After informing Olsen, her appointed “personal groom,” that she would not require his attendance to call upon the Wilkinsons, Alexandra set out on her way to the Wilkinsons’ little cottage. When she finished her brief visit, she left and turned her horse toward Tony’s house. Blissfully unaware of Olsen, who followed alertly behind her, keeping to the cover of the woods whenever possible, she sent her horse trotting down the country lane.
“Alexandra!” Tony exclaimed, grinning and holding out his hands to her as he strode from the house and down the short flight of steps to the narrow, tree-lined drive. “I gathered, from the note Jordan sent me this morning, that he meant to keep you exclusively to himself for the next few weeks.”
“He doesn’t know I’ve come,” Alexandra said, hugging him warmly. “Will you swear to keep it a secret?”
“Of course. I give you my word,” Tony promised with a solemn smile. “Come in and see my mother and Bertie— they’ll be delighted to see you. They won’t breathe a word of your visit,” he reiterated when Alexandra hesitated.
“After we visit with them,” Alexandra said quickly, “could we walk outside? I have something to ask you.”
“Of course we can,” Tony readily agreed.
Tucking her hand in the crook of his proffered arm, Alexandra walked to the open front door of the house. “I assume you left London because of the gossip about all of us,” she said in a tone of apology.
“Partly, and also because I was dying to know how you’re getting on. There’s one more reason,” he admitted with an odd grin. “Sally Farnsworth sent a note asking to see me yesterday in London.”
The name of the girl he had admitted loving registered instantly on Alexandra. “And did she come to see you?” Alexandra asked eagerly, studying his handsome face.
“Yes.”
“What did you say?—What did she do?” she burst out.
“She proposed,” Tony admitted wryly.
Alexandra laughed with amazed delight. “And?”
“And I’m considering it,” he teased. “No, really, she’s coming for a visit next week. I want her to see firsthand what I have to offer her by way of a home and family. I’m no longer a duke, you know. When I was, I couldn’t believe she wanted me for any other reason. Now I know she does, and I haven’t much to offer. Don’t mention it to my mother, though. I want to break the news of Sally’s visit to her gently. My mother doesn’t hold her in high regard because of what happened—before.”
Alexandra agreed instantly and they went inside.
“My dear, it is so very good to see you!” Lady Townsende exclaimed in her soft, smiling voice as Tony escorted Alexandra into the cheerful little salon where Lady Townsende was sitting with Bertie, Tony’s younger brother. “What a jolt we’ve received from our dear Jordan— returning from the dead as it were.”
Alexandra acknowledged her greeting, worriedly noting how pale and thin Tony’s white-haired mother looked. The shock of Jordan’s return had obviously affected her fragile health.
Peering around Alex, Lady Townsende glanced hopefully toward the doorway. “Jordan didn’t come with you?” she asked, her disappointment obvious.
“No, I—I’m sorry, he didn’t. He—”
“He’s working like a demon as usual, I’ve no doubt,” Bertie said with a grin as he came awkwardly to his feet, leaning on the cane which he used to take the weight off his crippled left leg. “And determined to keep you all to himself so that you can renew your acquaintance after his long absence.”
“He is working very hard,” Alexandra said, grateful that Bertie had provided her with an excuse. At one inch over six feet, Bertie was slightly taller than Tony, with sandy hair and hazel eyes. Although he possessed the Townsende charm in full measure, the constant pain from the twisted leg he’d been born with had taken its toll on Bertie’s face. Lines of strain were permanently etched beside his mouth, creating a permanent grimness in his features, a grimness that was not reflected in his cheerful personality.
“He wanted Alexandra to wait before calling on us, so that he could accompany her here,” Tony improvised helpfully, addressing his mother and brother. “I’ve promised her we won’t spoil Jordan’s future visit by telling him that she’s already come here to see us, and to tell us how he’s faring.”
“How is he faring?” Lady Townsende implored.
