“You’ll make me a prisoner?” Caroline declared, jumping to her feet. “Just because we had the ingenuity to avoid the marriage you tried to force upon me. Look, did you not see the way the Duke of Peddleton fawned over Alaina, tonight? Did you not see how it’s all about the money?”
It wasn’t. I broke his heart.
“We’ll have this conversation later. Alaina, pack Caroline’s things. I’m taking her to the carriage now.” The earl jerked his head towards the door and left. Full of outrage, Caroline ran after him.
“You cannot speak to me like that. Have I not proved to you what an ill match the duke and I would have made? That I was always looking for love, that I wanted a marriage of love, not an arrangement …?” The rest of Caroline’s accusations were muffled as they retreated across the house.
Alaina stood and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, horrified at how little she looked like herself now. With reddened eyes and wild hair, she backed up from the looking glass and left the room. She hastened up the staircase, relieved to see that all the staff were tidying up the ballroom, allowing her to move around the house unseen.
She packed up Caroline’s bags in her chamber and then changed out of the gold gown into one of her humble maid’s gowns. She tied her hair into a simple chignon, then turned to face the mirror once again.
She was no longer crying as she stared at the shell of the woman she had once been. She could see with a glance that Marcus would not love her now. She was poor, with so little to her name that the sleeves of her gown were frayed. She had lied to him, too, and that could never go away between them.
Caroline was right. I was never enough. The money would only ever be enough to win his heart completely, and the lie festered anything that was left.
She blinked, stopping any further tears.
She turned her back on the reflection, so disappointed in the version of herself that she saw there; she had no intention of looking at it again. She gathered the bags together and left the room, hurrying down the stairs. Before she could leave, she headed back to the library, taking a quill and ink. She wrote a small note and tucked it away in one of the drawers in the library for Marcus to find, then she left, hurrying out of the entrance hall.
In front of the house, the Earl of Woolworth’s carriage had drawn up. He was now demanding Caroline get in the carriage, both of them shouting at one another. With anger, Caroline flung the golden skirt to the side and marched into the carriage as Alaina handed the bags to one of the footmen to pack.
Before the earl could demand she entered the carriage too, she turned around for one last look at the building that had for so long felt like her home. She traced the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of Marcus, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, Alaina caught a glimpse of Lady Silverton in the study window. As their eyes connected, Lady Silverton offered a sorry expression.
Strange. She does not look mad.
She raised her hand and waved. Alaina waved back, only for the earl to step into her line of vision hurriedly.
“You’ve had your last look. We’re leaving. Now.”
Chapter 22
“You have not left the house in three days. Well, we’re really going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?” Sarah declared with such vigour that Marcus rubbed his temple.
“You could start by not drinking so much at night,” Gregory whispered to Marcus from his place beside him at the breakfast table as Sarah marched into the room. “Then you wouldn’t suffer these headaches in the morning.”
“What would you do, Gregory? In my position?” Marcus asked, his voice husky and weak from the amount of whisky he had drank the night before.
Gregory winced before he answered.
“Probably the same thing at one time in my life.” He sat straight. “Yet life has taught me one thing in particular: misery is not eternal.”
Marcus blinked, rather confused by the choice of words.
“Look at me.” Gregory gestured to his position. “At one time, you would have thought that having no money at all would make me melancholic for the rest of my life. Instead, I value things now I never would have valued before.”
Marcus’ eyes raked over Gregory’s being. It was true that Gregory seemed very content indeed. Even his clothes, though much more modest than Marcus’ own, were well-kept and clearly loved.
“Misery can pass,” Gregory said with ease and an encouraging smile. “If you simply choose to do something about it.”
“How true!” Sarah declared. “Now, first, I think we should do something about these.” She walked forward and deposited what had been bundled in her arms. Marcus looked up, amazed that he hadn’t noticed what she was carrying before. She had dumped many papers down on the dining table.
“What is all this?” Gregory asked, picking through the scraps of paper.
Marcus felt hollow and numb when he saw his own writing on the papers.
“Aunt – this is personal.” He tried to gather the scraps of poetry together again to hide them all.
