Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 99
Certainly, Lady Chastain had made the right choice in her son’s nursemaid, for it was more convincing that the woman had instructed the maid to take the child far away and keep him from the marquis’ clutches.
Ellie wished she’d been blessed with such a caretaker—what had her name been?
Dutton, Alexandria Dutton.
She pulled back on the horse’s reins, stopping the beast.
“Watch ye self,” a man shouted.
Ellie looked up to see a carriage, its flatbed loaded with supplies of some sort.
The answer to everything had been right in front of her the entire time—from her father bringing an injured man to work in his stables, to Drake pleading with her on his deathbed to trust Alex, to the letter detailing the carriage accident that had killed Lord and Lady Chastain…
“Move ye blasted horse, ye senseless twit!” A horse galloped quickly by her, Ellie not seeing its rider before they disappeared down the darkened street.
But she couldn’t bring herself to speak—or even use her heel to spur her horse back to action.
She’d met Mrs. Dutton, spent Christmas with the woman—and she’d also met her ward, injured in infancy.
It was him. Alex.
All along, he had been within the marquis’ house, with no one the wiser.
Ellie had feared a stranger—someone she didn’t know—coming and taking everything from her. She’d waited with bated breath for over a year, each day filled with unrest and fright, dreading the day, the hour, she’d be thrown from the only home she’d known, to be left with nothing.
Instead, the man who’d destroy her sense of stability and belonging was someone she’d thought of as a friend. A man Ellie had spent many long, lonely nights dreaming of. She’d trusted him far more than she’d trusted anyone.
Her greatest ally and her greatest enemy were one and the same. Alex was the one person who could take everything away from her.
Chapter 11
“Now go!” Alex commanded, knowing Ellie would likely do the complete opposite of what he—or anyone—desired. “Leave before Eckles returns.”
When she’d entered the stables, atop the horse, he’d been shocked to see her. Not that she’d managed to leave the house and the stables—with a horse no less—without anyone the wiser, but that she’d returned in such a state. Her hair hung tangled down her back as if she’d been in a windstorm, though judging from the labored breathing of the horse, she’d rode the beast hard—and recklessly.
His back was to her as he led the steed back to his stall, the very first on the left, denoting the significance of the beast. It took no urging for the animal to seek out his area, exhausted from the hard ride through London’s residential area, lather still dripping from his sleek, auburn coat.
Alex turned after securing the gate to see Ellie standing where he’d left her.
A maddened look crossed her wind-kissed face, confounding him. He was the one likely to be punished for her escapades on that damned horse, should Eckles discover the beast had been ridden.
“Do not stand there…go.”
“I most certainly will not take orders from the likes of you.” Her words, as always, cut him deeply. Her aversion to him—yet her continued interest in his activities and her pleas for him to take part in her charade—confused him ever more. “Maybe I want the stable master to know it was I who dared ride Drake’s prized horse.”
“Then you are a bigger fool than I’d thought.”
“How dare—“
“Yes, I know…how dare I speak to Lady Ellington in such a manner.” He stalked toward her. “I will tell you why I dare. You, my lady,” he annunciated each syllable, “are incapable of exercising common sense. You think yourself above reproach and untouchable by all.”
“I…do not…well…“ she stammered.
“From now on, I will do exactly as you do,” Alex seethed. He was being overbearing and unfair, yet could not help his words—or his feelings. “This—“ He gestured at the stable around them “—is mine. I live here. I toil for eighteen hours a day here. That— “ He pointed out the open stable doors “—is your home. I do not command you within those walls. And you shall not command me within these.”
“Everything on this property, and entailed to the Drake estate, is mine.” Though her words were spoken firmly, there was doubt in her eyes. An uncertainty he’d never seen in her before.
Whether Ellie was the bastard child of Drake or no more than a ward to the marquis, it made no difference to Alex. He knew the feeling of growing up parentless, without the benefit of a surname or family. Their circumstances—though she was loath to admit it—were almost identical.
“I will not argue against your claim, but you must leave before Eckles returns.”
The fight drained from her and her defensive stance crumbled.
Something in his words soothed her, though he hadn’t any clue what. There was no time to discuss it.
Grasping her shoulders, he turned her about and gently pushed her toward the door and the safety of the main house.
“I do not need you looking after me,” she called over her shoulder as she marched toward the door.
Alex hadn’t the time to address her less than aware notion of the situation.
Quickly, he retrieved a brush and moved to the horse’s stall. He worked rapidly, brushing sweat and filth from the animal’s coat, and with it all traces of Ellington’s wild flight. He’d been positive that she’d meant to harm herself, what other purpose did one have for riding in such a careless manner down unknown, dark alleys and crowded streets?
And so, he’d waited for her return, noting the horse missing.
