downfall. Fat and happy versus lean and mean. In wartime, lean and mean most often had the edge.
Alaina took some editing liberties with the papers. Authors always assumed their audience had as perfect a grasp on the facts as they had. But how would Richard react to having his work tampered with? Maybe if she did it skillfully enough, he wouldn't realize it.
Of course, the corollary to that was how would he react when he found out the tamperer was "his wife" and not his secretary, Mr. Ellis?
Alaina smiled mischievously. Anticipating another confrontation kept a devilish twinkle in her eyes.
When Dana entered, Alaina looked up with a start.
"Milady, 'tis past time to dress for supper," the maid scolded.
Drat. Who cares about eating when this is something I can really sink my teeth into?
But duty was duty. Walking over to the wardrobe, Alaina reached inside and selected the first gown her hand touched. With knit eyebrows, she ignored the dress and concentrated on a transitional paragraph between the Fishbourne excavation portion of the paper and the Roman ruins in London.
At the large dining table, Richard covertly studied his beautiful wife. She seemed so distant and remote; her distracted air haunted him---and also made him jealous.
"Isn't that so, dear Alicia?" Charles pointedly asked for her opinion on a trivial matter. He too noticed her inattention, and now he seized the chance to bait her.
Richard coolly regarded his brother. Evidently Charles felt he had a score to settle with Alicia. It was obvious that she had a hand in Lucinda's internal transformation as well as her external. The young woman's appearance was now more than pleasing, and her show of independence visibly nettled her husband. Which was, perhaps a good thing for Charles. The more he tried to bring his wife back to the fold, the more she flirted with her ever-growing number of admirers. Rumor had it that even Monique's charms were beginning to pale for him.
"Doesn't seem as if your wife is attending, Richard," Charles said snidely, probably in the hopes of igniting his ire.
"Hmm? Pardon me, Charlie, I was thinking of something else." A pink blush rose on Alicia's cheeks.
She presented a charming picture---one that Richard had no hope of understanding. When he had set the ground rules down for her London visit, he almost wished for some opposition. Her easy acceptance of her exile caused him not the sensation of relief but one of distrust. What the devil was she up to? Although a week had passed since her arrival, he could find no cause to complain about her exemplary behavior and she had uncomplainingly remained confined to the house, excepting a few innocuous shopping excursions.
Devil take it, if she kept this up, he would have to resort to taking his meals at his club. Finishing the remaining Madeira in his glass, he then refilled it. Being in close proximity to her intoxicating presence was indeed taking a toll, wearing down the carefully built defenses he had created over the years---especially at night knowing she was only an adjoining door away...
He glanced over at her, and took in her drawn brows of preoccupation. "Most likely she is dreaming of Augustus Caesar. Alicia shows uncommon interest in his statue." Unfortunately he could not prevent a tone of bitterness from escaping.
"Very close, but not quite," she said laughing. She turned toward Charles. "Now, what were you saying, Charlie? You were right to goad me on for not participating in the conversation. With Lucy dining out, and Nigel having other plans, I haven't held up my end of the chitchat."
Cousin Isabel hurried to his wife's defense. "Oh, no, Alicia. You have done just fine. Truly. The very thing."
But Charles flushed at the mention of his wife; her absence tonight must have been a sore point with him. "You would not have been interested in any event, Alicia," he condescendingly stated.
Then, for some reason, his blue-green eyes glittered dangerously. What the devil was Charles thinking?
Signaling a footman, he waved an empty glass. "Richard, I believe it is time for some port, is it not?"
Richard winced. Bad form on his brother's part. It was customary for the ladies to leave of their own accord, not be dismissed by the men. Obviously Charles was out of sort, most likely because his wife was off pursuing her own pleasures. Probably also felt impotent in his current situation, a condition Richard could sympathize with---in feeling rather than the actual event.
The ladies graciously took the hint and adjourned to the Blue Salon. Seeing how he and Charles downed their wine, it was a sure bet that neither of them would be joining the women.
After a respectable interval, Alaina pleaded fatigue, as did Isabel, and they both left the Blue Salon. Alaina looked forward to continuing her work on Richard's manuscript. The sixth of April was coming up quickly and there was so much she had to do before finishing it.
She entered her dimly lit sitting room and found Dana waiting to undress her. As usual, Alaina had the maid undo the tiny pearl buttons down the back and then leave. Privacy, in whatever shape or form, was important. She picked out a nightgown and walked into the bedchamber proper.
Ready to slip out of her gown, she saw movement behind her. Whirling around, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure before she was enveloped in an embrace. She had time for a shocked protest of "Rich---" before a pair of hungry lips pressed down on hers.
Never having been kissed by Richard, she certainly envisioned this action ... and much more---many times. But for some reason, the reality of the event didn't live up to her imagination. Dear God, this was almost as nasty as wet lips on a fish! A fish doused in alcohol.
Disappointed to the very marrow of her soul, she wriggled out of his arms, which caused her gown to slip down off her shoulders.
"Richard, what in the world are you doing?" She then broke free and backed away. Holding her gown up over her breasts, she wildly searched for a dressing gown.
"You don't have to keep up the maidenly pretense with me, Alicia." His voice was harsh with passion. "I know you for what you are."
Finding temporary refuge behind a chaise-lounge, Alaina quickly pulled on a silk robe and belted it. Good God, she needed time to think! The man with the fish lips wasn't Richard but Charles Cransworth!
"Charlie, what do you think you're doing? You'd better leave immediately." Alaina tried to keep her voice calm. "Richard will be furious if he finds you here."
"He might be, my dear Alicia, but the fury will not be directed at me. He knows how you are. One word from me about your seducing ways and your lovely throat will feel the wrath of his hands."
Alaina raised her hand to her throat. She'd already felt the strength of Richard's hands around her neck, and had no intention of experiencing that again.
Charlie advanced further, like a stalking predator. His turquoise eyes darkened to indigo and he ran his tongue over his lips.
Cripes. She was in deep trouble. "Charlie, for goodness sake, listen to me. This isn't like you. For whatever it's worth, I'm Richard's wife and Lucy's friend. You don't want me. Don't ruin what small chance we all might have for happiness."
He stopped in his tracks and his eyes returned to normal. "What does Lucinda have to do with this?"
Here was a point worth pursuing. Alaina smoothed back her messy hair and bravely sat on the side of the chaise-lounge. "Do you love your wife?"
Charlie rubbed a weary hand up and down his cheek as if he had a toothache. When he joined her on the couch, his shoulders slumped. "Yes," he admitted. "Yes, I suppose I do."
"If Lucy found out about tonight, think about how she would feel. You could never hope to ever reconcile."
No longer afraid of what he might do, Alaina moved closer. She really did think of him as a brother. "Lucy doesn't know you love her. None of your actions tell her so. She's been very unhappy."
With his head in his hands, Charlie looked like he'd been sentenced to hell. "What a muck I have made of it, Alicia. It has been torture for me these past few months. Do you think she will ever forgive me?"
Alaina smiled. "Why don't you ask her? A nice romantic dinner for two might be just the thing. All women love special attention."
He nodded. "You are right. Perhaps it is not too late to see if Lucinda will still have me."
Standing, he took Alaina's hand. "And you? Will you, can you forgive me?" His eyes burned red, probably with alcoholic excess and with shame.
"Forgive what?" she asked with playful innocence.
Charles grinned and kissed her palm. "I have much to thank you for." Making his way to the door, he opened it and said, "I am a changed man, thanks to you, sweet Alicia. I should have come to you sooner. Good-night."
Alaina stood in the doorway, watching him quietly walk down the corridor. She leaned against the wall, relief washing through her. The night's outcome had a happy ending. Charlie had given her a bad fright, but now she felt confident Lucy and he would work out their problems.
As she reentered her room, her relief turned into panic. The unmistakable sound of a nearby door clicking shut echoed loudly throughout the hall.
The next night after Charlie' surprise "visit", Lucy burst into Alaina's bedroom. "Alicia, Alicia, I cannot believe this is happening. Oh, pinch me to see if I am awake!"
Then she held up her hands as if to stop. "No, don't! I do not want to wake up!"
Alaina slid the papers she was working on under a book, then said, "Sit, calm down, and tell me what the fuss is about." She had a pretty good idea.
Her face flushing pink with joy, Lucy confirmed it. "It is Charles, he says he loves me and wants a second chance. He wants to go to Paris---just the two of us." She sat down with a thud. "I must be in heaven."
"I thought you said you were dreaming! No, no, I'm teasing. So what did you tell him?"
Lucy looked coy. "I said I would think about it! Of course I ran right over to ask you what you think. What caused this about-face, I wonder?"
Alaina reached over for her hairbrush and brushed her hair trying to appear nonchalant. "That isn't important. What is important is that he finally came to his senses." She gave Lucy a hug. "As for what I think, I say do what you think best."
"Then I shall go!" Lucy said breathlessly. Blowing a hurried kiss, she flew out of the room, calling back, "We leave tomorrow."
Richard wasn't present when his brother and wife departed the next day. In fact, Alaina hadn't seen him since the night of the would-be-violation. Deep inside, she feared that he had overheard his brother leave her room---meaning of course, he believed her guilty of seduction.
No one else saw anything unusual in Richard's absence, though. I'm making mountains out of molehills, she scolded herself. He probably knows nothing of the other night.
But in her heart, she knew she was deluding herself.
Terry started demanding more and more of her attention. After Lucy and Charlie left, he pulled her and Isabel into the Drawing Room and insisted someone read him a story. With Isabel's help, Alaina acted out selections from Aesop's Fables and also from some Greek myths.
While Terry looked at pictures concerning the tortoise and the hare, Isabel remarked, "You are so talented, Alicia. Yes, indeed. Just see how Terrence is progressing with his reading. Imagine, his favorite word to spell is 'hare'!"
"He is a darling, isn't he? But you have the patience of a saint with children, Isabel. Let me tell you, that is a gift! And it's something I sorely lack. One day you'll read to your own children at your knee."
The older woman blushed. "Truly, I am passed the age of childbearing. Besides, have you forgotten I am not even betrothed?"
"Give yourself time." Alaina waved Isabel's concerns away. "Once Lady Wilhelmina is up and about, there'll be dozens of parties to attend. I predict it won't be long before the 'right man' claims your hand."
Alaina wasn't indulging in empty praise. Since Isabel now had a new sophisticated look---minus the fat, sausage curls---and plus some up-to-date gowns, the country cousin was all the crack. One of these days, pretty darn soon, an eligible widower or bachelor would snatch the timid lady from the antidote shelf.
Maybe Alaina should start planning now. "You know, I think I'll run upstairs and tell the Dowager that Lucy and Charlie got off okay. Be right back."
Terry murmured his dissent, but Alaina silenced him with a motherly kiss.
Lady Wilhelmina was eager for company and very receptive to Alaina's scheme. "My dear, that is an excellent idea. I quite agree. I am positively itching to resume my rounds in society. If I remain contained within these four walls much longer I will become dicked in the nob---pardon my street cant!"
She leaned back against her pillows. "I shall go about my 'recovery' slowly. Perhaps next week we can attend a musicale or a rout."
Then from under her lashes, the Dowager asked, "By the bye, how do things stand between you and Richard?"
"The truth is..." Alaina paused to sigh, "I haven't seen him. He's told Cook that he'll be having dinner elsewhere now that Charlie and Lucy have left. And where he spends his days ... and nights, is a mystery to me."
"I refuse to admit defeat---you and Richard are bound to get back together ... bound to! Look at the miracle of Charles and Lucinda. You would have thought those two were off on their honeymoon."
Alaina grinned. "Yes, that describes it to a tee! Well, I'll see you later. Terry is impatient to continue his lessons."
Back in the Drawing Room, Alaina, along with Isabel, sang the Alphabet Song to teach Terry his letters. He loved its sing-song rhythm and made her sing it over and over.
In the middle of yet another rendition, Richard walked into the room. After a flicker of surprise, he displayed no emotion except boredom. When they finished the song, Terry chirped, "Daddy, good morning! We were saying our alphabet."
Terry was so proud of his accomplishment. "Didn't we do a good job?" He was the only one not affected by Richard's unexpected entrance.
Richard's sardonic gaze took in a subdued Cousin Isabel as well as a fidgety Alaina. "Indeed," he pronounced, in somewhat gloomy tones. "Cousin Isabel, kindly restore my son to his governess. I wish to speak with my wife alone."
Oh, joy. What did I do now?
"But Daddy," Terry protested, "I was having fun."
"Terrence." Richard would brook no opposition from his son.
Isabel glanced at Alaina as if to seek her permission, so she made an imperceptible nod. Isabel and Terry then left the room; the boy had a frown on his usually happy face.
"Higgins informed me I would find you in the Drawing Room. I do not recall giving permission for it to be turned into a schoolroom." Richard leaned against the wall and placed one foot up on a low stool.
His informal pose didn't fool Alaina. She smoothed back a stray lock of hair. "Terry likes to be read to. There's no harm in that. And, as you recall, you haven't been home lately, so I couldn't ask you."
He ignored the dig. "I do not consider you an appropriate example for my son to learn from. I want you to desist teaching him."
Maybe it was her time of month, or something, but Alaina felt unaccountably down in the dumps. In his eyes she couldn't do anything right. Even reading to a little boy who so badly needed a mother. And what about the presentation paper? What would Richard do when he found out about that? It was too late to return it; she was committed and had to finish the work.
How many slams could she handle without giving up the ghost? How could she find the energy to fight back? Everything was toppling in on her. Everything was going wrong---and nothing would ever change. He would never view her as anything other than an adulterous bimbo.
A trickle of a tear coursed down her cheek. Too tired to wipe it away, Alaina turned her head to hide it. "You win," she said, striving to keep her voice even. "I'll stop the lessons. Is there anything else?"
His wife's unhappiness hit Richard hard. Clenching his fists, he watched her hunched-over form with despair. He longed to take her in her arms and kiss away the salty tears. However, didn't he see his brother depart her bedchamber with a smile on his face? Didn't he hear Charles thank her and call her "Sweet Alicia" and wish that he had come to her sooner? What kind of woman seduces her own brother-in-law?
Richard had been tempted to call Charles out but he resisted---Alicia was not worth it. And now here she was, crying over ... over what, the loss of reading to her son? The son that she had previously despised?
Since his mother showed signs of being on the mend, as soon as she was completely out of danger he would send Alicia packing. Who knew, perhaps the next target for her unbridled passion would be Nigel? Richard would contrive to get Nigel readmitted to Cambridge---out of harm's way.
"Is there anything else?" she repeated, dully.
The fog of despair cleared in his mind. "Yes, I thought you would be glad of the news. Your Madame Reena was right."
Alicia jerked her head up. "Madame Reena was right ... right about what?" The mention of the dead mystic's name seemed to make her shiver.
