An Impossible Attraction (4 page)

Although married and comfortably settled now, Alexi remained the freest spirit and most independent thinker Stephen knew. They could argue for hours on almost any subject; they usually agreed on broad conclusions, but disagreed on almost every detail. Before Alexi’s marriage they had caroused together, and frequently—Alexi had been a notorious ladies’ man. Stephen admired his cousin, and he almost envied him. Alexi had made his life exactly what he wished for it to be—he had not been the servant of duty or slave to a legacy. Stephen could not imagine having had such choices or such freedom. But Alexi had also followed in his father’s footsteps and was one of the most successful China traders of the day. In fact, until he’d married Elysse, the sea had been his great love. Now, amazingly, his wife joined him on his longer voyages, and they had residences around the world.

“I am hardly conversing with the dead, much less carousing,” Stephen said drily, walking over to Alexi and embracing him very briefly. “I was wondering when you would get back to town. How is Hong Kong and, more importantly, how is your wife?”

“My wife is doing very well, and if you must know, she is thrilled to be home—and she misses you, Stephen. God knows why. It must be your irrepressible charm.” Alexi grinned and then glanced at the effigy. “It’s pouring outside, and the road below is about to be flooded. We may have to wait out the storm here. Aren’t you glad I have come?” He took a flask out of his pocket. “We can honor old Tom together. Cheers.”

Stephen felt himself smile. “If I must be honest, I am pleased you are both back, and yes, I will have a drink.” But he didn’t add that they both knew Alexi had despised Tom Mowbray and wouldn’t think of truly honoring him. Alexi had never understood Tom’s methods as a father. He had been raised so differently. There had never been verbal lashings, much less whip lashings.

Alexi handed him the flask. “He does look better in stone, by the way. And the likeness is startling.”

Stephen drank and handed the flask back. “We cannot disrespect the dead,” he warned.

“Of course not. God forbid you fail in your duty to honor him and salvage the dukedom. I see you have not changed.” Alexi drank. “All duty and no play…how respectable you are, Your Grace.”

“My duty is my life, and I have not changed, for better or for worse,” he said, mildly amused. Alexi loved to lecture him on his failure to seize upon life’s lighter moments. Only rarely could he turn away from his responsibilites. “Some of us do have responsibilities.”

Alexi made a sound. “Responsibilities are one thing, shackles, another.” He drank again.

“Yes, I am so terribly enslaved,” Stephen responded, “and it is a terrible fate, to have the power to buy, take or make anything I want, whenever I want.”

“Tom taught you well, but one day, the de Warenne blood will emerge.” Alexi was unperturbed. “Even if your power scares everyone else into abject obedience, obsequious fawning or outright submission, I will always attempt to steer you in the right direction.”

“I would not be a very adept duke if I were not obeyed,” Stephen said mildly. “Clarewood would be in shambles. And I believe the family has enough reckless adventurers.” He smiled. The truth was, the de Warenne men were only reckless until they settled down, and Alexi was glaring proof of that.

“Clarewood in shambles? That is an impossibility, as long as you are at the helm.” Alexi gave him a mock salute. “And I gather you have decided not to follow in my footsteps, after all. I am unbearably despondent.”

Stephen smiled.

Alexi smiled back, then said, “So I take it nothing has changed and you are still Britain’s most eligible bachelor?”

Now Stephen was truly amused. His de Warenne relations—those who knew that Sir Rex was his father—loved to nag him about his bachelor status. Of course, he did need an heir. He simply dreaded a cold, bitter and boring marriage. “You have been gone ten or eleven months. What did you expect? For me to find my betrothed at long last?”

“You have just turned thirty-one, and it has been fifteen years since you began searching for a bride.”

“One can hardly rush the process.” His tone was wry.

“Rush? You mean prevent. One can only delay the inevitable, Stephen, not prevent it, and I, for one, am glad you have rejected this Season’s latest offerings.”

“I will admit, inane banter with an eighteen-year-old, no matter how polished, has become a discipline I dread. Of course, you will never repeat this.”

