“I see,” Alexandra replied with a sullen look upon her face before departing the room.
A few days later when she went in search of William, she found her older brother in his room, busying himself with a painting. “Is that a new acquisition?” she asked while she watched him tear away the brown paper in which it had been wrapped.
He looked up at her as she leaned against the open doorway, and threw her an impish smile. “Yes. It’s from Paris. I found it in a small out of the way place and simply fell in love with it. It was much too big and awkward for me to bring along, so I asked the shop owner to have it shipped.”
Alexandra regarded her brother for a moment as she mulled that over. “That was very kind of him. He could just as easily have taken your money and kept the painting.”
“Hm . . . I suppose he could have, but then again I did say it was for a friend and that I’d be back if he didn’t receive it.”
Alexandra smirked. “Yes, of course you did.”
“So? What do you think? Isn’t it the most beautiful piece you’ve ever seen?”
But it wasn’t the obvious display of artistic talent that had Alexandra catching her breath and feeling rather faint—it was the subject matter. Before her, on a canvas of medium size, was painted the very same scene that she’d beheld as she’d gazed out over Paris from the top of Montmartre. Michael had taken her there and in doing so, he’d given her a memory that she’d treasure for the rest of her life. Now, an actual, true-to-life depiction of that very moment would hang upon William’s bedroom wall. It was simply too much to bear. “It’s very moving,” she told her brother, dabbing at her eyes.
“You’re welcome to come and look at it whenever you please, if you truly like it as much as you seem to do.”
“Thank you, William. I just might take you up on that.”
Fearing she might soon be reduced to a puddle of tears, she quickly left with a desperate need to go for a ride. Was she imagining it or did little reminders of Michael appear to be popping up in whichever direction she turned? It was quite alarming to say the least.
The next week during afternoon tea, Ryan appeared to be aimlessly flipping through a book when he suddenly stopped. “Oh look,” he said. “I haven’t read this one in ages.”
“Which one?” Bryce asked as he sipped his tea. “Mind telling us what the devil you’re on about now?”
“Oh, not much, just a poem I’d completely forgotten about—My thoughts by night are often filled with visions false as fair, for in the past alone I build my castles in the air. I dwell not now on what may be night shadows o’er the scene, but still my fancy wanders free through that which might have been.”
“Hm, not bad,” William remarked. “Who’s it by?”
“Thomas L. Peacock,” Alexandra said without a moment’s hesitation.
“Oh, I take it you’re familiar with it?” Bryce asked with some degree of curiosity. “I didn’t think you enjoyed poetry unless it happened to be by Burns.”
“That is true,” Alexandra agreed a bit more cautiously. “However, this particular one happens to be one of Ashford’s favorites. He was kind enough to share it with me.”
“Indeed,” Bryce muttered as he took another sip of his tea.
Things continued in much the same vein for almost three weeks until Bryce finally walked into his study one day to find Alexandra sitting in a chair, more teary-eyed than he’d ever seen her before.
With one look at his daughter, he stepped slowly inside and closed the door behind him. “Is there something that you would like to talk about?” he eventually asked after a moment’s silence.
Alexandra nodded between sniffles as she drew a shaky breath. She began rummaging around after something that Bryce could only presume to be her handkerchief, but was apparently unable to find it. He offered her his instead, and she accepted it, then quickly dabbed at her eyes.
Feeling like a fish out of water and with little idea of how to handle his weeping daughter, Bryce seated himself with a comfortable distance between them. “Now then,” he told her softly. “What seems to be troubling you?”
“Oh, Papa . . .” Alexandra sobbed. “I can’t think of what to do. I believe I may have made the most terrible mistake and as hard as I’ve tried, I just cannot seem to escape it. I’m forever reminded and . . . and . . . oh God, Papa, I’m so scared and . . .” she choked on another onset of tears.
Bryce studied his daughter carefully. Despite knowing all that had happened in France, he still needed to determine the cause of her fear. “Perhaps, if you were to start at the very beginning, Alex.” His words were gentle and kind. “Tell me what’s causing you such distress.”
“I . . . er . . . while we were away in Paris, Lord Trenton and I spent a great deal of time together, in each other’s company and . . . Well, I couldn’t stand him to begin with. He seemed so arrogant and judgmental. He was not at all happy about bringing me along—at least not to begin with. Of course, it didn’t much help that Ryan and I deceived him. He didn’t at all care to discover he’d brought a woman along.”
Bryce chuckled as he reached for a cigar and cut the cap before lighting it. “Yes, I can only imagine how displeased he must have been.”
“You have no idea, Papa. He was furious about it and I was so angry with him too. He kept patronizing me and treating me like a spoiled child who insisted on having her way, but somewhere along the way I managed to get to know him and . . . well . . . I’m not sure how to put this but I—”
“You developed a tendre for him?” Bryce concluded, letting out a puff of smoke.
