Authors: True Colours
She bit her lip viciously to hold back the tears and pulled her sleeve further back out of his way. As she did so, the slender bracelet she always wore slid down her arm and caught the light, the glow from the fire sliding over its intricate gold and silver tracery. Mullineaux’s gaze fastened on it, drawn by the sudden glitter. For a moment he stared at it, completely still, then he looked up into her eyes with the dawning of puzzlement and disbelief in his own. It had been his betrothal gift to her and she always wore it.
It was too much. The accumulated shock of the accident, the strain caused by seeing Mullineaux again and his evident dislike for her, the impossibility of ever having the opportunity to explain the past to him—all these combined to drown Alicia in a huge wave of grief. With a sob she tore her arm half-bandaged from his grip and ran out of the room to seek sanctuary, any sanctuary, away from his astonished gaze and disturbing presence.
Alicia got very little sleep that night. The best bedchamber the inn had to offer was a bleak garret facing north and battered by the storm which raged outside. The walls were cold and damp to the touch, and the sheets were no better.
At first Alicia curled up on the bed and cried as if her heart would break, too unhappy to think of anything at all except the huge weight of her own misery. Such a flood of tears could not last for ever, though, and when she was at last drained and exhausted she looked up and shivered at the grim, grey room with its icy chill. The solid warmth and comfort of Ottery Manor, a mere half-mile distant, could only be imagined but even though she was desperate Alicia rejected the idea of trying to walk there and no doubt developing pneumonia in the process.
She got up, lit a candle and washed her face in the stale water from the pitcher, peering at her unprepossessing appearance in the speckled mirror. Alicia was not vain, for Miss Frensham had successfully managed to instill in her a respect of person, not appearance. However, the red-rimmed eyes which looked back at her from a deathly pale face did make her shudder. She felt suddenly hungry, but was too tired to bother with the effort of requesting a meal which would as likely as not be inedible. She wrapped herself in her cloak, blew out her candle and lay down on the bed. She found that she could not think at all; her mind appeared to be completely frozen. Soon she fell into a light doze.
Some unmeasurable time later Alicia was disturbed by a tapping sound and before she awoke sufficiently to enquire who was there the
door opened and a thin, pale woman entered carrying a tray. She marched into the bedchamber and deposited her load on the chest of drawers with something of a crash, then turned to Alicia rather defiantly.
‘The gentleman below insisted that I bring this to you, miss. He thought you might wish to partake of some food but prefer not to come downstairs. I’ll leave it here for you.’
Her sniff and the toss of her head were indicative both of her unwillingness in performing the errand and her opinion of members of the so-called gentry who managed to get themselves into such compromising situations. She gave Alicia a look full of contemptuous curiosity and did not wait for any response but marched out in the same manner in which she had entered.
Alicia moved the tray onto the small bedside table and looked at its contents dubiously. The game pie was cold, but it turned out to be tasty enough to tempt her into eating a little and she found the wine pleasantly reviving in its effect. After she had finished she sat quite still, trying to decide what to do. The process took a long time, for her head was still aching with the aftermath of sleep and her mind was understandably reluctant to face the facts of her situation. She could get up and go downstairs, but the prospect of confronting James Mullineaux again so soon filled her with horrified embarrassment.
Although she acknowledged his kindness in thinking of sending her some food, she scarcely felt able to sit down with him to a game of cards to while away the evening! She had no books or needlework with her and there could be little else the inn would offer in the way of entertainment. Besides, she felt suddenly tired and light-headed from the wine, and her wrist, which she had finished bandaging inexpertly herself, was aching badly. In the end she merely wrapped the cloak about her again and lay down on the threadbare bedspread.
It seemed that the thoughts and memories which she had kept at bay whilst she was awake could not be denied, for as soon as she was asleep she began to dream almost immediately.
