The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel) (31 page)

St. Easton,

There has been word of a capture. No details as yet, but it appears the Featherstones have been taken, no one knows exactly where. I have search parties looking for them, but the political climate in Italy is always tricky in the best of times. We have found few in power who are willing to speak of anything concerning the manuscript or the Featherstones. I hope you have heeded my warning and not mentioned to Alexandria that we had sight of her parents for I fear the worst. If they are still alive, it may not be for long.

Another thing. King Ferdinand sent word through a special envoy that he is none too happy at your success in dispatching the San Cristobel and some of his best men to the depths of the sea. If I don’t release you and Lady Featherstone over to him, he is threatening war. Of course I plan no such thing, for now, at any rate, and sent the man packing with gifts and empty promises. But you should bolster your guards. Be ever wary, St. Easton. Until this business is done, neither of you are safe.

And quit dallying and marry the chit. It’s the only way you can really keep an eye on her, and besides, I saw the way you look at her. Get over this deaf problem if that is what’s staying your hand and make her a contented woman. Contented women are much easier to manage, didn’t you know?

HRH George IV

The last of the letter made Gabriel want to laugh—but the rest of it was too serious, too real. Thank God the regent didn’t just pack them off to Spain and wash his hands of them. But what of Alexandria’s parents? He closed his eyes and imagined them captured.
Who, Lord? Who has them?

It was time to put the plan into action and with all haste. And it was time to make Alexandria his. He would keep her safe.

He was her guardian, after all.

ALEX STOOD ALONE IN THE
room with her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t look in the full-length mirror before her. It was too fragile and frightening, too new, and yet foretold. She had become everything they expected her to be.

It was the night of her debut ball, the time to be presented like a barely bloomed flower before society. Her time to bask in their acceptance or, heaven forbid, their scorn. She had been bathed and powdered, cinched into a beautiful dress, tutored and groomed, reassured and rehearsed for every moment to come. And yet she couldn’t look at that ethereal creature they’d made her in the eye. The mirror showed a perfection that she had never known and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know it.

They’d made a sheepherder into a fairy-tale princess.

She opened her eyes a crack, grimacing, heart pounding.
Lord, is this who You want me to be?
She blinked wider seeing the light blue gown with a semitransparent overskirt in fine silver mesh that floated around her, a darker silver sash, a white bodice with tiny cap sleeves that fit tightly over her slim shoulders, slippers of silver on her feet, and a tiara that sparkled with a hundred diamonds from her dark hair.

She tried to imagine what Ann and Henry back home would say and choked out a laugh. They wouldn’t believe it. They would tell her to get off her high horse and help with the latest leak in the roof.

She tried to imagine what her parents would say and swallowed around the lump in her throat. The truth was, she didn’t have any idea what they would say or think. Would they love her like this? Take notice and time? Would they finally be proud of her?

She felt sick thinking of it.

With a deep breath to calm her stomach, she straightened her shoulders. She should only care what God thought and He had led her here to this place. She’d made a conscious effort since John’s death to listen and obey the voice of God. And she was sure, well mostly sure since she hadn’t had much choice, that for now He had led her here to the duke’s house in London. It was just all so new—a new kind of challenge she hadn’t known existed.

With another deep breath she curtsied to herself in the mirror, which made her laugh out loud, then turned away with a swish of silver skirts. She made her way down to the ballroom. At the end of the stairs, she closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sounds of the crowd. Then she opened her eyes, intent and determined to pretend she couldn’t hear anything for the first minutes of the ball.

It was an instant challenge. She came to the doorway where a liveried footman bowed and murmured something she tried not to hear. The music . . . the dancers . . . the roaring crowd—she stood on the threshold of the glittering ballroom and tried to block them out, seeing only the whirling bodies and straining instruments, the laughing faces and swaying bodies.

Oh, dear God, it’s so horrible. How does he do it?

