An Impossible Attraction (10 page)

Her heart continued to race, but she had awakened saddened, and she remained so. She’d made a mistake by accepting the squire’s invitation, that was obvious, and her sisters had suffered because of it, as well. But going out last night, and winding up briefly in Clarewood’s arms, had opened up all of her old wounds. She hadn’t been able to sleep. She kept thinking about how she’d felt being in his embrace. Her body had become somewhat feverish just recalling it. And she was constantly thinking about Owen now, too, and what they’d almost had. The pain of the past had somehow returned, and it hurt worse than ever.

She almost wished she had chosen differently. And that was just as terrible. She’d never before doubted the choice she’d made. Her decision to take care of her sisters and father had been the morally correct one. She had sworn to Elizabeth as she lay dying that she would take care of the family. That vow meant more to her than her own happiness.

“Why are you standing on the stairs like a statue?” Olivia’s soft voice cut into her thoughts.

Alexandra jerked back to reality, and she smiled, then moved swiftly down the stairs to join her sister. “I overslept,” she said. She’d finally drifted off to sleep at dawn. No wonder she had slept long past her usual rising time.

“You never sleep in,” Olivia said, her green eyes filled with concern.

There was no point in increasing her sister’s anxiety by confessing how distracted and distressed she’d been all night, so she merely ignored the comment. “I am hungry,” she lied. “Will you join me and at least have a cup of tea?”

Before Olivia could respond, the library doors opened and Edgemont lumbered through them, still in his tailcoat, which was thoroughly wrinkled now. Unshaven, he looked entirely disreputable. “Good morning,” he boomed, then blinked at them.

Alexandra was so filled with outrage that she did not answer—she didn’t trust herself to speak. Not yet, anyway. She marched past him to the kitchen, Olivia on her heels.

But Edgemont followed. “How rude!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong with you today?”

Alexandra went to the stove and used a match to light a burner, her hands shaking. She pumped water into the teakettle and set it on the burner.

“Are you angry?” He winced and rubbed his temples. “Was it a good evening? I can’t seem to recall most of it.”

Alexandra whirled. “No, it was not a good evening, as you were falling down drunk!”

He drew himself upright. “I won’t have you speaking to me in such a manner.”

She inhaled. She never lost her temper, never shouted, but she’d just shouted at him. She had just insulted her own father. She fought for calm. “Why not? You humiliated yourself in front of everyone at Harrington House.” She spoke quietly now. “Do you even know how you got home last night?”

He was puzzled. “No, I do not.”

“The Duke of Clarewood carried you across the ballroom, Father. Yes, you were that foxed. And then Randolph and Alexi de Warenne took you outside. I believe young Randolph de Warenne escorted you home.”

Edgemont paled. Then he straightened. “A man has his rights, and I have every right to my gin. You’re exaggerating—I recall it all now.” He paused, breathing hard, and looked at Olivia. “Prepare my breakfast,” he said.

Olivia walked past him to do just that, her mouth pursed.

The kettle began to sing. Alexandra turned slowly, though she felt like whirling in anger, and took the kettle from the fire and calmly set it on the counter, when she felt like smashing it down. She had Clarewood on her mind again. Bloody hell, she thought.

She also never cursed, not even in her thoughts.

“How is the squire today?” Edgemont asked carefully, apparently having come to his full senses.

“I wouldn’t know.” She poured two cups of tea for herself and Olivia. “Would you like a cup, Father?”

“Yes.”

She poured his tea and faced him. “He will surely call things off now, and it will be your fault. Your drinking has to stop. It is disgraceful, and we can’t afford it.”

Edgemont stared at her, and she stared back as she handed him the cup and saucer. Without a word, he went from the kitchen to the dining table and sat down.

Alexandra looked at Olivia. They both knew that he would not change.

“W
E HAVE CALLERS
,” Corey said. “Or rather, we have
a
caller.”

Alexandra had just finished her toast and jam. Corey was standing at the kitchen window, and Alexandra got up to see who could possibly be calling before noon. As the dark carriage got closer, she realized it belonged to the squire.