The scene was familiar: the ballroom at Stansfield House, lavishly decorated as it had been seven years previously on the night of Alicia’s come-out ball with a richly coloured fresco of harvest fruits and an extravagant display of real, exotic fruit and flowers. The room was full of music and chatter, rainbow colours and ostentatious jewellery, as the cream of the
ton
mingled and gossiped, all so eager to see the new sensation that they had begged, borrowed or stolen an invitation. Alicia herself, slender in a white dress overlaid with silver net, moved through
the crowded rooms and could feel the thrill and excitement of the evening almost tangible on the air.
The dream continued in a blur of laughter and music. Alicia had no concept of time passing as she danced every dance. Then suddenly everything slowed down and became sharper than crystal as she relived moment by moment all that had happened next…
It was the supper interval and Alicia was swept up into the group of people surrounding her friend, Caroline Oxley. She felt immediately welcome in the circle of friends, included in their light-hearted banter and with several of the young men making their admiration for her very plain. The food was delicious, the company great fun, and Alicia was thoroughly enjoying her introduction into society.
There was a lull in the conversation, and Alicia looked up to see a girl seated further down the table who was simply sitting staring, her spoonful of strawberries suspended inelegantly halfway to her mouth. Following her rapt gaze, Alicia realised that her eyes were riveted on a man who was threading his way between the tables and was being hailed on all sides. His tall, broad-shouldered figure seemed to draw all eyes and Alicia’s neighbour was not the only lady who was frankly staring.
The stranger had reached Lady Stansfield now and was bowing elegantly over her hand before straightening up to give her a wicked smile. Alicia was amazed to see her grandmother positively preening herself—she who reduced most fashionable young men to stammering incoherence! Still, Lady Stansfield was not completely immune to good looks and this was a very personable young man indeed.
At that moment, Caroline Oxley looked up, gave a shriek and dug her brother Charles painfully in the ribs with her fan.
‘Charles, only look! It’s James Mullineaux, of all people! He never usually attends these affairs!’
‘Too afraid of being pounced upon!’ her brother agreed caustically. He turned to Alicia. ‘You must know, Miss Broseley, that James Mullineaux is considered one of the biggest catches on the marriage mart and is always fighting off eager women! He came into the Marquisate last year, and has been under siege ever since! But I suppose one can’t blame him for that and he’s a capital fellow, really!’
Caroline tutted. ‘Really, Charles! Must you give Alicia the wrong impression from the very start? James Mullineaux is all very well as long as one does not take him too seriously!’ Her perceptive blue gaze swung back to Alicia, and there was the tiniest shadow of concern in
her eyes. ‘James is a reckless but charming flirt. He has an air of careless arrogance which many women seem to find fascinating, but, Alicia—’ again, there was that hint of concern ‘—do not believe a word he says, I beg you!’
The Marquis had reached their table by now and was greeting Caroline’s cousin, Charlotte Anstey. Watching Charlotte blush becomingly, Alicia felt a hitherto unexperienced emotion sweep over her which she had no trouble at all in placing as pure jealousy. Judging by the expression on the faces of other ladies nearby, she was not alone.
Fool! she chided herself, but it was without heat. The impact of this man hardly lessened at close quarters, and she could scarcely expect herself to be immune when all about her were devastated by his charm.
Then he was beside her and was demanding an introduction. There was an odd moment of tense silence before Peter Weston complied—as Alicia’s self-constituted beau for the evening, Weston was not best pleased at the sight of such a rival. James Mullineaux noted his friend’s reluctance and the possessive way his arm lay along the back of Alicia’s chair, and his smile deepened.
‘Miss Broseley, this is James, Marquis of Mullineaux.’ Weston sounded even more sulky than he looked. Charles Oxley caught his sister’s eye and they exchanged a meaningful glance.
The Marquis took Alicia’s hand. His dark eyes trapped and held Alicia’s startled green gaze for what seemed like forever. Then he smiled and spoke as though they were quite alone.
