Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 94
“I think it perfect, my lord.” He turned from the mirror as she covered her smirk with her hands. “I could not help it,” she giggled.
“This is for one meeting, correct?” It was all he’d be able to handle—though he should not have agreed to the farce at all. “After this, we will accept the cards as they fall. If this new marquis appears, we will accept him with open arms.” We? He hadn’t any idea when he’d started thinking of her and him as a ‘we,’ but it had happened sometime since she’d asked for his help. He wondered if after this were done, she’d go back to ignoring his existence. “At that time, you must tell the other servants—and your sister, too.”
“It has not come to that yet. It is time you are off, or you will be late.” She hurried about the room, gathering his discarded clothes—ignoring his earlier statement. “You have the horses waiting in the drive?”
“Of course,” Alex confirmed. He’d wrestled with the best way to arrive at the solicitor’s office. If he took the Drake carriage, then a driver would be necessary, which would cause word to spread through the household about him leaving in fine garb by the master’s coach. But, he’d needed a horse—for no London nobleman would walk to his solicitor’s office. And riding out of the stables would certainly have drawn the eye of Eckles, the stable master. “Are you certain you can ride astride?”
Ellie only laughed, not bothering to look up at him. “I have done it more often than you’d suspect. Besides, it is not far. Daphne and I shall meet you around the block. No one will question your attire or why you are slipping from the house and neglecting your duties.”
He nodded as she slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in the outdated, shabby guest chamber. Though the furniture and décor were reminiscent of times past, Alex could settle himself in such a room—it was more than he’d ever had at the orphanage in London, and far more than the stables provided him currently.
With one last look in the mirror, Alex became rooted to where he stood. He hardly recognized the man before him: freshly bathed and dressed in such finery, his hair parted and combed to the side, with the marquis’ signet ring upon his finger. When he’d arrived to bathe and dress, he’d noticed the small box that held the ring perched on his clean trousers. He’d set it aside at first, not wanting to mar the cream fabric that covered the box, especially if it wasn’t meant for him.
Ellie had assured him that if they were to have any chance of fooling Adams, the ring would certainly help.
Though he was a fraud and a phony, everything about this situation felt right. Both his attire and his determination to put Lady Ellington’s mind at ease.
He could do this.
He would do this.
It was one short meeting between him and a solicitor. If the man prodded him overly much or asked too many questions, Alex would excuse himself and depart.
That was exactly as he and Ellie had agreed.
Though he did not relish the idea of failing her. They’d known one another for over a year, yet she was still hesitant around him, never sharing much about herself. Nor did she ask many questions about him and his past. Many times when he looked at Ellie, her red hair flowing down her back unrestrained, or her green eyes alight with fury or mischief, Alex wondered if he truly knew anything of value about her—or if she’d only ever let him know what she wanted him to know, keeping all else to herself.
After this task was complete, he expected her to finally realize he could be trusted; that he was beneficial to her for more than what any common stable hand could offer. Ellie could call on him if she found she was in trouble or needed anything.
He eyed the mirror once more, astonished by the fit of his jacket and the way his boots shone. Maybe one day he would not only be playacting at being a gentleman, but would have more to offer those in his life in truth.
He only prayed that when the day came, Ellie was still in his life.
Glancing at the clock positioned on the dressing table, Alex noticed sufficient time had passed. He could depart the room without fear of anyone noticing Ellie had recently been present.
Ellie kept to her saddle as she walked her horse up and down the narrow alley two blocks from her townhouse. Her maid’s mare, saddle empty, followed, the horses’ hoofbeats echoing off the tall structures on each side of her.
She’d called Alex dashing in his fine clothes. A thought she shouldn’t have spoken aloud, but it was better that utterance than her other thoughts—she’d never seen him more confident—and somehow, in his element—than in that very moment. It was as if the only thing that fit him better than the clothes on his back was the sense of rightness that surrounded him, enveloping her, as well. Wave after wave of pure self-possession and composure had filled the room. It was as if he donned the clothes—or ones just as fine—every day and spent his time attending his responsibilities in Parliament or hosting gatherings to discuss current world events.
Not a single person would think him anything other than a marquis—she was having a hard time reconciling the man she’d seen with the stable hand of hours before.
As soon as they’d entered the alley, Daphne had departed back home—without any questions. She valued the maid’s ability to hold her tongue when her mistress sought out inappropriate escapades.
Now, she need only await Alex’s arrival.
It had taken everything she possessed to leave him in the first place; he’d looked finer than any man she’d had chance to witness dressing—not that she’d ever watched a man dress. It was as if he were stepping into a role that should have belonged to him his entire life—and she’d thought back to when he’d teased if he hadn’t been injured as a babe, and his parents hadn’t abandoned him, he might very well be a grand lord.
And as most noblemen had a tendency to do, he was taking much longer than she’d expected—keeping her waiting. A part of her feared he’d thought better of their foolish errand and had decided to not play the lord after all.