"The Duke of Clarence's child has died." Seeing Alicia's incomprehension, Richard added, "The Duke, once again, has no issue. You should be pleased to know you received your money's worth---Madame Reena predicted correctly. Knowing the future rulers of England was the reason you went to the mystic, isn't that what you said?"
Mocking her with his words, Richard closed the door to the Drawing Room. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like a cad.
As the sixth of April approached, Alaina finished the presentation paper. Fortifying herself with brandy to give herself courage, she slipped into the Library and placed the neatly printed work on Richard's desk. The room had an unused air about it as if it suffered neglect from its master. The magnificent bust of Augustus brought back memories on how Richard had become inflamed over her interest in it. Then that thought led to remembering how he brushed away her tears. What a tender moment; if only there could be more moments like that one.
"You're a fool, Alaina Sawyer," she whispered bitterly. "A damn stupid fool. I have to get it through my thick head that it's useless to hope, no matter what the Dowager says."
Alaina could count on her fingers all the times Richard touched her. Although the contact was usually made in anger, she couldn't deny the electricity that passed between them. She now had an intimate understanding of the term "sexually frustrated." To put it mildly, it was the pits!
"As soon as Richard has his archaeology meeting, I'll leave London. At least at Saybrooke Hall I can be reasonably certain of not running into him."
Alaina admitted defeat and was ready to retreat and lick her wounds. There was one other thing she wanted to do though; she wanted to attend the Dilettani Society when Richard presented his paper. Going was risky, but although it was unlikely there would be many women present, she hoped to escape notice---especially one person in particular's notice.
She had it all figured out but she sat on pins and needles anticipating Richard's reaction to her meddling. Every day prior to the big one, she peeped into the Library. The presentation paper remained exactly where she had placed it. He must have felt confident of his secretary's abilities and didn't think it necessary to review his work. It appeared she would be spared a blow-out until after the meeting.
The big day finally arrived. Looking out of her bedroom window, Alaina saw Richard enter his carriage; his destination had to be the Dilettani Society.
"Okay. It's show time." Taking a last look at her appearance in the cheval mirror, she nervously caught her leather shoe in the flounce at the base of her dark grey bombazine dress. "Damn!"
"Milady!" her maid admonished. She straightened the back of Alaina's high standing collar, then adjusted the white frill surrounding the neck. "If I may say so, Milady, this walkin' dress is very flatterin'. 'Tis a bit somber in tone, though."
"It's just what I want---can't be too conspicuous." Alaina grabbed her bonnet and gloves. "Wish me luck."
Dana complied with the request, but as Alaina left the bedroom, asked, "But what do you need the luck for, Milady?"
At the Dilettani Society, Alaina quietly observed the members. They were crowded together in a medium-sized room, eating tea and crumpets while waiting for the meeting to begin. She took care to remain on the fringes of the group. If she needed to make a quick exit, she was right by the door.
There was no doubt that the majority of the Society's membership was of the aristocracy; there could be no mistaking the manners and dress of the British upper crust. Other ladies were also present, so her presence wasn't extremely glaring. Overhearing a remark, she gathered that these ladies were considered "bluestockings."
As Alaina turned to her left, a man bumped into her elbow. "Pardon me, sir."
"Demmed clumsy of me. Pardon me, miss," he offered. An older gentleman with his hands full of refreshment and biscuit, he had trouble maneuvering in the crowd.
With a once-over, he took stock of Alaina from head to toe. "I say, delighted to see some new blood at these stodgy meetings. M'name's Boggs, Ian Boggs."
He seemed harmless so she introduced herself. "And I'm Alaina."
The man had a comical appearance, with graying hair parted in the middle and a bristly mustache hanging over the sides of his lips. At the moment, the stiff hairs held several crumbs from the biscuit.
"Oh dear, I'm afraid you have...." She gestured toward his face.
"'Tis a demmed nuisance." Ian Boggs flicked his finger through the mustache. "If you would be so kind...."
Alaina pulled out a handkerchief from her reticule and quickly brushed away the crumbs.
"Indebted to you forever, m'dear." He finished the last of his food, then concentrated on her. "You must forgive an old man, but why is a lovely gel like yourself here with these dull old dogs? You should be out kicking up a lark! If I were thirty years younger," he ended wistfully.
She laughed. Bumping into Mr. Boggs was a piece of good luck. "Oh, I have a small interest in the ancient Romans. I thought I'd come hear the paper scheduled for today."
"The Fishbourne excavation? Bah! Nothing there but an old palace and scores upon scores of mosaic floor bits. Stuff and nonsense!" he expostulated. Leaning closer to her ear, he whispered, "If you really want to hear about an exciting find, come back next month. I shall be giving my talk about Pompeii."
He said the city's name with reverence. "Pompeii. Aye, there's an archaeological find. I just returned from there not three months ago," he continued.
"Really?" Alaina's ears instantly perked up. Since the site was only discovered in 1763, Ian Boggs had seen the city in its pristine state---give or take some damage by a few treasure hunters.
"Aye, and I'll be showing my beauty, an altar I uncovered at the House of Menander. 'Tis a bas-relief of the she-wolf and the twins."
She instantly understood the legend he referred to. "Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome and the wolf that found and nurtured them! This is fantastic! Yes, of course I'd love to hear your talk."
This would delay her departure but it would only mean a month longer in London.
"By Zeus, so you are interested in old bones, aren't you? Romulus and Remus indeed! I suspected you were roasting me. Come, I must introduce you to some of my colleagues."
"Um, no. I'd prefer not to. I'd like to, um, remain in the background."
"Uncomfortable among these tabbies, eh? Can't say as I blame you. Some of these old goats get my bile up too! Tell you what, the meeting's about to begin. Let's grab us a seat." Ian Boggs offered her his arm.
She gladly accepted his escort; Mr. Boggs was ideal company. Seated in back of the large hall, she had an excellent view of the proceedings. The Society conducted several business items before the main event. She watched Richard sitting up on the dais, waiting to be introduced---he seemed perfectly at ease. His light grey tail coat, lined in black, was a striking contrast for his curly black hair. Even at this distance, the cream-colored trousers showed the contours of his muscular legs.
She couldn't help sighing.
Mr. Boggs caught her staring. "Young Saybrooke's a handsome chap, eh?" He correctly interpreted her gaze. "No dull old dog about him! Ho, he's about to start."
Her stomach twisted in nervous knots. It was torture being there, wondering what Richard was thinking. It also would have been torture waiting at home, wondering the same thing.
He began his talk extemporaneously, relating how he found conditions at the site in Fishbourne and the troubles he experienced with the locals. It was when he referred to his papers that Alaina could notice a slight hesitancy and a frown.
But the speech went well. Several in the audience murmured agreement on some of his theories and, in general, the Dilettani Society members digested his every word. At the conclusion, a resounding applause rewarded Richard, and smiling, he resumed his seat.
Ian Boggs gave his vote of approval. "Demmed good fieldwork on Saybrooke's part. Never thought mosaic tile could be so gripping! Thorough research too."
At the adjournment, he rose. "Must give my compliments to the Earl. Be happy to introduce you to him."
"No, thank you, I must leave. But you can count on me to be here next month for your lecture, Mr. Boggs."
They exchanged farewells and she left the area. She planned to escape as fast as she could but the hall and the entrance room rapidly filled with Dilettanis. Excusing herself as she inched through the crowd, she realized that having a full gown hampered progress. Many tried to chat with her, but she just shook her head and refused to stop.
Finally spotting the exit, she was about to walk into the fresh air when an arm halted her. "Alaina! I'm demmed glad I caught you. You forgot your hat and gloves."
Mr. Boggs, of course. Alaina turned to thank him but the words stuck in her throat. Standing by Mr. Bogg's side was the most recent speaker of the Society: the Earl of Saybrooke.
"This is the young lady I was telling you about, Saybrooke---a nonesuch in the field of Roman archaeology." Mr. Boggs blithely continued, unaware of the tension in the air.
"Richard Cransworth, this is Alaina---sorry m'dear, I didn't catch your last name."
Her stomach threatened to revolt. What in blue blazes was she going to do? What could she do? And why on earth was she so unlucky? Tongue-tied, she stood before Richard.
"Alaina, is it?" He stressed the pronunciation of the middle "a." Then he turned to Mr. Boggs. "Don't trouble yourself, Ian. This lady and I are already acquainted."
Mr. Boggs shook his head with obvious admiration. "Leave it to you to ferret out the most attractive, and I might add, intelligent lady in London. I should have known! No hope for me in that quarter---she turned me down flat! Maybe if I shave my mustache...." he mused.
"Now you're the one teasing me, Mr. Boggs," Alaina laughed. The man had a knack for letting her forget her problems. "Um, thank you for my bonnet and gloves. I'd best be heading home."
If Richard wasn't going to acknowledge the connection, then neither was she.
But he wasn't ready for her to leave for he took a firm hold of her arm above the elbow, pinching the skin. "Stay awhile...Alaina. I am sure you will find the members' impromptu talks enlightening, especially in view of your life-long passion for ancient Rome."
He guided her to an alcove away from the noisy gathering. If his intention was to be alone with her, it failed miserably since not only did Mr. Boggs follow them, but so did half a dozen other scholars. The others engaged Richard in a lively debate while Alaina looked on as an unwanted third party. It was clear none of the men tolerated a woman's views on any of the subjects.
Ian Boggs managed to maneuver back to her side. "Can it be that the lovely lady feels her presence to be de trop?" he asked sympathetically.
Gratefully for his support, she admitted that was the case. "It's hard on one's ego to be so pointedly ignored."
The older man patted her hand gently. "Why is it that I have the feeling any opinion of yours is worth two of these gents? I fear you must have cast a spell on my poor self. Now, now, don't go blushing on me, m'dear. Save those maiden eyes for Saybrooke---that's the way the wind blows, eh?" He tucked his finger under her chin.
Gosh, what a predicament she was in. Biting her lip, she tried to explain. "Richard is ... well, he is my---"
Richard unexpectedly stood before them. "The lady is up to her old tricks, I see." He pulled her to the right, causing Mr. Boggs' hand to fall away from her face. "We must be leaving...Alaina."
Richard propelled her through the crowd, toward the exit. Ian Boggs' bushy eyebrows drew together, most likely in disbelief as he followed them. "Ho, laddy. You've no cause to order the lady around. If you treat her like that, I've a mind to escort her home myself."
Now would be a wonderful time for the floor to open up and swallow her. "Um, Mr. Boggs, it's all right. Richard is my---"
Richard, scooping up her hat and gloves, nudged her through the doorway. "Don't mistake this for a damsel in distress, Ian," he called back over the room's din. "This lady is my wife."
The revelation left Mr. Boggs scratching his mustache.
Alaina waited until they were inside Richard's carriage before letting loose. "I can't believe how rude you were. Your behavior is contemptible. I don't see how I can ever face Mr. Boggs again."
"Developed a tendre for the man, have you?" Richard settled in opposite her. "You surprise me---Boggs is not your usual style, Alaina. He is old enough to be your father."
"Hardly," she replied. Mr. Boggs was probably in his late forties. "And, for your information, I used the name 'Alaina' as an alias. I thought you would be embarrassed if you knew I had attended."
By Richard's body language, he was ready to explode. Jaw clenched tightly, thinned lips, stony glare. Ouch.
"By the way," she added to apply some honey, "that was an awfully good presentation. Everyone was impressed."
"I will not tolerate your flattery or your changing the subject. When were you planning to take up with Boggs? Charles will be disappointed you could not wait for him."
Her mouth dropped. "Charlie? What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.
Richard gazed back at her with his heavy-lidded eyes. "I never took you for a slowtop, sweet Alicia."
Alaina groaned; she couldn't help it. So Richard had seen his brother leave her room that night. "Listen, Richard, the last thing I want to do is cause trouble between you and your brother. I know how it must've looked but nothing happened that night."
He stared out the window, enabling her to study his handsome but grim profile. "I know you don't believe me ... maybe I wouldn't either, if I were in your place. You must ask Charlie, he has to be the one to explain it to you."
She wasn't getting through to him. "Don't you see, everything is fine with Charlie now? Lucy and he have patched up their differences. Before you condemn me, ask Charlie."
He gave no visible sign of having heard her. Sighing loudly, she sat back in her seat. "I give up. Think what you want to."
Right then, another coach swerved into their path causing the carriage to teeter-totter rock. Without warning Alaina was flung across the cushions and landed face down on top of Richard's knees. Her grey skirt wrapped around her legs, exposing her lower limbs. Cripes! Caught in such an inelegant position did in no way improve her foul mood.
He gently raised her up so that she was eye-level to his broad shoulders. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, but then flinched. The movement unexpectedly did hurt.
Brushing back her skirt to cover the white frills of her chemise, he lifted her onto the seat and sat beside her. "Are you certain you are all right?" Concern was heavy in his voice.
"Yes, just a little sore." Her pride hurt more than her body.
"Wait here. I shall return shortly." After he left the carriage, Alaina rested against the cushions. What a mish-mash of a day.
Richard took stock of the resulting traffic tangle. He barked out orders to the coachmen to report the irresponsible driver to the constable, but the other coach had quickly departed from the scene. Evidently, upon learning the owner of the tottering carriage was a lord of the realm, the coward took the easy way out.
After ascertaining that no harm had come to any pedestrians, or the barouche, horses, or servants, Richard reentered the carriage to continue the trip home.
Finding his wife quietly rubbing her neck, he commanded, "Let me."
He bypassed the high collar and the crêpe frill of her gown to seek the softness of her bare skin. Expertly he massaged away the pain.
This time his wife must not have feared his hands on her neck for she leaned against him.
Thus pleasurably employed, the Earl inhaled her sweet fragrance and savored the feel of her velvety skin. He could not help but be glad the accident had occurred for it enabled a truce to be called. A temporary truce, to be sure, but now all he wanted was to continue stroking and caressing her. He also desired to take these actions to their logical conclusion but he would have to be satisfied with this. Too soon the barouche would arrive at Hanover Square. Alicia and he would be at odds again, the accident forgotten.
Alicia ... or Alaina. Alaina ... it was a pretty name. Why did he think it suited her better than Alicia?
Suddenly she stiffened and pulled away. Following her gaze, he saw the townhouse ahead. Before he had a chance to speak, she politely thanked him for his ministrations, and hurried into the house.
Richard stared at his hands, reliving the pleasure that they had so recently felt. An emotion, so foreign, so strange, filtered down into the very core of his being. May the Lord help him, but he loved the woman, more than he ever had in the past. With every blasted breath in his body, he loved her.
At dinnertime, Richard anticipated an interesting tête-à-tête with his wife for her protests of innocence concerning her and Charles had the ring of truth. Indeed, her flawless behavior coupled with Richard's desire to end this breech separating them urged him to believe her every word.
But he also was a confessed cynic. Straightening his cravat in the looking glass outside the Dining Room, he noted the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. Suspicious lines. If only the past could be erased. If only he knew if she was playing him false ... once again. Had she evinced interest in archaeology just to please him? How the devil could he discover what was actually going on?
