JMcNaught - Something Wonderful (5 page)

"That's a good fellow," Alexandra praised, giving him a comradely pat on the shoulder. "If you're still up when I return, we'll have a cozy game of whist and—"

"When you return?" Sir Montague uttered in alarm. "You don't mean to go off and leave me alone with your mama and her insufferable guests!"

"I do indeed," Alexandra said gaily, already heading off. She blew him a kiss and closed the door on his mutterings about "expiring from boredom" and "being cast into eternal gloom."

She was passing her mother's bedchambers when Felicia Lawrence called out in a frail but imperious voice, "Alexandra! Alexandra, is that you?"

The angry note in her mother's plaintive voice made Alex pause and mentally brace herself for what was bound to be another unpleasant confrontation with her mother over Will Helmsley. Squaring her thin shoulders, she stepped into her mother's room. Mrs. Lawrence was seated before a dressing table, wearing an old mended wrapper, frowning at her reflection in the mirror. The three years since her husband's death had added decades to her mother's once-beautiful face, Alex thought sadly. The vivacious sparkle that had once lit her mother's eyes and enlivened her voice had faded, along with the rich mahogany color of her hair. Now it was dull brown, streaked with grey. It wasn't just grief that had ravaged her mother's face, Alex knew. It was also anger.

Three weeks after George Lawrence's death, a splendid carriage had drawn up at their house. In it was Alex's beloved father's "other family"—the wife and daughter he'd been living with in London for over twelve years. He had kept his legitimate family tucked away in near-poverty in Morsham, while he lived with his illegitimate one in grand style. Even now, Alex winced with pain as she recalled that devastating day when she'd unexpectedly come face to face with her half-sister in this very house. The girl's name was Rose, and she was excessively pretty. But that didn't hurt Alex nearly so much as the beautiful gold locket Rose was wearing around her slender white throat. George Lawrence had given it to her, just as he had given one to Alex. But Alex's was made of tin.

The tin locket, and the fact that he had chosen to live with the lovely little blond girl, made her father's opinion of Alex and her mother eloquently clear.

Only in one area had he treated both his families equally—and that was in the matter of estate: He had died without a shilling to his name, leaving both families equally penniless.

For her mother's sake, Alex had buried the pain of his betrayal in her heart and tried to behave normally, but her mother's grief had turned to rage. Mrs. Lawrence had retired permanently to her rooms to nurse her fury, leaving everything else to Alex to handle. For two and a half years, Mrs. Lawrence had taken no interest in her household or her grieving daughter. When she spoke, it was only to rail about the injustice of her fate and her husband's treachery.

But six months ago Mrs. Lawrence had realized that her situation might not be so hopeless as she'd thought. She had hit upon a means of escape from her plight—and Alexandra was to be that means. Alexandra, she had decided, was going to snare a husband who could rescue both of them from this impoverished life-style. To that end, Mrs. Lawrence had turned her acquisitive attention to the various families in the neighborhood. Only one of them, the Helmsleys, had enough wealth to suit her, and so she decided upon their son Will—despite the fact that he was a dull, henpecked youth, greatly under the influence of his overpowering parents, who were nearly puritanical in their religious leanings.

"I've asked the squire and his wife to supper," Mrs. Lawrence said to Alex in the mirror. "And Penrose has promised to prepare an excellent meal."

"Penrose is a butler, Mama, he can't be expected to cook for company."

"I am well aware of Penrose's original position in the household, Alexandra. However, he does cook better than Filbert or you, so we will have to make do with his skills this evening. And with fish, of course," she said, and a delicate shudder shook her thin shoulders. "I do wish we didn't have to eat so much fish. I never cared overmuch for it."

Alexandra, who caught the fish and shot whatever game she could find for their table, flushed, as if she was somehow failing in her duty as head of the strange household. "I'm sorry, Mama, but game is scarce just now. Tomorrow, I'll ride out into the countryside and see if I can get something better. Just now, I'm leaving, and I won't be home until late."