Alexandra raised her eyes to meet her father’s for the first time and quietly nodded as she twisted the handkerchief between her fingers.
“And you’re upset because he doesn’t share your feelings?”
She shook her head as she lowered her gaze once more. “No . . . well, I don’t believe he does share my feelings, but that’s not the issue. I know he likes me . . . he offered to marry me though the circumstances surrounding his proposal were a bit out of the ordinary.”
Bryce did his best to hide a grin. He knew all about the duel of course and had long since come to terms with it—so much so that he was able to see a bit of humor in it all. He also knew that Alexandra was completely wrong about Michael’s feelings toward her, but this was something that she would have to discover for herself. And she would, with a little helpful prodding from her family.
“Then why not marry him, Alex? If you like him and he likes you, enough to offer for you at any rate . . . why not take the leap?”
This was it. The moment of truth. Bryce gripped the armrest and braced himself for his daughter’s reply.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
No explanation followed—just those two simple words. Now what was he to make of that? After several minutes he felt compelled to say something. Ryan had told him he suspected she’d lost her innocence already but . . . maybe she hadn’t? Bryce nervously cleared his throat. “Alex, I know there’s much your mother would have discussed with you if she were still with us. After all, marriage can be very daunting for a young lady. I imagine . . . the thought of a wife’s duties may be quite frightening. But I assure you my dear that it can be quite . . . um . . . enjoyable . . . especially when the two parties are attracted to each other and—”
“No, Papa . . .” Alexandra cut him off with a shake of her head. “Michael and I have already . . .” Her hand flew to her mouth, but not quick enough for her to shove the words back in. She stared aghast at him, presumably worried that her life was about to come to an early end.
Bryce cleared his throat as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I . . . er . . . I see,” he mumbled.
“I wish your aunt were here,” he heard himself say before continuing in a firmer tone. “Look, Alex. You and I aren’t the sort to beat about the bush. I realize our conversation has touched upon a rather sensitive topic, though I assure you it’s far more embarrassing for me than it is for you. So I’m just going to ask you point blank. Was your encounter with Lord Trenton . . . disturbing?”
Alexandra gaped at her father as if he’d just turned blue. Words eluded her. Was she really discussing something as taboo as sex with her very own papa?
“No! No, not at all,” she stammered, hardly believing that such an odd conversation was actually taking place. She wondered how long it might take for her cheeks to burst into flames.
“Good.” He paused for a moment to take another puff of his cigar. “Then what the bloody hell is the matter?”
“I love him, Papa. I love him so terribly much that my heart literally aches. I can’t stand it. And I’ve tried so hard . . . so damn hard not to love him, but I just can’t seem to stop myself and . . . oh God, Papa . . . what good will it do? In the end, it will only cause more pain and suffering, and I don’t want that.” A chocked sob escaped her while Bryce watched her in what could only be construed as stunned silence. “For the last nine years, I’ve sworn never to marry. I don’t want more love in my life. As it is, I can’t stand watching everyone I care about as they move steadily toward death—and I can’t save any of you, I just can’t. It doesn’t matter what I do. One day, I’ll eventually have to bury another loved one. I think about it every single day, living the moment in my mind and feeling the pain that’s yet to come. It torments me, Papa, and to add one more worry like that . . . to wonder every time I watch Michael ride off, if that will be the very last moment I see him . . . it’s just too difficult a burden to bear.”
Alexandra shook her head, her self-control completely abandoned as tears streamed down her face. “I know I’m not making much sense . . . I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do to describe what I’m going through.”
“Actually, Alex, you’ve made quite a bit of sense, though, perhaps in a rather muddled sort of way.”
Alexandra gave a miserable laugh.
“Your mama died nine years ago, Alex.”
Alexandra bit on her lip, then wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. “I was there, you know . . . when it happened.”
Bryce regarded her for a long silent moment, a tortured look creeping into his eyes, and then he said, “What are you talking about?” His voice was unusually quiet—as if he dreaded what she might now tell him.
Alexandra let out a deep, quivering sigh as she allowed her mind to travel back all those years to her mother’s bedroom. “I’d picked some flowers for her in the afternoon—violets. She loved violets.” She smiled at the recollection—happy to have brought her mother some measure of happiness in her final moments.
“I sat with her for about an hour, telling her all my secrets, afraid I suppose that another opportunity might not arise. She was weak, but not too weak to tell me she was ready to go.” Alexandra paused for a minute to steady herself against the fresh tears that stung behind her eyes. “She said she’d accomplished everything she’d ever dreamed of—that she’d found true love with you and left behind a legacy in us.