Nodding to the footman, Richard clenched his fists and walked into the Dining Room.
"Richard!" the Dowager called out from her position at the table. "Gracious! We had no idea you would be joining us for dinner, did we, Isabel? I heard tell you have been absent from the nightly meal for many a day."
Cousin Isabel wobbled her head. "No idea, Ma'am. No idea at all. Just so."
One diner was conspicuously absent---the one he was most curious about. Frowning, he took his place at the head of the table. "Cousin Isabel, Mother, it is good to see you both." He lifted his spoon to partake of dinner's first course. "Mother, I must say your improved health is a relief to me."
"Yes, I am so thankful that I have had Isabel and Alicia to keep me company." The Dowager daintily dabbed at her lips with her napkin.
He waited, but neither woman explained Alicia's absence. He'd have to bring it up. But first, a subterfuge. "So, where is Nigel this night?"
"Visiting some friends. He said he might go to Vauxhall Gardens," his mother replied.
Still nothing about Alicia. Richard drank a measure of wine. "And my wife?
Isabel's voice shook with sympathy. "The dear Countess has a crushing megrim. Terrible, simply terrible! She does not wish to be disturbed, of course."
Blast. Finishing his glass, he poured another. Alicia eluded him again.
During the course of the meal, the Dowager's idle chatter failed to cheer him. He remained preoccupied with thoughts of his wife. Indeed, his black mood must have been obvious to his companions; the only sustenance he took at the table was in liquid form.
When it was time for the Dowager and Isabel to leave, they exchanged mysterious glances as they walked by him. Probably thought he would be drinking himself into a stupor.
To his shame, he did. How could he not with the tumultuous whirl of emotions plaguing him? Each drink fed the flames of jealousy, desire....and lust.
He staggered to his bedchamber in the dead of night and, for the first time in years, tried the connecting door to his wife's room. It was locked.
Blast. In a raucous voice, he ordered, "Open the door, Alicia. Open it now!"
Total silence was his reply.
May the Lord help him, his reason vanished as if it had never been. Pounding on the door, he yelled out every lurid name in the book---all directed at her.
Still nothing.
Some time in the wee hours of the morning, his memory ended. At last he succumbed to the arms of sleep.
"The devil!" Richard sat up from the floor and grimaced in pain. His head throbbed with the force of Wellington's army stomping their path through Europe.
Leaning his elbow on his knees, he groaned once again---not only because of his headache, which rivaled the roar created on Waterloo's battlefield, but because of his inexcusable conduct toward his wife.
He gingerly got to his feet and stumbled over to the bellpull. After requesting a pail of icy water, he sank down on a chair. Had he truly behaved like Attila the Hun last night?
Yes. The sad truth of the matter was that he had.
When the water arrived, he dunked his head into it. The shock of a thousand stinging needles cleared his befuddled mind.
If he was to have any peace in this life, he had to confront his wife as soon as possible. He could think of a myriad of questions and only she could supply the answers.
And if she refused to see him again, a locked door would be no protection against his determination.
He smiled grimly. "The day of reckoning is at hand, Alicia."
Finishing certain business matters later in the morning, Richard sent word for his wife to join him in the Blue Salon. He deliberately chose that room over his Library for he would brook no competition from Augustus Caesar.
Alicia did not keep him waiting long. Good. He was in no mood to enact a scene so she would dance attendance on him. Entering the room, she glided as Aphrodite might, poised and confident in her beauty. She wore a simple gown with ivory ruffles high on the neck. Matching ruffles encased her slim wrists. As always, she looked exceedingly lovely and feminine. Indeed, she appeared as if she passed a restful night. Would that she had passed it with him.
For some reason, a knot developed in his throat. Clearing it, he indicated a seat next to him on the settee. "Have a seat, Alicia."
To be contrary, she chose a straight-backed chair.
Words seemed to escape him. Realizing he was in the wrong made matters even more difficult. "Alicia, I must beg your pardon for my behavior last night. I was a trifle disguised."
"Disguised? What does that mean?" She fussed with the folds of cloth at her wrists, refusing to look at him.
Devil take it, he longed to shake the indifference from her. She was not making it easy for him to apologize. "Foxed, one sheet into the wind, bosky, feeling the tipsy ... does that explain it?"
"Oh, drunk," she said with understanding.
Unable to contain himself, he jumped up and forcibly pulled the ivory frills from her fingers. "Keep your hands still, damn it and pay attention."
She lifted her gaze to meet the cold of his eyes. "You wanted to apologize, I believe," she said calmly.
"I just did," he answered through gritted teeth. "Now with that matter behind us, I demand to know what you were doing at the Dilettani meeting yesterday."
He turned his back to her and walked over to the fireplace. Picking up a useless bric-a-brac from the mantle, he continued, "The rules you were to obey forbid attending any such event."
"Any social event ... there's a difference."
Perhaps she was right, however he could not admit that to her. Indeed, he could not admit any of his true feelings to her. He set the ornament back on the mantle, then faced her. "You twist my words."
In one fluid motion, Alicia stood. "This has gone far enough. I've followed your rules. You stressed events of a social nature and, guess what? I've complied."
She folded her arms against her enticing breasts. "As to why I was there yesterday, it's no secret---I do have an interest in archaeology. I was curious to hear your speech."
Now she whipped her hands through the air, punctuating her sentences. "That's it---no hidden rendezvous, no ulterior motives. Quite frankly, Richard, I'm fed up with the way you've been treating me. I can't go anywhere, I can't do anything I want to do. For heaven's sake, I can't even talk with people without a time limit!" Silencing her hands, she also dropped her voice. "I've ... I've had enough."
"What do you mean?" He did not like the sound of those words.
Her agitation was visible by the rise and fall of her bosom. She avoided his gaze. "I've decided to return to Saybrooke Hall. I would like to stay here one more month to hear Mr. Boggs' presentation. However, if you have a problem with that, I'll leave immediately."
His wife's counterattack caught Richard off guard. She was right, so right in everything she said. Blast, he truly was the biggest ass in the world. He sat down at the very edge of a chair. Lord help him but he did not want her to leave. After all his invectives against Alicia and her behavior, he did not want her to go.
Running his hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly. "This is a surprise, Alicia. What about Mother? She still is not herself yet."
"Oh, please, I can't believe she will fall into a decline, missing my daily ten minute visits." The irony in Alicia's voice was unmistakable.
He glanced around the room for inspiration. "And what about Terrence? He adores his mother."
Alicia skewed her lips. "Richard, get real. What happened to my not being an 'appropriate example' for him? Next, you'll be telling me to stay for the good of our marriage. Now, that's a laugh." She choked on her last word.
She fiddled with the material around her wrists again---most likely in defiance.
Suddenly Richard understood. "I see. You are anxious to resume your wanton ways at the Hall. You will be freer there from my censure."
His wife laughed but it had a bitter quality to it. "God, yes! The pickings are too slim in London. How astute of you to realize. I find country men so much more ... virile."
Rage built up inside him, bubbling over like a witch's cauldron.
Alicia quickly made her way to the door. "I never thought you could be so blind ... or so stupid."
But he was faster and barred her exit. "More virile?" he thundered. "How do you find this?"
He pressed her against the door, imprisoning her in a fevered embrace. With his lips burning hot, he cruelly took possession of her mouth. He was mad with jealousy, mad with desire, mad with years of submerged longing for her.
She did not resist him. Indeed, he would not have allowed it. Tasting her infinitely sweet lips, he darted his tongue deep into her mouth. This was better, so much better than he remembered. In fact, kissing her was somehow different....
Without conscious thought, his hands explored her sensuous curves, unfairly hidden by the cloth of her dress. The smooth skin on her back, her slim hips, her rounded bottom---cherished treasures to a man who was finally coming home.
Instead of pushing him away, her arms wound around him, gripping him tightly. Her fingers became entangled in his hair. She moaned with undisguised pleasure.
By the good Lord above, she was aroused---passionately aroused!
But still, the feeling that something was different persisted. Breaking contact with those delicious lips, Richard stared into her eyes. Her eyes were moist with the promise of fulfillment. But it was not Alicia gazing back at him; it was a stranger. A complete and utter stranger.
This woman was not his wife!
A full second, or perhaps a moment in eternity passed. Although the woman's lips were bruised and swollen, she smiled seductively at him. "Don't stop now," she almost purred.
He closed his eyes, reeling from her ardent desire and from the realization she was not Alicia. By all that was holy, he needed time to think. Self-preservation overtook his other emotions. To lose his heart to a stranger! Who the devil was she?
Stepping away from her was like closing the door to paradise. Every inch of his body physically hurt. He gazed one last time into her liquid eyes, then bowed. "Madam."
To her surprise, as well as his own, he retreated from the Blue Salon as if the hounds from hell were nipping at his heels.
Of course, staying another month in London now was blatantly impossible. Alaina flounced around the bedroom only half dressed. After what had happened in the Blue Salon yesterday, how could she remain in Richard's house one minute more? How could she hold a polite conversation with him and not reveal the desire in her eyes?
Sinking down on the bed, she wallowed in self-despair. Why had he pushed her away like that? Did her kisses disgust him? Had she shown too much passion? Oh, she died a thousand deaths when he actually walked away from her.
She touched her lips, still vibrating from the feel of his. In no way, shape, or form were his kisses disgusting. They had seared into her inner being, rocking her body and exploding her every nerve ending. Her limbs had threatened to collapse while every part of her mind cried out for more. That was how she had imagined kissing Richard Cransworth would be. That was what she longed for---an overwhelming desire, a gigantic craving that so often kept her up at night.
But, well, that was not to be. He'd made his revulsion of her perfectly clear. And besides, she made up her mind. Before lunch, she would inform Lady Wilhelmina of her decision. And Richard. But she had to practice what she would say to him because right now she was a tongue-tied mess. How could she not be with those memories of burning kisses haunting her very soul?
Too bad she'd have to miss Ian Boggs' lecture, but she really had no choice. She'd pack today and be gone tomorrow.
Dana sailed into the room oblivious to Alaina's unhappiness. "Such goings on, this mornin', Milady!" She reached up to button the tiny fastenings on Alaina's gown.
"What's happened, Dana?" Hard to fake interest when one's heart was breaking.
"'Tis about young Mr. Ellis." Dana smoothed the wrinkles from Alaina's dress. "Such a pity. We all do hope he will be able to find employment on such short notice."
Alaina swirled around to face her maid. "Lord Saybrooke's secretary has been let go?"
"Yes, Milady. And Mr. Ellis said himself he did not know why. He has been servin' the master come nigh on six years."
Oh, good God. Alaina knew why. And she couldn't let an innocent man pay the price for her folly. She'd have to 'fess up to her crime: the presentation paper caper.
Two steadying breaths later, she said, "Pull my hair straight back into a bun, Dana. I don't want any curls around my face today."
"But Milady, that will look too severe."
Alaina grimly agreed. "That's the idea."
But when she went downstairs, Higgins the butler, informed her that His Lordship had gone out for a ride after breakfast.
Drat. She'd psyched herself up for the confrontation but now had to wait.
"Okay, Higgins, would you please then steer the Earl into the Library when he returns? I have important business to discuss."
Being impassive must have been part of a butler's job description. And Higgins had that part of his job down pat. Bowing, he said, "I will convey Her Ladyship's wishes to His Lordship as soon as he returns."
"Thank you, Higgins." Entering the Library, Alaina prepared herself to wait.
On hearing the news that Her Ladyship required a word with him, Richard lifted an eyebrow. Here was a ticklish situation. The woman was pretending to be his wife, which meant he, of course, was her husband. And husbands had certain rights.
He smiled. One day, in the not too distant future, he would insist on exercising those rights.
Opening the Library door, he found her huddled in a comfortable arm chair, her back facing the bust of Augustus Caesar. "Forgive my riding clothes. I decided to forgo changing since I understand you wish to speak to me on a matter of some importance?"
Sitting in her direct line of vision, he crossed his legs and took in her plain appearance. Hair pulled back, prim and proper gown, she also had a grim line to her luscious, soft mouth.
She did not return his look. Evidently she did not intend to allude to last night's misadventure. Neither would he. It was deuced awkward.
Tightly clasping her hands together, she began, "There's something I need to clear up with you. I was informed Mr. Ellis has been let go. May I ask why?"
Richard was taken by surprise, not expecting the "important matter" to be about his secretary. Vividly recalling yesterday's events, he studied the woman carefully and marveled at how her cool exterior hid a passionate spitfire. A yearning for her stirred deep within him.
Since the revelation came to him yesterday that this woman was a stranger, he spent most of the night taking stock of the similarities and differences. The similarities were all in appearance. But now, looking at her with a critical eye, he could note discrepancies as well. He was uncertain what this meant. More study and observation were required. He licked his lips. Much more study.
"Why the interest in Ellis? I was not aware that you knew his name. Even after his six years with me." Richard leaned forward, placing his elbow on his knee and stroked his chin. "If I may make a suggestion, Alicia. You should not wear your hair pulled back so tightly. It makes you look older than your seven and twenty years."
Blushing, she still evaded his gaze. "I'll try to remember that. Will you answer my question?"
That she could blush at his words was very gratifying indeed. However why was the Ellis matter so important to her? "The impudent coxcomb revised my presentation paper without my knowledge. And he had the audacity to include information that I did not write."
"Wasn't your lecture very well received?"
"Yes, but---"
"Has he ever acted impudently or audaciously in the past?"
"No, but---"
"Then how do you know that Mr. Ellis was the one who altered your work? And what difference does it make since the reading was a success?"
Truly, this woman was outside of enough. Rather miffed, Richard left his chair and gestured with his hands. "The point at issue here is that he does not have the right to change my work---not to this degree, at any rate. He did deny knowledge of the affair but who else could have done it?"
He leaned against the massive desk. Why the devil were they arguing over such a trivial subject?
"Mr. Ellis isn't responsible." She looked down at her clenched hands. Did she think they would give her inspiration? "I am." Her voice was barely audible.
Richard inadvertently let out a startled, "What?"
"I am responsible," she repeated. She explained about seeing his note and getting the idea to edit the manuscript. "It gave me something to do. It's been boring here, with lots of time on my hands. And, well, your research was very interesting but it needed polish."
Richard took a deep breath, preparing to go into a tirade. Alicia, with no thoughts deeper than which man to flirt with next? Alicia revising his fieldwork? The idea was laughable. Alicia never could have turned out that excellent piece of work. Alicia never could have....
A sudden thought occurred to him. Alicia never could have. But what about the stranger? Could a woman have edited his research so professionally? Surely not, unless this stranger was an exceptional bluestocking.
There was a more probable possibility. She could be covering up for someone else.
Holding his pride in check, he responded with calm. "So, you read my work and decided to improve upon it. Why is it you neglected to inform me?"
