Julia London (86 page)

“Mother, I apologize, all right?” he said with icy impatience.

But she continued as if he had not spoken. “So I asked myself, Hannah, what on earth would cause him to ignore all civility and act in such a way? What would cause him to cast off the lessons he has learned from the cradle about revering the women in his life?”

“Marvelous. And what did Hannah say?” he said, mockingly.

“That there could be but one reason. That at last, her son had discovered love.”

Startled, Alex flicked his gaze to her; she was looking at him pointedly, daring him to disagree. “I have no doubt Hannah had an opinion about that,” he said slowly.

She smiled softly. “Only that she prays it is true,” she murmured. Alex frowned disapprovingly; it was inconceivable to him that his mother would want what she implied.

But she assured him she did with her smile. “I am a mother, Alexander, and I know my son very well. I know he does not allow his feelings to show, assuming, of course, he actually has any. I know he thinks he has made a very good match, one that will meet with everyone’s approval. I also know he does not love his intended, but carries another in his heart. And that he was never expecting anything like this to happen, not in a thousand years.”

Stung that she had pegged him so accurately, he snorted disdainfully. “What has love got to do with anything?” he asked contentiously.

“Don’t be an idiot, darling. It has
everything
to do with anything,” she smiled. With great condescension, Alex shook his head, but Hannah merely chuckled. “Do you recall the day of Lady Darfield’s garden party?”

He nodded suspiciously.

“I found that party to be quite extraordinary. I have never seen you look at a woman the way you looked at Countess Bergen, and I knew instantly what it was. The French say, ‘
true love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have ever seen.
’ ” Alex rolled his eyes in great exasperation.

Hannah suddenly moved to the ottoman directly in front of him and leaned forward, placing her hand on his knee. “Oh my darling, you cannot possibly know how true that is! I was fortunate enough to know true love with your father, and I cannot begin to convey how very precious it is. In this day and age, when marriages are made for little more than
gain, I have despaired that you would ever find true love! I was resigned to the idea that you would marry some silly debutante who wants nothing more than to have people bow and scrape to her—”

“Mother!”

“But I
know
what I saw in your eyes that day, as well as I know what I saw in hers! You
love
her, Alex, and I cannot stand by and allow the opportunity to see you happily married slip away!”

He started to deny it, but he could no more lie to her than he could to Arthur. It would have been useless, anyway. She was ready for him to defy her; he could see it in the set of her mouth. “She has left town,” he said slowly, uncertainly. “In the company of the German.”

“Ha!” Hannah scoffed with an airy wave of her hand. “I don’t really care for him, do you?”

“I don’t think she really cares for me,” he muttered.

“Rubbish!”

“She believes I used her.”

“Well, did you?”

“No,”
he snapped angrily, then muttered, “I could
never.
”

Hannah took his hand and held it tenderly between both of hers. A silence fell over the room as mother and son contemplated one another. It was extraordinary, he thought, that he actually felt relieved. As if a great, secret weight had been lifted from him. At length, Hannah said quietly, “You should go after her, of course. And do not let that German deter you. She does not love him.”

Alex was not about to challenge her wisdom on that front. “What of Marlaine?”

Hannah sighed sadly. “Now
that
will not be easy. She will hate you, utterly despise you. But someday she will thank you for being honest with her.”

“Rather hard to imagine,” he scoffed.

“Well, I suppose it may take years and years. This may
sound a little contrived, but your uncertainty is hardly fair to Marlaine. She adores you, and you cannot return that affection. Someday, sooner rather than later, I suspect, the bond between you will crack. And who knows? Maybe she would be relieved in some small way? You have hardly been the attentive fiancé.”

Alex cautiously regarded his mother. “You didn’t think this way before.”

“Yes I did,” she said, caressing the back of his hand. “But I suppose I was a bit afraid of the talk. It wasn’t until you returned from Tarriton that I realized just how deeply you felt for the countess. And it wasn’t until the last few days I realized how devastated you were. Come what may, no mother can see her child suffer so and not want to move heaven and earth to fix it.” She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it.

