Nicola Cornick (19 page)

James’s voice was expressionless. ‘Caroline and Marcus both spoke for you. They implied that I had misjudged you in thinking you a common jilt or, if you prefer, a fortune-hunter. I was prepared to be persuaded, but only you could tell me the truth. As you are declining to do so, I can only assume that my original assumption was correct.’

‘You have no right to ask for an explanation now, Lord Mullineaux.’ It was only when Alicia tried to speak that she realised how upset she was, for it was almost impossible to frame the words without crying. ‘The time for explanations was seven years ago, but you had so little faith that you did not wait for one. You have made some unforgivable, arrogant assumptions and I will not correct them just for your gratification!’

James’s gaze had narrowed on her in disbelief. Alicia’s green eyes were very bright with both defiance and tears, but he was in no mood to compromise or defer to her feelings. He had become obsessed with knowing the truth. Each time he saw Alicia his obsession worsened because he could not equate his opinion of her with what was before his eyes. The doubts which Marcus had planted in his mind nagged him and gave him no peace. Everywhere he went people spoke of Alicia in terms of the highest regard. She was the only person who could tell him the truth about the past and she was refusing to do so.

He crossed to her side in two strides and stood towering over her. Once again, as at Ottery, fury and frustration consumed him. She was so stubborn he could have shaken her. His fingers closed hard around her wrist and jerked her to her feet. The small table at Alicia’s side toppled over with a clatter, cascading the glass of wine onto the flagstone floor in a ruby waterfall. The glass miraculously did not break, but rolled away to hit the hearth with a gentle click. Neither of them paid the slightest attention.

‘So you think that I misjudged you seven years ago,’ James ground out, ‘and as a result you will behave like the spoilt child you are! Well, I thank you for your good opinion, madam! It’s fortunate we were spared the chance of ever marrying—no doubt time would have proved it to be a disastrous mistake!’

Alicia itched to slap his face, but he was holding her too tightly and too close to him. It was impossible to speak with any dignity, but at least she was now wholly angry where before she had been upset. She glared up into the furious dark eyes only inches from her own.

‘Oh, no, my lord, it is you who are spoilt and selfish! Just because you wish to know a thing, you care not how much pain you occasion others! This is hardly the first time I have had to endure your strictures on my character—from allegations of wilfulness to the indictment that I married for a fortune! You have insulted me in every way conceivable and now I can only suggest you let me go!’

She barely had time to draw breath before he wrenched her into his arms. It bore no resemblance to any embrace Alicia had experienced before; not even the most ardent of her admirers had treated her so, and James himself had always exercised considerable restraint in his dealings with her as an inexperienced girl of nineteen. But now he held her ruthlessly whilst his mouth moved over hers, the pressure forcing her lips to part. The intensity of the kiss did not ease even for a moment and Alicia was lost almost from the start. Even had she wished to escape, she could not have done so. The arms which held her seemed made of steel. Though she knew he had only kissed her out of anger and frustration, she found herself adrift on a sea of sensation, careless of thought, responding to him with a lack of restraint which she was powerless to prevent. Her senses had been starved of emotion for so long that her nerve-endings felt as though they were on fire. His mouth became more insistent, deepening the kiss still further, and she was achingly aware of every taut line of his body against hers. Then, as she was about to abandon thought completely, a small corner of her mind
whispered that he did not care about her, did not trust her, and certainly did not love her as she still loved him.

It was like being doused by a bucket of cold water. Alicia tore herself from his grip and would have fallen had James not caught her elbow to steady her. She did not stop to think, but turned on her heel and made straight for the door with no clear idea of where she was going. James caught up with her as she reached for the latch and put his hand over hers to stop her.

‘Please, Alicia…’ His breathing was still uneven, but there was an urgent note in his voice. ‘Please don’t run away. I’m sorry. I know I’ve treated you unforgivably, but please give me a chance to explain.’

The heavy iron latch was cool under Alicia’s fingers, but somehow it seemed too much of an effort to lift it. She felt dizzy and confused, hearing her own voice as though from a great distance.

‘But I don’t think I want to talk to you any more, Lord Mullineaux…I think it’s a little too late for that…’

Alicia could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks and made no effort to stop them. She tried to dash them away with her hand, but they just fell all the faster. The room was blurring at the edges, and suddenly she was grateful for the dark because she was so tired. So tired, but there was no need to think any more—no need to do anything at all. She closed her eyes.