She looked up at him, obviously thinking that he believed her. Her eyes were clear and shiny, reminding him so much of yesterday's foray into forbidden pleasures.
"Well, I guess it's because you're so fierce about things, and I knew you would've said no, anyway. I was wrong. I'm sorry. I suppose boredom overruled my better judgment." She sighed. "So you see, I can't permit Mr. Ellis to take the blame for what I did. I'm asking you to reinstate him at his job."
She contemplated her fingers again. "You can think of another punishment for me or you can ... let me go."
Her words brought a chill to his frame. "Let you go?" he repeated for clarification. Of a certainty, he did not like the way her mind was working.
Who was this exceptional woman? And why did she look almost exactly like Alicia? Was it possible that a by-blow of Alicia's father, the Duke of Blakesdale, had changed places with his wife? Knowing the Duke's devotion to his duchess, it seemed unlikely.
Improbable, but a solution to consider. Let me go. Those words had an awful ring. He did not want to let the woman go. By all that was holy, he would get to the bottom of this mystery. And, he had to admit, he was eagerly looking forward to fulfilling his duties as husband.
She must have seen his air of distraction. "You know, let me go as in terminate me from my job. You're obviously not pleased with my performance as your wife. We should go our separate ways. Maybe we should divorce."
Richard drummed his fingers to an internal beat. Was divorce something the impostor wanted? Was she acting on Alicia's behalf?
"Do you want this, Madam?"
"Want?" A catch in her throat told him all he needed to know. "Let's be realistic, Richard. Divorce might be the best course for both of us. God knows we've been at each other's throats since ... since forever."
Her distress galvanized him into action. If there was one item he learned about this stranger, it was that she would not hesitate to follow through with her words. He could not let her escape until he solved this mystery. Perhaps he would decide to never let her escape.
He strolled over to her chair and gently lifted her up to her feet. "No divorce, no separation." As he spoke, he slowly removed her hairpins. "I think it best for you to remain in London, with the family. From now on, you will be allowed to do whatever you want. Within the limits of discretion, of course."
The last hairpin removed, he freed her bouncing hair from the restricting bun. He took great pleasure in arranging her hair on her shoulders. "There, that is better. That is more like the Alicia I am familiar with."
Wide-eyed, she stared at him---warily, of course.
Withholding a smile, he murmured, "I had no idea my wife was such an intellectual."
Again, she stood mutely.
He enjoyed her confusion immensely. "As that is settled, I must change for a luncheon engagement. Your servant, Madam."
Richard could not resist patting the top of her head before leaving. He had certainly given her something to think about!
Whatever caused Richard's abrupt turnaround, Alaina didn't know, but she decided to take advantage of it. Nigel had pressed her again to attend a concert at Vauxhall Gardens and this time she accepted. But on their way to the famous pleasure-gardens, she felt a twinge of alarm. Maybe it was because he kept inching closer to her in the enclosed carriage. Or maybe it was his puppy dog expression.
In any event, she asked him who would be joining them.
"It's just us," he replied. "The others cried off. You don't mind, do you, Alicia?"
"Oh, of course not," she lied. All she needed was another episode similar to the one with Charlie. Especially now that Richard ... well, Richard was proving to be quite charming.
She sighed. While Vauxhall Gardens were a popular entertainment spot, the Gardens also had the reputation of providing spacious grounds and numerous paths where lovers could conduct their trysts. A modern-day Lovers' Lane.
"I'll show you the sights, Alicia. The orchestras are smashing. Later, we can take a stroll down by the Thames. Tonight we'll see fireworks too. You will have a good time," Nigel said confidently. "You have been kept a recluse for too long." He ran his fingers through his thick hair, a gesture so like Richard.
"And this Saturday, there will be a balloon putting up at either Vauxhall or Green Park," he continued. "We can attend together. Have you ever seen an ascent?"
"No, that sounds like fun. I bet Terry would also enjoy it." It was obvious Nigel hadn't planned to make the outing a threesome.
But he gamely agreed. "If that makes you happy, Alicia, it makes me happy."
Not long after they crossed over Westminster Bridge, they then arrived at Vauxhall Gardens. Nigel paid the admission, and soon they walked alongside the tall trees and bright globe lights. And what a sight it was. All classes of society mixed equally at this place of amusement. Along with members of the high society were shop boys and scullery maids. Even prostitutes soliciting business!
"You must stay close to me," Nigel cautioned her. "Pickpockets are always on the lookout for victims."
They sat at a vacant booth and listened to the strands of music wafting soothingly through the air. A warm April night, the star-filled sky held none of the coolness she would have expected for this time of year in London.
Alaina sipped on her Vauxhall punch, taking in the pleasure-seekers around them. A romantic atmosphere, to be sure. So why was she here with Nigel?
Her companion fumbled at the knot in his cravat, trying to straighten it. He had told her earlier that its intricate design was entitled "Trone d'Amour." Nigel had spent days learning to master the many folds. When he said he wore it tonight in honor of her, she had flushed.
Clearing his throat, Nigel began, "I am glad you decided to accompany me, Alicia. You have been kept a virtual prisoner at the house. I don't know what is wrong with Richard. He does not appreciate you the way he should." Nigel's gaze appreciatively swept her figure.
He drew closer. "I am honored to escort such a graceful lady. And proud too, to be seen in your company. My brother must be mad!"
Alaina had to set him straight. "Things have changed a bit. Richard and I have..." Have what? "...have come to an understanding."
But still, there could be no doubt that Nigel was inching closer to her.
Really, these Cransworth brothers are too much. Imagine hitting on your own sister-in-law. How much longer could she wait until she asked to return home?
Squirming in her chair, she spotted two boisterous couples making their way to the booth. The men had their arms around their companions and thought nothing of touching the women intimately on the bosom.
Whoa. Here's where I get off. About to suggest they leave, she was interrupted by one of the men.
"Pretty little wench you have there, Cransworth. How 'bout if we swap and you take Mabel here?"
Nigel glowered at the man. "Slader, you're foxed. Don't make me have to call you out."
"George Slader?" Alaina asked.
Nigel nodded.
Oh, great. Her first night out and there was talk of a duel. No, thank you. Lucy had told her about George Slader's reputation. He was a living legend with a gun.
Standing, she said loudly, "We were just leaving." Under her breath, she whispered, "Let's go, Nigel. We don't want any trouble."
He also stood, uncertain of what to do next.
"You are a just a cub, Cransworth," the older man barked. He then lurched forward and pulled on Alaina's arm. "Come with me, sweetie. I'll show you what a man can do!"
Yanking her arm away, she spoke in a deliberate tone. "Leave me alone. I'm not interested." She made a motion to Nigel to keep his distance.
George Slader laughed harshly. "Begad, a doxy with spirit! You will be mine tonight, darlin'" He grabbed her about the waist and leaned over to place his intoxicated lips on hers.
Heart pounding, she waited until he was in optimum range, then flung her hand out as far as it would go, giving him a karate chop against the neck. When he reeled back in surprise and pain, she gave a finishing kick to his knees. The man would now think twice about bothering women.
Hurrying over to Nigel, she pulled him with her, setting a pace as fast as their legs would carry them. George Slader's companions were left to pick up his slumped figure.
In the safety of the carriage, Nigel exclaimed on how she trounced the beggar. "That was a move as smooth as any at Gentleman Jackson's on Bond Street. Where the devil did you learn it?"
Alaina sank back in the cushions. "Just something I picked up from television," she uttered wearily. From under half closed lids, she saw his puzzled expression.
Surprisingly enough, Richard didn't comment on Alaina's trip to Vauxhall Gardens. In fact, she hardly saw him at all, which made her wonder all the more about his unusual behavior in the Library. So when Charlie and Lucy returned from Paris, Alaina welcomed their return with open arms.
The couple's arrival threw the household in an uproar. Running down the marble staircase, Alaina eagerly looked for her friend, but instead saw box upon box containing the latest in French designer fashions filling the Cransworth entranceway.
"Higgins!" she called out over the din of footmen and messenger boys. "Where's Mrs. Cransworth?"
Higgins made his stately bow. Quite a feat, actually, with the circus around him. "Milady, Mrs. Cransworth was fatigued from her travel and has retired to her room for a rest."
"Thank you, Higgins." Alaina turned to go. Darn. Now she'd have to wait until dinner time to see Lucy.
"Indeed, Milady," the butler called up to her, "if you are wondering, the Honorable Mr. Cransworth is conferring with His Lordship in the Library."
Alaina nodded, then returned to her bedroom. She tapped her chin, thinking furiously. Now just what were those brothers conferring about?
As Alaina and all the Cransworths entered the Dining Room, everyone seemed in good spirits for the big reunion. The Dowager looked fit and healthy, and she positively beamed at her middle son and his wife. Charlie and Lucy were happy to receive the attention. But every so often they'd gaze at each other and smile as if they shared a special secret.
The family members found their places at the table, and as Charlie and Lucy regaled them with tales of their Parisian adventures, everyone sat, spellbound.
"To top it off," Charlie continued, looking as if he could no longer contain himself, "Lucinda haunted every mantua-maker she could find. She now has a wardrobe that will be the envy of every woman in Polite Society!"
Lucy actually giggled.
"But the devil of it is," he added, "she won't be able to wear those gowns for long."
"Charles!" Lucy warned, turning red with embarrassment.
That could only mean one thing. Alaina glanced at Richard and saw he was smiling. He caught her gaze and the smile intensified.
Wow. She gulped down hard. Looking away in confusion, she then turned to Lucy. "This is so great. Congratulations! When's the baby due?"
Lucy, Nigel, and Isabel fought for who could claim the deepest blush. Oh, big faux pas. How could Alaina have forgotten that talking about such a delicate matter was simply not done.
"Charles." Lucy scolded her husband again.
"It's okay to talk about the baby, Lucy. Honest. Tell us!" Alaina tried to coax the mother-to-be.
"I am so thrilled," trilled Lady Wilhelmina. She fanned herself with a napkin. "This is wonderful news, Lucinda. I cannot wait to become a grandmother again."
"But the men," protested Lucy.
"Richard knows all about this kind of thing, Lucy. And Nigel, why he's a man of the world now," Charlie assured his wife.
Nigel gulped nervously and agreed. For a second, Alaina was reminded of Roger Farnsley's bobbing Adam's apple.
The restraints for this topic of conversation set aside, Lucy launched into the details. "Our 'interesting event' should arrive by the end of the year. We are so excited!" She looked to Charlie for confirmation and he smiled indulgently at his wife.
Then she suddenly grew alarmed. "Oh no! I forgot, I am not supposed to eat." She stared at her recently emptied plate.
"What do you mean, you're not supposed to eat?" Alaina questioned.
"The doctor I saw in Paris said I am only to eat bread and water."
"Why, that's ridiculous! Nothing could be worse for you. Or the baby. You have to find a good doctor here in town. Everyone knows proper nutrition is important."
Richard watched his would-be wife with interest. It was evident she felt strongly on the subject. He hoped to learn more about the stranger at his table. But in the meantime, Lucinda's eyes filled up with tears.
Charles could not remain quiet. "But the French doctor came very highly recommended. He is one of the best. He even said he would journey to London at the time of Lucy's confinement."
The enchanting stranger knitted her brow, as if a small fact were teasing her mind. "Wait a minute, there's something I have to remember." For a moment she seemed lost in thought. "I have it! Don't you recall Princess Charlotte's physician, Sir Richard Croft, prescribed the same diet? And also prescribed bleeding. Look what happened there."
Since both the baby and the princess mother died after a torturously long labor, Lucinda started to sniff audibly.
The stranger winced. She must have realized she had frightened Lucinda. "Don't worry, Lucy. We'll find you the right doctor. And you'll be able to eat your meals along with us."
These words seemed to calm her. "I must admit, you do make sense, Alicia. Living on bread the entire time! Why I'd be down to nothing!" Lucinda smiled. "And besides, you had a healthy boy. Who was your physician?"
Biting her lip, the stranger looked down the table at Richard. How would she answer that question? Memory loss again? "Such a long time ago. I forget. Do you remember his name, Richard?"
He hid his chuckle. How could she remember the name of the royal physician, yet forget the name of their own country doctor? Especially after the difficult delivery? This was another fact confirming her as an impostor.
"I believe it was Doctor Yates," he replied.
"Would you recommend him then? Do you feel he is competent, Alicia?" Lucinda asked.
Richard choked on Lucinda's question. Charles and his mother also coughed into their napkins. The three of them vividly remembered the agony of Alicia's screams and her subsequent charge that Doctor Yates caused her unnecessary scarring. Who could have forgotten?
Richard waited expectantly for the woman's response. She paused, unaware his attention.
"Doctor Yates," she said quietly, obviously stalling for time. "Doctor Yates, yes! He saw me when I was, um, ill last December." For some reason, she blushed. "I mean, no, Lucy. I think you should see a London physician. Doctor Yates isn't a specialist."
The woman's reply was noncommittal. She showed that she knew the doctor, but did not commit any further blunders. The only solid piece of evidence he had against the woman was that she had forgotten the doctor's name.
Interesting, very interesting.
Charles agreed that they should seek another man in the medical profession. The tension in the air now lifted, and the ladies adjourned to the Drawing Room,
Counting the days until Ian Bogg's talk on the altar of Romulus and Remus, Alaina kept a low profile. Finally, the morning of the May Dilettani Society meeting arrived, but Alaina quickly put it out of her mind when Dana came rushing into the bedroom.
"Oh, Milady, somethin' terrible has happened." The maid stood in front of Alaina, wringing her hands and nervously bobbing to and fro.
"Tell me about it, Dana."
"'Tis Master Terrence, Your Ladyship. Miss Kerns, his governess, says he feels as hot as blazes. He's a-layin' there ... unconsh ... well, he won't wake up."
Alaina threw on her dressing gown and ran over to Terry's room. As she entered, Miss Kerns hurriedly stood and curtsied.
Dear Terry lay motionless on the bed. A touch to his forehead confirmed the presence of a raging fever.
Alaina took a steadying breath. "Okay, Dana. Tell Higgins to send for a doctor." She then wet a cloth and wiped Terry's heated face. It was the only treatment she could think of to ease the child's discomfort.
Soon Isabel, Lady Wilhelmina, and Lucy came in to see what they could do. What little reassurance Alaina could give, she dispensed freely, but then escorted the Dowager and Lucy out of the sickroom.
Alaina was firm about it. After all, what if Terry's condition was contagious? Lucy needed to be especially careful. And after Lady Wilhelmina's close call, she also needed to exercise care.
"Isabel and I will wait for the doctor. We'll take turns bathing Terry to keep the fever down. Try not to worry."
Not worrying was, of course, impossible. But seeing wisdom in Alaina's words, the Dowager and her daughter-in-law left to hold their vigil downstairs in the Blue Salon.
Alaina tried to inform Richard of his son's illness but the usually impassive Higgins apologetically related to her that His Lordship was still gone from the previous night.
