* * *
Alexander could see the pain in Marjorie’s eyes, which was deeply rooted in her heart. It was the anguish of a past one could never escape. For a moment, he wondered why she would willingly stay in such a place, where she could make so little difference, where everything reminded her of the pain that she finally left behind once she was taken in by his father. Yet, she did stay. She did help. She did sympathize. She did what was in her power to help those children who were mirror images of her own self many years ago. This was no self-flagellation. This was an act of pure love.
“Are they all settled in?” he asked, needing to hear her voice. He could not care less what she would tell him, but he needed the caress of her melodious speech.
“I do believe so,” she smiled quickly, as if she were caught doing something she ought not to have been doing and was now pretending it was not so. “You know, it is a grand thing you’ve done for these children today, Alexander. I doubt any of them will ever forget that.”
He raked his fingers through his hair apprehensively. He did not deserve any praise, because he did not solve the problem. It was still there. He was merely tending to the symptom, while leaving the disease to rage on unstopped.
“They will be back on the streets soon enough,” he reminded her of something she probably needed no reminder of.
“I don’t really remember everything from my life before your father found me,” she started, speaking under her breath as if she did not wish anyone to overhear her. “I do not remember specific places or people, but I do remember one thing, which will follow me for as long as I’m alive, for it has been engraved into my mind and heart. I do remember how hard it was to live outside, in the cold. I remember my teeth chattering because I could not find a blanket to cover myself with, and the shirt on my back was to think and even torn in several places. My feet were always wet because my shoes were leaky.”
She quickly glanced down at her silk damask shoes with buckle closures. She only had that one pair. The ones before, she wore until they were completely useless for their function. Owning more than one pair of shoes was too wasteful, too unreasonable.
“I was so jealous of you while we were growing up,” he admitted.
“Jealous?” Her brows knitted at him in surprise. “But why?”
He sighed heavily, pulling this burden out from the very depths of his soul. “You seemed to be everything my father wanted from a child, everything that I wasn’t.”
The hurt in his voice was unmistakable. She wondered how she could have been so blind not to see it before. The answer was obvious. She refused to see the truth. She saw what everyone else saw: a spoiled son of the earl, who was used to being the center of attention and to have everything and everyone cater to him. She failed to see the scared little boy who was hiding deep inside. But now she was seeing him.
“I… I blamed you for things that were not your fault,” he continued gravely. “Things that were in my power to change, but it was easier to point the finger of blame at others, instead of delving deep inside of myself for the truth.”
“I bear no ill will,” she said, with her hand on his shoulder. The physical touch felt like a bolt of lightning right inside of her, while thunder exploded somewhere away from them, much closer than last time. It seemed that the storm that reigned outside reflected the storm inside of them both.
“Can we call a truce?” he suggested, catching her off guard.
She knew that this was just one instance of his good behavior, but she wanted to believe that he was slowly changing, that the traits in his father which she loved so much would be awakened in his son as well. She was about to agree to a truce, when he interrupted her.
“I would like to pay for the children’s stay at the inn for this week,” he said, making her gasp silently. “Or the whole month if need be. That is, until we find a more permanent solution later.”
This time she gasped loudly, pressing her hand to her lips. She could not believe that she heard him right. Could it really be? Yet, the moment her eyes befell his, she was assured of the appropriateness of her belief. Unable to contain her joy at his words, she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. His own arms immediately clasped around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
Never, in a million years did she believe that she would be hugging him like this, grateful and overjoyed that he was who he was. Her fingertips felt the base of his neck, the softness of his skin. Her cheeks blushed immediately, letting go. Their smiles were awkward, but there was so much promise in them, so much promise of a better tomorrow for them all.
Chapter 12
Alexander felt unusually buoyant that morning. He had woken up much before his usual time and finished with all his business before the clock revealed the exact time of only nine in the morning. This was completely unlike him. He didn’t even try to convince himself that it had nothing to do with Marjorie and the children they had helped the previous night.
He rather fancied a walk in the sunshine. He wished to speak to Marjorie regarding the children and how they spent the night. The fact that Percival should be joining them did not bother him in the slightest. In fact, he had already prepared to write Percy a letter, informing him of their inability to meet today. They would need to reschedule. Yes, he would pen it quickly and send it, leaving today reserved solely for himself and Marjorie.
He leaned back into his leather armchair, which squealed underneath the weight of his body. His gaze fell upon the window opposite him. Everything outside was still wet with the remnants of last night’s storm, but the sun victoriously shone high up in the clouds, reminding everyone that storms would come and go, and sunshine would eventually come, no matter what.
A knock on the door brought him back from his thoughts to the present moment. “Yes?” He sat back up in his chair.
The door opened, revealing the solemn, respectable head of his long-time butler, Collins, who had been with the family for over twenty years. As always, Collins had the appearance of a tired mastiff, loyal and obedient, not as swift as he used to be, but Alexander would never hold it against him.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” he bowed his head softly as he spoke, “but Mr. Fitzgerald has arrived, as per your request.”
“Splendid!” Alexander bolted up from his armchair, landing straight on his feet. “Do send him in.” Then, right before the doors closed, he added. “And do tell Susannah to bring us some tea.”
“Very well, my lord,” Collins confirmed slowly, as if it took him a little longer to process the entire instruction, but it eventually reached its destination.
A minute later, the door opened again, and Mr. Fitzgerald was ushered in by Collins, assuring them both that tea was being prepared and would be arriving any moment. With those words, he left them alone.
“Would you mind telling me what this urgent business is all about? I barely had enough time to butter my toast when your footman came to fetch me.”