“You are growing up—and of course not!” Alexi exclaimed, crossing his heart.

Stephen laughed, something he rarely did, but Alexi could always make him see the humor in a situation. “I hope so—I
am
middle-aged.”

They shared another drink, this time in silence. Then Alexi said, “So nothing has changed while I have been gone? You remain as industrious as ever, building hospitals for unwed mothers and managing mining leases for the duchy?”

He hesitated. “Nothing has changed.”

“How boring.” Alex’s smile faded, and he glanced at the effigy. “Old Tom there must be proud—finally.”

Stephen tensed. He glanced at the effigy, too. And for one moment, it was as if Tom sat up and was staring mockingly at him, as alive as they were—and as accusatory as ever. Stephen’s tension increased but then the memory was gone. Tom had looked at him with such scorn a thousand times, and most of the time he preferred to forget, but today was the one day he always remembered. “I doubt it.”

They shared a somber look. “Sir Rex is proud,” Alexi finally said. “And by the way, you are nothing like Tom, even if you try to be exactly like him.”

Stephen considered the comment, knowing that Alexi had overheard him talking to the effigy. “I have no delusions about my character, Alexi. But as far as Sir Rex goes, he has always been attentive and supportive. He was kind to me when I was a boy, before I even guessed at the true nature of our relationship. You are probably right. But frankly, it doesn’t matter. I do not need anyone to admire me or be proud of my achievements. I know what I must do. I know my duty—mock it though you will.”

“Damn it, your character is just fine!” Alexi was angry, his blue eyes sparking. “I came to rescue you from old Tom, but now I think I must rescue you from yourself. Everyone needs affection and admiration, Stephen, even you.”

“You are wrong,” he said instantly, meaning it.

“Why? Because you grew up without any affection, you assume you can and will live that way? Thank God you are a de Warenne by blood.”

Stephen did not want to walk out on that particular plank and only said, “I do not need rescuing, Alexi. I am the one with the power, remember? I am the one who does the rescuing.”

“Ah, yes, and the good work you do for those who cannot help themselves is admirable. Maybe it also keeps you sane—because it prevents you from realizing the cold truth about yourself.”

Stephen felt a twinge of anger, which he quashed. “Why are you harping on me?”

“Because I am your cousin, and if I don’t, who will?”

“Your wife, your sister and any number of other relations.”

Alexi grinned. “Enough said, then. Let’s make a dash for the coach, and if the road below is flooded, we will swim.”

Stephen started to laugh. “If you drown, Elysse will drown
me!
I suggest we wait out the storm here.”

“Yes, she probably would, and of course you would choose to be sensible and pragmatic.” But Alexi opened the vault door anyway. The downpour remained torrential. “I am bored with old Tom. I vote we adjourn to your library for the very finest and oldest Irish whiskey in your cabinet.” He glanced back into the vault. “You know, I think he is here, eavesdropping on us, as disapproving as ever.”

Stephen tensed and said sharply, “He is dead, for God’s sake, and has been dead for fifteen years.” But he wondered if his friend had felt the old man’s presence, too.

“Then why aren’t you free of him?”

Stephen started. What did that mean? He said carefully, “I am quite free of him, Alexi, just as I am free of the past. But duty rules me, and surely even you can understand that. I
am
Clarewood.”

Alexi stared. “No, Stephen, you aren’t free, not of him and not of the past, and I wish you could see that. But you are right, you are ruled by duty, and by now I should not expect anything else. Except, oddly, I do.”

Alexi was wrong; Alexi didn’t understand the Clarewood legacy. And Stephen didn’t feel like arguing about it. He simply wanted to escape Tom. “The rain has let up. Let’s go.”

A
LEXANDRA PAUSED
, facing her sisters. “Wish me luck,” she said grimly. Her smile felt far too firm, instead of being bright and reassuring. Squire Denney was waiting in the next room with Edgemont. Oddly, she was nervous. Or perhaps it wasn’t so odd. After all, her family’s future was at stake.

