Letter From a Rake: Destiny Romance (19 page)

On the floor, a few feet in front of David’s chair, lay a folded piece of paper. It had been addressed, but not yet sealed. Alex picked it up and turned it over. He couldn’t make out the words of the address, as David’s handwriting was worse than his throw. But he could just make out the large printed L of London on the bottom. Relief swept over him. His brother had not let him down.

He took the paper and placed it on the desk. Taking out a stick of black wax from the desk drawer, he crossed to the fire and after heating the wax, he returned and sealed the letter with his own personal coat of arms.

Alex stood looking at the letter while the wax slowly cooled. Rather than a declaration of love upon which all his future happiness depended, it looked like any other business letter his father would have sent.

It doesn’t look like a letter from me. There is nothing to show that I wrote it, which of course is because I didn’t, but I need to make it more personal.

David stirred in his sleep and as Alex looked over toward him, he noticed the ink and pen sitting on the table next to the armchair in which his brother dozed.

‘Fortune favours the brave,’ he muttered.

Alex retrieved the pen and ink pot and placed them on the desk, making sure not to spill any ink on the precious letter. He then set about painstakingly adding his initials to the back of the letter, just below the seal. Once his task was complete he sat back and looked at his handiwork, happy in the knowledge that when Millie received the letter she would know it was from him before she even opened it.

With the letter in his hand, he left David still sleeping and went in search of the castle’s head footman. By morning’s first light the most important piece of correspondence he would ever send would be on its way to London.

After handing the letter over, he went back to the parlour, intent on rousing his brother so they could enjoy a nightcap and a cigar together, but when he opened the door he found the room empty. David must have woken while he was gone and headed up to bed.

Pity.

Alex looked at the fire; if he intended to stay up for a while longer, he knew he should add some more wood. Instead he pushed the largest log to the back of the fire and scattered the embers, allowing the fire to die down low. He picked up a small cigar from the tray and using one of the mantelpiece candles he lit the cigar.

After returning to his room and putting on his greatcoat, Alex left the private family apartments of the castle. With the blanket he had brought with him from London tossed over his shoulders and a thick woollen scarf wrapped around his neck, Alex climbed the large stone steps leading up to the castle ramparts. As luck would have it, the snow had stopped and he was able to keep warm in one of his favourite childhood hiding spots. Looking out through one of the arrow loops cut into the stone wall, he was afforded a view over the darkened valley, past the head of the nearby loch. By lifting his head he could just make out the lights in the village below the castle.

He couldn’t wait to bring Millie up to Scotland and show her the castle and its surrounds. He was certain she would love the estate, and, once they met her, the tenants would love her too. With a special place in her heart for Scotland, he hoped the pain she felt at the loss of her home in India would ease.

Sitting with his coat buttoned up and the scarf now wrapped around his head, he blew smoke rings into the cold, still air while he tried to imagine Millie’s reaction to his love letter. He counted the days it would take for his declaration to reach her and how long it would take for her hurried reply to find its way back to him. In little over a week and a half he should have her precious words.

He was confident that with the exchange of letters, they would have an understanding. As soon as he got back to London, he would call upon her father and ask for Millie’s hand.

‘A June wedding would be good.’

He made a mental note to book St George’s church the moment he had Mr Ashton’s approval. Once word got out that his wedding was to take place on the second Saturday in June, no one else in the
ton
would be foolish enough to book their wedding for that day.

Alex drew back on his cigar. A smile found its way to his lips. His marriage to Millie would be the defining moment in his transition from party lad Alex to future duke. No longer would he be sharing digs with his brother or out drinking and carousing until all hours of the night. Instead, he would have a loving wife and a warm bed to come home to every evening.

‘We will need somewhere to live,’ he said, addressing the stone walls.

He began to compose a list of things he needed to do once he got back to London. As the list grew, he realised it would take all the time up to the wedding just to get his affairs in order. There was a lot of work involved in taking on a wife.

In the morning he would talk to his father; there had to be a way for the family to cut short their stay in Scotland. He stood, and threw the cigar down on the cold stone rampart. A whisp of smoke escaped the rolled leaf as he crushed it with his boot. As he turned toward the door, intent on heading to bed, he saw the door open and Lucy stepped out into the frigid night.