James caught her before she fainted, and carried her over to the chaise longue in an alcove by the side of the fire. Alicia had already started to stir by the time he put her down and for a moment she lay quite still, obscurely at peace. The only sound was the crackle of the fire, and the distant clatter of pans in the kitchen. Her eyes were closed, but her other senses seemed heightened. She could feel the thick velvet of the chair beneath her fingers, the softness of the cushion beneath her head, and she could smell the most wonderful aroma of food cooking.

Alicia turned her head slowly and opened her eyes with extreme reluctance. It was dark outside now, and the Hall looked even more austere with its stone-flagged floor and high ceiling wreathed in shadow. There was a step beside her, and James appeared, a glass of water in his hand. He helped her to sit upright and passed her the glass without comment, but when he saw that she was still shaking his hand closed around hers to steady it and raise the glass to her lips.

‘Dinner is ready,’ he observed quietly. ‘You will feel much better once you have had something to eat.’

At that moment a maid appeared and started to set the long trencher
table with silver and sparkling glass. James helped Alicia to her feet and escorted her over to the table with grave courtesy. She felt as though she was floating, too tired to resist or even think. Nor did James himself appear inclined to break the silence between them. Alicia could feel his reflective gaze resting on her, but she did not look at him, or speak.

The food was simple, consisting of a delicious home-made soup of winter vegetables, followed by a side of beef and finally apple pie and cream. However, it tasted as good as anything Alicia had ever eaten and she was surprised to find that she was ravenously hungry. After a while, her composure returning, she became more and more sharply aware of the man opposite her.

James looked up and met her gaze, and her heart jolted once, uncomfortably, as she saw the unhappiness reflected in those dark eyes. At once, as though avoiding any subject which might prove too emotive, he began to speak of his growing interest in the estate and to ask Alicia’s opinion on several local issues. She answered his questions on everything from cider production to the village school with a clear interest and knowledge that intrigued and amused him.

‘You evidently spend a great deal of your time at Chartley,’ James observed casually, refilling their wineglasses. ‘Do you prefer it to London? And do you have time to visit your other properties at all?’

Alicia considered. ‘I usually spend the Season in London, and that’s quite enjoyable. But—’ she met his eyes squarely ‘—I love Chartley and the peace I find here. I have a house by the sea at Scarborough which I’ll visit sometimes in the summer, but most of the other properties are let on a long-term basis.’

‘To orphanages and other charitable institutions, often at a peppercorn rent, so I have heard.’ James raised one black eyebrow. ‘You may undertake your transactions through paid agents, my lady, but it is not so difficult to trace them back to you if one tries.’

Alicia looked at him reflectively. It was odd, she thought, how all constraint between them seemed suddenly to have vanished. It was as though they had passed the restrictions usually imposed by convention and could say anything to each other. So she had felt at nineteen, discovering with James Mullineaux an affinity that had been both comforting and exciting. They had been kindred spirits and had immediately recognised each other as such. Now, suddenly, that bond had reasserted itself, regardless of what lay between them, drawing them as close as they had been seven years before. It felt both stimulating and dangerous.

The candlelit room had an odd intimacy about it for so large a space
and despite all that had happened Alicia knew suddenly that she would never be able to escape this feeling. She could refuse to discuss the past, she could claim never to want to see him again, but she would be lying and the awareness between them, which had flared into such explosive life earlier in the evening, could never be denied.

‘You seem very well acquainted with my business, sir,’ Alicia commented mildly. ‘What else do you know? And why should you have troubled to discover so much?’

James smiled straight into her eyes. ‘Because I wanted to know the truth about you,’ he said, with shattering directness. ‘You wrote me a letter in which you condemned yourself as an adventuress and at the time I was prepared to believe in your duplicity. I was young and very proud, after all.’ He tilted the liquid in his glass, watching the firelight warm the rich ruby wine. ‘What I said earlier was also true. I had considered the matter closed until I came back and met you again. Then I realised that you were not the caricature fortune-hunter I had built up in my mind, but I refused to accept the evidence of my own intuition. I spoke to Caroline and Marcus, and to the people here at Monks Dacorum, and they all spoke of your warmth and your kindness and your generosity—and I could not make the picture fit with my opinion of you.’

Alicia’s gaze dropped before that intense regard, and after a moment James resumed.