‘My grandfather told me once that he had been one of Lady Stansfield’s greatest admirers in their youth. He said that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met and he fell hopelessly in love with her. They say that your resemblance to her at that age is very strong, Miss Broseley, and as soon as I saw you I realised how my grandfather must have felt.’
There was a long silence. Seeing Alicia’s complete inability to reply in kind, Caroline Oxley came to her rescue.
‘A pretty compliment indeed for my friend, sir!’ she observed pertly. Her smile encompassed the whole group. ‘Pity me that the Marquis of Mullineaux has always viewed
me
as a sister!’
Mullineaux relinquished Alicia’s hand reluctantly and joined in the general laughter at this.
‘Allow me to tell you that you look very fine tonight, Caro,’ he offered, with a smile.
‘Pah, a paltry piece of flattery!’ she replied, with laughing disgust.
‘Then you must rely on Marcus for the necessary compliments, I think,’ Mullineaux commented with a sideways glance at his friend, Marcus Kilgaren. He drew up a chair beside Charles Oxley and the conversation became general again, but Alicia was all too aware of that dark, intense gaze resting thoughtfully on her face from time to time. Her heart was still beating erratically and she felt a frightening breathlessness. Well, she had been warned. She was not to believe a word he said.
Later, Mullineaux cut Peter Weston out for a dance with her and continued to pay her the most outrageous compliments whilst doing so. Alicia had regained sufficient composure to parry his comments quite effectively, but it was proving quite impossible to remain indifferent to him. She was young and fresh from the country and whatever her sensible intentions had been she was hardly proof against the sheer overwhelming magnetism of the man.
What was perhaps more surprising was that James Mullineaux, cynical and notorious breaker of hearts, should have found himself so genuinely drawn to her. Yet he had felt exactly the same as she had. Alicia had known that from the first moment he had looked into her eyes. The feelings wrapped themselves around her again as she slept. It had been recognition and danger, excitement and warmth, security and elation, all mixed up together. It had been perfect…
Alicia woke with a start. The damp and heavy bedspread had somehow managed to tangle itself around her in her sleep and was pressing down on her like a shroud. She struggled out of it and discovered that her face was wet with tears. The warmth of the dream fled, leaving her feeling cold and bereft. Shivering a little, Alicia crossed to the chest of drawers and washed her face again. There was a bitter taste in her mouth and she felt a little sick. The inn was quiet and the storm had died down, no longer battering the corners of the building. The candle had burned down and the room was dark and lonely.
The dream was still in her mind and all thought of sleep had fled as she contemplated the past. What a naive innocent she had been in those days, convinced that because she and James loved each other all would be well! Her father had had different ideas. To him, Alicia’s undeniable beauty and social lustre had just added to her value as a marriageable asset. He had never had any intention of allowing her to choose her own bridegroom. Summoned hotfoot to London by the news of his daughter’s imminent betrothal to one he considered entirely unsuitable,
he had wasted no time in acquainting her with his alternative plan for her future.
Alicia stood by the window, staring out into the windy dark. She swallowed painfully. She had resisted his plans with all her strength, but the things that he had done to coerce her into finally agreeing to marry George Carberry were best left unremembered. Strangely, it was not her father’s brutal treatment which had distressed her the most, but the slow, lonely disillusionment about James Mullineaux…
At first, the pain of loss had been excruciating and she had not known how she would survive it. She had lain awake for night after night, going over in endless detail the time she had spent with James, his every word, her every feeling. Every emotion had flared into vivid and unbearable life and when the searing pain had finally died down she had been an empty shell, a shadow of her former self.
A tear trickled down Alicia’s face, mirroring the raindrops on the pane outside. Widowhood had not been unpleasant for her. She was rich, beautiful and much courted, and though she knew there were those who would always consider her bad
ton
because of the scandal of her marriage they would never say so to her face. She had her friends, her charitable works, and her grandmother. She had enough money to do whatever she wanted and if there was a monotony and emptiness about her life it was at least materially comfortable and undemanding.