She was breathing too fast, seeing it as he did. And then a stern voice crashed into her imaginary world.

“Where have you been?”

She turned to find Gabriel, dressed in immaculate evening wear of black and white, frowning down at her.

“I . . . I lost track of time.”

He took in her dress with an appreciative glance. “Never mind. You look beautiful.” He raised a brow and gestured to the watching crowd. “They are eager for an introduction. Shall we?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. With him by her side she would make it through the night.

He took her to one group and then another, introducing her, keeping her on his arm, watching her speak to them, noticing the moment she was bored or adrift and then whisking her into another crowd. A sea of faces and names, a few she knew but many she did not. How was she to keep them all straight? And so many men, young and old and in between, looking at her with speculation, interest, and even a few with a feverish besotted look in their eyes.

As she’d been told countless times, with her rich fortune and pretty face the offers would not take long to come in. Already she’d had one young man hint at a proposal and three others ask to call on her the next day. An older gentleman, though quite distinguished and handsome, even asked if she would care to ride later in the week. She’d not known what to say and looked to Gabriel for help answering. He seemed to be growing more and more impatient and angry, looking red and flushed and barking out comments to any man caught talking to her.

She felt him strain to understand, sometimes at sea as well in the conversation, sometimes keeping up. She found herself helping, turning toward his face with clues on her face or lips or moving her arm in a subtle way that said they should move to another group in the crowd. She couldn’t tell if the night was going well or not.

The dancing was as bad. Gabriel glowered at them when she danced with anyone other than him, which was several times. She found herself acting too tired and out of breath to avoid making him so angry even though she loved to dance. Anyway, when she did dance, she couldn’t really concentrate on what her partner said. Her mind, and gaze, wandered to where Gabriel was standing, who he was speaking to, and how he was faring. One gentleman called her out on it.

“I see that your heart has already chosen, mademoiselle.”

Her gaze shot up to meet the dark brown eyes of Count Fallourd from Paris. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?” She must appear cold and uncaring, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

He gave her a slow smile and dramatic sigh, his gaze darted to Gabriel and then back at her. “It is convenient at least, no?”

She felt her cheeks warm. Were her feelings so obvious?

By the time the midnight supper was to be served, she was exhausted. Gabriel came over to her, she thought, to escort her into dinner. She turned and shook her head at him. “How do you do it? It’s so tiring.” She looked up into those piercing green eyes. “I see your world . . . a little.”

He leaned down and spoke to her, his warm breath with a smile in it in her ear. “I have grown accustomed to it, I suppose. You are not enjoying yourself?”

“I am when I’m with you.” The words slipped out before she had time to wonder if she should say it.

Happiness lit his eyes, making her glad she had spoken them.

“I have a surprise before supper that might, I hope, make you very happy.” He looked at her in such a way that the crowd disappeared and it felt like just the two of them stood in the ballroom. He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, leading her onto the middle of the dance floor.

The crowd parted as they made their way to the center. There was no music; it had stopped the moment the musicians sensed their host had something special in mind. He could command them all so easily, his very presence commanded a crowd with a flick of his wrist and a simple nod. What was he up to? Her heartbeat quickened as the crowd grew still and quiet.

He took her into his arms, nodding to the orchestra, as they all watched. Her jaw flexed in determination, nervous for him that he start in time, but he knew just when the music began. The song was unknown and yet . . . strangely familiar. Alex smiled up at him as she realized it was the song he had played for her that day in the blue drawing room. He had played so beautifully, so passionately. It was the loveliest song she’d ever heard. They swirled around the space the guests made, watching them. Like the time at the masquerade, it was as if they had stepped into their own private world of oneness with the music and with each other.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Do you trust me, Alexandria?”

She narrowed her eyes in curiosity and some hesitation. What was he up to? But she nodded that she did.

At the end, he leaned her back into a sweeping move that surprised her. She hung suspended by his arm, having to trust him. Her body was in his control and it was frightening and thrilling at the same time. He pulled her up toward his face and she gulped in air, biting her bottom lip and staring into those deep green eyes.