She gave him a smile. ‘I was hoping to find you up here; everyone else has gone to bed,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

‘I was just about to turn in myself,’ Alex replied.

Lucy took her hand out from her fur muff and withdrew two large oatcakes. ‘Could I tempt you to perhaps stay for a few more minutes?’

Alex nodded.

They settled back into the nook where Alex had been sitting and he lay the blanket over their legs. Lucy handed him an oatcake and they sat in companionable silence while they ate.

‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you for a couple of days, but it has been difficult to find a private moment. I thought you might like to know I received a letter from Millie the day before yesterday,’ Lucy said.

Alex felt his breath catch in his throat.

Lucy gave his hand a squeeze. ‘While it was short in length, I was pleased to see that it was a note of apology. She accepted that she had been foolish to run away from the ball with you and that by doing so she had hurt my feelings. She explained that our friendship was of great importance to her and she asked for my forgiveness.’

A breath of relief escaped Alex’s lips.

‘What I want to know is: should I accept her apology or was this yet another friendship that only existed because someone wanted to get closer to you? Tell me, Alex, should I forgive her or should I let Millie go as I did with all the others?’

Alex put an arm around Lucy’s shoulder and gave her a hug. ‘I wish with all my heart that you would accept Millie’s apology and remain friends. Millie didn’t use you to get to me; it was the other way around.’

Lucy gave him a quizzical look and he smiled.

‘Please keep this a secret, Lucy because there are still matters to be resolved. But I do want you to be friends with Millie, because I intend to ask for her hand in marriage once we get back to London.’

Lucy gasped with surprise. ‘Alex, I had no idea you felt that way about her. It would be lovely to have Millie as a sister. I shall write to her this week and ensure that we are reconciled.’ She turned and fixed Alex with a gorgon’s stare. ‘You do love her, don’t you? Marriage isn’t something to be considered lightly.’

Throwing the blanket off, he stood and, taking Lucy’s hand, pulled her swiftly to her feet. She put her arms around his waist and they shared a hug.

‘Yes, I do love her. I am not that much of a rogue,’ he chuckled, sliding a hand up to Lucy’s hair and giving it a brotherly ruffle. With Lucy and Millie friends once more and his declaration of love on its way to London, Alex felt certain of his future. With a favourable response from Millie only a matter of days away, he could afford to remain in Scotland and stay in his father’s good graces.

The following afternoon, Alex and David took the opportunity to ride to the top of the valley.

As they neared the top, Alex stopped his horse and leapt down. The crunch of ice under his heavy leather boots made him smile.

‘I love it up here, it’s so good to be out of London and breathing the fresh air,’ he said, watching as David dismounted from his horse.

‘Nothing better than freezing Scottish air when it hits your lungs,’ David replied.

‘Life is good.’

David reached into his pocket and took out a small folded piece of paper. He handed it to Alex.

‘What’s this?’ Alex asked.

‘The letter I said I would write. Don’t tell me you have already given up on the idea? I spent hours last night trying to pen something, but ended up burning them all. So, rather than break my promise, I got up early this morning and wrote that,’ David replied pointing to the letter.

A cold chill raced down Alex’s spine.

What did I send to London?

‘What was wrong with all the letters you wrote last night?’ he cautiously ventured.

David shrugged his shoulders. ‘I made a few failed attempts, before I finally managed to scratch out something of substance. But after I had addressed the letter, I came to the realisation that it was too much. There is only so much heartfelt passion that can safely be written in a letter to an unmarried woman.’

‘So you burned it along with the others?’ Alex replied, as his toes curled up in his boots.

‘Yes.’

Alex looked down at the letter in his hand and made an instant decision. The letter, which David thought he had burned, was well on its way to London, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Telling David would only serve to put the two of them at loggerheads once more.

He smiled and gave his brother a nod of gratitude.

If the letter currently bound for London was indeed full of heat and passion, his brother had unknowingly given Alex exactly what he needed to convince Millie he truly loved her.

Later, after having returned to the castle, Alex burned the second letter.