Uneasy with the fabrications she was being forced to participate in, Alexandra gladly spent the next ten minutes reciting every detail of Jordan’s capture and imprisonment. When she had finally finished answering all of Lady Townsende’s worried questions about his health, Tony stood up and invited Alexandra to accompany him for a stroll about the lawns.
“I can see from those tiny lines on your pretty forehead that something’s amiss with you. What is it?” he asked as they walked across the small, neatly kept front lawn toward the gardens off to the right.
“I’m not certain,” Alexandra admitted ruefully. “From the moment Hawthorne came into view, Jordan has been different somehow. Last night he told me he grew up at Hawthorne and because of that, the place always makes him feel ‘grim.’ But when I asked him why, he wouldn’t tell me. And then yesterday, Smarth said the oddest things about Jordan’s parents . . .” she continued, using her husband’s given name for the first time since he returned. Turning to Tony, she said abruptly, “What were his parents like? His boyhood?”
Tony’s smile remained but he looked uneasy. “What difference does all that make?”
“It wouldn’t make a difference,” Alexandra burst out desperately, “if everyone didn’t become so edgy when I asked those questions.”
“Who have you been asking?”
“Well, Gibbons and Smarth.”
“Good God!” Tony said, stopping short and staring at her in laughing dismay. “Don’t let Jordan catch you. He disapproves of familiarity with servants. It’s a family taboo,” he added, “—although not in my branch of the family. We only have six servants, and it’s impossible not to regard them rather as dependents.”
Tony paused to bend down and pluck a rose growing in the small garden. “You should ask Jordan these questions.”
“He won’t tell me. A long time ago I told him I preferred truth to platitudes. Last night when I asked why he didn’t like Hawthorne, he told me he’s trying to learn to say what he thinks and feels, but that he isn’t accustomed to baring his soul yet. He said we’d have to ease into that,” she added with a faint smile as she remembered his teasing tone. “He promised to answer my question someday.”
“My God,” Tony uttered in amazement, staring at her. “Jordan said all that? He said he was willing to ‘bare’ his soul to you someday? He must care more for you than I ever imagined.” Tucking the rose behind her ear, he chucked her under the chin.
“It’s become a mystery I have to solve,” Alexandra prodded, when Tony seemed disinclined to say more.
“Because you’re falling in love with him?”
“Because I’m frightfully, inexcusably curious,” Alexandra prevaricated, and when Tony appeared to refuse her request, she sighed miserably. “Very well. I’m afraid to fall in love with a stranger and he’s in no hurry to let me know him.”
Tony hesitated and then took pity on her. “Very well, since it isn’t idle curiosity, I’ll try to answer your questions. What do you want to know?”
Pulling the rose from behind her ear, Alexandra twirled the stem absently between her fingers. “First of all, was there something wrong at Hawthorne when he was growing up? What was his boyhood like?”
“Amongst noble families,” Tony began slowly, “ ‘the heir’ is generally singled out for special attention from his parents. In Jordan’s case it was more pronounced because he also happened to be an only child. While I was allowed to climb trees and roll in the dirt, Jordan was required to remember his station at all times; to be clean, neat, punctual, solemn, and aware of his importance at every moment.
“His father and moth
er were in complete agreement on one thing, and that was the superiority of their rank. Unlike the sons of other nobles, who are allowed the company of children their own age who live on the estate—even if the children happen to be sons of the grooms—my aunt and uncle found it entirely unseemly for Jordan to associate with any but his own rank. Since fledgling dukes and earls are rather scarce, particularly in this part of the country, he grew up here in complete isolation.”
Pausing for a moment, Tony gazed up at the treetops and sighed. “I used to wonder how he could bear the loneliness.”
“But surely Jordan’s parents didn’t consider your company unacceptable?”