The previous night? Alaina was taken aback for a second. Where had he spent the night? And with whom?
Get a grip, kiddo. That wasn't important now. She shrugged aside her feelings and sent messengers to every place she could think of to try to run the man down. Richard was certain to be present at the Dilettani Society meeting, but that was later in the day.
A high fever could be extremely serious, even fatal. Especially since antibiotics and such hadn't been invented yet.
Alaina put another cool cloth on Terry's forehead and tried to be brave. Richard needed to know his son was in critical condition. He needed to pray.
She blinked back a tear. Richard. Rick, where are you?
"You are sure my coming to dinner won't throw your household in disorder, Saybrooke? 'Tis nigh on eight now. Devilish little time to change the place settings. Bound to set everyone in an uproar." Ian Boggs pulled on his mustache, and smoothed down his hair.
Inside the phaeton, Richard reassured his guest. "Cook is a gem and Higgins can handle any disaster I throw his way."
In a low chuckle, he added, "Stole him away from Lord Kincaid, you know. I took great pleasure in doing so." Richard grimaced, remembering how the Viscount had followed Alicia around like a dog after a bone, before her exile to Saybrooke Hall.
"Not pleased at being likened to a disaster, old chap. But I'll let it pass. Demmed odd, though, about your wife not appearing for my talk. I say, I counted on seeing Alaina's lovely face in the audience."
"Doubtless something else came up. Do not fret over it." Richard also thought it peculiar that she did not attend. It seemed she had talked about nothing else since the last Dilettani gathering. Perhaps her interest was an act, after all.
He did not correct his friend concerning his wife's true name. He himself was beginning to think of the stranger as "Alaina."
The carriage pulled up in front of the Hanover Square townhouse. They both alighted and were admitted in. Before they could shrug off their outer raiment, an angry female accosted them in the entranceway.
"You took your own sweet time returning. Here, we are, sick with worry about him and you do not even bother to put in an appearance. We sent messengers all over London to track you down. I thought you cared about him! I used to be in awe of you but no longer. Earl, indeed! Hah!" The woman flounced away and headed back up the stairs.
Richard exchanged a puzzled look with his guest. "What the devil is going on here?"
Before Higgins could reply, Mr. Boggs asked, "Who was that avenging Fury? What fire! What spark!"
"Cousin Isabel. Meek, mild-mannered Cousin Isabel," Richard replied distractedly.
"Begging Your Lordship's pardon." The butler cleared his throat. "'Tis the young master. He is gravely ill."
Without another word, Richard flew up the marble staircase, taking two steps at a time. He entered Terrence's bedchamber to find an exhausted-looking Alaina bending over his son. A hands-on-the-hips Isabel watched him approach the bed.
"How is he?" Richard gingerly touched his son's hair, afraid any movement would upset the boy.
"Mama," Terrence murmured in the throes of sleep.
"Shhh, it's okay, Terry," the stranger, Alaina, soothed. She then turned to Richard. "He's much cooler. We think the fever's broken."
"No thanks to you," Isabel accused Richard.
"Did you send for a doctor. What did he say?" Terrence's pale color struck terror at Richard's heart.
Alaina dipped a cloth in water and dabbed at his son's forehead. "He was no help. He wanted to put ... leeches ... on the boy. To bleed him." She shivered with obvious disgust.
"We had to physically remove the doctor from the room," Isabel snorted. "Alicia has had her hands full." Her eyes sent dagger-darts through Richard.
Alaina gave her defender a weak smile. "That's enough, Isabel. The worst is over with, I think. Why don't you grab a bite to eat? Richard and I need to talk."
The "timid" Isabel said a loud "Harumph!" and stalked out of the room. Alaina motioned Richard to a corner of the room where she sat to rest her feet. "He's asleep now. He awakened a short while ago and recognized Isabel and me. That's a good sign. He asked for you, too."
He took her cold hands in his. They were shriveled from being in water all day. "My dear, I did not get the message. I would have returned the moment I had the news. To think he could have...."
Closing his eyes, he thanked the Lord for His mercy. Thank the Lord she knew enough to bath Terrence in cold water to reduce his fever. And thank the Lord his son had been in danger less than a day. But what a day it must have been. The burden of worry sat as heavily on her slim shoulders as a two-ton iron collar.
She stood up, slightly swaying. "I think I'll get something to eat too."
Alaina made it halfway to the door. As she passed out, he caught her. He carried her to her bedchamber and laid her gently on the bed, smoothing the hair out of her eyes. Signaling for her maid, he gave his new wife and his new love a tender kiss before he left to watch over his son.
Taking tea in the Blue Salon, Lady Wilhelmina insisted Alaina attend the Marchioness of Ravenwood's upcoming ball. "Poor Denise somehow feels responsible for my becoming ill at her rout this past March." The Dowager fluttered her handkerchief in the air. "Nonsense, of course. But all the same she and the Marquess are holding a grand ball for me---to celebrate my return to health. So, you see, you must be there!"
While she took a sip from her fragile tea cup, Lady Wilhelmina fingered a pearl pendant and surveyed the newest addition to the Blue Salon: a carved, mahogany teapoy, resting on cabriole splay legs.
"Such a handsome piece, don't you think, my dear?" she queried.
Alaina also eyed the teapoy: a piece of furniture that contained equipment for making tea. She retrieved the enamel teapot and refilled the Dowager's cup. Since the style of this small table was very ornate, and a trifle on the Gothic side, she kept her thoughts to herself. Lady Rococo and Grandma Gothic she certainly wasn't!
"But, back to the point," the older woman continued. "I can think of numerous reasons why you must break your fast from bon ton encounters. Lucinda, dear girl, is a shade hesitant to appear in public. In her condition. Not that anyone can tell, goodness knows! Having you attend with us would give her the extra self-confidence she requires. Since you took a hand in her improvement last December, I cannot tell you how that child has blossomed."
The Dowager patted Alaina's arm. "And you must know you have worn yourself to the bone in nursing Terrence back to health. You need some activity to bring the color back to your cheeks. Say you will come, Alicia. You would make an old woman very happy."
Ouch. Just the thought of meeting and mingling with polite society sent shivers of dread zigzagging throughout her body.
"Old?" Alaina countered. "Why, that's ridiculous! You're not old, Ma'am. My own mother would have been seventy if she was still---"
She came to an abrupt halt. Of course, she was talking about her own mother, not Alicia's mother. What would the Dowager think?
"Is that so?" the Dowager commented. "I had no idea your dear mother was of such an advanced age when she passed away ten years ago. Imagine, the Duke not only brought home a French bride from his Grand Tour, but a woman older than him. I cannot wait to tell Denise!"
Saying silent apologies to the deceased duchess, Alaina wiped moisture from her forehead. That had been a close call.
Lady Wilhelmina harped back to her previous theme, saying in a firm voice, "I must insist on this, Alicia. I won't take no for an answer. You will attend Lady Ravenwood's ball on the twenty-third of May."
She straightened her white daytime cap. "La! I had better dress for dinner. I almost feel like I am in dishabille! You will excuse me, won't you?" Standing, she shook the wrinkles from her gown. "Also, Isabel has invited her young man to dine with us. Not that Mr. Boggs is young, but he is amusing, is he not?"
As the liveried footman opened the door for the Dowager she clapped her hands together. "I shall inform Denise you have changed your mind. She will be ecstatic to have managed such a coup. The Countess of Saybrooke's reemergence into society at the Ravenwood ball! What a trump for Denise!"
The solitary sound of Alaina's enamel cup hitting its matching saucer echoed the way she felt. "Drat. I suppose I have to make an appearance at one of these events sooner or later. Oh well, might as well start preparing for it."
She shrugged. "Look on the bright side. Since Richard's leaving today to go up north, close to the Scottish border, it's a sure bet he won't return to London in time to attend. At least this way, if I make a fool of myself, he won't be around to see it.
That was supposed to be a bright side? She missed him already.
"And he won't be around to tempt me into betraying my feelings. I've no control over myself anymore. Damn!"
Dragging her feet, Alaina returned to her bedroom to change for dinner.
Determined to get to the bottom of this mystery concerning his wife, Richard requested a private conference with the one person who knew Alicia and Alaina the best: their personal maid, Dana. He had to proceed very carefully, for it would not do to alert the woman that her mistress was an impostor.
Behind the closed doors of the Library, he tried to put the maid at ease. "Dana, please sit and get comfortable. I have a few questions concerning my wife, and thought you might be able to help me."
The young maid visibly shook. She sat rigidly on the edge of the shield-back chair and held her arms stiffly at her sides. Gulping several times, she seemed unable to execute an answer.
He gave her a reassuring smile. "You have probably noticed that Lady Alicia seems to be suffering from melancholy. I am trying to discover the cause of it before she falls into a dangerous decline."
Dana nodded, but remained silent.
Richard leaned back in his red leather chair so as not to frighten her. "Come now, Dana. We both have Lady Alicia's welfare at heart. Please do not feel you are disloyal by discussing her with me. I must find out what is troubling her. Anything you say might help me to determine the cause."
The maid nervously played with a pinch of black fabric from her uniform. "Yes, Milady does seem distressed as of late. But I don't know how I can help you, Milord," she whispered.
"You have been with your mistress some ... seven years, am I right?" At her slow nod, he continued, "Then who else better to notice Her Ladyship's moods and whims? Has she mentioned anything in particular? Or behaved differently recently?"
Lord, that was an understatement if ever there was one. "Take your time, Dana," he said.
Frowning slightly, the maid thought for a moment, and then began cautiously, "Well, Your Lordship, I can tell you Milady has been very unhappy. I have come upon her at times, and she has been a-cryin'." She stopped, seemingly fearful of betraying a confidence.
"Go on, Dana. You are doing fine," he encouraged.
"Milady has been so wonderful these past few months---beggin' Your Lordship's pardon---that it has been a pleasure to serve her. So naturally, we all have remarked on Milady's feelin' low."
Dana's face shone with pride. "Milady no longer has her explosive temper. And she is so considerate of us servants now. She is always doin' good deeds. When she told me about sewin' stuffed animals as presents for the children, I was fair bowled over!"
The maid obviously was warming up to her subject. "Then, when I found out every one of Milady's gowns had mysteriously decreased in length, I expected an explosion the size of a ... a volcano! But not one word of reproach did she speak to me. She even made a joke of it, she did. Said they must have shrunk in the wash. Or that she had grown!"
Richard listened attentively to this last statement. It confirmed his observation that Alaina was taller than his wife.
The maid spoke again, remembering another item. "Milady was also in a dither before Christmas. Searchin' for a woman by the name of 'Madame Reena,' if I recall correctly. Seemed fair put out that she couldn't find this person. But after January, Milady snapped out of her depression, so I don't think she is still upset about that."
The maid fell silent, her wealth of gregariousness at an end.
Richard probed further. "And when would you say Lady Alicia first started being a ... happier person?" He tried to ask that question casually but while he faked indifference, he sat on the edge of his seat.
After a few moments of contemplation, the maid piped up, "Of course, I remember! It was when Milady had given us a scare by bein' un ... con ... scious, unconscious! There, I said it right! Back in December. Why, she woke up and it was like she was a different person."
Richard drummed his fingers. Most likely she was.
"And she had the prettiest ear-bobs danglin' from her ears, Your Lordship. Golden leaves, they were. I don't know where Milady got those ear-bobs. She was even wearin' the oddest garment. A wonderfully silky pink robe. I never saw it before in her wardrobe. And I certainly didn't put her to bed in it the night before."
He rubbed his chin. This was interesting news.
"D'you know," Dana added, "the robe had a fastenin' on it that worked like magic? Pull the tab down, and it opened. Pull the tab up, and it closed. I asked Milady about it but she never did give me an answer."
"Is the robe here at Hanover Square?" he questioned.
"No, Your Lordship. I've not seen it since the day Milady woke up from her illness." Dana then brightened. "But the ear-bobs are here. I've seen 'em."
Standing, Richard then walked over to the maid. "Thank you, Dana. You have been very cooperative."
When she got to her feet, he placed his arm around her shoulder and escorted her to the door. "Have no fear," he assured her. "This conversation will remain between the two of us. Indeed, I am off to do some traveling, and when I return, I hope to clear up this mystery so Lady Alicia regains her cheerful spirits."
"Thank you, Your Lordship." Dana bobbed a curtsey. "'Twill be good to see Milady smile again."
After the maid left, Richard smiled his own smile. When he returned from Saybrooke Hall, he would make certain his lady would wear smiles much more often.
He gathered a few of his belongings, then headed for the stables. Instead of going to Northumberland on estate matters, as he had told Alaina, he traveled to Saybrooke Hall. The reason for this deception was that he did not want to take the chance of Alaina suggesting that she accompany him. He needed a free hand in interviewing the servants about her. And after finishing his business at the Hall, he and Alaina would have their final confrontation.
At Saybrooke Hall, Richard searched his wife's dressing room, feeling a bit like an intruder. The gowns in the wardrobe confirmed Dana's statement about the difference in length. A majority of the dresses all bore the mark of alteration at the hem---skillfully disguised by an additional flounce or extra embroidery. The untouched ones were noticeably shorter. Evidently Alaina did not plan to wear them again.
He finished his survey of the wardrobe without finding the object he was looking for: the mysterious pink robe.
Entering her bedchamber, he scanned the room with an eye for possible hiding places. If he could but challenge her with this robe, she would surely then reveal the truth. Dana's description of the robe intrigued him. And he was completely at sea as to what the magical fastening of the robe might mean.
After a thorough examination of the bedchamber without results, he sat dejectedly on the bed. Where might she have hidden it? The cupid statues surrounding the bed seemed to leer suggestively at him, mocking his current failure. Where the devil could she have cached a blasted robe?
He ran his hand through his hair. A robe was a bulky object but perhaps ... just perhaps this one was skimpy. Dana had mentioned it was silky. Perhaps it could be folded upon itself and occupy the smallest compartment.
In a flash, his gaze rested on the Sheraton writing table in the middle of the room. Yes, of course. A piece of furniture designed for secrets! Moving his large hands deftly over its surface, he discovered its false facade and the lock behind it. Regardless of the damage, he used a knife to break the mechanism.
With a quick inhalation of breath, he pulled the drawer open. Inside the small space, a rose-pink fabric reflected back at him. It had been ruthlessly stuffed within the container.
For several minutes following the discovery, the large ornamental clock on the fireplace mantle ticked away. Richard sat, inanely opening and closing Alaina's wonder robe. As he pushed the tab upward, tiny teeth interlocked together. Just as unbelievably, when he pulled the tab down, they were pulled away.
Nowhere in England, or indeed anyplace in the world that he was aware of, could boast of such a fastener, so finely and meticulously made.
The mystery grew deeper and deeper.
A piece of paper that had fallen on the floor attracted his attention. He picked it up and read it. Mostly scribble, it was a list of materials needed for some sort of sewing project. But the handwriting teased his memory.
