The Importance of Being Alice
His eyes were suddenly grave again. “Were you really leaving me?”
I sat back against the wall of the station, placing my hand on his where it rested on his leg. “What time is it?”
“Half four.”
“I’ve been here for almost four hours. At least three trains going to London have stopped.” I looked at my friend the clump of dead grass. “I couldn’t bring myself to get on any of them. I wanted to. I wanted to leave in a huff, to show you that I didn’t give a damn. But every time a train stopped, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take those steps to walk away from you. My inner self kept shouting that I was being a world-class idiot, and that I needed to go right back to you and demand an explanation, and I was just agreeing with it when you sat down.”
“Thank god for your inner voice.” He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my fingers. “And thank god for Bertie calling to tell me he’d need seventy-five pounds for a new front tire, or I wouldn’t have known you’d left. Alice.” He leaned back, as well, his good shoulder brushing against mine. “I want to kiss you very badly right now. I want to hold you, and breathe in the scent of you, and stroke that lovely freckled skin that covers you. I want to make love to you. Several times. And in many varied ways, some involving your captain’s hat. But most of all, I want to know you forgive me for being so selfish.”
“I forgive you for being human, and for feeling pain, and for having a perfectly normal amount of vanity,” I said, smiling at him. “You’re going to have to work on my forgiveness for the idiot part of not telling me I was hurting you, but since I’m going to have to do the same for the fact that I didn’t talk to you about my feelings, we’re pretty even. Well, no, we’re not, because I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t notice you were in pain.”
“I tried my best to hide it. You’re not to blame for not seeing that.”
He rose. It was quick, but even so, I noticed a flash of pain in his eyes at the movement. He held out a hand for me. I took it, holding on when he was going to let go in order to grab my suitcase. “We really are a pair, aren’t we?”
“We are. But I think we’re suited, despite that.”
We walked out of the train station. Elliott’s car was sitting outside. I tossed my suitcase into the back and, with a long look at him, slid into place behind the steering wheel.
“Do you know how to drive?” he asked, slowly getting into the passenger seat.
“Of course.” There was a clash of gears, a low, ugly grind as I put my feet on the wrong pedals, and an explosive backfire when the car lurched backward. I grinned at him as I got the car into the proper gear. “Driving on the left will be an experience, but I expect I’ll soon get the hang of it.”
He said nothing, but hurriedly put on his seat belt.
“You really want to use the captain’s hat?” I asked after a few minutes.
“Yes,” he said, surprising me. “You’ve convinced me that role play might be a fun element to introduce into our intimate moments. Not that I wish to indulge in it all the time, but now and again it might be welcome.”
“Admit it—you really dug the German sex club.”
“I enjoyed the experience before my back seized up, yes.”
“I knew it. We’re going to make a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-er out of you yet. You’ll come to see that spontaneity is the spice of life, and that flinging yourself into adventures without worrying about pesky details brings a zest that makes you feel alive.”
“Adventures like leaving your husband without bothering to tell him?”
I shot him a look. “I didn’t say that all adventures turn out well. Some of them might have benefited from a little more . . . er . . .”
“Forethought?” he offered.
“I was going to say communication, but that does as well, I suppose. You know, when you think about it, we really do complement each other nicely. You’ll keep me from doing crazy things like running away because you didn’t love me, and I’ll keep you from becoming a stodgy man who wouldn’t recognize a spontaneous act if it bit him on his extremely biteworthy ass.”
“No doubt it will all work out admirably.”
“I notice you didn’t include the parrot in your plans for pirate hat sex—”
“No nipple clamps. I draw the line there.”
“Fair enough.” I laughed.
We drove along in silence for a few minutes before Elliott said, “I have to admit that I’m relieved you didn’t leave me because of my family or the castle.”
“What do you mean?”
He made a little gesture without taking his hand off where it rested on his leg. “My family can be a little overwhelming in both number and character. You’ve only met a couple of my brothers—the full contingent will be sure to arrive for the wedding party.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I said in a reassuring tone. “I like Bertie and Dixon and of course Gunner, and your mom is really sweet now that she’s over that weird little Americans-are-bad shtick, and is no longer the Red Queen. You know, off with her head? Your castle is Wonderland, I’m Alice, and your mom is the Red Queen, although as I said, she’s not anymore.”
“If my mother is the Red Queen, then what am I? The Caterpillar?”
“Of course not, hookah aside. You’re the White Knight.”
“As I recall, he was quite elderly. And also in Through the Looking-Glass, not Alice in Wonderland.”
“Pfft,” I said, waving away those objections. “Pedantics. The White Knight was young once, and so you’re simply a younger, sexier version.”
He gave me a look that just made me giggle.
“Your ideas of Wonderland aside, you must be aware that there will be certain demands that go along with being Baroness Ainslie. No doubt the local groups will ask you to join committees, and open fetes and participate in various rural schemes. My mother will be delighted to hand those duties over to you—she’d far rather devote her energies to needy causes abroad.”