‘So the only thing I could do was to ask you directly. But, of course, I did it all wrong, because the gulf between the two of us was still so great that I could not bridge it. Now I will not press you for an explanation if you do not wish to give one.

‘But, to answer your first question, I know that you have vast quantities of money tied up in charitable trusts, making more money for your beneficiaries. I know that you have invested heavily in local commerce and have opened schools and hospitals. And I must thank you for your care of my tenants while I have been away.’

Alicia had regained a measure of composure by now, and raised a hand in laughing protest. ‘Enough, sir! You make me sound like a philanthropist!’

‘Why, so you are!’ James looked solemn. ‘Why deny it?’

‘Because I have a horror of being given credit for what I have done,’ Alicia answered seriously. ‘Unfortunately,’ she added, a little sadly, ‘the more schemes I think up to get rid of the money usefully, the more money it seems to generate!’

James burst out laughing. ‘Vast fortunes have a habit of doing that, so I have heard! But why do you not wish to be thanked for the uses to which you have put your money?’

There was a silence. ‘George Carberry’s fortune was made by various dubious means, few of them legal,’ Alicia observed at length, staring beyond James into the shadows. ‘I wanted nothing to do with it and it should never have been mine. The only thing I could think of was to turn it to good—which I have tried to do.’

Their eyes met for a moment of tension. James sat forward, his gaze suddenly intent.

‘Alicia, I know I said I would not press you for an explanation, but will you tell me what happened?’

Alicia looked at him for what seemed for ever, then she gave him a shaky smile.

‘Very well, my lord. You will have your story.’

T
he study where previously James had entertained Caroline and Marcus Kilgaren was a small oasis of warmth and quiet, more intimate than the Great Hall, a place designed for confidences. It was lined on three sides with the bookshelves where reposed dusty tomes collected by generations of the Mullineaux family, some pristine and uncut, others whose well-worn covers bore testimony to their popularity. Once again, Alicia looked around her with interest. The furnishings were old and tattered, but had a comfortable quality that more than compensated for their threadbare appearance. It was a friendly house, Alicia thought, still showing the touch of Lady Rose, who had had the decorating of it thirty-five years ago when she had been a bride. Yet it was not just the outward appearance that was so welcoming; deeper than that was an atmosphere of warmth, of reassurance. Alicia shivered. She would need all that and more to help her tell her story.

Another exquisite plaster ceiling displayed the arms and devices of the Mullineaux family and those with whom they had intermarried. The only light came from the fire, which the servants had built up during dinner, and from one lamp which cast a golden glow in a corner of the room. In front of the fire was sprawled a very small black and white puppy. Alicia, recognising one of the Monks Farm litter, smiled to herself. The room was very quiet. The servants had seen to it that James and his guest had everything they needed, then they had slipped discreetly away, leaving the two in silence.

James could sense Alicia’s tension as she sat uncomfortably on the edge of the chair Caroline had occupied the previous week. The food and wine had revived her colour and animation, but there was a wary
look in her eyes as though she had already regressed some way into the past and was thinking on the events of seven years previously. She watched silently as he poured himself a glass of port and took the seat opposite her. She had declined any more wine, requesting a dish of tea, which sat prosaically on the table in front of her.

After a moment Alicia made a little gesture, almost of defeat.

‘Well, I promised you the story, my lord, so I shall keep my word. First, however, I should tell you that no one else knows this, except my grandmother. I can only beg you to repay me by relating it to no one.’

James inclined his head. ‘You have my word. But may I also know why you chose never to tell anybody else?’

Alicia smiled, a little grimly. ‘When you hear the tale, sir, I doubt you will need an answer to that. Firstly, it was too…’ she paused, searching for the right word ‘…too personal for me to tell. I did not wish to make an avid Society free with the details. And the scandal at the time was dreadful enough without my fuelling it further. I suspect—no, I know—that it would have been even worse had I chosen to make people aware of the true facts.’

She took a sip of tea, welcoming the comforting warmth.

‘From something you said earlier, my lord, I imagine that Caroline and Marcus must have guessed at a version of events which may be close to the truth, but few people ever realised…Most drew their own conclusions—the most shocking, the most scandalous ones they could think of.’