He read the list again. It was Alaina's Christmas project for the estate's children. Her handwriting.
Thunderstruck, he sank down on a spindle-legged chair. Her handwriting was the same as on his presentation papers. Was Alaina telling the truth then? Did she actually edit his research?
"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "Who the devil is she?"
Crumpling the robe into a ball, Richard then crammed it into his pocket. He strode out of her bedchamber as if the Hall were on fire. There was no time to lose. He would return to London immediately.
The Marquess and Marchioness of Ravenwood's estate was located in Kew Green, well inside the Greater London area. In spite of the heavy Sunday traffic, the trip there didn't take long. Despite the relatively close proximity, the Dowager had accepted the invitation to spend the night. Which was a good thing. Evidently, desperate gangs loved to attack rich carriages and severely beat its occupants. So rampant street crime was also a problem in the year 1817.
The Ravenwoods' estate, Groughton Castle, was absolutely immense. An entire village could have been set within its walls!
Upon arriving, Lady Wilhelmina, Lucinda, and Isabel all headed to the powder room to primp, so Alaina followed close behind. One wrong turn in this mansion and a person could get lost for days!
Nigel Cransworth escorted her tonight and seemed to consider her his "date." She appreciated his attention, especially tonight. She needed all the self-confidence she could muster. Stepping into the corridor, she glanced down at her ball gown. It was a vision in shimmering, sea-green satin, held under the breasts by a gold beaded belt. Rather daring too, with off-the-shoulders, short, skirted sleeves that moved unfettered in the breeze. White satin slippers and white kid gloves completed her accessories, but instead of heavy jewelry, Alaina wore a simple gold necklace and her very own gold leaf earrings.
She looked wonderful. Now if she could only get passed this nervousness.
The Cransworths, along with Cousin Isabel and Ian Boggs joined her in the line of guests to be announced and received. Since most of the wait occurred in the corridor, when it was her party's turn to enter, the grandeur and size of the Grand Ballroom took Alaina's breath away. The room spanned two stories high. The receiving line congregated on a small balcony, and a staircase descended to the main floor. Four huge crystal chandeliers lighted the fabulous room, and if she had puzzled over replacing the candles in the bedroom at Saybrooke Hall, her speculation was lost as to how to perform the same task at Groughton Castle.
Standing from her vantage point on the balcony, she observed the resplendently dressed assemblage, appearing as colorful miniatures in the dazzling Grand Ballroom.
"I've never seen the like of this before," Alaina uttered with reverence.
"Indeed," Lady Wilhelmina whispered, "the Prince-Regent himself has tried to get possession of Groughton Castle---by offering the Marquess Carlton House as a trade. The Marquess, naturally, declined the honor!"
Soon the Dowager's entourage was announced and Alaina found herself politely chatting with the Marquess and Marchioness of Ravenwood.
"My dear, I cannot tell you how positively thrilled I am that you could attend our little party. Lady Wilhelmina has told me about your reluctance to appear in society. I assure you, Lady Alicia, it will be just the thing for you to get out and mingle." Lady Ravenwood patted Alaina's gloved hand.
"I congratulate myself on securing the elusive Countess!" the Marchioness declared.
Alaina withheld a chuckle. Whatever floats your boat.
While the Dowager and her friend exchanged a promise to meet later for a tête-à-tête, Nigel offered Alaina his arm to escort her down the staircase. For a moment, it seemed that the multitude below quieted a fraction of a decibel.
No, must be her imagination. She was too sensitive. Surely there must be plenty of people here with a worse reputation than Alicia's. But maybe not. Talk about having everyone's "eyes" on you!
Too bad she had to have the stigma of Alicia's reputation. She would've been content to wander throughout the room, marveling at the numerous wall murals and the exotic palm trees decorating the interior, but Lucinda would have none of that.
"Oh, I see John and Clarice Penterbury, let's do join them. Though why she is wearing that pink gown, with her red hair...." Lucinda gave a delicate shudder. "I count myself fortunate that you are my friend, Alicia. You would never steer me wrong to wear a disastrous color!"
Alaina smiled at Lucy, looking so enchanting in her silver and blue gown. As Lucy led the way to her friends, a pale blush of pink brought on by excitement enhanced her pretty face. Nigel took on the duty of procuring lemonade for the ladies but he called back to Alaina, "Don't forget. The first waltz is mine!"
Maneuvering through the crowded floor, Lucinda pouted, "I don't understand why you refuse to dance naught but the waltz, Alicia. I want you to have a good time. You are limiting your fun. Why, I feel so light on my feet. I could dance all night!"
"You promised you would not overdo it, Lucinda," Charlie warned. But to Alaina he agreed, "Lucinda's right. How can I hope to secure a dance with you? The waltz is played so infrequently, and all these young bucks are already beating a path to your side."
Alaina gave a carefree laugh. How exhilarating it was, being part of a gala event. The only thing missing, of course, was Richard. Her Rick.
"All this nonsense," she demurred. "Of course I'll save you a waltz, if you want."
At a wink from Mr. Boggs, she added, "And you, too!"
The Penterburys seemed glad to see their friends, and introductions were performed for Isabel and Mr. Boggs. When Clarice's green eyes took in the elegance of the Cransworth women, she glanced down at her own pink round gown. The bottom of which hung heavy with large flowers, pearls, and rose satin gatherings. The woman sighed. Probably vowed to change dressmakers immediately!
The musicians struck up the strands for the first dance---a minuet. Mr. Boggs and Mr. Penterbury led their ladies to the dance floor, but Charlie and Lucy hesitated, hating to leave her alone.
"It's okay. Go ahead, you two." Alaina shooed them away. "I'll be fine. In fact, I see Lady Wilhelmina sitting over by the wall. I'll join her."
Alaina stood for a moment, watching the three couples gracefully dance the minuet, then went on her way lest passersby conclude she was available for the set. She murmured inconsequential greetings to those guests she encountered, and with a feeling of relief, eased into a chair at Lady Wilhelmina's table. An elderly man with thinning white hair and a dignified manner was talking to the Dowager.
"Lord Grumsbee, I do not believe you have met my daughter-in-law. Lady Alicia is Richard's wife, you know." As she spoke, Lady Wilhelmina fluttered her handkerchief in the air.
The gentleman rose, gave Alaina a stiff bow and said he was charmed. As he reseated himself, he confided, "Old bones don't move so well, I fear. Otherwise, be honored to escort you to the dance floor."
Alaina sipped at some lemonade. "Not to worry, sir. I'm happy to sit this one out.
"Hiding her light under a bushel," the Dowager commented. "Lord Grumsbee and I were just discussing Nigel's future in politics."
During the course of the evening, Alaina eventually danced with both brothers and the inimitable Mr. Boggs. The evening passed by in an agreeable haze. Even the gossip she overheard was favorable to her. The Countess of Saybrooke was behaving very circumspectly indeed!
However, as she walked by a small group of men clustered near airy, green palm trees by the staircase, she overheard, "Saybrooke has finally brought his wife to heel!"
The men laughed ribaldly, save one. "Kincaid, why are you standing with a frown on your face? Is it because your former ladylove does not acknowledge your presence?"
Cripes! Alaina hurried away from the group. The name of Kincaid meant nothing to her, but if Alicia was his former ladylove, she certainly didn't want to meet him.
Instead, she took Lady Ravenwood's advice and mingled. In the midst of a conversation with one of Lucy's friends, a tap on her bare shoulder caused her to turn around.
"Enjoying yourself....Alicia?" Richard questioned in his deep, rich timbre.
"Oh! Um, Richard! Ah, hi." She almost bit her tongue. Good grief, she sounded so stupid, but all the same, what a shock.
The musicians' next selection was a waltz, and Richard exercised his rights by preempting any prior claims for her hand. She docilely followed him to the dance floor, hoping this would preclude a conversation. She dared not look at his face, instead staring at his black double-breasted dress coat and striped satin waistcoat.
"Has my tie-pin become loose in my cravat? Is that what is so affixing your interest?"
"Um, no," she replied quickly. "It's just that ... I didn't expect you here. Northumberland's quite a distance away."
Being in his arms was the best kind of torture she could ever imagine.
"Not that I'm not glad to see you," she managed to blurt out guiltily. In God's name, she had to get a grip on herself. Had to get her emotions under control.
Wrenching her gaze away from his pearl and diamond tie-pin, she looked into his piercing blue eyes. A head to toe tingling caused her whole body to vibrate.
"I am pleased to hear it, my dear. I decided to forgo the trip to the wilds and traveled instead to Saybrooke Hall. Some matters there to clear up. I did not want to miss your first society event. How many months has it been?"
As Richard pivoted her suddenly, she made her answer against the column of his neck. A masculine scent of fresh sandalwood wafted through her senses.
Oh gosh. She swallowed down hard. "Who keeps track?" With a little finagling, she managed to move back from him.
But then he tightened his grip on her waist. "I must compliment you on your appearance tonight," he said, fingering her gold leaf earrings.
She almost died from the pleasure of his touch.
"That is a captivating gown you are wearing." He ran his left index finger down the length of her neck to the bottom of her bare shoulder.
Oh dear God! She couldn't suppress a tremble. What in the world was he doing? When her nipples had the audacity to peak, she took matters into her own hands.
Holding her body more stiffly, she commented, "Isn't this a beautiful ballroom?" She looked everywhere but at him. How on earth was she ever going to make it through the rest of the evening?
Richard was not fooled by Alaina's show of nonchalance. He now prided himself on being attuned to her every mood change. The soft, supple mounds of her breasts showing provocatively from the frill of white crêpe, moved more rapidly than the exercise of the dance merited. He looked forward to an ... interesting night.
Before the last chords of the waltz were played, she pulled away from him, opened her silk fan, and professed an overwhelming thirst.
So she hoped he would take the hint and bring her some lemonade, eh? But, no. He would not leave her side. Gesturing to Nigel, he assigned the task to his brother.
Looking down at Alaina's agitated ... and desirable figure, Richard called after his brother, "Better make it champagne."
"Let's tell your mother that you're here," Alaina insisted. "I know she'll be happy to see you."
"As you wish, my dear." Alaina's nervousness at his presence was very gratifying. Very gratifying indeed.
As they headed for the Dowager Countess' table, Richard bumped into a distinguished gentleman in his early fifties. The man then turned around.
"Ah, Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise. Didn't recognize you. Beg your pardon for my clumsiness." Richard inclined his head in greeting.
He could hardly suppress a smirk of laughter at Alaina's polite smile and nod to the noble peer. It was obvious that she did not know the man in front of her.
"Saybrooke, been meaning to pay you a visit. Have heard nothing but excellent reviews on your Fishbourne excavation. You must give me the highlights one of these days." The Duke of Blakesdale clasped him on the shoulder and remarked that Richard was looking exceedingly well. The Duke then quizzically lifted an eyebrow at Alaina.
Alaina, reddening at the man's gaze, made a move to turn, but Richard placed a restraining arm around her waist.
The Duke's other eyebrow raised to its twin's height but all he said was a gruff, "Well, I won't keep you ... and your wife. Do stop by Berkeley Square, Saybrooke. I see we have some matters to discuss."
"I look forward to it, Your Grace." After taking their leave, Richard guided Alaina through the crowd. She must have found his arm around her middle comforting, for she allowed him the liberty of leaving it there.
With some hesitation and studied casualness, she said, "I'm glad your presentation was so well received. His Grace was definitely impressed."
No doubt she wanted him to reply, but he kept his own counsel.
Another pause. "Um, I seem to have forgotten his name."
Richard helped her up the two steps to his mother's table, but could not keep the grin from his face. This was further proof of her charade. The nail in the coffin---so to speak.
He leaned over and whispered into her ear. "Indeed? I would not admit that to anyone else...Alicia. His Grace is a very powerful man. He is the Duke of Blakesdale." And silently he added, And, he is also Alicia's father.
Alaina sat in front of the mirrored vanity in the bedroom assigned her by the Marchioness of Ravenwood, methodically brushing her dark hair. Since she was only to be gone for one night, she hadn't brought Dana with her. She now waited for one of her hostess' maids to help her with the metal hooks at the back of her gown.
Smiling, she set her brush down. All in all, the evening went very well. No, actually, it went great. There'd been a few minor mistakes, but none of the guests seemed to expect more than the polite generic greetings she gave them. There'd been no reason to fear appearing in society. She was glad Lady Wilhelmina had forced her into finally getting out.
Even Richard behaved cordially. More than cordially. Her smile deepened. He didn't question any of her statements and somehow understood that she was nervous. Why, he went out of his way to make things easier for her. Look at his advice about forgetting the Duke of Blakesdale!
How charming he was when he wanted to be. And he was oh, so charming tonight.
Indulging her fantasies, she closed her eyes to block out reality and relived the scene from a short while ago. She had been about to retire for the night. As Richard looked into her eyes, he had given her gloved hand a lingering kiss, and said, "Sweet dreams."
Sweet dreams. She gave into temptation and imagined more than a lingering kiss on her hand. In the middle of this daydream, she made a murmuring sound. If only---
A touch on the nape of her neck brought her crashing back to earth. Must be the maid removing her necklace. Feeling foolish to have been caught in a reverie, Alaina opened her eyes and saw Richard's reflection in the mirror!
"Richard!" she exclaimed, jumping off the chair. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Carpeted floor," he gestured downward in explanation. "When I entered, you seemed to be ... preoccupied."
It was useless to hide her fierce flush. She was about to ask why he was in her room, but a gentle knock on the door interrupted her.
A young servant girl entered and inquired, "You have need of my services, My Lady?"
Richard spoke faster. "No, Her Ladyship no longer requires your services."
While Alaina stood with her hands on her hips, a surprised maid was shown the door.
"Now what did you do that for? And, by the way, why are you in my room?" she questioned accusingly.
As he removed his tie-pin and untied the knot in his cravat, he took his time in answering. Removing the neckcloth, he stated matter-of-factly, "Lady Ravenwood was in a dither about a shortage of rooms, so I volunteered to share one with my wife. You do not mind, I hope?"
Oh my gosh! Alaina backed away from him and watched a muscularly virile Richard Cransworth remove his waistcoat and place it on the seat next to the bed. He looked more appealing, more seductive, and more dangerous in his open shirt and tight white breeches.
She quickly scanned the room and spotted a chaise-lounge by the window. "Um, not if you don't mind," she lied, biting her lip. Her mind working furiously, she added, "I'll sleep there."
When he stepped behind her and slowly, sensuously eased his hands down her arms, her hand dropped from its direction of the lounger.
"That won't be necessary," he said with a husky voice, kissing her shoulders and unfastening her gown.
Alaina's heart pounded violently. Oh, dear God, this ... this was too good to be true. Her knees buckling, she started to sway.
He continued his assault on her senses. Moving in front of her, he then pulled the unresisting gown down her arms.
