Grayson nodded, relief settling upon his tortured features. “I had no doubt that you would see to her happiness. My only regret is that I could not see to yours.”
Drake swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I am happy, Father. In fact I have some good news for you.” He gestured for Alex to join him. Still in shock, she went to stand by his side. “Father, this is my wife, Alexandria.”
The misty blue eyes looked startled as they turned to stare at Alex. “Your wife?”
“Yes, Father, my wife.”
Something that resembled a smile touched the older man’s lips. “Alexandria, did you say?”
“Yes, your grace,” Alex answered softly.
“You are quite beautiful, but that doesn’t surprise me, knowing my son,” he managed. “But married, now that…” His voice trailed off. He continued to stare at her, his gaze unfocused. Suddenly he blinked and seemed to see her again. “Wife … Do I know your family?” At that moment he sounded more curious than demanding.
Did he know her family? His question triggered the first concrete thought in Alex’s mind, and she almost laughed out loud. Of course he knew her family! How stupid she had been. No wonder her father had been so anxious to marry her off to Drake. She should have known better than to think he would dismiss his high hopes of her marriage to a titled man. A future duke, no less!
Reaction was beginning to take hold, competing with numbness for control of Alex’s mind. She felt suddenly light-headed.
She looked down at the man before her. Despite all that had transpired, this poor man was dying. Now was not the time to focus on anything else.
Swallowing her rising hysteria, she gave Grayson a gentle smile. “I am quite certain that you must know them, your grace. My father is the Earl of Sudsbury and currently the governor of Upper Canada.”
A flicker of interest registered in Grayson’s dull gaze. “You are Geoffrey Cassel’s daughter?”
“Yes I am, your grace.”
“Then you … and my son …”
Alex saw what an effort it was for him to speak, so she quietly told him what he wanted to know. “Drake and I were married in Canada, your grace.” She carefully omitted the colorful details of their first meeting. “We were on our way back to England when the ship … when your ship,” she corrected, as that realization clicked into place, “was attacked by the Americans. We escaped, but La Belle Illusion did not. That is why you believed Drake dead.” Her voice sounded wooden to her own ears.
Grayson turned slightly to Drake. “Smithers?”
“Smitty is fine and came home with us,” Drake assured his father. After over thirty years of loyal service Smitty was respected by everyone at Allonshire.
Grayson nodded, continuing to gaze absently at his son. “Your wife … I want … to speak … with her … alone.” Each word was a struggle.
Drake frowned. He was fairly certain of Alex’s state of mind at the moment, and he had no intention of granting his father’s request. The meeting could have catastrophic results.
“Father,” he began, “I don’t think—”
“It’s all right, Drake,” Alex said, her voice calm and even. But when she glanced at him her eyes were like a winter storm—cold, gray, dismal. He hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded, certain that Alex’s inherent kindness would not permit her to hurt a dying man. Drake realized with a start that what he was feeling was trust. He trusted his wife. Quietly he left the room.
Grayson rested, his breathing shallow, then turned back to Alex. “Forgive me,” he whispered, “but are you with child?” Seeing Alex’s appalled expression, he added shakily, “I want to know, before I die, if there is another heir to Allonshire on the way.”
She reminded herself that he was dying and forgave him his bold intrusion into her private life. He was waiting, clinging to a hope that meant so much to him. Alex made her decision.
“It is possible, your grace.” As she uttered the words, she was stunned to realize that they were true. She hadn’t bled since La Belle Illusion’s departure from York—since her marriage to Drake. She dismissed the thought as ludicrous. More than likely the irregularity was due to the stress of the past months.
Grayson was studying her face, his breathing growing more and more erratic. “My son is a difficult man … to understand.”
At the moment Alex did not want to understand him. She wanted to kill him. “Yes, he is, your grace.”
Despite Grayson’s obvious pain, a smile tugged at his lips. “And are you … difficult … as well?”
She met his gaze. “Yes, I am, your grace.”