‘Beautiful, absolutely stunning, my dear,’ Violet said, as Millie stepped out from behind the screen in the fitting room at Madame de Feuillide’s salon. The new deep-pink gown Millie had chosen sat perfectly on her hips and showed her new figure to perfection.

‘Can you tell if I have lost weight?’ Millie asked anxiously. She stared into the long glass mirror, twisting and turning as she examined her new gown. She did not expect miracles, but something, anything, to show for all her hard work would be a godsend.

A smiling Madame de Feuillide held up her thumb and forefinger, to show how much she had taken the dress in from Millie’s last fitting. Another inch. A whole two and a half inches had now come off Millie’s waist in the days since she had begun her daily walks. Violet raised her eyebrows and smiled.

Millie would never be slender, it was not in her make-up, but she was beginning to like what she saw in the mirror. Perhaps she could be the woman her mother had described. A woman with the sort of curves men appreciated and women envied. With her hands on her hips, she did a little dance.

‘Is this the moment when you make a remark about watching the butterfly emerging from its cocoon?’ Millie teased. Violet nodded and wiped a tear from her eye.

‘The colour is magnificent. I did not think you could wear that dark a shade and get away with it, but it really does work with the colour of your hair,’ Violet said. ‘Though it is still not exactly the correct form of attire for a young debutante; you should be in something like a pale cream or white.’

Millie smiled, knowing she would not take the bait. In the days since she had told her mother of her falling-out with Lucy, the two Ashton women had begun a campaign for Millie to find new friends. A sticking point in their plans had been coming to an agreement on Millie’s status within the
ton
. Violet had argued that her daughter should have a formal coming-out and be presented at court, whereas Millie had said that at nearly one and twenty she was far too old to be making her debut.

The disagreement had continued until they finally settled on a solution. If anyone asked whether Millie had been presented to society, they were to be told she had made her debut in Calcutta. ‘A little white lie for a summer of peace,’ was how Millie had sold the idea to her mother.

An accord had been reached, but Millie knew she was on a short leash. She could not regale anyone with stories of the wonderful night of her coming-out ball, nor was her dress to be described in great detail. She was out in society, and the rest was history.

It was the week after Easter, and more invitations to parties and gatherings were starting to arrive at the Ashtons’ home each day.

‘I think I might wear this to the ball on Tuesday, Mama. What do you think? I know it’s not the season for a few more weeks, but I would love to wear this gown to Lord Langham’s ball. I think it would be just the thing,’ Millie said.

The ball at the home of the Earl of Langham was marked in her diary as an important event. It would be the perfect opportunity for the Ashton family to meet more of their neighbours. As for Millie, it would be a chance for her to show some of the other girls that she offered them more competition than simply a sizeable dowry.

Who knows? I may meet some young man who finds me irresistible and begs me to run off with him to Gretna Green.

‘Please, Mama? I have been so looking forward to the ball. I promise I won’t go near the supper table and I shall fill my dance card only with suitable gentlemen,’ Millie pleaded.

Violet nodded. ‘But only if the gown is ready by then. I won’t have Madame’s girls working all hours just to get it finished.’

The modiste waved her hand in Violet’s direction. ‘It is not a problem, Mrs Ashton. We only have to finish the last of the hem this afternoon and the gown will be ready. I shall have it sent to your home this evening. Miss Ashton shall wear the gown to the ball.’

Millie smiled and gave the old woman a kiss on the cheek. Unlike many other dressmakers in London, Madame was not hiding a Cockney accent beneath her impeccable French one.

Millie’s gaze fell sadly upon the small cameo of a man that Madame de Feuillide wore pinned to her dress. England had afforded a place of refuge for many fleeing the terror of revolutionary France, but some, like Monsieur de Feuillide, had never made it.

The modiste placed her hands over both of Millie’s and gave a gentle squeeze. ‘
Merçi
, my dear. You look so beautiful, I am sure you will make the young men take notice. I hope that by the end of the summer I shall be making your wedding dress. Now, off you go and change while I check to see if your slippers have arrived from the shoemaker.’

With her gown for the ball now organised, Millie and Violet returned home and retired to the sitting room to plan the rest of the upcoming week’s social events.