"But, I don't understand," she weakly whispered. "Why are you doing this?"
"Why?" He nibbled the sensitive skin under her earlobe.
She could no longer hide her trembling. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Discarding the now-useless evening gown, he gently laid her down and covered her with his body.
"Why?" he repeated, his eyes darkening with rising passion. "Because I want you."
His kiss, tentative at first, tore away all her self-restraints. He didn't hate her! Her kisses didn't fill him with disgust.
Opening her mouth to him, she was desperate for wanting him, needing him, loving him.
He also was hungry for her. As their tongues tangled together, he took possession of her mouth, of her body, of her soul.
"Oh, Rick," she panted through heated breaths. "Oh, I want you, too."
"Rick?" he murmured in the shell of her ear. "Is that regal, respectable and rude Rick?"
She trailed kisses down the cord of his neck. "Um, no. You're romantic, red-hot, and rakish Rick." A raging fire burned through her. Her body screamed for them to become as one. How in blue blazes had she ever lived without this man before?
He claimed her mouth once again, and her thoughts as well. Somehow their clothes melted away in the rush of their passion. His hair-roughened chest pressed against her, she slid her hand's down his sleek muscular back to stop on his rock-hard buttocks.
"Ally," he groaned from the softness of her breasts. "I shall call you adorable, appealing, and appetizing Ally."
Taut with desire, he nudged her leg aside. "I cannot wait, my love," he confessed.
"I can't ... either. Oh, hurry, Rick."
When he eased his bulk inside her, she closed her eyes from the beauty of it. It had been long, so long, and she'd never made love to anyone like him before. Anyone she loved.
My love, he called her. A deep, sensual warmth seeped into her. Love spread its golden wings throughout her entire being.
Arching her back, she felt every thrust, and cherished every groan. Stronger and stronger, deeper and deeper, she soared with him until they both climaxed.
As one. She smiled. Home. She finally had come home.
Mid-morning sunbeams filtered into the bedroom, causing Alaina to blink awake. Nestled against Rick's solid body with his arm curved around her, she enjoyed his scent, his feel, his warmth. She sighed with contentment and snuggled closer.
Bliss. This really was bliss. How many times had they made love last night? Who remembered? Each time deserved mention in the Guinness Book of World Records. Pure, sweet, and intense love.
Turning toward him, she studied his sleeping face. Any harsh lines had now vanished. He looked younger and much more content.
As she was. Did anyone have the right to be this happy?
Carefully pushing his dark hair away from his forehead, she reached over to give him a kiss.
Happy didn't even describe half of what she felt. Imagine having to travel almost two hundred years into the past to find complete and total ecstasy.
But what if something went wrong? What if someone or some event took this happiness away?
Her eyes blurred with tears. If only this moment in time would last forever. Then she'd never have to worry about losing Rick.
"What is this?" Rick murmured, as he woke up. He pulled her closer to him, his blue eyes sparkling with suppressed emotion. "After a night of pleasure, I find you crying with abandon?"
She melted against him. Dear God, he was so wonderful.
Rick kissed away her tears, and one thing naturally led to another. They made intense, savage, and urgent love.
Lying back against the headboard, Richard surveyed the goddess by his side. As he caressed the soft curve of her perfect belly, he stated reverently, "You are so beautiful."
He also felt a twinge of conscience. Before Terrence, Alicia's stomach had been just as flat. A difficult pregnancy, responsible for silvery stretch marks marring her abdomen, coupled with a painful delivery, had changed headstrong Alicia into a veritable termagant.
These imperfections mattered not in the slightest to Richard. But she had never forgiven him nor Terrence for her disfigurement.
Alaina's voice broke through his fog. "What are you thinking, Rick? You look so sad."
"What a pair we are," Richard laughed, to chase away the dismals, "with you crying and me thinking maudlin thoughts! What did bring on those tears, my dear?"
"I guess I was wishing that this time together would never end. I want it to go on forever."
Kissing her nose, he said, "I do not see why it cannot."
"Men!" Now Alaina laughed. She slipped out from under him, put on a robe and stood to face the new day. "Of course it has to end. We can't stay in bed forever."
He tried to grab the corner of the dressing gown to pull her back onto the bed, but failed. Sighing, he countered, "And why not?"
"Well, in the first place, this is not your house," she said, brushing her sleep-tangled locks.
With his elbow resting on the mattress and his head in his palm, he watched Alaina's movements. How beautiful she was. He could not believe even the simplest of actions could be so gracefully performed. And she was his---all his.
"The Marquess owes me a few favors, Ally. He would not cavil at our staying here."
"In the second place, I'm hungry." She stopped him as he was about to speak. "Yes, I know we could have room service ... I mean, have our meals brought up here. But I'd rather not give everyone more to talk about."
That remark engendered a smile on his face. He jumped out of bed and put on his own robe. "What? My little wife becoming a prude?"
She retaliated by throwing her hairbrush at him.
He ducked. "I call a truce," he said, giving Alaina a fond kiss. If only they could stay within these four walls! "My garments are in Nigel's room. Let us change and meet in the Dining Salon for breakfast."
Alaina agreed. "Okay. How about fifteen minutes?"
"You can ready yourself that quickly?"
"I'm hungry! Remember, I worked up an appetite." By the Lord above, her wanton smile caused his heart to constrict.
"You vixen!" Slipping into the corridor, he turned back for one last look at her. In his heart, he felt certain she was reluctant to see him go, even as he was. This truly was the dawn of a new day.
As with everything else, Groughton Castle's Dining Salon was on a grand scale. The white and blue interior boasted of valuable paintings ranging from old masters such as Titian, to "contemporaries" like Sir Joshua Reynolds. Over the course of her stay with the Cransworths, a streak of loyalty must have developed. The State Dining Room at Saybrooke Hall, while not as large, was more magnificent in her eyes.
Instead of having the food displayed on the sideboards, as she was used to, breakfast was a more formal affair. Several liveried footmen, dressed in white and blue, constantly hovered over the guests, each holding different dishes with which to tempt morning palates. The only casual aspect of the meal was open dining. The guests wandered in and out as they wanted.
When Alaina entered the Dining Salon, well after eleven o'clock, Rick was already seated, with his mother and Clarice Penterbury on either side of him. Alaina gave him a special smile and sat opposite the man who had so recently shared her bed, and she hoped, her life. His gaze lingered over her and sent a private message for her alone.
At his look, she melted again. Goodness! A warm flush tingled on her cheeks. Reverting to your love-sick adolescent days, aren't you, Alaina?
Selecting a portion of eggs, she concerned herself with eating and making small talk with Nigel, who had also just joined the group.
The Dowager animatedly chatted with Lady Ravenwood. Then she turned to address the new arrivals. "My dears, such wonderful news! Just this morning it happened, shortly after four---four fifteen to be exact. Denise and I won the wager. We said it would be a girl!"
The two ladies virtually bubbled over with their good fortune, whatever it was that they were talking about.
"Slow down, Mother. What wager are you referring to?" Nigel inquired.
"Why, of course. I forgot to mention all the details. We got the news a scant while ago. This morning, Her Royal Highness, the Princess Alexandrina Victoria was born. The Duke of Kent is so thrilled, he sent the word to be proclaimed throughout the realm. Edward's infant daughter holds the fifth place in the succession to the throne, after the Regent, Frederick, William, and himself."
Taking a sip of tea to refresh her tongue, Lady Wilhelmina continued, "And little Victoria, as she is to be called, is the only child in the line. Since poor Charlotte and her baby are gone."
Lady Ravenwood reached for a delicate hanky after the Dowager's statement, and dabbed at her eyes. Princess Charlotte had been well loved by everyone.
Clarice Penterbury had been steadily looking at Alaina through the whole of Lady Wilhelmina's discourse. She set her biscuit down and said cattily, "But Lady Alicia deserves a prize as well. Not only did she predict the child would be a girl, but she gave us the name, and today's date."
The woman sat back, watching the reactions her stunning tidbit created.
Alaina immediately choked on some of her food. Good God! She remembered the incident clearly. It had been at the Christmas ball. Having drunk too much, she had spoken indiscreetly about the next rulers of England. How was she going to get herself out of this mess? She couldn't think because the Dowager, Lady Ravenwood and two other ladies kept clamoring for more information.
Rick, bless him, came to Alaina's rescue by drawling, "Some demmed mystic told you. Isn't that so, my dear? I believe 'Madame Reena' was the name. She travels with the gypsies, who seasonally pass through our land."
Alaina saw him give a speaking look to Nigel. Maybe gypsies didn't follow that route, and Nigel knew it. She could tell Nigel swallowed his protest. He merely agreed, "Just so."
The explanation, however, satisfied the parties present including Lady Wilhelmina. She probably never concerned herself about gypsies. Only Clarice seemed dissatisfied. She glanced from Rick to Alaina, but wisely kept silent.
Alaina gratefully accepted his fabrications on her behalf. She smiled another "lover-ly" smile at him, promising a future reward.
He raised his glass to her and shot her an understanding wink.
Lady Wilhelmina still waxed enthusiasm about the royal birth however, and didn't notice the by-play. Instead, she informed Alaina, "It is too bad you did not come down to breakfast earlier, child. And why Charles and Lucinda are still upstairs is a mystery to me! The Duke of Blakesdale would have been happy to relate your news about the mystic's predictions to the new father."
The Dowager took a much needed breath. "Edward wanted to name the infant, 'Elizabeth,' after himself. But the Regent's voice held sway. Perhaps knowing that the princess' birth and names were preordained might lessen Edward's animosity toward his eldest brother."
"Yes, the Duke of Blakesdale loves to be the bearer of tidings," Lady Ravenwood confirmed. "He apologized to all of us for taking his leave so early. After we received the news, he was eager to go to his royal friend to offer congratulations. Your father also said that he especially wanted to have another word with you, Lady Alicia."
How Alaina managed to swallow the liquid in her mouth and not have it come spewing forth, was a minor miracle. She sat, in a daze, and poured all her concentration into guiding the Sèvres teacup back to its saucer without breaking it.
Giving an automatic response to the Marchioness, she felt a paralyzing freeze descend over her body. Her father. Her father. The words sang through her stupor. The Duke of Blakesdale was Alicia's father.
And Rick knew. He knew that she was a fake. How could he not be aware of it? What person forgets her own father? Even with her lame excuse for memory loss.
Her words came back to haunt her. She had said, "I seem to have forgotten his name." And then Rick's response, "I would not admit that to anyone else, Alicia."
From the cold of her body's freeze, arose a blazing heat burning her face. She was sure her skin glowed vividly red. When he had danced with her last night, he had known she wasn't Alicia. When he had volunteered to share the bed with his "wife," he had known she wasn't Alicia.
When they made love....
Control, Alaina. Control. She fought to keep the tears back. What was going on here? Was last night some type of revenge because she pretended to be Alicia? Why didn't he say something? Why had he humored her?
What should she do? How could she face him?
Wait a minute. How could he face her? At least she loved him. He just "wanted" her.
Avoiding his gaze, she rose from the table and made her excuses to the remaining diners. Now in the corridor, her tears refused to be held back any longer. With a quickness she hadn't known she possessed, she ran up the staircase.
Oh no. Voices. She hid in an alcove and watched Lucy and Charlie on their way to the Dining Salon. Good. This was perfect. She slipped into Lucy's bedroom and closed the door.
Rick would be looking for "his wife" in her bedroom. And she couldn't see him right now. Not with her emotions going full tilt. Until she figured out what her next move was, she had to avoid him.
Leaning against the door, she sank down to the floor. "Impostor." She could hear that very word from his lips. How could she explain what happened? How could he believe her?
And what if he wanted his true wife back?
Never, in Alaina's entire life, had she ever been as miserable as this very moment.
Richard had seen the distress in Alaina's eyes but had been powerless to soothe or reassure her. She obviously realized he was aware of her deception. But what other thoughts passed through her mind he could not begin to guess.
As soon as he could, he excused himself from the dining table, and went in search of her. She was not in her bedchamber. His hopes for a conference with her on the journey back to Hanover Square were also dashed. Evidently the ladies---the Dowager, Alaina, Lucinda, and Isabel, decided to travel in a separate carriage from the men.
Briefly seeing Alaina in the entrance hall awaiting embarkation, she seemed a remote figure and purposely did not look his way. While all the other ladies oozed enthusiasm after last night's ball, Alaina was uncharacteristically silent.
Richard did not meet with success in cornering her later that day, either. Upon her return to the townhouse, Alaina sequestered herself in her bedchamber, pleading a headache. Even worse, she did not appear for dinner.
It came as no surprise that when he tried the communicating door between their rooms, he found it locked.
He would allow her this night to her privacy, but tomorrow, the estrangement would come to an end.
The next morning, he sent a formal request for Alaina to join him in the Study. But Higgins had unwelcome news for him.
The butler bowed. "Milady has already left the premises, Your Lordship."
"I see." Richard drummed his fingers against the solid wood of his desk. "Did she give her destination?"
"No, Your Lordship. Milady asked for a carriage to be brought 'round and stated she was going for a drive."
The devil. That meant she could be anywhere. Better to wait here than go traipsing after her.
To his butler, he said curtly, "Tell Her Ladyship that I desire her presence as soon as she arrives."
Higgins nodded his acceptance of the command and left to take up his vigil by the front door. If the butler thought his master was in a snit this morning, the man would be right. He was.
Richard ruthlessly paced the length of his Study, heedless of the damage to its plush carpet. He tried to rehearse what he would say to Alaina. There were so many questions. Such as who was she? Where was his real wife?
Hell and damn. The entire dilemma was irrelevant, and boiled down to one basic fact: he wanted Alaina to continue as his wife. He wanted to spend the rest of their days together. By all that was holy, she also wanted the same thing, he just knew it.
A faint chime from the mantle clock interrupted Richard's sleep. No shock there that he had taken an unexpected nap, not with the nerve-wracking night he had spent.
He noted the time---two o'clock. Shaking his head to dispel the heaviness of slumber, he strode forth, jaw tightly clenched. Where the hell was Alaina?
"Higgins!" Richard barked out his butler's name.
The man immediately appeared, fingering the collar around his neck.
Obviously Higgins was the bearer of bad news. "Has Her Ladyship returned?"
"Yes, Your Lordship. I relayed the message to Milady, however she went up to her bedchamber."
"And how long ago was that?"
Higgins' facial muscles tightened. "About two hours ago, Your Lordship."
Instead of an outburst, Richard inquired on his lady's whereabouts.
His butler flinched. That must mean even worse news. Higgins stated in a low voice that Her Ladyship was to be found in the Drawing Room. "She is entertaining a caller," he reluctantly added.
Richard impatiently walked to the Drawing Room and, without bothering to be announced, opened the door....
Alaina took one look at her unexpected caller and dropped down on the couch. Good God! The next to the last person she ever expected to see was Sir Derek Donnehey!
But here he was. There could be no mistaking the color-clashing clothes of a certified dandy.