Alexandra knew that worrying about making a good impression was silly, given what she had to work with, but she glanced in the hall mirror anyway. Olivia had helped her with her hair, and the chignon seemed a bit severe. Worse, even though she’d chosen a dress that had fared better over the years than her other ones, it was clearly worn and out of fashion. She sighed. No amount of sewing could repair a frayed hem; only costly trim could do that.

“I appear ill kempt,” she said flatly.

Corey and Olivia exchanged looks. “You look like a fictional heroine, one suffering through tragic circumstances,” Olivia said, “and awaiting a dark hero to rescue her.” She reached up and teased several strands of hair from the tight chignon.

Alexandra smiled at her.

“I am not a tragic heroine, although the squire might very well be a hero. I suppose there is no putting this off.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Olivia said softly. “He is predisposed toward you.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t let me do your hair,” Corey complained, the light in her eyes flickering.

“I would have gladly done so—if I could have trusted you.” Knowing her sister, she might purposefully try to mess up her hair in the hopes of chasing off the squire. Alexandra could hear male voices in the parlor now. She started forward, resolved.

Both sisters followed. Olivia hugged her at the door. “I am with Corey, Alexandra. You can do better. He is not good enough for you. Please rethink this.”

Alexandra did not bother to tell her what she herself had already accepted: she was, as always, doing what was best for everyone.

Olivia sighed, glancing at Corey, who appeared distraught now.

“This is not the end of the world,” Alexandra said firmly, offering up a bright smile. “In fact, this is a new beginning for us all.” She shoved her anxiety aside and pushed open the door.

Behind her, she heard Corey cry softly, “Oh, Lord, I’d forgotten how short he was!”

Alexandra ignored that. She was exceptionally tall for a woman, and most men were shorter than she was. Her father and Denney were standing before the window, as if admiring their muddy and overgrown gardens. It had stopped raining that morning, but outside, the lawn had become a small lake. The squire was probably two inches shorter than she was—making his height quite average.

Both men turned.

Her heart suddenly lurched—as if with dismay. Denney was just as she recalled, a big, husky fellow with side whiskers and kind eyes. He wore a frock coat for this occasion, one she instantly saw was very well made—and very costly. Now she noticed a signet ring on his hand. It was gold and boasted a gemstone. And carefully inspecting him as she was doing made her feel like a fortune hunter.

But wasn’t that exactly what she was?

You can’t sell Alexandra off to that farmer!

But he could—it was done all of the time, Alexandra thought grimly. Very few in society married for love. Women in her position never did.

The parlor was small, the walls mustard-yellow, with fading green drapes and shabby furniture. Edgemont came forward, smiling, and looped his arm in hers. “Alexandra, there you are.” He turned so that they faced the squire. And Alexandra was surprised—his eyes were shining.

“I am sorry if I have kept you waiting,” she managed, her pulse pounding. Why did she suddenly feel saddened? Was it because if all went according to plan, she would be leaving Edgemont Way and her beloved family? Suddenly she thought of Owen and the deep bond—the passion—they’d shared. And she was resolute. Ever since her father had declared that she must marry, Owen had been on her mind. But that kind of love had passed her by, and she must forget about the past.

“This is my beautiful daughter, Alexandra,” Edgemont said proudly, beaming.

“You could keep me waiting for days on end, Miss Bolton, and I would still be pleased to see you,” Denney said, smiling at her.

Alexandra somehow smiled again. And she thought of how kind the squire had always been to his wife, before she’d passed away. He was a good man. Maybe, in time, she might come to love him a little. “That is far too kind of you,” she replied, shaken.

“We had a chance to discuss the summer forecast, as predicted by the Almanac. Denney thinks it will be a good summer, not too hot, with plenty of rain,” her father told her.

“That is wonderful,” Alexandra said. She meant it, because every farmer in the shire depended on good weather for their crops and livelihood.

“I have had three good years in a row, enough to make a handsome profit, and then some other investments have paid off, as well,” Denney said eagerly. His brown gaze had become searching. “I have invested in the railroads, mostly. I am now adding a fine wing to the house, for a grand parlor, if you will. There will be a small ballroom, too. I have decided that I will entertain in the future. I should love to show you my plans,” he added.