‘We have dinner at your aunt and uncle’s this Thursday, so that will allow you to have a day’s rest at home after the ball. It is not good for young ladies to be out every night at the start of the season. It demonstrates that they are too frivolous, and not sensible enough to consider the serious business of marriage. We have to plan the nights when you are at home carefully, to create just the right impression within the
ton
,’ Violet explained.

‘Yes, Mama,’ Millie replied, absentmindedly. She was only half listening to her mother, her mind firmly fixed on the grand entrance that she had planned for Tuesday night. She reached up and her fingers unconsciously searched her face for her nose ring. She wriggled her fingers, remembering how she had taken the ring out the morning after the Earl of Shale’s ball and had not put it back in.

Maybe it’s for the best; at least people won’t stare at me. I shall do everything I can to make this season a success. I must come home having made at least one, no, two new friends at the ball.

‘Millie?’

‘Mm-mm?’

She felt a hand on her knee and she jumped in surprise. Her head whipped up and she saw her mother looking at her with concern. ‘Are you all right, my darling?’ her mother asked.

Millie nodded. ‘Sorry, I was busy thinking of the ball. It occurred to me this morning as I was preparing to go out just how important this ball is in our plans. This will be the first major event I have attended since Lady Lucy left for Scotland.’

‘Speaking of which, did you write to her?’ Violet replied.

‘Yes, I sent a letter early last week. I thought I had told you, but it must have slipped my mind. She should have received it by now.’

Millie had led Violet to believe that the argument between the girls had been a simple misunderstanding at the early Easter ball, one which required a polite letter of apology to smooth things over. Millie penned the note as best she could, stating the facts and arguing her case. The visit to Alex and David’s house, while a foolish endeavour, had been purely in order to share a decent cup of tea. Nothing more. She had secretly sent the letter off to Scotland, ensuring that Violet did not see its contents.

She hated lying to both Lucy and her mother, but if either of them knew the truth of that evening, she and Alex would be in serious trouble. Which made it all the more important to make the forthcoming party a successful venture in finding new friends. If Lucy did not accept her apology, then at least Millie would be able to distract her mother from knocking on the door of Strathmore House, demanding an answer.

‘I didn’t beg. I was honest with her. If she does not want me as a friend, then I shall accept her decision with good grace,’ Millie said, as she stared at her hands. She was not a good liar and she knew her mother could read her face like a book.

The Earl of Langham’s home was only five doors from the Ashton family house on the same side of Mill Street. At eight o’clock on the night of the ball, the Ashton family carriage was brought around to the front of number twenty-three and the family climbed aboard for the short trip.

Millie was still enjoying the look on her father’s and brother’s faces when they first caught sight of her as she descended the stairs a few minutes before they were due to leave for the ball. Mr Ashton had beamed with pride, while Charles stood wide-eyed and speechless. Her father took her by the hand and spun her around, allowing the gown to catch the light from the front entrance chandelier.

‘Who is this divine creature and where did she come from?’ her father said, his voice full of love for his daughter.

Charles laughed. ‘I don’t know, but if you traded her for Millie, I think you got the better deal.’

Violet gave him a disapproving look and shook her head. ‘Your sister looks absolutely beautiful, Charles. She has worked so hard over the past weeks, we should all be very proud of her.’

For her part, Millie could not care less what her brother thought or said at that moment. She felt as light as air, a goddess descended from heaven. Tonight was her night. Miss Millicent Ashton was ready to set the
ton
alight.

When her father finally allowed her to stop spinning, she gave Charles a small nod of her head. He took her hand and placed a tender kiss on her long white glove.

‘Your carriage awaits, my lady,’ he said, adding a deep bow.

As Charles assisted Millie with her cloak, he leaned in and whispered in her ear. ‘Well done, Millie. Time to show London that the Ashton family are cut from quality cloth. You look fabulous.’

Upon the family’s arrival at Langham House a short time later, Millie entered the ballroom on her father’s arm. Charles and Violet walked a few steps behind. ‘I want your sister to have her moment to shine,’ Violet murmured to Charles, as she slowed her pace and allowed a suitable gap to form between them and the other members of their family.

