Alicia (22 page)

So her confusion continued, and although Alicia spoke gently with her sometimes to try to ease her worry, she was not able to speak of her fears. It was useless to cherish her nebulous dreams of Rowland, for she would never be able to be a—never a wife to him. When she had put it into words she scolded herself for being so foolish. It was a childish dream. Rowland was four years older than she, a man grown, and no doubt had plenty of pretty, well-to-do young women to choose from, should he decide to marry. He would never wish to marry the daughter of a shopkeeper, surely, no matter how gently born.
And even if he did,
she thought, sobbing quietly in her bed one night,
I could not marry him or anyone. Could not again be put in a man’s power, no matter how kind he might appear.

Alicia heard the muffled sobs and went to her daughter. “My love, what has distressed you so?”
she asked as she pushed the tear-dampened hair from the pretty young face. Her daughter had, for a time after her abduction, wakened from horrifying nightmares, but these had seemed to cease.

“I cannot bear it that Dorothy and Rowland are to leave,”
Felicia whispered as she allowed her mother to cradle her.

“Yes, that is hard. But they must return to their home, you know. I cannot doubt they will come to visit the Court again sometime.”

The girl’s lips quivered uncontrollably. “I almost feel angry with them for leaving me here alone,”
she confessed softly.

Alicia smiled in the dark. “I can understand that, love. But I hope you will not let them leave knowing you are upset or angry. You must make new friends at the party and show your old ones a smiling face when they leave. Can you do that?”

“I hope so, Mama.”

“It grieves me to keep asking so much of you, Felicia. I would that I could make your path smooth. But I cannot.”

Felicia was silent for a moment and then she asked hesitantly, “Will the others at the party accept me? We were not invited to Tosley Hall.”

“I am sure most will see the wisdom of accepting you, if you are invited to the Court. Doubtless Lady Wickham will snub you, but then why should you care? She is a disagreeable woman and you could have no wish to enjoy her friendship, or her son’s.”

“I have met a few of the others while riding with Dorothy and Rowland. Most have been civil, but they have never invited me to their homes.”

“But then you have spent all your time with the Clintons. When they are gone, well, perhaps others, knowing you are free, will invite you. I cannot warrant it will be so,”
Alicia said sadly.

“I know, Mama. Do not fret for me.”

Alicia could not prevent herself from suffering along with her daughter. Felicia had been mercifully granted a respite from facing the ordeal of lowering her station, but she would have to face it now, when it was harder. Alicia did not sleep well that night and she looked drawn when Stronbert called to take her riding.

“Is something the matter, Lady Coombs?”

“It is only the headache, Lord Stronbert,”
she replied with an attempt to smile.

“It may come on to rain, too. Would you prefer to put off our ride to another day?”

Alicia’s eyes rested on the frisking mare for a moment. Muse had pricked her ears forward at the sound of Alicia’s voice and was attempting to nuzzle her. “No, let us ride, even if for a short while.”

The late November afternoon was cold with an icy breeze through the almost-bare trees. Their ride took them past the fields, forests, and farms to the west of Tetterton. They talked easily as they rode, and Stronbert pointed out the local landmarks of interest. When the rain started they were several miles from town and Stronbert suggested that they shelter under some trees a way off the road. He saw the doubt in her eyes and said, “Come, Lady Coombs, you do not wish to spoil your riding habit, do you?”

But the skies opened up just then and by the time they reached the trees they were both soaked. “I
am
sorry,”
Stronbert apologized. “I did not think we would have such a heavy rain. Nor did I think,”
he added exasperatedly, “that it would turn to hail.”

Alicia gave a doleful chuckle as she felt the icy balls beat against her. Stronbert dismounted and imperiously held his hands up to her. She allowed them to grasp her waist and lift her down. Even the cover of the trees was little protection; her riding habit proved more stylish than warm or proof against the icy slush driven against her face and body. Stronbert held her eyes for a moment and said gently, “I am going to hold you. Please do not be afraid of me.”