“No, they didn’t, but I rarely visited him at Hawthorne unless my aunt and uncle were away. When they were in residence, I couldn’t stand the stifling atmosphere of the place—it gave me the creeps. Besides, my uncle made it clear to me and to my parents that my presence at Hawthorne was not desired. They said I disrupted Jordan’s studies and took his mind from serious matters. On those occasions when he was allowed time off, he preferred to come here, rather than have me come to Hawthorne because he adored my mother and he liked being with us.” With a sad, whimsical smile, Tony finished, “When he was eight years old, he tried to trade me his inheritance for my family. He volunteered to let me be the marquess, if I’d live at Hawthorne.”
“That’s not at all as I imagined his life,” Alexandra remarked when Tony fell silent. “When I was young, I thought it must be heavenly to be rich.” She recalled her own childhood; the games she’d played with her friends, the lighthearted, carefree times, the warmth of her friendship with Mary Ellen and her family. She felt incredibly sad to know Jordan had evidently missed out on his own childhood.
“Not all children of noble families are raised with such rigidity.”
“What about his parents—what were they like exactly?”
She was watching him with such earnest concern that Tony put his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort and capitulation. “To sum it up as succinctly as possible, Jordan’s mother was a notorious flirt whose amatory exploits were famous. My uncle didn’t appear to care. He seemed to regard women as weak, amoral creatures who couldn’t control their passions—or so he said. On the other hand, he was as promiscuous as she was. When it came to Jordan, however, he was positively rigid. He never let Jordan forget he was a Townsende and the next Duke of Hawthorne. He never let up on him. He insisted Jordan be smarter, braver, more dignified, and more worthy of the Townsende name than any Townsende before him, and the harder Jordan tried to please him, the more demanding his father became.
“If Jordan did poorly in a lesson, his tutor was instructed to cane him; if he didn’t appear for supper on the dot of nine—not a minute before or a minute after—he was not allowed to eat until the following night. When he was eight or nine, he was already a better horseman than most men are, but on one particular hunt Jordan’s horse refused a jump, either because Jordan was too little to force him to take it—or because Jordan was a little scared to try it. I’ll never forget that day. Not one of the riders had dared that hedge with the creek on the other side of it, but my uncle rode up and called the entire hunt to a halt. With all of us looking on, he taunted Jordan with cowardice. Then he made him take the hedge.”
“To think,” Alexandra said in a suffocated voice, “I used to believe all children whose fathers lived with them were luckier than I. Did he . . . did he clear the hedge?”
“Three times,” Tony said dryly. “On the fourth, his horse stumbled and when it fell, it rolled on Jordan and broke his arm.”
Alexandra paled, but Tony was lost in his story now and didn’t notice. “Jordan didn’t cry of course. Jordan wasn’t permitted to cry, not even as a little boy. According to my uncle, tears were unmanly. He had very rigid ideas about things like that.”
Alexandra turned her face up to the sun, blinking back the tears at the back of her eyes. “What sort of ideas?”
“He believed a man had to be hard and completely self-sufficient to truly be a man, and that was the way he raised Jordan to think. Any emotion that was ‘soft’ was unmanly, and therefore abhorrent Sentimentality was soft —unmanly; so was love and genuine affection. Anything at all that showed a male to be ‘vulnerable’ was unmanly. My uncle disapproved of all forms of frivolity, too, with the exception of dalliances with the opposite sex, which my uncle viewed as the epitome of manliness. I don’t think I ever saw the man laugh—not a real, genuine laugh that sprang from mirth, rather than sarcasm. For that matter, I’ve rarely seen Jordan laugh. To work and to excel at whatever one did was all that mattered to my uncle—a very peculiar attitude for a nobleman as you’ve undoubtedly gathered.”
“I make him laugh,” Alexandra said with a mixture of pride and sadness.
Tony grinned. “That smile of yours would lighten any man’s heart.”
“No wonder he didn’t want to talk about his boyhood.”
“Some good things came of my uncle’s determination to make Jordan excel at whatever he did.”
“What sort of things?” Alexandra asked with disbelief.