She tensed. He’d brought them home last night, but it had been late, everyone had been tired, and the conversation had been perfunctory. Corey had even fallen asleep on the way, and the squire had encouraged Alexandra to do so, as well. She hadn’t, but she’d pretended to doze, to avoid speaking to him. Now she wondered if he was sending a note breaking things off. Or would he come in person to do so? A note would be kinder. On the other hand, he need only speak to Edgemont. And she was dismayed, because he was her sisters’ last hope.

She refused to go down that path.
She
was her sisters’ last hope. She would not give up on securing them a decent future.

Corey turned from the window. “He is here. Do you want us to chaperone you?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Alexandra removed her apron and tucked a stray hair behind her ears, the behavior instinctive.

“He is going to break things off, isn’t he?” Corey asked. She was somber.

“Undoubtedly. You should be pleased, being as you are dead set against him.”

“You were accused of horrible things last night, Alexandra! I would never want the suit broken off this way.”

Alexandra patted her shoulder. “Forget about last night, Corey.” She gave Olivia a glance and went to the front door. Rejection was always unpleasant, and her heart lurched with dread as she turned the knob.

The squire had come in person, looking flushed from the drive over, and he was not smiling—he seemed grave. “Good afternoon, Miss Bolton.”

Tamping down her dread, she returned the greeting and let him in, walking with him to the parlor.

“Is it too early to call? I could not sleep last night, Miss Bolton, for all my thoughts of you.”

Alexandra smiled grimly. “I must apologize for my father’s behavior last night, and thank you yet again for inviting us out.”

“You do not have to apologize,” he said.

Alexandra inhaled sharply. “Of course I do.”

“No.” He shook his head. Then, “I am so distressed. I am so sorry you had to suffer through the evening. That was not my intention!”

“I am fine,” she said lightly. “And it is forgotten.” She managed a smile. She had to let him off the hook. “I know why you have called, Mr. Denney. And I understand.”

“Good. Then you must know that I am furious with the mean-spiritedness of the gossips last night!” he exclaimed.

She went still. “You heard?”

He nodded gravely.

“But you never let on.”

“I did not want to add to your distress.”

Realizing that he’d heard all the ugly gossip, including the lies about her and Owen, she flushed. “You are let off, Mr. Denney.” She finally said. “No gentleman wants a socially unacceptable wife.”

He recoiled, eyes wide. “What? Is that what you think? I do not believe the ugliness I overheard, not for a minute! And you are the most socially acceptable woman I know. You shine, Miss Bolton, and those harpies cast shadows. I cannot understand why they would want to cast such aspersions on your character.”

She was taken aback, disbelieving. Morton Denney hadn’t believed the gossips. He hadn’t judged her as everyone else had. He had faith in her character.

That was when she saw her sisters standing in the hallway, the parlor door ajar, faces pressed to the crack. “I am surprised, sir, that you would believe in me.”

“You sewed my wife’s clothing for five years, Miss Bolton. I believe I know your true nature.”

She chewed on her lip, then breathed out. “So this is a social call?”

“What else would it be?”

She could not contain herself. “You did not come to end things?”

“No, I did not. I came to make certain that you had survived the evening.”

Alexandra could not believe his magnanimity. She turned, found a chair and sat down. He walked over to her. She looked up and said, “I am not socially acceptable. You can and should do better.”

He hesitated. “How could I do better, Miss Bolton? How?”

She fought for composure, filled with both dismay and relief. He would not walk out of their lives after all, and even as she thought that, she was dismayed—he was so clearly in love with her. God, if only she could come to love him in return. And she had to stop thinking about Clarewood! Taking a few deep breaths, she stood. “I was not jilted by Owen St. James, Mr. Denney. When I told you about my vows to my dying mother, and my decision to send Owen away, it was the truth.”

He nodded, and as he did, Edgemont came bursting into the room. He looked back and forth between them with alarm. “Father,” Alexandra said, hoping to ward off disaster. “The squire has called.”

Edgemont rushed forward. Denney seemed uncomfortable now. “Did you have a pleasant evening last night?” her father asked transparently. “Alexandra was lovely, was she not? Just like her blessed mother, a true lady.”