They were making a spectacle of themselves. She laughed. In his arms. In front of everyone. Not caring what anyone thought. Just happy to be with him.

He set her away from him and then did the most astonishing thing. He knelt, on one knee, in front of her and everyone. Alex gasped along with the crowd. He pulled something from his pocket. The crowd hushed as he held the sparkling object toward her. With a deep and confident voice, he asked, “Alexandria Elise Featherstone, will you be my wife?”

Her eyes widened. She stared at the glittering ring. Dare she? It was all she wanted and yet there was still so much between them, things he didn’t know, things she didn’t know how to tell him. But she loved him. She wanted him, for her whole life, to be hers and she, his. What should she do?

The silence lengthened as she stared at the ring. The crowd began to murmur.

“Alexandria?” His green gaze impaled her, questioning and delving into her very soul. Oh! Why had he done it here? Now? When she couldn’t explain and he couldn’t take it back if he learned the truth about her and changed his mind. What should she do?
Dear God, what shall I do?

She felt a nauseous wave of gut-wrenching sickness like she’d never felt before. The room started to buzz and swell around her.

“Alexandria!” Gabriel stood and clasped her around the waist just as she let out a breath and collapsed.

THE ROOM WENT WILD WITH
speculation. Gabriel saw their eyes—greedy, gossipy, shock, some sad for him but many gloating as he scooped her up and carried her, shouting orders to his staff and hurrying from the ballroom.

“Bring smelling salts, water, to the blue salon.”

He took her to their private place as he now thought of it and laid her on the brocade settee. She was so pale. It made his heart race. Why hadn’t she said
yes
? He was sure she loved him. He placed his ear against her chest and felt for the thud, thud, thud of her heart, then leaned into her face.

“Come back to me, my sweet. Alexandria, wake up.”

The servants entered with the smelling salts. Gabriel placed them under her nose and called her name. After a few moments her eyelids fluttered open and those sky blue eyes roved over the ceiling. She turned her head and looked at him, her cheeks flushed. “Oh dear. I fainted, didn’t I? In front of everyone.”

And rejected me, in front of everyone.

She slowly sat up and arranged her skirts with nervous hands. “I–I–” She looked up at him and swallowed hard. “I was just so shocked. I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

He wasn’t sure what she said and it made him angry. Turning from her, he found a speaking book and writing implements and brought them to her.

He held them out to her. “Do you love me, Alexandria?”

She looked at the paper, then up at him, bit her lower lip, and nodded.

“You were just shocked then? Tell me.”

She took the book and set it in her lap, dipped the quill in the ink pot he held, and poised it over the paper. Tense and sickly white, she just kept looking at the blank page. Why wouldn’t she tell him whatever this was about? Gabriel sat beside her and took her face gently into his hands. He turned her toward him and began to speak.

“Alexandria, listen to me. I have it all planned. I was going to tell you on our wedding day, as a gift to you, but perhaps you need to hear it now. We have had word that weeks ago someone spotted your parents. The regent and I think you are right. We believe your parents are still alive.”

He didn’t mention the regent’s letter. He didn’t tell her they had been captured and might not, indeed, be alive. He needed her hope. There was no reason to worry her beyond giving her that hope.

Her eyes widened. “Where are they?”

“In Italy.”

“Italy?”

“Yes. The regent has already sent the very best investigators to find them. He has ordered me to keep you here and not to tell you, but I know how important it is for you to find them yourself. I wanted to give you that chance.”

“But how?” She looked close to tears.

“My dearest Alexandria, do you know where the bride and groom go after a wedding?”

She shook her head.

“On a honeymoon trip. It would be expected that we leave the country, and after a brief visit in France to throw off anyone who might be watching us, we’ll end up in one of the most beautiful places in the world.” He gripped her hands. “Florence.”