She’d still not imparted the reasoning behind her actions. Not that Alex expected any answers from her; the girl was as close-lipped as anyone he’d ever met. Many times, she had him questioning his own reserved nature. When one was alone—truly, unequivocally, without the benefit of another human soul, alone—it took a little time to remember that others existed. Outside his own insignificant sphere, others were living their lives, completely separate and unaware of his hardships. Not that he believed others should concern themselves with the lives of people who did not impact their own way of living, but to be so ignorant of other’s suffering…Alex had fallen into that same trap.
Folly. Foolishness.
Madness.
He’d lost his capability to see others for whom they were and, most disconcerting, to recognize their circumstances.
That had happened with Ellington.
And he had no idea how to go back, start over, show her he cared—and discover what torment she hid.
And then there were the added pressures of all he’d learned from the solicitor—which hadn’t been overly significant. He’d heard a large amount of crates had arrived at the townhouse—as the solicitor had promised—and Ellie had spent the greater part of the day locked in the study reading every page.
Alex was only beginning to understand her demons were nothing new, but rather something born from years of misgivings, unfounded lies, and deplorable actions.
He wanted to know what haunted her. Needed to understand how he could help her—take away the hurt and replace it with…something else. He had nothing to offer her but his loyalty. He couldn’t help but think that would never be enough to banish all the hurt within her.
His world was developing, expanding past what had fulfilled him before.
It was no longer enough to work diligently, earn his place, and keep his head down, focusing on one day being more than a mere stable hand.
No, he needed someone else in his life. Suddenly, the solitary nature of his past was unappealing to him.
Alex took the comb that hung on the hook outside the stall door and applied his steady hand to combing out the knots from the beast’s long mane.
Ellie’s actions tonight had spoken volumes.
But, at the moment, he only had time for calming the horse before him, readying him for the long night and praying that Eckles did not suspect a thing.
“Boy!” Eckles’ shout called from the main room of the stable. “Where ye be?”
“I am here.” Alex looked about the small stall for anything out of place. Thankfully, all appeared as it should be, nothing leading one to think the steed had been from the stable. The horse’s breathing had calmed sufficiently and he’d relaxed, his eyes closing in exhaustion. “I will be out in a moment.”
He hung the comb back in its place, double-checking that the stall was secured for the night, and entered the main stable room. Part of him longed to search above, to the rafters, for confirmation that Ellie had indeed returned to the house as he’d commanded, but the look of displeasure on Eckles’ face held Alex’s full attention.
“Sir?” Alex said. “I was about to retire for the eve. Is there anything further you require?”
Eckles only eyed him.
It had taken several months for Alex to acclimate to his role with Drake’s staff. He’d been too quick to assimilate himself with Lady Vi, now Lady Haversham, at Foldger’s Foals. Everyone had been close as family, not that Alex knew what that truly meant, but if he ever had a family, he suspected it would be much like his time spent there. But here, in London, the servants had families and lives outside the marquis’ household. They came and earned a wage—that was all. They did not hang about on their one afternoon off each week. They did not stay on after the evening meal unless their position demanded it. They had family, friends, and homes away from this townhouse. And those who didn’t, sought out the servants’ quarters as soon as their responsibilities were complete.
He had nothing.
No family, no friends, no ties to anyone or anything.
He’d always thought this gave a person a certain freedom—the ability to go where the wind took you—but all Alex felt was a crushing loneliness that had grown unavoidable over the last year.
Yes, he spent his free hours at the Haversham townhouse—at Lady and Lord Haversham’s request—but never did he feel like he was amongst family. The Havershams had the newest little lord to care for. That world—proper society—was not something Alex desired. He did not understand their customs nor their stringent rules. Being served by another was something he’d never longed for. And not because he saw it as out of reach, but because he saw others as his equals, no one above another.
It was inconceivable for Alex to believe that a person was superior to another simply because of their sires, because he was born to a fancy house, vast estates, and immense wealth that made him any more important than a stable hand—without benefit of his nature. That a cruel man, such as Drake, was any better than the stable master at Craven House—a kind, noble man who looked after the occupants within the large manor, no matter what entertainments happened within.
Mrs. Dutton, the woman who’d been the closest thing to kin as he’d ever known, had run the orphanage with a light, but firm hand. She did not run her home like a workhouse, as many orphanages were—the children were never required to work to earn their keep.
It was only in recent years that he’d found out why. They had a benefactor. Their necessities were provided for, allowing Mrs. Dutton to use her extra coin for tutors and books for learning.
As the eldest in the home, he’d taken on more of a leadership role with the other children. He’d led by example, dedicating himself to improving his speech and putting behind him his accent. He had been assured by Mrs. Dutton that if he wanted to work in the finest of London’s stables, he’d need to act the lord, though he wasn’t.
And so, he’d learned to read and recite, he’d studied geography, and even tried his hand at the piano—which he’d found helped with his injured hand, strengthening his fingers and adding to his range of movement, so much so, that many did not notice his shortcomings unless they witnessed the slight limp that came after a long day’s work.
He’d been unable to bring much when he’d left Lady Haversham’s country estate to work for the marquis. He had brought several books with him, though the musty air and moisture in the stables had rotted the pages quickly. It had warmed his heart when Ellie had given him the book by Cowper. He’d managed to keep it in a dry spot, treasuring the time he was able to read in the evenings when the light allowed.