Alicia opened her mouth to protest, but the imperative look in his eyes froze her words. She felt his arms encircle her, his hand turn her face to his shoulder before he leaned with his back against the tree that the wind lashed around. He made no move to caress her. With one arm about her shoulders he folded her small cold hands in his other large warm one against his chest. She could feel the warmth of his body against her shivering form. He spoke to her in a calm, dispassionate voice, of the Yorkshire storms he remembered. She did not hear him at first, for her fear enveloped and panicked her. He could feel the tautness of her form gradually relax as his voice went on and on. The worst of the storm passed after fifteen or twenty minutes and he matter-of-factly set her aside from him to comment diffidently, “I must get you home before you catch your death.”

Alicia kept her head bowed until he was ready to hand her onto her horse. She met his eyes then and her lips quivered slightly as she said, “Thank you, Lord Stronbert.”

He only smiled his acknowledgment and swung himself onto his horse. They maintained a swift pace back to Alicia’s cottage. “Will you not come in and warm yourself at the fire?”
she asked.

“I should like to, but I had best see that the horses are rubbed down as soon as possible.”

She nodded, thanked him again, and scurried into the house. Mavis clucked over the soggy riding outfit, and over her mistress, whom she bustled up the stairs and helped out of her clothes. “I’ve a good fire going in the drawing room, ma’am, but I can have one for you here in a jiffy.”

“No, I will come down to the drawing room. Can you do anything with my habit?”

Mavis regarded it skeptically but assured her she would do her best. Alicia went to sit in front of the fire in her dressing gown, slowly drying her thick auburn hair before its heat. Her thoughts however strayed to the scene beneath the trees when Stronbert had held her. How frightened she had been at first. Which was foolish, really, since she knew that he was not a man who would take advantage of her. He had a way of inducing her to do things she did not really mean to do, though. When he looked at you in that certain way, it was as though he knew he was right and any opinion you might have on the subject was frivolous. She shook back her steaming hair and decided that she must go to the shop.

* * * *

The dowager was seated with Miss Carnworth in the winter parlor, a merry blaze on the hearth to warm the room. “I think perhaps my new gown should have a flounce,”
she announced abruptly.

“Evelyn, when will you learn to accept someone else’s judgment? Felicia has designed you the most charming and appropriate gown imaginable and you must needs try to destroy it. A flounce! Do you wish to challenge the young people at the party with your youthful flounces and spangles? Nigel has told me that he finds your gown admirable.”

“Has he now?”
The dowager raised her head from the fringe she was knotting and stared inquiringly at her companion. “When did he see it?”

“Only yesterday. Felicia and Dorothy brought him to my room for that precise purpose.”

A cross expression flitted over the dowager’s features. “He has more faith in that child’s taste than in my own. Surely he owes more respect to his mother than that.”

Miss Carnworth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t be absurd, Evelyn. His respect for you has nothing to do with your taste—or lack of it,”
she murmured dryly.

“These last weeks he has neglected me,”
the dowager complained.

“You astonish me! Did he not execute your every commission in London?”

“Why should he have gone away at all?”
the old woman asked petulantly.

“Why should he not? This is his home, and we are all here by his generosity alone. Never did he suggest that you retire to the dower house when he was married. Quite the contrary. He has taken in every needy relation who has applied to him, and some who have not. I cannot blame him if he wishes to shake the dust of the place from his heels now and again, Evelyn. A young man, a widower, must regard this as something of an old people’s home, and wish for a little amusement.”

The dowager’s face set stubbornly. “He is thirty-eight recently and should settle down to his home and his children.”

Miss Carnworth threw her hands up in despair. “Good Lord, I cannot believe you could say such a thing! One would think he went roaring off to town every other week to hear you talk. He cannot have made more than half a dozen trips from home in the last two years. And his attentions to you and his children are quite remarkable.”

“He has divided his attentions widely of late,”
the dowager complained, pulling over-fiercely at the knot to set it in place. “Here are his niece and nephew claiming his time, to say nothing of Felicia. And I believe he has been riding with Lady Coombs recently.”
The old woman cast a suspicious glance from under her lowered eyelids to see how this comment would affect Miss Carnworth.