James did not comment. He had, after all, been one of those very people. Now he had the opportunity to judge for himself. He never doubted for a moment that Alicia would tell him the truth—there was a brittle tautness about her which demonstrated all too clearly the profound effect that the subject still had on her. No, she would be telling him the truth and it would be at great personal cost. He watched her try to settle herself more comfortably in the chair. Her stress and reluctance to speak were almost a tangible thing, and James felt his own tension growing as a result.

‘I suppose I must start with the day my father came up to Town,’ Alicia said reflectively. ‘You may recall that I had not mentioned beforehand that he was visiting, for I was unaware he even planned to open up the house in Bruton Street. I was very surprised to receive a message from him, but I was not suspicious in any way.’ She shrugged.
‘Why should I have been, after all? He asked me to call there, so, of course, I went.’

She looked thoughtfully. ‘We had never been close, he and I—you may remember that I once told you how distant he had been as a father, wrapped up in his business affairs. Even so, I was a dutiful daughter. God help me, I even imagined that his arrival might herald a reconciliation between himself and my grandmother, and that the family might be whole once again.’

A log fell in the grate with a soft hiss and Alicia looked up to meet James’s absorbed gaze.

‘It was not as I had presumed,’ she said shortly. ‘Naturally not. The butler showed me into my father’s study and there I was acquainted with his plans for my future.’

Alicia shivered as she remembered the obsequious Castle with his black button eyes. Pausing, she took another drink of tea and put both hands around the cup for reassurance. James had still not said a word but his gaze did not once falter from her face.

‘He told me that he had arranged a match for me with George Carberry,’ Alicia resumed. ‘Carberry himself was there, in fact, and the pair of them were in fine fig with all their plans. I was slow to understand what they were trying to tell me, for first I had to appreciate the enormity of my father’s scheming. Once I had grasped that, though, I put up strong resistance. I told them that a marriage between myself and Carberry was out of the question for I was already promised to you, and you would be asking my father for permission to marry me as soon as you knew he was in Town.’

Her voice was colourless. ‘They both seemed to find that most amusing. My father asked scornfully what possible benefit such a match could bring him. He was adamant. And when I refused again Castle, the butler, came in and hustled me upstairs in less time than it takes to relate. I was locked in a bedroom for two days without food before they tried to persuade me again.’

There was a distant, inward-looking expression on Alicia’s face, for she had become completely wrapped up in the past. She did not even look at James—it was as if he were only there by coincidence rather than as the reason for her to be telling the tale. She stared past him into the shadows, and her face was as remote and beautiful as a porcelain sculpture, but equally cold.

‘When they chose, I was taken back downstairs and once again both of them were there with their proposals. Carberry called me a foolish
child for still obstinately holding out against them. He said that you had repudiated me and that stories were flying round the clubs that I was nothing more than a jilt and a fortune-hunter. He told me all the names they were calling me. My father said that Society had finished with me and that I had best just accept it.’

Alicia stopped. She had said nothing of her confusion and loneliness, the feeling of terrible isolation, the despair of being hopelessly trapped, but it was all there in the tone of her voice. James could hear it all, see her expression as she remembered how she had felt, and imagine the feelings of a girl whose sheltered and privileged upbringing had scarcely prepared her for coping with such a shock. Alicia had been strong, or she would have capitulated long before; perhaps it would have been better for her if she had done so.

Alicia looked up suddenly at James, and her gaze refocused on him abruptly. He was sitting, head bent, watching the liquid swirling in his glass, and the increasingly grim set to his mouth was the only outward sign that he had heard her words. His very stillness was frightening to her for she could not interpret it. She hurried on.

‘I still refused to accept Carberry’s proposal. My father tried very hard to persuade me, but to me it would have been betraying you to agree. He blustered and threatened me, and finally he had me beaten for my disobedience.’

James drained his glass in one mouthful and reached for the decanter. ‘Go on,’ he said curtly.

‘That night…’ Alicia paused. Her green eyes mirrored shocking disillusion and pain. ‘Forgive me, my lord; some things are not easy to tell. That night my father hosted a party for his cronies. I will spare you the details, but there was much heavy drinking and “entertainment”, and towards the end of the evening George Carberry decided that he would like to take a look at his latest business acquisition—myself. I was dragged from my bed and taken downstairs.’

James got to his feet, as though better to bear whatever she was about to say. Looking at Alicia, he saw that her expression was once again quite blank. She had laced her fingers together to prevent them from shaking and the knuckles showed white with the pressure.