“Well, for example, Jordan was forced to excel at his studies, and by the time we went to university, he was so far ahead of everyone that he was given private courses in subjects the rest of us couldn’t fathom. Moreover, he obviously found ways to put all his learning to excellent use, because when Jordan’s father died, Jordan was only twenty. He inherited eleven estates along with his title, but the Townsende coffers had never been very full, and Hawthorne was the only one of his estates that was well kept-up. Within three years, every one of Jordan’s estates were prospering, and he was well on his way to becoming one of the richest men in Europe. Not a mean accomplishment for a young man of twenty-three. Beyond that, there’s little else I could tell you about him.”
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Alexandra reached up and hugged Tony tightly. Leaning back in his arms, she smiled a little shakily. “Thank you,” she said simply, her eyes glowing with fondness, then she glanced apprehensively at the sun. “I can’t stay any longer. I said I’d only be gone an hour and it’s more than that already.”
“What will happen if you’re gone longer?” Tony teased, but he looked puzzled.
“I’ll be found out.”
“So?”
“So I’ll lose the wager I made with Jordan.”
“What wager?”
Alexandra started to explain, but tenderness and loyalty to her proud, dominating husband were already stirring to vibrant life within her, and she couldn’t bear to shame Jordan by telling his cousin that the only reason she had agreed to come to Hawthorne was because Jordan had virtually bribed her to do it. “Just a . . . a foolish bet we have between us,” she hedged as Tony handed her up into her carriage.
* * *
Lost in thought, Alexandra drove right past the footman who ran out of the great house to take the reins, and continued down to the stables which were situated behind and off to the side of the mansion. Tony’s disclosures about Jordan’s boyhood at Hawthorne whirled through her mind, stabbing at her heart and filling her with compassion. Now she understood so many things about Jordan that had puzzled and angered and hurt her, including the subtle change in him since their arrival at Hawthorne. To think she had actually believed, when she was a girl, that happiness was simply a matter of having both parents at home with one. Her grandfather had been right again, she realized, for he had repeatedly said that no one is ever quite what they seem.
So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she said nothing to Smarth when she drew up at the stables and he rushed out to assist her down from the carriage. Instead, she simply looked at him as if he didn’t exist, then she turned and started toward the house.
Smarth incorrectly assumed his mistress was looking right through him because he had forfeited her trust and affection by refusing to discuss his master with her. “My lady!” Smarth said, looking both wounded by her unintentional snub,
and extremely apprehensive as well.
Alexandra turned and glanced at him, but in her mind she was seeing a little boy who had never been permitted to be one.
“Please, my lady,” Smarth said wretchedly, “don’t look at me like I hurt ye beyond fixin’.” Dropping his voice, he nodded toward the fence where two colts were frisking about, kicking up their heels. “If ye’d walk over t’ the fence wit me, I’ve somethin’ to tell ye that ye’ll want to know.”
With an effort, Alexandra made herself concentrate on the unhappy footman, and she did as he asked.
Staring fixedly at the horses, Smarth lowered his voice and said, “Me ’n’ Gibbons talked it over, and we decided that ye’ve a right to know why the master is the way he is. He’s not a harsh man, my lady, but from what I hear is a-goin’ on atween the two o’ you since the master came back, yer bound to get the idea he’s hard as a rock.”
Alexandra opened her mouth to tell the apprehensive servant that he need not betray his knowledge, but his next words floored her: “Th’ other reason we decided to tell you is ’cause the way we heerd it, you ain’t here at Hawthorne to stay and be his wife—except fer three months, that is.”
“How on earth—?” Alexandra burst out.
“Servants’ grapevine, my lady,” Smarth averred with a touch of pride. “Hawthorne has the best in England, I’ll vow. Why, the staff knows what’s happenin’ within twenty minutes of it takin’ place—unless o’ course Mr. Higgins or Mrs. Brimley the housekeeper are the only ones to hear of it Their mouths are tight as virg—They don’t tell nobody nothin’,” he amended, turning scarlet.