His eyes began to sting; embarrassed, he blinked and hastily looked down. “I … thank you, Mum. I will think on what you have said.”

Hannah grinned at him. “I know you will, darling. Now then, if you will excuse me, I shall be off to improve the life of my youngest son.”

“I should hardly think it possible to improve two lives in one day, but let me suggest you work on the nasty little habit he has of tattling on his brother.”

Hannah rose, chuckling. She stooped to place a kiss on Alex’s cheek. “I love you, Alex. I want only the very best for you.”

He grasped her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I know. And I love you for it.”

   For the remainder of the afternoon, Alex contemplated his mother’s wishes, but eventually dismissed them as sentimental. He could not betray Marlaine. No, he was bound by duty and responsibility to go through with his commitment. She deserved that and the
ton
expected it of him. He was an
influential peer, and he had to consider the ramifications of his actions in more than one light.

He arrived at Marlaine’s home at nine o’clock, having sent a note asking her to attend the Fremont ball with him. Marlaine’s hopeful smile faded when he entered the drawing room. It was little wonder; the expensive cut of his evening clothes did not erase the dark circles under his sullen eyes. He knew he looked awful; he just did not give a damn.

“Shall I fetch you a drink?” she asked carefully, trying hard not to look appalled.

“I think not,” he said, his stomach roiling at the mere suggestion. She motioned for him to sit, and sat nervously on the edge of a chair, very carefully avoiding his eyes.

“I offend you,” he observed indifferently.

“Never,”
she gasped.

“God, Marlaine, admit it. I offend myself,” he said wearily.

“Well … I admit I do not understand,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to her lap.

“What, that I drank myself into oblivion or that I am paying soundly for it today?” he asked apathetically.

“I do not understand why you have felt compelled to do it two nights in a row,” she murmured.

“Three,” he corrected her. “Sometimes men drink. They do not require a reason. They just … do.” She nodded, her eyes downcast. “Would you prefer I leave you?”

“Oh no! I think we
must
go to the ball, don’t you?”

Her eager response struck him as odd. “We must?”

She smiled a little, her delicate hands anxiously working a seam in her gown. “It’s just that people have
asked
about you. I—I think it is best we be seen in public. You know, so they will not talk,” she said quietly. “Papa says we must all stand united if your reforms are to be favorably viewed.”

Ah yes, a subtle reminder from Whitcomb about the almighty importance of appearances. He was not going to argue the point—normally, he would agree. Gossip grew
vicious when individual members of the
ton
did not do what was expected of them. The
ton
could go to hell as far as he was concerned, but he had Marlaine to think of. “Then we shall go. Just keep me away from the whiskey, will you?”

She glanced at him, unsmiling. “I will try,” she said quietly.

   The stifling crowd at the Fremont ball was enough to make a strong man ill; it had Alex downright nauseated. He had danced twice, both times exacerbating his rather enormous headache. For once, he was grateful for David’s intervention. Their relationship had been strained since that day at the park, but his cousin seemed to have forgotten it. He paid uncharacteristic attention to Marlaine. He had danced with her twice already, and had even taken her for a garden stroll. But even David, for the sake of propriety, could not prolong her absence. She was back at his side, and his temples were throbbing. There was no air circulating in the ballroom, and he tugged impatiently at his white silk neckcloth.

“Are you all right?” Marlaine asked anxiously for the third time, worry rimming her eyes.

“I am as well as I was when you asked ten minutes ago,” he said gruffly, glancing testily about the room.

“We can go if you like,” she offered.

“I am fine, Marlaine. Stop …
fretting.
”

She smiled demurely. “I cannot do that. I am afraid fiancée’s fret.”

“Sutherland?”

Alex glanced over his shoulder at Lord van der Mill, a casual acquaintance. He was in no mood to make idle talk. “Good evening, my lord,” he said, bowing slightly.

“Surprised to see you. Heard you were indisposed. Good evening, Lady Marlaine. Lovely ball, eh?” the older man chirped.

“Yes, my lord, quite lovely,” Marlaine purred. “His
grace is almost completely recovered. It’s a horrid little fever going around.” If there was one thing Marlaine did well, it was play the game of social graces, Alex thought.