Another smile. “Drake … has chosen … well.” He shuddered as a flash of pain claimed him, but shook his head when she moved to help him. “There is… no time.” He summoned all his strength, then looked at her calmly. “You … love my son … very much.”
It was a statement of fact and therefore did not require a response.
Alex gave one anyway. “Yes, your grace, I do.”
“Be … there … for … him.”
Alex’s eyes filled with tears. “I will.”
He nodded, then closed his eyes.
“I will send Drake in now. He’ll want to be with you,” she murmured, knowing the end was near.
“Thank … you.” It was a barely audible whisper, and Alex knew just what the words meant.
She went out into the hall and sought Drake out with her eyes. He was by her side instantly. “Is he … ?”
“He wants to see you,” was all she said, standing aside to let him pass. Drake searched her face, finding no answers to his questions, questions that would have to wait. He entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Alex leaned against the plastered wall, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself, as she sought an inner strength that she was unsure she possessed. It all seemed a terrible nightmare; surely none of it true. She had to hang on just a little longer. Once she allowed herself to fall apart, her entire world would disintegrate into fragments around her.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
Alex’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. “Smitty.” She stared at him blankly, thinking how out of context he looked in this palatial mansion.
“What can I do to make this easier for you, my lady?” he asked gently.
Alex would not give in to the urge to cry. “I thought you were my friend.”
He winced at the coldness of her tone. “I am your friend, my lady.”
“Friends do not lie to each other.”
“Nor do they divulge another friend’s secrets,” he reminded her softly.
Alex gave a bitter laugh. “I always thought you far too cultured to belong at sea. I assume you work for Drake?”
He nodded.
She thought of the very capable way Smitty assisted Drake each day. “You are his valet, I presume?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Alex covered her eyes with her hands. “I do not believe that any of this is happening.” Hysteria bubbled up inside her again, refused to be silenced. “What am I going to do?” she whispered, half to herself. “Drake’s father is dying. I cannot go to pieces … not yet.”
Smitty ached for the broken, courageous girl who had been deceived in a most basic way and still placed her own grief second to that of others. She was every bit the unselfish, caring lady he had always known her to be.
At that moment the bedroom door opened slowly and Drake stepped out into the hall. He stared vacantly at Alex and Smitty, his emerald eyes damp.
“He is gone,” he said simply.
Smitty went to his side. “Come,” he murmured. “Let me get you a drink.”
Drake nodded. “Yes. Let’s go down to the library, Smitty. There are many things that need attending. And I must speak with Samantha and Sebastian as well.” He stopped, meeting Alex’s gaze.
“I’m very sorry about your father, Drake.” The words were sincere, the tone forced and distant. “If yo
u will show me which room is to be mine I will be out of your way.”
Drake rubbed his eyes, feeling very weary and utterly alone. “Your bedchamber is at the end of the hall, opposite mine.” He looked back toward the stairs at the sound of voices coming from the front hall, then turned to Alex. “Before you retire, would you mind very much meeting my sister? Under the circumstances, it would mean a great deal to her.”
Alex nodded. “Of course.”
As they reached the foot of the stairs, Humphreys was speaking with a lovely young girl with flowing sable hair and a haunted expression.
“Is there any change, Humphreys?” she was asking.
“I don’t know, Lady Samantha. But your brother …”
She brushed tears from her pale cheeks. “My brother doesn’t care whether Papa lives or dies, Humphreys. But once he is gone”—her lips quivered, again—”I will have no one.”
“That is what I am trying to tell you, my lady,” Humphreys murmured. “When I said ‘your brother,’ I meant—”
“Hello, Sammy.” Drake’s deep baritone was filled with gentle emotion.
Samantha started. Only one person ever called her Sammy. He had given her the nickname when she was little more than a tot and was determined to be a boy rather than a girl.
She turned slowly, staring at the bearded man whose eyes lit with pleasure at the sight of her. “Drake?” Unlike the others, she had ho trouble recognizing her beloved brother, beard and all. “Drake!”