“Miss Bolton is always lovely,” Denney said.

“Will you have some tea with me? As it is too early for brandy.” Her father laughed, slapping the squire’s arm.

Denney glanced at Alexandra.

Even though he didn’t seem interested in socializing with her father, the two men would have to get on if this marriage was to go forward, so she smiled a bit at him, and he nodded, then turned and walked off into the library with Edgemont. The moment he did, her sisters rushed into the parlor. They were both pale and wide-eyed.

“He isn’t breaking things off,” Alexandra said.

“We heard,” Olivia whispered.

Corey glanced past her, out the window, at the front drive. “There’s a rider approaching.”

Alexandra turned to see a rider cantering a lathered mount up their rutted dirt drive. The animal was one of the finest specimens of horseflesh she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t imagine who the rider might be. Then she faced her sisters. “The squire is a generous, kind and forgiving man.”

Olivia suggested, “Maybe we should forgive him the crime of being twenty-four years your elder.”

“That was your charge, not mine,” Alexandra said softly.

Their caller was knocking on the front door. Alexandra decided that the rider had to be lost. Still stunned that the squire had not wrongly judged her, she started from the room, her sisters following, and opened the door.

Randolph de Warenne stood there, his boots muddy, his cheeks reddened from the wind. He was holding a very large paper-wrapped bouquet in his hand.

Was he calling on one of her sisters? Alexandra wondered in confusion.

“Miss Bolton.” He smiled and bowed. “These are for you.”

The delight that had begun vanished. Her confusion absolute, she glanced over her shoulder at the closed library doors. Denney would not have Randolph de Warenne deliver flowers to her.

Her heart slammed.

Behind her, one of her sisters inhaled.

He grinned. “There is a card.”

“I have forgotten my manners,” Alexandra said, beginning to tremble. No, it was impossible. Surely Clarewood hadn’t sent her flowers. Absolutely not. She took the wrapped bouquet, gesturing Randolph inside. “Was it a long ride?”

“Very—but my mount is fast and fit, and we galloped most of the way.” He smiled at Corey and Olivia. “I made the journey in barely an hour and a half.”

She was shaking, she realized, and shocked. She did not know what this gesture could mean. Or did she? Alexandra walked into the parlor, saying, “They expect the new rail between Kensett and Clarewood to be completed in forty-seven.”

“I’ll ride anyway,” Randolph laughed. He glanced at Corey.

“Open the flowers,” Olivia whispered.

Alexandra clutched the bouquet and said, “Poor Randolph looks frozen. Can we get him some hot tea and scones? Oh, dear.” She turned back to him. “I never thanked you for your kindness last night.”

Neither sister moved.

“I am fine, really.” Randolph grinned. “And it was my pleasure to see your father home. Open the flowers,” he said. “I am not allowed to leave until you do.”

He was not allowed to leave until she opened the bouquet?
Clarewood’s image consumed her now. He had so obviously sent her flowers; he hadn’t forgotten her or even come to his senses.

Still stunned, and very reluctant now, Alexandra tore the wrapper off. Two dozen huge burgundy-red roses, each one fully opened and perfect—and clearly handpicked—were revealed. A small cream-colored envelope was pinned in their midst.

She could not move.

What did he want?

Why was he doing this?

The squire meant to
marry
her.

Corey gasped. “Those are the most perfect roses I have ever seen.”

“I have never seen roses that color before,” Olivia said as breathlessly.

“They cost a small fortune,” Randolph boasted.

Alexandra stared at the stunning flowers. The gesture was excessively bold, excessively dramatic. And it was even seductive, though she wasn’t sure it was romantic.

“Read the card,” Corey said.

Her hand continuing to tremble, she handed Olivia the flowers, then took the envelope, opened it with her nail and pulled out the small card within. There was nothing written on it except for a large, bold
C
.

“What does it say?” Corey demanded.

Alexandra showed her the card, looking up at Randolph. He was expectant, grinning at her now. She turned to Olivia, somehow finding her voice. “Can you find a vase, please?” But even as she spoke, she realized she should return the flowers—that she should not accept them.

“Wait!”

Olivia froze. “What is it?”