“I am sure your plans are very pleasing.”

Edgemont said eagerly, “His manor has fifteen rooms, Alexandra—fifteen rooms!”

She somehow smiled again. But her dismay had increased, against her will and intentions. The squire kept staring, his cheeks flushed, his dark eyes shining. Surely he wasn’t in love with her? She did not want to hurt him by being incapable of returning such passion.

“You may come and visit Fox Hill anytime,” Denney said. “In fact, it would be my pleasure to give you a tour of the house and gardens.”

“Then I must call as soon as possible,” she said lightly. She glanced at Edgemont. She needed to be alone with Denney so she could find out how he might be inclined toward helping her sisters.

Edgemont smiled at them. “The squire has been invited to the de Warenne fete tomorrow night. It is such an honor, as it is Lady Harrington’s daughter’s birthday celebration.”

“I am impressed,” Alexandra said. She hadn’t heard about the party, but she knew both girls, even if she hadn’t seen Sara or Marion in several years. They were close to Olivia and Corey in age.

“I am on very good terms with Lady Harrington and Sir Rex,” Denney told her eagerly. “The party is for their youngest, Sara. I should love it if you joined me, Miss Bolton—with your sisters, of course.”

Alexandra’s first reaction was sheer surprise; then, instantly, she thought of her sisters, who had never been to a high-society fete. Her mind raced. Of course she must accept. This would be a wonderful opportunity for her sisters—and the kind of evening they deserved, and should have had and become accustomed to. But neither Alexandra nor her sisters had had a new gown since before their mother died. While the sad truth was that no one invited them out, due to their circumstances, even if someone had, they did not have the proper attire to attend most social functions.

Corey could fit into one of her old ball gowns, with some slight alterations. And surely they could find something for Olivia to wear from among their mother’s clothes. They would be sadly out of fashion, but they would be able to attend.

“We would love to attend,” she said quickly.

Edgemont looked carefully at her. Alexandra knew he was wondering how they would find the proper clothing. “Father, I was hoping to walk with the squire outside, as the sun has come out and all chance of further rain is gone.”

His eyes widened, and he beamed. Then, “I’ll be in the study. Enjoy your walk.” He walked out, leaving the door wide-open.

Alexandra stared at the threshold until he was gone. Then she faced her suitor. “Squire Denney, I am very flattered that you have called.”

“A rainstorm could not have kept me away.”

“Is it possible to have a very frank discussion?”

His eyes widened. “I so prefer candor. It is one of the things I like best about you, Miss Bolton, after your excessively kind nature. You are always direct.”

She turned. “I fear you have put me high upon a pedestal, a stature I do not deserve.”

His brows lifted. “If any woman deserves to be placed upon a pedestal, Miss Bolton, it is you.” When she began to speak, he interrupted. “I have admired you for years. You have taken wonderful care of your sisters and father, and such selflessness and compassion is to be commended. And then, of course, there is your beauty. I am practically speechless, in fact, to be standing here with you now.”

Alexandra almost blushed. She was hardly a raving beauty, but she would not dispute him. “I am glad you find my nature pleasing. And you are right about one thing—I try very hard to take good care of my younger sisters as well as my father. Olivia is only eighteen, Corey just sixteen.”

A slight bewilderment crossed his bluff face. “They are lovely young ladies.”

She gestured at a chair, deciding to forgo their walk. He sat, and she took the adjacent seat, then clasped her hands in her lap. “I was on the verge of marriage nine years ago, before my mother passed on. When my mother died, I made the decision to devote myself to my family—and I broke things off with my suitor.” She smiled firmly. There was some old sadness, thinking of Owen and their dreams now. “I promised her that I would take care of this family. I made a serious commitment to the care and welfare of my sisters and my father.”

“The commitment you are speaking of only heightens my admiration for you, Miss Bolton.” He hesitated. “I have the impression that you loved this gentleman.”

She nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“You are a paragon, Miss Bolton. But why are you telling me this?”