The last was a shriek as she raced across the marble hall and flung herself into his arms. Drake caught her to him, smiling at her usual unruly behavior.
“What am I going to do with you, little one?” He rumpled her silky hair tenderly. “I thought I would return to find you a lady.”
Samantha gazed up at him, adoration in her soft green eyes. “You’re alive.”
“I told you I would always come back, no matter how long I was away. Of course I’m alive.”
She began to ask another question, then read the sadness in Drake’s eyes. She stopped. “Papa … ?” she asked.
Drake cupped her face between his big hands. “I need you to be strong for me, Sammy.”
Tears slid down her cheeks into her trembling mouth, but she nodded. “I knew,” she whispered. “I just knew. He has been so ill these past weeks.”
Drake pressed her head against his chest and closed his eyes, holding her against him as she cried. He stroked her hair softly, soothing her until her sobs lessened and finally stopped.
Suddenly aware that they were not alone, Samantha stepped out of his comforting embrace and looked toward the steps.
“Smitty …” She smiled through her tears.
“Hello, Lady Samantha.” His address, though formal, was uttered in the fondest of tones.
Samantha wiped her tear-streaked face with her hands. “Thank God you’re both alive. When we received that message …” Her voice trailed off as she got her first look at the extraordinarily beautiful woman who stood beside Smitty, quietly watching the scene before her.
Drake caught Samantha’s curious look and turned to gesture Alex forward. “Sammy, there’s someone I’d like you to meet, someone very special to me.”
Samantha raised her dark brows in surprise, her wet green eyes bright with curiosity.
“Alexandria, this is my sister, Samantha. Sammy, this is Alexandria … my wife.”
“Your wife!” They didn’t have long to wait for Samantha’s reaction to the news. She looked stunned.
Alex walked over to her. “Hello, Samantha,” she began, watching the younger girl’s face to determine what lay beyond the initial surprise. “I’m so very sorry about your father, but I am also happy to meet you at last. Drake talks of you quite a bit.”
Samantha smiled again, a smile that lit the whole room. At that moment she looked exactly like Drake.
“I can’t believe it. Drake … married!” Her bright gaze surveyed Alex from head to toe. “You’re beautiful,” she said honestly and without guile. “And I’m happy to meet you, too.”
The sound of an approaching carriage interrupted their conversation. Samantha looked quickly at Drake. “That must be Sebastian.” Alex saw Drake’s jaw tighten at his sister’s words. “I’ll have to tell him about Papa.” Samantha turned and walked to the front door, which simultaneously opened, admitting a whistling Sebastian.
He nodded curtly at Humphreys, then stopped as his sister approached him. “Well, well, isn’t this a surprise?” he asked sarcastically. “To what do I owe the honor of being greeted by my often absent little sister?”
Samantha didn’t react. She simply said, “Papa’s dead, Sebastian.”
To Alex’s amazement he barely shrugged.
“I was afraid of that,” he said in a conversational tone. “He looked dreadfully peaked when I left for London.” He gave a thoughtful frown. “I suppose arrangements will have to be made. Well, do not concern yourself, Samantha. From now on I will take care of everything.” He sounded almost gleeful. Alex felt sick.
“That won’t be necessary, Sebastian.” Drake’s tone was positively glacial. “I will oversee all the necessary arrangements.”
Sebastian gaped at Drake, the color draining from his face. “Drake? How … ? When … ?”
“Just today and by the grace of God. Any other questions?”
Sebastian shook his head, making an obvious attempt to regain control of himself. “It’s a miracle that you’ve been restored to us,” he said after a moment. Ignoring Drake’s disgusted look, Sebastian moved his interested gaze to Alex. She returned it without flinching, feeling an immediate dislike for Drake’s brother. If she hadn’t known better she would have said he seemed upset by the discovery that Drake was alive. But that was impossible; no brother could be that cold.