Looking up between the buildings to the sun above, Ellie noted the time. Close to noonday, the time James Adams expected the Marquis of Drake to meet with him at his office—still a ten-minute ride from where she sat; though a lord was easily forgiven for his tardiness, especially a marquis.
Alex only need meet with the man, reassure him that he was in control—and most importantly, keep Adams and the rest of society from gaining any further interest in the Drake estate and Marquisate; and in turn, buy Ellie time to remedy her situation. Namely, being the bastard child of a deceased marquis with no money to her name nor any prospects for her future, besides her continued ruse.
Many days she wished she were strong enough to walk away from it all—seek refuge with her sister or at Craven House—but after her many years of abuse, Ellie deserved the marquis’ townhouse and everything that came with it. No one, certainly not some long, distant relation of her father’s, was going to usurp what was rightfully hers. She’d paid with her pain, her many years of tears—as her mother had paid with her life.
A chill ran through her at the thought, even though the day was unseasonably warm for this soon into spring.
The icy feel within threatened to have her buckling. She pulled her riding jacket tighter with her free hand, hoping to ward off the coldness that she knew came from within.
They could not fail—it was not an option.
She pushed her remorse and second thoughts about putting Alex in danger from her mind, for the punishment for impersonating a lord would be severe. He knew to depart the solicitor’s office if anything went wrong with the meeting, or if his line of questioning became too deep and unsettling—for all they knew, her greatest fear would be realized, and Alex would be called a farce to his face, the magistrate summoned, and Ellie would be able to do nothing about it.
Thankfully, she’d thought through this outcome. She knew she’d have little choice but to beg Lord Haversham for assistance if Alex were taken by the authorities.
Ellie held her horse still when Alex finally arrived in the alley.
The sight of him fairly had her gaping—he looked every inch the refined, educated marquis. His walk even held an air of aloofness that the previous marquis had developed over years of practice; this man had mastered it in far less. His chin tilted up slightly as he stopped before her with the hint of a smirk upon his face.
His light brown hair had come free from behind his ear and flopped slightly over his forehead, lending him a devil-may-care look. Her maid had fit the coat perfectly across his broad shoulders, though the arms seemed a bit too tight, as if his muscles within begged for room.
Whatever had she been thinking that he could fool anyone with his attire?
It was likely he’d do far more than that.
“My lady?” he asked, plucking her from her wayward thoughts.
“Oh, yes.” She shifted, preparing to dismount, and he was before her, his arms outstretched to lower her to the ground. “Thank you.” His assistance was something—as much as she hated to admit—she’d grown accustomed to.
His hands settled about her waist and didn’t release her until her feet were firmly planted on the packed dirt of the alley, and even then, she sensed that he hesitated, holding her a moment longer than was necessary. She closed her eyes, imagining she could feel his warmth through her corset and gown, though all she detected was the light pressure of his firm hands.
It unnerved Ellie how many times over the last several months she’d envisioned herself in his arms—a place she had no right to claim.
“You should be on your way.” She took a large step back, knowing he needed the distance as much as she. “Are you certain I cannot accompany you?”
He shook his head at her offer. “No, it would certainly complicate matters—and distract me.”
“Distract you?” she asked, puzzled. “How so?”
“I would not be able to focus on the man’s questions because I’d be worried some harm had come to you waiting outside.”
Ellie had done all in her power to discourage his concern and thought for her—back when her father had passed and then on their journey to Foldger’s Hall—yet, their last few days together had rekindled his watchful, protective nature.
“Then it is best I await you here.” The deserted alley was also secluded from the eyes of passing persons, the deep lane swallowing the light and hiding her from view.
Once again, Alex shook his head in discord. “No, it is far too unsafe for you to loiter here without a chaperone. I think it best you return home and await me there.”
“Someone is taking a little too quickly to his newfound power,” she huffed, her hands landing on her hips. “I requested your help, I did not ask for a guardian, nor do I need a mere stable hand to keep watch over me.” She was unsure why she took such great exception to his request—likely because it wasn’t a request at all, but more of a command.
He glanced over his shoulder to the busy street and then up at the cresting sun. “We do not have time to bicker if I am to arrive on schedule.” With the reins clutched in his left hand, he took hold of her hand with his right, looking her square in the eye. “Please, if something untoward were to happen to you while I was off playing the lord, I would never forgive myself—and this whole farce would be for nothing.”
His eyes searched hers—digging deeper than she wanted and past the wall she’d constructed around herself—gently urging her to let her guard down and believe in him. But how could she ever have confidence in the fact that he’d take care of her and not simply seek what would benefit him?
The marquis’ words floated through her mind. With his last breath, he’d bid her to trust Alex—but why? And more importantly, how? It was a security she’d never been afforded—even the marquis was not worthy of her trust, nor had she granted Ruby any measure of confidence.
Squeezing their clasped hands, Ellie nodded. “I will await you in the front drawing room.” Then she released his hand and moved to her maid’s horse, readying to depart. “Do stay safe—and thank you.”
“Anything for you.” He paused for only a second before continuing, “Ellie.”