‘It was not so bad, I suppose,’ she said deliberately, meeting his gaze directly. ‘Now I realise how much worse it could have been, but for a girl brought up as I had been, in so sheltered an environment, the humiliation of being paraded half-naked before such a drunken company, the humiliating looks and comments…Well, the shock was terrible for
me. I imagine that my father believed that the shame and horror of it all would convince me that I was ruined and had no choice but to marry. But still he took no risks.

‘The following morning, a maid brought me the first proper food and drink I had had for a week. Like a fool, I ate it all. I remember nothing of the next day—I do not even know how the day—or days—passed. The food must have been laced with a sleeping-draught, but I never imagined…Anyway, when I awoke, my father produced his final ultimatum.’

Her voice was now so quiet that James had to strain to hear her words, but when she looked up her gaze was full of emotion.

‘He told me that if I did not agree to marry Carberry he would ruin you, destroy you.’ She shrugged dismissively. ‘In retrospect I wonder if he could have carried out such a threat. Perhaps so; perhaps not. At the time I was hardly in a fit state to think at all, but I would not have taken that risk anyway. So I agreed. God help me, of course I agreed.’

It was all far worse than James had even imagined. Although close to Marcus’s version of events, told by Alicia in such factual terms it somehow became even more chilling. She had not tried to invest the words with any particular feeling, but her sense of desperation and hopelessness had come over strongly. James found that his anger and pity were so great that he could not speak and had to clear his throat first.

‘I did not know…I had no idea.’ He tried to think about it rationally, but found that he could not even begin to do so. It was too sudden and involved too much reappraisal to be dealt with easily. His mind was spinning, but overriding all else was an intense, impotent anger at what they had done to her—and a disgust with himself for believing her false when she had suffered all this for him.

‘How could anyone do such a thing?’ he finally burst out, with all the suppressed violence he would have liked to wreak out on Broseley himself. ‘God damn him to hell, I could kill him myself.’

Alicia almost laughed. ‘Locking up recalcitrant daughters to encourage them to marry their parents’ choice is hardly a new concept,’ she pointed out, in another unconscious echo of Marcus Kilgaren’s observations. ‘Many a young lady has changed her mind about a prospective suitor when under duress! In my case the duress was particularly severe and the suitor particularly unpleasant, but that is the only real difference!’

James was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You can say that? After
everything that they did…! And so you married him. Of course you did! What choice did you have?’ He brought his fist down on the mantelpiece with a violence that made the whole structure shiver. ‘I wish…I just wish that I had known the truth!’

Alicia said nothing. No platitudes would make it any better. James was experiencing one small part of the anger, misery and shock that had been hers so long ago. After a moment he turned back to her, a question in his eyes.

‘Did he tell you—did your father ever tell you that I went to Bruton Street to find out what had happened to you?’ he demanded.

Alicia did not look surprised. A smile that could have been ironic touched her mouth fleetingly and was gone. ‘No, he did not. But at Annabella’s wedding, when you said you had met him, I realised…What did he say to you?’

James drove his hands forcibly into his pockets as though to restrain them from violence. ‘For several days he would not receive me, although that thug of a butler gave me a message to the effect that you had gone to your father of your own free will. He implied that you had no wish to marry me and felt forced into it by Lady Stansfield. I flatly refused to believe him and went back every day demanding to see your father. The stories to which you referred earlier started to circulate in the clubs, but I tried to ignore them and finally Broseley granted me an interview—’ He broke off, staring into the fire with a black frown on his forehead.

‘I was almost demented with worry by that time. But if I had known—’ He broke off again, then resumed. ‘Anyway, when I saw him, your father confirmed that the stories were true and that you were marrying George Carberry. He said some terrible things.’ James’s dark gaze rested on Alicia thoughtfully. ‘He implied that you were marrying for money, a course of action of which he thoroughly approved. Finally, he gave me the letter you had signed. You did sign it, didn’t you, Alicia?’

‘Yes.’ Once again Alicia’s voice was devoid of all expression. ‘It was when he threatened to ruin you that he gave me the letter to sign. I did not even read it, I’m afraid. I just…put my name to it, whatever it might have said. Was it very bad?’

‘Just bad enough to convince me that you meant it,’ James said grimly. ‘I realise now that my judgement was seriously flawed, but I was in such a state of tension that it seems understandable, if not for
givable, that I misjudged you so. I am so very sorry that I ever believed it, Alicia…’