Sebastian’s light blue eyes roved appreciatively over Alex’s very feminine curves, assessing her physical attributes. Alex could feel her cheeks burning with anger and humiliation at his blatant scrutiny.
“And who is this small and tempting morsel?” he queried with a charming smile.
Drake struggled with his own urge to beat Sebastian senseless. He took a possessive step closer to Alex. “Your taste is superb, Sebastian. I hope you won’t be too disappointed to learn that Alexandria happens to be my wife.”
This time Sebastian could not disguise his astonishment, or his displeasure, at the news. “Your wife?”
Alex gave him a cool nod. “Hello, Sebastian.”
“Your wife,” he repeated again, shaking his head.
“Well, I think that it is wonderful,” Samantha interrupted, giving Alex a small smile. “Perhaps the joy of having Drake returned to us and of welcoming Alexandria into the family will help to ease the pain of losing Papa.” She swallowed, then lifted her chin. “You look exhausted, Alexandria. Let us leave my brothers to … do what they must.” She shuddered at the reality of her father’s death, but hung on to the fact that Drake was home. “Alexandria, I will show you to your room, if you like.”
Alex looked gratefully at her. “Thank you, Samantha. I would like that very much.” Without meeting Drake’s eyes she raised her skirts and followed Samantha up the winding staircase. She was uncertain how much longer she could function without breaking down. Her entire life had blown up in her face. She desperately needed time alone to think.
“Your grace?”
Alex didn’t turn.
“Your grace?” Humphreys’s voice was tentative. “I shall arrange for a lady’s maid to assist you at once.”
Alex froze where she stood, realizing that Humphreys was addressing her. As of one hour past she was the Duchess of Allonshire.
She pivoted slowly on the stairway and looked down, her strained gaze locking with Drake’s tortured stare. The words seemed to echo between them, within them, pulling taut the thin filament of their relationship, tighter and tighter, until it snapped.
Alex turned away first, walking gracefully up the curved
staircase until she was gone.
Chapter 23
DRY-EYED, ALEX STARED up at the plush velvet canopy of the intricately carved mahogany bed. Her head ached painfully; her mind still raced with all it needed to absorb. Odd, she had been in her room for hours, yet she could not cry. Deep within her lay a core of grief so profound that it was not yet ready to be touched. She supposed that she was still in shock, would remain so for some time.
Shivering, Alex arose from the bed and moved toward the fire, drawing her wrapper more tightly around her. Shortly after she had taken dinner in her room, Molly, her lady’s maid, had come to announce the arrival of some clothing for her grace. There had followed a procession of gowns, all the dark-colored crepes and bombazines that were necessary for mourning, and all of them fit Alex perfectly. As if to atone for the drabness of her initial wardrobe there were countless exquisite night rails and wrappers in soft colors and delicate silks. Alex had no idea how the modiste had managed all this without her measurements, but she assumed that Drake had something to do with it. It mattered not. Whatever was between her and her husband, she was his wife and he had just lost his father. Therefore, she would wear the gowns and show her respect to Grayson and to the ton.
The ton. The pompous, self-righteous group of aristocrats that Drake had mocked time and again, had bitterly resented for all they were. He had scorned her for being born into their world, had professed his loathing for the nobility and their values.
Lies. All of it, lies.
Alex turned, pressed her hands to her mouth and stared about the room with burning eyes.
Three of her rooms in Sudsbury could have easily fit into this elaborate bedchamber. The heavy furniture was hand-carved, and the upholstery was a rich pink velvet that matched the flocked wall covering and plush bedcover. The settee at the foot of the bed could easily have slept two, the ruffled dressing table contained every cosmetic a woman could desire, and the broad French windows led onto a large balcony that overlooked the grounds of the estate, giving her a breathtaking view of the endless gardens below.
Yet it all meant nothing.
Alex crossed the room to gaze out the window, searching the moonlit sky for answers. She had married a sea captain, a brave and dedicated man who led a simple life filled with purpose and commitment. A man she could respect … with whom she had fallen in love.