“Yeah, she said something about being happy that she wouldn’t have to go to one more Women’s Institute meeting.”
“You don’t mind?” he asked, a little worried line between his brows.
“Are you kidding? I’m a baroness—at least I am according to an Internet religion, and I’m going to be a real one in a couple of weeks. I can’t wait to swan around and be all Lady Grantham. Can we have some sort of a shindig on the lawn that all the locals come to? With tea tents and pig races and that sort of thing? I will walk around with a big ole hat on, and a pitcher of lemonade, dispensing cooling refreshments and polite chitchat to everyone. It’ll be so much fun!”
“You have a strange concept of fun, but you may have a fete at the castle if you like, although I’d prefer you wait until I have the west wing taken care of. I am concerned about the safety of it with the tourists as is.” He gave me an approving smile.
“I know you are. That’s why I ordered up some of this plastic barrier stuff that comes on a roll. They use it back home for chickens. It’ll make sure that no one gets near the bad section.” I explained the technical details of the barrier product I’d found online and promptly ordered. “It should be here in a couple of days.”
“That is an excellent thought. Thank you.” He leaned his head back against the seat rest, saying tiredly, “I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you have made the castle your priority. It has long needed a mistress who held its interest uppermost in her thoughts. My mother has done her duty, of course, but her interests have always been elsewhere.”
I was silent for a few minutes, not sure if it was wise to taint our newly restored happiness.
Elliott must have sensed the dark turn of my thoughts, because he looked over at me and asked, “You do like the castle, don’t you?”
“It’s amazing,” I said honestly, but picking my w
ords carefully nonetheless.
He sat up in his seat. “I sense an unspoken ‘but’ in that sentence.”
I made a little waffling gesture. “The house is gorgeous, except the bit that’s crumbling away and hurting people. But the rest of it—it’s very historic. I mean, you can just feel the centuries of history rolling off it.”
“I know it’s not in the best of shape, but once the restoration is finished, it will be quite impressive. The facade—”
“Elliott, it’s not the facade,” I interrupted. “Or anything to do with the work you’re having done. I think the castle is gorgeous just because it’s a castle. I mean, you live in a friggin’ castle! Not many people can say that.”
“But . . . ?” he prodded.
I bit my lip, then just blurted it out. “But it’s not my home.”
“Of course it is. I own it, and you are married to me; thus it is your home.”
“It’s not that.” I was miserable again, wishing I’d never brought the subject up.
“Is it because the estate is in my name? It was entailed upon me, although the entail will be broken with my death, so we will be able to leave it to whichever of our heirs we decide.”
“No, that’s fine, I don’t care about that. It’s just . . .” I bit my lip again, sorting through the feelings I wanted to express. “You know I was a foster kid growing up, right?”
“Yes. You said you did not have a pleasant childhood.”
“It wasn’t horrible. I mean, none of my foster parents abused me or anything, but there was never one family who really wanted me. It was like—there’s the family . . . and then me, standing to the side. I used to pretend that one day my real mom and dad would swoop down and scoop me up, and tell me how they’d been off in the wilds of South America finding cures for cancer and stuff, but now they were back and I’d have a family again, a real family with a real home.”
Elliott digested this for a few seconds, then, ever the practical man, asked, “What can I do to make Ainslie Castle into a real home for you?”
“I don’t know,” I said miserably. “I don’t even know why I brought this up. Really, anywhere you are is going to be my home.”
“No,” he said, looking out of the window, his jaw tight. I wondered if I had angered him. “No, it’s not the same thing.”
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t need my wimpy feelings dumped on you right now. I shouldn’t have said anything—”
“What sort of parent leaves their child to be raised by strangers?” he suddenly exploded. “If they could not keep you, why did they not give you up for adoption, so that a family might have taken you into their home as their own?”
I had to pull over to the side of the road because I was so surprised by his anger. “I . . . I don’t really know what to say. I was told my parents had drug problems, and couldn’t take care of me, and put me into the system because of that. Given that lifestyle, it was much better for me to be floating around the foster system, even if I didn’t have a permanent home. I appreciate your indignation on my behalf, but it’s nothing you need to get irate about now. I got through it. I had counseling all through my teen years, and I’m OK now.”
“You shouldn’t have to have been so alone.” He turned back to me, his eyes alight with little silver glints. “And by god, I will see to it that you do not feel the same way at Ainslie. The public rooms must be left as they are for the tourists, but you shall have charge of redecorating the private rooms. All the private rooms, from the sitting room on up to the bedrooms. You will put your own stamp on them, and they will be your home.”
“You know, if I didn’t love you to the very tippy top of my tippy top-dom, then I’d love you even more right now. I really appreciate that offer—”
“It’s not an offer,” he said with grim finality that had me biting back a laugh. “It’s an order. You will redecorate, and make the castle a home.”