A creak above brought him back to the present where he noticed Eckles was staring at him, waiting for a response to a question Alex hadn’t heard.
“Well, boy?” Eckles slurred. “Ye da not deny it?”
Alex remained silent; the man was drunk.
“The miss’n grain—ye been skim’n off the top,” Eckles continued.
“No, sir.” He had no idea where the accusation had come from, though it was clear the other servants and stable hands watched him closely, looking for any infraction to hold against him. “I know naught of a grain shortage.”
“Ye com’n in here with ye superior talk an’ sparkle’n manners, think’n ye so much betta ‘an the rest o’ us. An’ all the time ye be a thief.”
“I never—“
“Ye doona have ta say it, boy.” Logic and reason were beyond the man.
“I do not know anything about the missing grain.” Alex had been pulled in so many directions of late, keeping up with Lady Ellington and her antics was more work than his responsibilities in the stable—he’d been away nearly an entire afternoon with the solicitor alone. But assuredly, if he weren’t keeping up with his chores about the stables it was likely the grain had disappeared on his watch. “How long has this been going on?”
“That not be concern’n ye,” Eckles said, his distrust clear. “But I like ta put an end ta it here an’ now.”
Alex watched in stunned disbelief as the stable master grabbed the dressage whip from the wall and snapped the tip at the ground with one lightning-fast flick of his wrist.
“Sir.” Alex’s voice rose as he tried unsuccessfully to keep his panic at bay when he heard the creak of floorboards above his head. He’d heard several times how the stable master dealt with disobedience, unruliness, and deception within his stable. “I have said it was not I, nor do I know who is responsible. But, if you give me time, I can help you locate the wrongdoer.”
“Oh, now ye fancy yerself one a those Bow Street gents, do ye?” Alex took a step back toward the long hall of stalls when Eckles stumbled toward him, arcing to the left. “Come out here, lad.”
Alex kept his eyes trained straight ahead to avoid looking up to where he suspected Ellie hid. Of all the times for her to flout his command, this night was the worst. Alex would see the whip along his backside many times before dawn, but to have her witness his degradation? It would sting worse than the lashes.
But he would take the lashings. While he did not deserve them for the grain theft, his negligence made him responsible for Ellie taking the marquis’ prized horse. And for that, he should be punished.
The rain outside assaulted the roof and side of the stables relentlessly as the storm grew in force. He only hoped the pounding would also drown out his cries of pain, for it was unlikely he’d be able to keep them at bay.
There was naught else to do but accept it, let the lashing begin, for it would end all the sooner. With confident steps—Alex worked hard to make his leg cooperate for the few paces needed to reach the center of the main stable room—and his head held high, he walked as Eckles made a circle around him and continued his haphazardly arcing steps.
There had been no whippings since his arrival at the marquis’ townhouse.
Eckles likely looked forward to this very moment as he continued to stalk his prey in his drunken haze.
The whip lashed out at the ground every five or six paces, in every direction.
The man had no control over where the tip landed, which didn’t bode well for Alex.
This beating would come from a fit of drunken rage, and therefore, end quickly once the stable master had expelled his last burst of energy, his stupor taking over.
Eckles, normally superbly skilled with a whip, was surprisingly lacking precision as he continued to lash out at the bare ground, dirt jumping in the air each time it was struck.
“Turn about, lad,” Eckles commanded, a bit of his self-assurance returning. “Face the grain bin.”
The silo was situated next to the ladder that Ellie used to reach the rafters.
He would not look up, he would not look up, he would not look up. The words repeated themselves over and over in his head as he took the final step toward the bin and placed his hands on the rough lid, leaning slightly forward as splinters of wood punctured his palms. It didn’t hit him until now how quiet the stable had been since he and Ellie had returned. He’d expected to be caught long before he was able to brush the sweat from the steed’s coat.
It only left one reason; Eckles, and the other servants, had known this was coming—and the stable master had lain in wait for him…and from the smell of him, finishing a full bottle of liquor in the process.
Alex relaxed his back and neck, planting his feet firmly into the ground. He knew if his skin was taut in anticipation, then the tip would split his back clean open, and the healing would take all the longer.
Cowering was not an option, nor was debating his punishment or supposed crimes.
His back would see the whip regardless.
The first strike came out of nowhere—and hurt far beyond anything he could imagine. He’d always assumed his pain tolerance was high due to the daily agony and discomfort that persisted from his childhood injuries.
But this…the lick the dressage tip made was much more than any pain he’d endured. With the second strike, his shirt fell to his waist, having been sliced in half.
He concentrated on the feel of the warm blood oozing down his back and settling into the waist of his pants, soaking in and creating a layer of warmth below the chill of his exposed upper body.
Each strike was more precise than the last—something Alex had hoped the man incapable of in his disheveled state, but not a single lash missed Alex.