"Late?" her mother gasped. "But you must be here tonight, and you must, must,
must
be on the most excellent behavior. You know what sticklers the squire and his wife are for modesty and decorum in a female, although it galls my soul that
that man
has left us so low in the world that we must now cater to the preferences of a mere squire."

Alexandra didn't need to ask who "that man" referred to. Her mother always referred to Alex's father either as "that man" or as "your father"—as if Alexandra herself were somehow to blame for choosing him and she, Mrs. Lawrence, were the mere innocent victim of that choice.

"Then you mustn't cater to the squire," Alexandra said with gentle, but unshakable firmness, "for I wouldn't marry Will Helmsley if it would save me from starving—which we are not in the least danger of doing."

"Oh yes, you will," her mother said in a low, angry voice that sprang from a mixture of desperation and terror. "And you must comport yourself like the wellborn young lady you are. No more gallivanting about the countryside. The Helmsleys won't overlook a breath of scandal if it is attached to their future daughter-in-law."

"I am not their future anything!" Alexandra said, hanging on to her shaky composure with an effort. "I loathe Will Helmsley and for your information," she finished, pushed to the point of forgetting about her mother's fragile hold on sanity, "Mary Ellen says Will Helmsley prefers young boys to girls!"

The horror of that statement, which Alex only partially understood herself, sailed right over Mrs. Lawrence's greying head. "Well, of course—most young men prefer other young men as companions. Although," Mrs. Lawrence continued, getting up and beginning to pace with the fevered awkwardness of one who has been an invalid for a long time, "that may be exactly why he hasn't shown a strong reluctance to wed you, Alexandra." Her gaze was riveted up on Alexandra's thin frame clad in threadbare, tight brown breeches, a white, full-sleeved shirt opened at the throat, and brown boots that showed she'd attempted to shine them. She looked much like a once-prosperous young lad whose family had fallen on hard times and who was forced to wear clothes he'd outgrown. "You must begin wearing gowns, even though young Will doesn't seem to object to your breeches."

Hanging on to her temper with an effort, Alex said patiently, "Mama, I do not own a gown that is not inches above my knees."

"I told you to alter one of mine for you."

"But I'm not handy with a needle, and—"

Mrs. Lawrence stopped pacing and glared at her. "I must say you're putting every obstacle you can think of in the way of your betrothal, but I mean to end this mockery of a life we've been living, and Squire Helmsley's son is the only hope we have." She frowned darkly at the stubborn child-woman standing in the doorway, a shadow of bitter regret crossing her pale features. "I realize that we have never been truly close, Alexandra, but it is
that man's
fault you've grown into the wild, unruly hoyden you are today, gallivanting about the countryside, wearing pants, shooting that rifle, and doing all manner of things you ought not."

Helpless to keep the angry embarrassment from her voice, Alexandra retorted stiffly, "If I were the demure, vapid, helpless creature you seem to want me to be, this household would have starved long ago."

Mrs. Lawrence had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "What you say is true, but we cannot go on this way much longer. Despite your best efforts, we're in debt to everyone. I know I've not been a good mother these three years past, but I've come to my senses at last, and I must take steps to see you safely married."

"But I don't love Will Helmsley," Alexandra burst out desperately.

"Which is all to the good," Mrs. Lawrence said harshly. "Then he can't hurt you as your father hurt me. Will comes from a steady, solid family. You won't find him keeping an extra wife in London and gambling everything away." Alexandra winced at this cruel reminder of her father's perfidy, as her mother continued, "Actually, we're very lucky Squire Helmsley is so very pushing—otherwise, I daresay he wouldn't have you for a daughter."

"Just what
is
my attraction as a daughter-in-law?"

Mrs. Lawrence looked shocked. "Why, we are connected to an earl, Alexandra, and to a knight of the realm," she said as if that answered everything.

When Mrs. Lawrence fell into a pensive silence, Alexandra shrugged and said, "I'm off to Mary Ellen's. It's her brother's birthday today."

