Chapter Four
Several days later, Alexander sat beside a table outside in the eastern gardens with his sister; his godmother Countess Darling, a dear friend of his mother; and one of his most trusted friends, George Hampstead, the Marquess of Argyle. Lady Darling and George had arrived unexpectedly, and Alexander suspected it was the news of his mysterious lady that had compelled them to his castle.
They had been obliged to seek him out in the gardens, for he had refused to attend them in the drawing room. Here in the gardens was where he stayed when that hunger for something more—a wife, children, impossible dreams and hopes—clawed inside. Whenever he inhaled the scent of spring—roses and jasmine—into his lungs, basking in the cries of the meadowlark, and felt the heat of the sun on his face, the memories of sitting atop his father’s shoulders and the soft laugh from his mother were most vivid.
“Alexander, my dear, the news circulating about town has forced me to travel up to this dreadfully cold place you call home. Tell me, is it true you are engaged to Miss Kitty Danvers? I could not credit the news when I heard it, nor the outlandish story of your courtship.”
“It seems we met a few months ago when her carriage lost a wheel traveling to this godforsaken part of the kingdom. It was love at first sight,” he murmured. “We spent hours discussing the arts and poetry.”
Lady Darling gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat, the blue turban on her head bobbing. “Oh, Alexander, how wonderful! I positively had to come when I heard the news, and you know how I loathe traveling.”
He had some notion. His godmother had always complained of her dreadful journey whenever she visited and how she dreaded being accosted by highwaymen. With some amusement, he noted that had not prevented her from dressing in the height of fashion in a high-waist empire gown with a string of pearls and earbobs, effortlessly displaying her wealth.
“I’m so very pleased for you, but why aren’t you in London?” she asked tentatively, dark blue eyes that reminded him so of his mother’s softening with concern. “I had no idea you had expectations ever to marry.”
His expectations of marrying and starting a family had been real and attainable ten years ago, but his godmother undoubtedly wondered who would marry a scarred cripple now. “Perhaps my title and wealth are the appeal,” he said mildly and without any true sting.
She flushed. “I did not mean to imply—”
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a small smile.
Her eyes flashed to the scarred skin on his cheek and traced his blemishes to where they continued below his neck cloth, then dipped to his wheeled chair. The countess looked away, visibly composing herself, before settling her regard on him once more.
“I do pray she will not cry off.” There was a hope in her eyes that was painful to see.
Of course, everyone could recall that he had once been engaged to the diamond of the season, the Earl of Danford’s exquisite daughter. She had fainted the first time she saw him after the accident. When he had given her the doctors’ report that he would never walk again, nor would he function as a man, she had wept piteously.
Her overwrought tears had left him feeling hollow, for he had sensed it was the loss of being a duchess that had pierced her. It would be easy to cast blame on Lady Daphne for running from his estate and never looking back, but he hadn’t had the heart to do so…
Or perhaps he hadn’t loved her as much as he had thought.
Alexander had acknowledged it would take a rare soul to accept his limitations, and he would be a damned fool even to try to find such a woman.
The memories twisted through him, dark and ugly, a persistent specter he had never tried to close the door on. One did not flee from memories but faced them with resolute tenacity. He had come too far to flinch away from his thoughts, for that was where he resided most, in the deep labyrinth of his mind.
Flames licked along his mind, burning away the good memories like ashes in the wind. His stomach twisted into tight knots, but he did not shy away from them, as that suppression would lead only to haunting nightmares. He’d learned that in the first few years while he had battled for sanity and survival. He let the waking dream come, baring his teeth in a mocking grin.
As it were, he often woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, pain twisting his gut into knots. Those early days and the present memory of losing his parents in the fire had been endless, a sea of torment, his brain often reminding him of it while he slumbered.
In this very house, a fire had raged in the east wing, claiming the lives of his parents, several staff members, and his youth. The one good that had come from it all was that he had saved his sister, Penny, who had been only seven years old at the time.
The slithering memory, the horror of the smoke stealing his breath, the rancid smell of his own flesh sizzling, the burning of his skin, the smoke in his eyes and throat as he searched for a way to escape the inferno with Penny were always with him. To save their lives, he had leaped through the windows of his bedchamber with her tucked as securely as possible in his arms.
It had been a miracle, the doctors said, that his sister had escaped unscathed. And as if mocked by the heavens, the sky had opened with lightning and thunder and a great deluge. If only it had fallen even ten minutes earlier.
It seemed God had a twisted sense of humor—one Alexander hadn’t appreciated.
“Yes…why aren’t you making the social whirl with your fiancée?” George asked, his eyes watchful and curious. “I had to leave the delightful charms of a most accomplished actress—”
His lips flattened when Alexander lifted his chin toward his sister, who was busily cutting roses to place in the vase on their table. George at times forgot to mind his tongue when he spoke of his conquests.
The butler brought Alexander a pressed scandal sheet and departed.
Penny laughed as she placed the freshly cut flowers in the vase. “I fear Alexander is of a mind to occupy himself with newspaper clippings of his daring fiancée. He’s not yet realized he’d found a new treasure for his horde,” she said with far too much wisdom. “I’m quite eager for when the dragon in him will roar and hunt for this peculiar treasure.”
George shot her a puzzled frown, and she had the gall to wink. With a frown, Alexander realized it was truly time to send Penny to London for her polish. She was becoming too impertinent in her thoughts and manners and lacked that refinement of ladies of the ton.
Yet…he loved her as she was and would never want to see her different.