She could picture him saying her name thus—on the whisper of his breath and only for her hearing as he proclaimed his willingness to go to the ends of the earth to please her.
He assisted her onto the horse and swung up onto the other; his solid grip on her waist could be felt through her layers of clothes long after he’d let go. “I will depart the alley a few minutes after you, so as not to catch the eye of anyone.”
Ellie wondered if it would be that horrid to have their names linked, to be seen in his company in public—but then no one knew the pair. One could not create a scandal if no one were the wiser of his or her identity.
Chapter 7
Alex’s confidence waned the closer he rode to the solicitor’s office, his brow broke out in sweat and his neckcloth seem tighter than a noose, restricting his airway. The only comfort he took was in the sway of his horse as he navigated the crowded lane, searching for the building he sought. Adding to his unease was the fact that he was unfamiliar with the area—it neither being in the shopping district nor on the route to the more influential townhouses of London.
The street narrowed and he made the last turn, recognizing the name on the shingle hanging outside a small office in need of fresh paint and window scrubbing.
Pulling his horse to a stop before the building, Alex glanced about. Normally, he or a footman would keep watch over the marquis’ carriage or horse while the lord was occupied—not that the Marquis of Drake left his townhouse often but to attend his gentleman’s club.
He was baffled—did he leave his horse tied to the post in front of the building? Eckles would surely whip him if he lost one of Drake’s prized horses, even if he were on an errand for Lady Ellington.
“M’lord?” a boy, no more than twelve, called as he rushed around the building. “Ye be the marquis?”
“Undoubtedly, lad,” Alex answered after suppressing the surprise of being called ‘m’lord.’
“Then I be take’n ye horse round back while ye be meet’n.” The boy grinned, his teeth stained from lack of hygiene, yet they were straight as an arrow. “He be wait’n for ye inside, m’lord.”
Alex slid to the ground as the boy took his reins. “What is your name, boy?”
“Daniel, m’lord.” Bowing quickly, the boy started back the way he’d come, horse in tow.
There was nothing further to delay things. Brushing his stray hair behind his ears once more, Alex started for the door, which opened before he reached it.
“Good day, your lordship,” a spectacled man greeted, stepping back to allow him entry. “Thank you for coming. May I offer you a refreshment?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Adams.” Walking past the man, Alex noticed the disarray of the small, two-room office. “It is Mr. Adams, correct?”
“You are correct, your lordship. Please, come this way.” The man, at least thirty years Alex’s senior, shuffled toward an open doorway leading to another cluttered office beyond—with no hint that he suspected Alex of being anything other than whom he claimed to be. “I have your papers right here.” He moved behind the desk, motioning to a fairly large stack of files with a capped tube of sorts leaning against them. Noticing Alex’s bewildered expression at the sheer size of the tower of parchment, the man continued, “Do not feel overtaxed, my lord. When I journeyed to the country, I took all the marquis’ particulars with me, in case an emergency arose.”
Alex nodded, taking a seat.
The man cleared his throat and shuffled through the closest stack of papers. “Well, I am, once again, sorry for my tardiness in contacting you.”
“All is well,” Alex answered. “The marquis’ year of mourning only recently passed.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, clearing his throat once more. “I am sorry for your loss.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the man his kind words were unnecessary since he barely knew the previous marquis beyond that of a servant, only seeing him in passing.
But a serious expression settled on the man’s face, his brow pinched in thought. Nerves flooded Alex, awaiting the solicitor’s accusations as to Alex’s true identity.
“May I speak frankly, your lordship?” When Alex nodded, Adams sat forward, settling his clasped hands upon his desk. “I must admit that I was taken aback when the previous Marquis of Drake requested the papers to name you as his heir, but now the resemblance to your mother—and father—is clear.”
“Mother?” The word squeaked past his lips before he could stop it. He wanted to demand what this man could possibly know of his mother—or father. Instead, he kept silent, hoping he’d share what he knew without Alex demanding it from him. Besides, the solicitor was certainly mistaken in seeing any resemblance between him and an associate of the marquis’.
“Oh, yes.” The man was as uncomfortable at the turn of the conversation as Alex was. “You have your father’s hair and eye color—but certainly your mother’s French complexion.”
Alex held his breath, hanging on the man’s every word—even though, certainly, it was all a mistake.
He reminded himself that he was posing as another. This man did not know him, or his family. That was impossible.
“I was uncertain whether you had received the decree I sent to your townhouse, as you sent no reply,” the man continued. “But it seems all is well with both the Drake estate and your Dukedom. I was certain you’d continue to occupy your father’s estate, and instructed my assistant to continue with the salaries of all Drake servants.”
While the solicitor’s words brought answers to many questions, new ones arose. Alex’s head ached with the thought of explaining even their conversation thus far to Lady Ellington.
“Am I correct in assuming you prefer to use the title, Lord Chastain, as your father before you?”
Chastain? Alex ran the name through his mind once more, wondering if he’d heard it before or only hoped he had. Ellie had told him of both names listed on the correspondence but neither meant anything to him.