“Fever, that so?” van der Mill muttered, peering closely at Alex. “Not contagious, are you?”

“Hardly,” Alex intoned.

“Say, your mother still own that house on Berkeley Street?” van der Mill asked. “Heard you might consider selling it.”

Alex shifted restlessly against the wall he was using to support himself. Van der Mill had all the houses he could possibly want, two in London alone. “Looking for another home?” he asked.

“Don’t know.” Van der Mill shrugged and glanced askance at Marlaine. “Have a friend who might be interested,” he said, and winked subtly.

Alex nodded, a little surprised a man of van der Mill’s considerable years would still be randy enough to want to keep a mistress. “Why don’t we talk? Perhaps you could come around in a day or so?” he suggested, his curiosity piqued.

I’ll do just that,” van der Mill responded with a queer smile. “Good evening, Lady Marlaine.”

“Good evening, my lord.”

Van der Mill patted Alex’s forearm in a friendly gesture. “Hope you are over that fever soon, your grace,” he said. He turned to walk away, but hesitated, and looked at Alex over his shoulder. “No one living there at Berkley Street, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Odd. Your driver was not so certain. Said you were there a few evenings ago—with a woman?” Alex’s heart stopped beating; he managed to keep his expression bland as van der Mill shrugged indifferently. “I suppose he was mistaken, then?”

He could have sworn the old man’s eyes narrowed
slightly as he waited for a reply. “The house is closed for the Season. He was mistaken,” he said evenly. Van der Mill’s eyes flicked quickly to Marlaine and back to Alex before he nodded curtly and strolled away.

His pulse pounding harshly in his neck, Alex resisted the urge to look at Marlaine.
Damn
that jealous old rooster! And God save his driver, whose
tongue
he would have for breakfast!

“Perhaps … perhaps Arthur was there,” Marlaine said softly.

His hands fisted at his side. “He was mistaken. The house is closed.”

She nodded slowly, peering up at him. “Is something wrong? You are so pale.”

“Would you like to call a physician, Marlaine? Perhaps then you may rest easy I won’t expire on you in the middle of the Fremont’s dance floor!” he said sharply. Her eyes widened with astonishment, and she quickly looked away. He truly lamented his outburst. “I am sorry, love. I did not mean to snap at you.”

“Yes, so you keep saying,” she murmured.

He shoved away from the wall. “They are playing a waltz. Would you like to dance with an irritable goat?” She shrugged halfheartedly. Nonetheless, Alex led her to the dance floor and swept her into a waltz. She danced stiffly, holding him at arm’s length as was proper, her steps small and precise. It was bloody impossible not to compare her with the way Lauren fit his arms perfectly, the way she flowed with the music. Marlaine gamely attempted small talk, chatting about something to do with the wedding. He hated himself more with every beat of the music. Was he destined to spend his life comparing her with Lauren? It was a wretched way to live; he always comparing, she always trying to measure up to some standard she did not even know existed.
She adores you, and you cannot return that affection.
His mother’s words rattled like a loose ball about
his brain. He could not return her affection. He could not even muster the patience for one ball for her.

It was a great relief when Marlaine asked to be taken home. He helped her into the coach and sat across from her, closing his eyes and sinking against the plush squabs with numbing fatigue.

“You work so hard, Alex. You need your rest,” she said as the coach rolled away from the curb.

Her constant concern pricked at him, and he was an ogre for resenting it. Unfortunately, it seemed there was little he did
not
resent tonight. “What are your plans tomorrow?” he asked, desperate to avoid another discussion about his health.

“I really must finish the invitations. There are so
many—
”

“The invitations have not yet been sent?” he asked, his entire body tightening in response to some internal, primal warning.

She laughed lightly. “Of course not! They are to arrive exactly a fortnight in advance of the wedding, and Friday would be a fortnight.”

He stared at her, his mind a sudden whirlwind tossing thoughts haphazardly about his conscience. The invitations had not been sent. The bloody invitations had not been sent.
She adores you, and you cannot return that affection.
It was not too late, he thought madly. “Marlaine—”