“—but it’s not necessary. For one thing, it’ll cost an arm and a leg. For another . . . I like the castle the way it is. Well, OK, your bedroom is a bit dark, but it’s a guy’s room, so that’s understandable.”
“You will redecorate that, as well,” he said, pinning me back with a look that did not allow for discussion.
I did laugh then. “You really are a hoot, you know that? Any woman would leap at the chance of a carte blanche for redecoration, but no, Elliott, we have to be sensible about this. We need that money to freshen up the dower house, and also to buy the things we need for the Ainslie Experience.”
“You will redecorate my room—our bedroom—and the attached sitting room,” he said after a moment’s grumpy silence. “I am willing to let the other rooms go since you are right—it would be ill-advised to spend that much money without need. But I will have a haven for just the two of us.”
“All right,” I said, patting his hand and pulling back onto the road. “That I will accept. It would be nice to have a private little retreat where we can go and play with the captain’s hat.”
He gave a sharp nod, and puffed softly to himself in diminishing indignation. I thought it best to drag his mind off my checkered past, and on to something more pleasing. “What exactly did you have planned with the hat?”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me. Come on, out with it. We might not be able to get it on until you heal up, but at the very least you can tell me what you’d like to do.”
“No, I can’t.” His face was obstinate.
“Why not?”
“Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to walk around with an erection?” He shot me an annoyed look that made me giggle under my breath. “You may have thought I was uninterested, but I assure you the opposite has been the case. In fact, I’ve been ready to swear that you’ve been doing your damnedest to give me permanent blue balls, what with the way you prance around in those tiny negligees, and flounce about the bedroom in just your knickers, not to mention wearing those bras that make everyone with eyeballs in their head stare at your breasts. It’s damned frustrating to think about all the things I want to do with you . . . tasting you . . . touching you . . . and not be able to do any of them. Hell. Now look what you’ve done.”
He gestured at his crotch. The fly did look unusually bulgy.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I had no idea that you were all hot and bothered. You definitely hid that well.”
“It was self-defense,” he said grimly. “Please don’t hit that cottage. It is an old one, and our former gardener has retired to it. I enjoy visiting him.”
I swerved just in time, mentally reminding myself to stay on the left side of the road. “All right, I won’t make you discuss what you’d like to do with the hat, although I have a couple of suggestions involving some silk scarves, and . . . oops. Sorry. That made you more bulgy. I’ll stop now.”
“Too late.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of him glaring at his crotch.
“Change of subject time. I’m glad to hear you say you’re interested in role play.”
“Really? Why is that?”
I grinned at him, and put my foot down on the accelerator. We were close now to the borders of Elliott’s land, surrounded by gently rolling pastureland. “Let me tell you about what’s in store for the castle.”
Chapter 16
Diary of Alice Wood
Day Twenty-nine
The day of our wedding just happened to coincide with the first official Ainslie Experience (as I decided to call it). We didn’t plan it that way—in fact, the whole Ainslie Experience almost went down the toilet once Elliott understood that people would be paying to stay for a couple of days with him, and not even the high price tag on it mollified him.
“Since you’ve already collected the money from these people,” he stormed the day I had tried to leave him (very careful not to move his body much as he strode up
and down in his tiny office), “I will allow it to go forward, but only because the visitors are people we know, although why you felt it vital to have your ex-lover as one of the participants is beyond my understanding. There will be no other such events, however.”
“But, Elliott—we’ll make money hand over fist! And it’ll just be a couple of people at a shot. You’ll only have to see them at meals, and maybe watch a little TV with them, or shoot some pool. Nothing horrible.”
The look he settled on me told me just what he thought of that plan. I sighed, and decided to wait until after Laura and Patrick left before broaching the subject again. He’d see just how noninvasive it would really be.
Confident that he would eventually see the wisdom of my ways, for the next two weeks I threw my energy into two main projects: the refurbishing of the dower house, and redecorating our private rooms. The suite consisted of three rooms: a small, dark bathroom that had been converted from a servant’s room, the bedroom, and a large-sized sitting room. I had the bathroom painted a cheery yellow, redid the bedroom in pleasing greens and robin’s-egg blue (as well as installed a much-needed new bed with ultra-bouncy mattress), and completely gutted the sitting room of its old, heavy Victorian furniture. I had found some furniture stored in one of the attics that probably hadn’t seen the light of day for at least a hundred years. The pieces had the long, graceful lines of neoclassical Regency England, and the colors of the upholstery had faded into soft moss greens, rose, and gold. I arranged them around the room, added in a chair that Elliott had said was his favorite, and placed a small lady’s writing desk for myself. I also had Elliott’s beloved desk carried in by his two youngest brothers.
“What’s this?” the man himself asked about a week before our wedding, when he returned from a visit to the doctor. Bertie, Gunner, and I had pulled him into the redecorated room to see the end result. “What’s my desk doing here? Why isn’t it in my office?”