After greeting their host, the widower Earl of Langham, the Ashton siblings were free to roam the party. If she thought that without Lucy or the Radley brothers she would feel lost, the success of her stunning gown soon put paid to her concerns. Within an hour, she had danced with several highly eligible young men, all of whom complimented her on her gown. And the green-eyed glances from several other young ladies did not go unnoticed.

The world was Millie’s oyster.

When she walked through the front door on her father’s arm, Millie had felt as if she radiated light; now she was positively giddy with success. Every word that came from her lips seemed to be the perfect one. She laughed in all the right places in other people’s jokes, and her dancing was so light of foot, she barely touched the floor.

‘I just need a moment to catch up with Uncle Oscar, Millie. Are you all right to sit here until I return?’ Charles asked, as they stopped in front of a row of chairs on their way from the dance floor to the supper area. Charles had managed to get a dance with his sister late in the evening, but only after he had exchanged firm words with one eager young man who was adamant about his name being on Millie’s card for that particular dance.

She called Charles to task for his behaviour as soon as they were out of earshot of the offended dance partner. ‘You didn’t have the right to push in, Charles. Mr Banks’ name was on my card.’

‘I wanted to dance with my lovely sister; besides Banks is only interested in your dowry. You could have turned up in a sack tonight and he still would have begged to dance with you. His father has just dropped a fortune on a failed mining venture in Scotland and the son desperately needs cash. Don’t go trading a mad rake like Lord Brooke for a gambler’s son, Millie. At least Brooke knows how to handle his blunt,’ he replied.

As Charles headed off to find their uncle, Millie took a welcome rest on one of the comfortably padded chairs. Being the centre of attention for the evening was giving her sore feet. Why did new slippers always have to pinch? She gave the supper table a brief glance and wisely settled on a cup of tea offered by one of the Langham household staff.

‘He is so romantic, such a hero. I can’t believe he would be too shy to speak to her, but when I saw the letter I knew it was from him. She is the luckiest of girls,’ Millie’s ears pricked up; someone had a secret admirer.

She sat quietly sipping on her tea, while straining to hear the conversation between two young women who had sat down several chairs away from her.

‘She received it yesterday, all the way from Scotland.’

Millie recognised one of the girls as being Lady Clarice Langham’s friend, the one who had made such horrible comments about Millie at the Earl of Shale’s ball. Lady Susan something or other was her name. They had never been formally introduced, but she knew exactly the kind of girl Susan was: a spiteful gossip who took pleasure in other people’s misery.

‘So do you think Clarice will have him?’ the other girl asked.

Millie stared at her tea. Lucy had confided to her that David carried a flame for Lady Clarice Langham. Now it would appear he had finally mustered the courage, albeit from afar, to speak his heart. She smiled. After all that had happened, she still liked David and wished him happiness.

Lady Susan let out a large sigh of disgust and replied loudly.

‘Don’t be silly, of course she will have him. He is handsome and funny, and one day she will be a duchess. One does not get a love letter from Lord Brooke and put it in the top drawer, never to be read again. This is going to be the wedding of the season, and it’s only April.’

A hot flush raced up Millie’s neck to her face. The china teacup rattled as she gripped the edge of the saucer tightly in her hand. She wasn’t sure if her breath had caught in her throat; she knew only that she couldn’t breathe. She gritted her teeth and slowly lifted her head. As her eyes rose, she began to frantically survey the ballroom, searching for any sign of salvation.

‘Isn’t that Millie Ashton, Lady Lucy’s friend?’ the girl who was not Susan asked. ‘Why yes, I do believe it is; though since the letter only arrived yesterday, chances are she has not heard about Lord Brooke and Clarice. More’s the pity,’ Lady Susan replied, in a voice too loud for what should have been a private conversation

The two girls stood and walked away. As they passed in front of Millie, Susan looked over her shoulder and gave Millie a self-satisfied smile, leaving no doubt as to why she had chosen that particular place, and that exact moment, to divulge Lady Clarice’s good news. Susan had wished to see the results of her handiwork: to see the heartbreak written all over Millie’s face.