“How direct might I be?” She sat up straighter.

“As direct as is necessary.” He flushed, suddenly seeming dismayed. “Are you about to tell me that you remain committed to the deathbed vows you made to your mother?”

“I will look after my sisters and my father until I die—although I hope my sisters will be wed well before that day.” She smiled.

He slowly nodded. “I see. My intentions are honorable, Miss Bolton.”

“That is what Edgemont indicated.”

He held her gaze. “Do you know why I suggested your sisters accompany us tomorrow night?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Because it seemed to me that it would make the evening more pleasant for you—less awkward—but it also seemed to me that two such young ladies should be given the opportunity to get out and be seen.”

Her heart sped. “That is so kind of you.”

“I consider myself a kind man—and a generous one. If my suit progresses as I hope it does, you will not have to carry the burden of caring for your family by yourself.”

Alexandra gasped. Tears came to her eyes. She was speechless.

But now she knew. He had means, his suit was a serious one, and he would be generous with her family.

“I have admired you for years, Miss Bolton—from afar, and very respectfully.” He spoke thoughtfully now. “I never dreamed my wife would die so suddenly—she was in such good health until her final illness. I mourned her deeply.” He paused, grim for a moment. “But she has died, and a year has gone by. You remain unattached—which bewilders me.” He met her gaze. “I am of a very solid character, Miss Bolton. I am a dependable and honorable man. I am certain things will work out to both our satisfaction, if you give my suit a chance.”

“I will give your suit all the respect and consideration it deserves,” she somehow said. She could barely believe this was happening. Her sisters were going to have futures outside of Edgemont Way. It seemed like a miracle.

He stood, as she did. “Shall we walk outside?”

Alexandra took his proffered arm. “It will be my pleasure to stroll with you,” she said.

But as they left the house, she glanced over her shoulder. Corey and Olivia were standing in the doorway, their expressions grim with dismay. Then Corey turned and stormed into the house.

A
LEXANDRA TENSED
as the squire’s brougham queued up in the circular drive before Harrington Hall. It was a beautiful evening, and the sky was stained pink above the high gray stone roof of the mansion, with fingers of pink and peach drifting across the magnificent gardens and grounds. A fountain stood in the center of the drive, its waterworks a lavish display, bursting a dozen feet into the air. But she was exhausted, having stayed up the entire night to finish repairing and restoring dresses for herself and her sisters. In fact, she’d been sewing without interruption since Squire Denney had left her yesterday afternoon.

Of course she was tense, not excited, now. And her tension escalated. She, Olivia and Corey sat facing backward, toward her father and Denney, so she had to crane her neck to look outside. The coaches ahead were large, luxurious broughams, with perfectly matching horses and liveried coachmen, and the gentlemen and ladies alighting were in the finest tails and ball gowns. Even in the dusk, Alexandra saw jewels glinting from the ladies’ throats and ears, and from the gentlemen’s hands. She’d almost forgotten how wealthy the peerage was. She looked down at her bare fingers, her green satin gown. The fabric should have shone, but it had been hanging in the closet for too many years. No one wore dresses with full sleeves above the elbow anymore, but there had not been enough time to alter her own dress—she’d altered the sleeves on Olivia’s and Corey’s gowns, instead. Her skirts were too full for the current style, as well. At least, she thought grimly, her gown still fit.

“That is a beautiful dress,” the squire said, clearing his throat.

Had he read her thoughts? Was she being transparent? She somehow managed to smile at him. His eyes had been shining yet again when he’d arrived to pick them up and escort them to Harrington Hall. Alexandra did not think she looked well—she was pale from her efforts to properly garb her sisters, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. He hadn’t noticed, obviously. And maybe he didn’t see how old—and old-fashioned—her dress truly was.

Olivia took her hand. Her eyes were sparkling with the kind of excitement she generally reserved for her paintings and sketches. She had never looked prettier. Her long tawny hair had been pinned up in curls, and she wore one of their mother’s pale ivory ball gowns. Their gazes met. Alexandra was so proud of her.