"Perhaps it's better if you aren't present at supper," Mrs. Lawrence said, absently picking up her hairbrush and running it haphazardly through her hair. "I believe the Helmsleys mean to broach the subject of the marriage tonight, and it wouldn't do to have you here frowning and looking mutinous."

"Mama," Alexandra said with a mixture of pity and alarm, "I would rather starve than marry Will."

Mrs. Lawrence's expression made it clear that she, for one, did not prefer starvation to her daughter's marriage. "These matters are best left for adults to decide. Go along to Mary Ellen's, but do wear a gown."

"I can't. In honor of John OToole's birthday, we're going to have a jousting tournament like in days of old—you know, the sort of tournament the OTooles always have on birthdays."

"You're entirely too old to go parading about in that rusty old suit of armor, Alexandra. Leave it in the hallway where it belongs."

"No harm will come to it," Alex assured. "I'm only taking a shield, the helmet, the lance, and the breastplate."

"Oh, very well," her mother said with a weary shrug.

«
^
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M
ounted upon old
T
hunder
, a swaybacked, evil-tempered gelding who was older than she was and who had belonged to her grandfather, Alexandra plodded down the rutted road toward the OTooles' sprawling cottage, her rifle in a scabbard beside her, her gaze sweeping the side of the road in hopes of spying some small game to shoot on the way to Mary Ellen's. Not that there was much chance of surprising any animal this afternoon, for the long lance tucked under her arm clanked noisily against the breastplate she wore and banged against the shield she carried.

Despite her unhappy confrontation with her mother, Alex's spirits rose, buoyed up by the glorious spring day and the same sense of excited expectation she'd tried to describe to Sarah.

Down in the valley on her left and in the woods on her right, spring flowers had burst into bloom, filling her eyes and nose with their rainbow colors and delicious scent. On the outskirts of the village there was a small inn, and Alexandra, who knew everyone within the eight-mile circle that encompassed her entire world, shoved the visor of her helmet up and waved gaily at Mr. Tilson, the proprietor. "Good day, Mr. Tilson," she called.

"Good day to you, Miss Alex," he called back.

Mary Ellen O'Toole and her six brothers were outside the OTooles' rambling cottage, a rollicking game of knights-of-yore already in full progress in their yard. "Come on, Alexandra," fourteen-year-old Tom called from atop his father's ancient horse. "It's time for a joust."

"No, let's duel first," the thirteen-year-old argued, brandishing an old saber. "I'll best you this time, Alex. I've been practicing day and night."

Laughing, Alexandra awkwardly dismounted and hugged Mary Ellen, then both girls threw themselves into the games, which were a ritual reenacted on each of the seven O'Toole children's birthday.

The afternoon and evening passed in exuberant games, cheerful rivalry, and the convivial laughter of a large family gathered together—something that Alexandra, an only child, had always longed to be part of.

By the time she was on her way home, she was happily exhausted and nearly groaning from the quantity of hearty food she'd eaten at the insistence of kindly Mrs. O'Toole.

Lulled by the steady clip-clop of old Thunder's hooves on the dusty road, Alexandra let her body sway in rhythm with the horse's gentle motion, her heavy eyelids drooping with fatigue. Left with no other way to bring her suit of armor back home, Alexandra was wearing it, but it made her uncomfortably warm, which made her feel even drowsier.

As she passed the inn and turned old Thunder onto the wide path that led through the woods and intersected the main road again a mile away, she noticed that several horses were tied in the innyard and the lamp in the window was still lit. Masculine voices, raised in lusty song, drifted through the open window to her. Overhead the branches of the oak trees met, swaying in the spring night, casting eerie shadows on the path as they blotted out the moon.

It was late, Alexandra knew, but she didn't urge her mount to quicken its walking pace. In the first place, Thunder was past twenty, and in the second, she wanted to be sure that Squire and Mrs. Helmsley had departed by the time she arrived.