She had a few seconds to think before the footman closed the door, leaving her and Alicia's co-conspirator alone. And she frantically made use of the time. There were three possibilities for Sir Derek to actually be here, in the year 1817. The first was that he never left the nineteenth century. The second, that he did travel to Alaina's own time period, but somehow found a way back. And the last, that his identity had been replaced as in the Alicia/Alaina situation.
She sat back, trying to appear calm. The young man obviously forgot that languor was more fashionable than eagerness, for after the footman left, he exclaimed, "Oh, my darling! I c---cannot believe that you are here. You have been here all the time!"
He knelt by her and grabbed her hands. Then he actually tried to bury his head on her knees.
Alaina quickly moved down the couch. As he gingerly raised himself up from his knees, she took stock of the man. His brightly colored red coat clashed with his purple striped vest. And both articles of clothing screamed against the yellow of his pants.
Though Sir Derek was slight in build, his shoulders seemed immensely broad. The sight of him reminded her of a gangly boy in his older brother's football padding! How in the world could Alicia have preferred this preposterous man to Rick?
"Why didn't you contact me, my angel? Why didn't you let me know you did not go through with the Plan?" The man's sad eyes scolded her.
Now seated on the same couch, Sir Derek continued, "You must be angry with me, I realize that. But let me explain. That December night we were to meet Madame Reena in the woods, well, I cannot mince words, dear Alicia. I drank to excess in order to summon up the courage to accompany you on that journey into the unknown. I got quite ... b...bosky."
He lowered his voice. "Alicia, I am ashamed to admit it but I fell into a stupor. I did not awaken until the next afternoon."
The man sought her hand again, but she pulled away. "You must believe me, Alicia. I rode over to the Hall to discover whether you had gone through with it. Saw the servants running around in an uproar. Stopped a messenger galloping away from the gate. On an urgent mission, he told me. To inform Lord Saybrooke about you. I ask you, Alicia, what else was I to think except that you had gone ahead with the escape?"
Sir Derek bowed his head. "These past months have been hell without you. I left my estate and spent my time in Brighton, Bath, and London. Grieving for you!"
Alaina took advantage of his distraction to stand by the fireplace. If he started pawing her, she could make a mad dash to the door.
He poured a glass of sherry and offered it to her. As she shook her head, he pleaded, "Alicia, you m ... must believe me! You must forgive me, darling! What I have suffered! I would have never known you were here except that I ran into Kincaid this morning. He gloated that you had been present at Ravenwood's ball. That scoundrel!"
Sir Derek almost worked himself into a lather. "To think Kincaid considers himself worthy to even kiss your shoes is outside of enough! I, of course, had received an invitation, but how could I attend any event without my beloved present? So I declined. Oh, if I had only gone."
He paused in his overly dramatic speech and joined her by the fireplace, waiting for her to finally speak.
Thank heavens for small favors because if Sir Derek had been present at the Ravenwood ball, the night would have definitely had a different outcome.
"Derek, I don't know what to say---"
"Don't say anything at all, my darling. Just let me hold you. Kiss you. And make you mine."
As Alaina took refuge behind the sofa, the door opened.
Oh good heavens. It was Rick!
"A thousand pardons, I seem to be interrupting." He casually produced his quizzing glass and slowly studied Sir Derek from head to toe.
After he finished his inspection, he looked over at her. His dark gaze betrayed not one sign of affection nor understanding. "Rick, I can explain..."
He held up his hand to silence her. "Explain why my wife's beautiful face is flushed from some type of exertion, and her over-stylishly dressed caller appears to be chasing her around the settee? I believe Sir Derek should perform the explanations. As a 'gentleman,' it is expected."
Sir Derek gulped nervously. "Yes, I should have s ... spoken with you long before now concerning my intentions, Lord Saybrooke. But Alicia would not allow...."
The man seemed to lose his nerve beneath Rick's quelling gaze.
"I see." Rick sat down on the couch and gestured for Sir Derek to also sit.
But Rick wasn't through with her, ordering, "Go to the Study, Alicia, and wait for me there. I will join you after Sir Derek and I have our talk."
She turned to go, but Rick called after her. "Needless to say, I will brook no headaches or other delaying tactics."
Leaving the room without a backward glance, Alaina entered the Study, glad to leave that awkward mess in Rick's capable hands. Hopefully, he would scare Sir Derek off forever. That guy was too intense for his own good.
The time had finally come to tell Rick the truth. The only remaining question was, how much of it to reveal? The story, of course, would be incredible, even fantastic. But then, as the old saying went, truth was stranger than fiction. And nothing could be stranger than her story.
Richard's present problem was two-fold. First, he had to extract information from this lapdog of Alicia's. Whatever his wife had been involved in, also concerned Donnehey and that blasted Madame Reena. Second, Richard had to convince the man that his wife had switched her allegiance back to her husband.
Perhaps it was gratifying to know that Sir Derek believed Alaina was Alicia. Surely that meant his wife was no longer around. Richard crossed his fingers.
"Now, Donnehey, tell me what this is all about."
As the man talked, Richard shook his head. The man was not making much sense. Through the services of the mystic, Madame Reena, a transference had been planned between Alicia and a "substitute." Alicia was to take the place of the other woman, but Donnehey was vague on where that location was to be. In fact, some passage of time was supposed to occur!
Donnehey also confided his failure to live up to his part of the plan, having slept through the assignation. However, now that he knew Alicia was still here, he urged Richard to do the "manly" thing. Release his wife from the marriage. Donnehey and Alicia loved each other deeply, so the man said.
Fingertip to fingertip, Richard digested this incredible tale and pondered his next move. The scheme was so farfetched, so extreme that he did not doubt it was true. Knowing Alicia, it had to be true.
"My dear Donnehey," Richard said tentatively, "I am afraid I have some bad news for you. Frankly, your desertion of Lady Alicia, when she counted on you, has given her a disgust of you. She confessed the whole to me some time ago. In the meantime, she and I have effected a reconciliation."
Donnehey's raised eyebrows indicated his disbelief.
"You will, I am sure, want to confirm this with Lady Alicia. You are welcomed to do so. But I will not tolerate you plaguing my wife. She is in a delicate condition."
This unsuspected statement caused Donnehey to move so suddenly that the shoulder seam of his snug crimson coat made an alarming sound akin to that of a rip in the cloth.
To the man's credit, he paid no heed to it and stammered, "Lady Alicia is ... is with child?"
"Yes," Richard affirmed. Doing some mental computations, he added, "Our child is expected at the end of the year."
Hastily wiping his sweaty brow with an overlarge handkerchief, Donnehey recognized his own defeat. Extending his hand, he offered his congratulations and apologized for misreading matters.
As the two men parted amicably, Richard realized, in amazement, that Donnehey wasn't a bad sort. He was too good for the fickle Alicia. He hoped Donnehey would be able to forget Alicia Cransworth---wherever she was.
Richard closed the door to the Drawing Room and headed for the Study. He would finally get answers to his questions. And he would get them now.
When the Study door opened, Alaina looked up. Rick's face was unreadable---which could've meant just about anything. Oh good grief! Her stomach twirled in a zillion knots.
Instead of sitting at his massive desk, though, he chose a chair close to hers. For a long second, they were both silent. She observed him, and he observed the fireplace.
The quiet got on her nerves, so she broke it. "What did you say to him?"
The "him" of course being Sir Derek.
With a shrug, Rick replied, "I told him you no longer held him in high regard. I did not think you would mind."
"Oh no, That's great! I'm so relieved." So relieved in fact that she couldn't sit any longer. She stood and walked over to the fireplace. "Anyway, I didn't invite him here. He just showed up." She tried to lighten the mood. "Have you ever seen clothes in such wild colors? His coat, vest---"
"Waistcoat," Rick corrected. "Truthfully, I found I was in sympathy with him. He must have been led a devil of a dance."
Now was the time. The time to wipe the slate clean. She rested her shoulders and head against the marble fireplace, stalling to find the words. Inhaling, she plunged into it. "Rick, I've never seen Derek Donnehey before today. In person, I mean."
"Perhaps you will be good enough to explain this mad scheme to me. It has to do with Madame Reena, I believe." Rick's voice held a heavy amount of disapproval. Maybe he thought she willingly had taken part in the deception.
"Well, okay. Um, you see, it's like this. I'm, well, I'm not your wife. I think you know that already. But my name really is Alaina. Sawyer is my last name."
She paused. "My story's so unbelievable that, to be honest, I wouldn't believe it myself. Except, of course, here I am. Living proof."
Taking a quick look at him, she then sighed and dropped her gaze. He should have been a lawyer; his face was so noncommittal.
"Right. Well, anyway, where I lived, which isn't important, I began to have visions. You know, dreams that occurred during the day as well as night. Talk about frightening. In these visions, there were two people. A woman whose resemblance to me was uncanny, and a man, Sir Derek. They plotted an escape. Madame Reena was hired to help them. In December, on the night the exchange took place, I felt very odd, and had a compelling desire to drink."
She turned around to face him. "I even had a vision of you that night, Rick. You were sitting at a desk and seemed very angry. In your hand was a letter. You threw it into a fireplace."
He frowned. Hopefully, he recalled that letter.
"Then I heard voices chanting, and the next thing I remember is waking up in the bed I had seen in my visions. And Dana calling me 'Milady.'"
Rick stared at Alaina. He still didn't show any sign of belief or disbelief.
She held out her hands with her palms up. "I know it sounds crazy. But it's the truth."
He slowly stroked his chin. "So you did not volunteer for this ... switch?"
"Good heavens, no!" was her quick reply. "I mean, I was abducted. You're probably wondering why I went along with the masquerade."
She walked over to him and sat on the floor beside his chair. "If you could put yourself in my place for a moment. There I was, waking up in a strange house. A totally different environment."
Alaina grinned. "Totally different. And I had only the haziest idea of what happened. I was afraid that if I denied being Alicia, if I said who I really was, I'd either get arrested or thrown in a mental institution."
The jaconet muslin of her gown bore the abuse of her agitation. Over and over again, she bunched the material, pinched, and folded it. "I did the only thing I could think of. Pretend to be Alicia and search for Madame Reena. I hoped to convince her to undo her magic. As you know, I found her too late."
Rick held Alaina's hands to stop her mutilation of the gown's fragile fabric. With his fingertips, he lifted her chin.
"Has Alicia taken your place then? And why do you feel it is impossible to return to your home? For that is what you said over Reena's grave."
Alaina bit her lip. Gosh, what could she tell him? Meeting met his gaze, she whispered, "I honestly don't know if Alicia took my place. Since Reena was successful with one transference and Alicia disappeared, I assume she woke up in my bed." She sighed. "I can only imagine what a mess she's making of my life."
He caressed the side of Alaina's cheek. "You have not answered why you feel it is impossible to return to your home. Are you saying then that Alicia cannot come back as well?"
Alaina leaned into his hand. "I can't get back. You'll have to take my word for it. Reena was my only chance to return. And since I can't get back, Alicia can't either."
Easing her into the chair opposite his, he asked, almost grimly, "Does it grieve you, then, not being able to go to your home?"
"Oh, Rick!" She threw her arms around him, hugging him, loving him. "I don't want to go now. I want to stay here with you."
He kissed her so passionately, she was left breathless. "Tell me, Ally, where are you from? I need to know."
She pulled away from the heaven of his arms. He was right; he did need to know. "Well---"
"Wait." He reached behind his desk and grabbed something pink. "I believe this is yours."
She nodded. "Yep, that's my robe, all right."
"And the fastener?"
"A zipper." Alaina made a sheepish grin. "It hasn't been invented yet."
Rick raised his eyebrow. "Care to explain?"
"Okay," she sighed. "Here comes the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You see, Reena found your wife a perfect double to change places with, but the only problem was, I come from your future."
"Indeed?"
She raised her own eyebrow. "Indeed. Almost two hundred years into the future. That's why I seem a tad bit different than everybody else. And how I knew about Victoria's birth and all that. I'd just read a book on it."
Leaning on the edge his desk, he shook his head. "Ally, that is---"
"Unbelievable? Bizarre? Crazy?" She wagged her finger at him. "Don't blame me. You asked me and ... I told you."
She laughed. Now that the truth was out, she felt like a million dollars. "Okay. I'll have pity on you, Rick. How about another prediction? George III will die in 1820. That's not too far away. Want to bet on it?"
"The devil!" Rick rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I do not know what to believe. Why do I have the sinking feeling that I am in over my head on this?"
"Because you are!" She twirled around the room. "Oh, I'm so happy this is out. So, don't you see, this is exactly why I can't go back home."
He reached over and stopped her dance by clasping her in a fevered embrace.
"Mmm, heavenly," Alaina lifted her head for air. "Goodness, does this mean we're engaged?"
"Ally, my girl, I have grown rather partial to you being my wife." His dazzling smile turned up her very toes.
She tilted up her face. "And I suppose I'm used to having you as my husband." Nibbling his ear, she murmured, "There are certain benefits."
"Such as this perhaps?" He rained kisses over her face. "Tomorrow I shall arrange for a 'renewal' of our wedding vows. This way you will be mine in the eyes of the law and the church, now and for always."
"You're so romantic." She blew her own kisses in his ear.
"Good Lord! Why are we wasting time?" He swept her off her feet and headed out the door. "We have a deadline to meet."
"Whoa!" She couldn't help laughing as he carried her up the stairs. "What's your hurry? And what deadline?"
Kicking open her bedroom door, he gently laid her on the bed. "I told Donnehey you were increasing. We have to hurry so that the little bundle can be born on time!"
Susanne Marie Knight currently works as a writer for a fitness program shown on public television. Multi-published with books, short stories, and articles, she specializes in "Romance Writing With A Twist." In addition to TIMELESS DECEPTION, a time-travel Regency with NovelBooks, Inc, her Regencies include THE MAGIC TOKEN and five-star time-travel Lord Darver's Match, both with LionHearted Publishing; and THE RELUCTANT LANDLORD with Wings ePress Inc. Also with NovelBooks, Inc. is LOVE AT THE TOP, a sexy and smart contemporary romance.
Susanne's best-sellers also include Tainted Tea For Two, a romantic murder mystery published by Hard Shell Word Factory; Janus Is A Two-Headed God, a science fiction romance published by Awe-Struck E-Books; and Grave Future, a paranormal romantic suspense novel now published by LTDBooks.
Originally from New York City, Susanne currently lives in the Pacific Northwest, by way of Okinawa, Montana, Alabama, and Florida. Along with her husband, daughter, and feisty Siamese cat, she enjoys the area's beautiful ponderosa pine trees and wide, open spaces---a perfect environment for writing. She has her own website domain: www.susanneknight.com and has her Master of Science degree in Natural Health.
You can contact to Susanne at susanne@susanneknight.com and be sure to sign up for her newsletter, Knight Dreams, at newsletter@susanneknight.com.
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