“About time someone did,”
she retorted with asperity. “Lady Coombs has been working altogether too hard in the shop. It is not a life she is accustomed to, Evelyn.”

“I know, I know, but it need not be Nigel who undertakes her amusement. Surely the young people could invite her to join them.”

“I doubt she would interfere with their youthful exploits. She would fear to dampen their spirits with her presence.”

“She is little more than a child herself,”
the dowager protested.

“Only in comparison with us, Evelyn. She must be close to Nigel’s age.”

With a dark look the dowager transferred her gaze to the window. “The rain has stopped. I have no doubt Nigel will be soaked to the bone when he returns. He will need a fire in his room.”

“He is perfectly capable of sustaining a wetting, Evelyn. Shall I instruct that a fire be started for him?”
she asked as she rose.

“Now where are you going? I can very well give orders to the servants, Susan. Everyone treats me as though I were too old to be of use,”
Lady Stronbert said fretfully.

Miss Carnworth offered an incredulous snort. “I think the weather is addling your brains, Evelyn. Dorothy’s gown is in need of another hour’s work and I should like to see it finished. On my way through the hall I shall order a fire in Nigel’s room.”

“See that he is told I wish to speak with him when he comes in.”

“Yes, after he has changed to dry clothing, cousin,”
Miss Carnworth agreed repressively.

When Stronbert received word of his mother’s wish to see him, he was shaking himself out of a dripping greatcoat. “Tell her I have returned and will be with her shortly, if you will, Williams.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, his topboots squishing at each footfall, he was unaware of any discomfort from his condition. Gladly would he have suffered a soaking daily if it provided him an opportunity to hold Lady Coombs in his arms and encourage her confidence in him. He had not purposely put them in such a situation, but he could only view the experience with satisfaction. With the party but a few days away, he was unlikely to have a chance to ride with her again soon and he hoped their afternoon’s adventure would work to his advantage.

His valet promptly divested him of his wet clothing, and would not accept thanks for the warmth of the blaze. “Your lady mother instructed that it be started, milord.”

Stronbert shook his head exasperatedly. “Then she probably wants to see me to assure herself that I have not sustained damage from my soaking. Had you best rub my face with rouge, James?”
he asked quizzically.

“Give over, sir. You be in the pink of health and well you know it. Her ladyship do treat you like a boy at times,”
he said disgustedly, as he gave a final tug to the set of Stronbert’s coat. “Fair lucky she never heard word of the duel.”

“Yes, and I appreciate your discretion in that matter, James.”
With a nod of thanks he left to present himself to his mother in the winter parlor.

“Ah, there you are, Nigel. It would have been wise not to ride out on such a threatening day,”
she admonished him.

“No, do you think so? I quite enjoyed myself, though I was grateful for the fire you ordered in my room.”
He stooped to kiss her cheek before seating himself on a green velvet-covered spoonback chair near her. “Did you wish to see me in order to scold me?”

Her piercing gaze took in his unperturbed countenance and relaxed attitude. “It would not do the least good, I dare say. Nonetheless, I did have in mind to mention that I think you have been neglecting your family.”

Stronbert raised a brow. “Do you? In what way, Mother?”

“You have not spent enough time with your children.”

“I have ridden with them every day since my return, to say nothing of participating in numerous games of barley break, prisoner’s bar, My Daughter Jane, and whoop and hide.”
He considered her thoughtfully. “Do you feel that I have neglected you, Mother?”

“I was not speaking of myself, Nigel.”

“Perhaps it is merely that everyone has been busy preparing for the party,”
he suggested.

“I could see no need for your trip.”

“But then, I wished to make it,”
he said gently, “and it provided an opportunity to bring you some items you desired from London.”

“I could have done without them,”
she mumbled. “Things are not the same here. I can feel it.”

“You need never fear that we do not all hold you in affection, Mother, and we shall always continue to do so, no matter what changes occur. If you feel the demands placed on you by the party are too great, you need only say so, and I will arrange for more help for you.”