Lord Tarrant glanced at Alice with a humorously resigned expression, but she turned away, pretending not to see it. They couldn’t share such intimate glances any longer. But oh, it hurt.
They waved the carriage and the girls off. “Are you all right, Alice?” Lucy said as it disappeared from sight. “You’re looking rather pale.”
“A slight touch of the headache, nothing to worry about.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“No, a stroll in the fresh air will revive me. I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. Marriage! How could he deceive her like that when he’d offered her friendship? She’d been so enjoying their friendship, too—she’d never experienced anything like it. But it was all spoiled now. They could never go back to how it had been. She’d have to sever the connection.
They strolled on. Ladies and gentlemen greeted them, bowed, made small talk. Alice went through the motions,
Marriage. The whole idea appalled her. Under a man’s thumb again, subject to his whims and fancies, her own desires ignored, her opinions trampled underfoot. Belonging to a man, her body his to use as he willed, whenever and however he wanted.
The marriage bed. She shuddered.
“Are you cold?” Lucy asked.
She shook her head and forced herself to pay attention. “Did you enjoy your drive with my nephew?”
“Him? Hah!” They walked on, brooding in silence, stopping from time to time to exchange a brief greeting with an acquaintance.
Alice responded absently, her mind wholly taken up with Lord Tarrant’s proposal. He wasn’t at all like Thaddeus, she told herself. But when she’d first met Thaddeus, he’d seemed charming—until after the marriage had taken place.
Lucy suddenly said, “Lord Thornton didn’t invite me for a pleasant drive in the sunshine—it was to question me about my father. He’s been investigating me, did you know?”
Alice did know, and it was her fault Gerald was looking into Lucy’s father’s background. Guiltily, she wondered whether she ought to confess to Lucy what she’d asked Gerald to do.
“He’s trying to implicate me in Papa’s actions.”
Alice gave her a sharp look. “But he can’t. You’re not complicit in your father’s actions—are you?”
“No, of course I’m not.” Lucy gave her a hurt look. “Though I doubt your nephew, with his nasty, suspicious mind, believed me. He’s doing his best to paint me as some kind of an adventuress, which, to be fair, I suppose I am, though not”—she kicked at a stone on the path—“by my own choice. And then he had the cheek to lecture me about family!”
“What about fam—?”
Lucy rushed on, “You would have been proud of me Alice. I so wanted to hit him and knock that stupid, smug, superior expression off his face, but I managed to control myself. I was a lady—on the outside, at least. Luckily Mr. Frinton came past just then. He invited me to take a turn in his phaeton, so I went off with him, and I don’t care if it was rude to change carriages like that. He deserved it—Lord Thornton, I mean.”
“I see. And how did you get on with Mr. Frinton?”
“He was quite sweet. It was much pleasanter driving with him than it was with your horrid nephew—oh, I’m sorry, Alice. I know I shouldn’t say such things about your nephew, but honestly, he can be so infuriating.”
Alice nodded. Men often were, in her experience. Promising a nice, safe friendship when really they were planning on marriage.
“And it’s so much easier talking to Mr. Frinton than with that arrog—er, than to Lord Thornton.”
“You mean Mr. Frinton actually spoke?”
“At least twenty-eight words,” Lucy said. “And after spending fifteen minutes in a curricle with your nephew, I’m inclined to think I’d be better off with a man who never spoke.”
They strolled on, heading for the gates now. “Did you tell Lord Tarrant about Lady Beatrice’s kittens?”
“Yes. He’s probably gone straight there.”
“Debo will be thrilled.”
“Mmm.” She was going to have to break the news to Lucy. Those little girls, he’d used them to entice Alice into his so-called friendship. And all the time, he’d just wanted a mother for his daughters—it was clear to her now. Men! Why could they not simply say what they wanted? Why did they have to lie?
She was going to miss those girls. Lucy would, too. She’d opened up so much more with them. The role of big sister suited her. She was going to make a lovely mother one day.
“I doubt we’ll see much of Lord Tarrant and the girls in the future,” she told Lucy.
Lucy turned to her in surprise. “Why? Are they going away?”
“No, but . . .” Alice swallowed. “Lord Tarrant and I have had a . . . a disagreement. I fear we’ve reached a parting of the ways.”
Lucy gave her a searching look, but all she said was, “What a pity. I liked him and his daughters.” There was no reproach in her voice. After a moment she sighed and added, “What a day, eh? I quarrel with your nephew, and you quarrel with Lord Tarrant. Men! Why are the wretches so impossible?” She linked her arm with Alice’s and they crossed the road into Mayfair.
* * *
* * *
Lord Tarrant had said he would come at eleven. Alice had been restless and pacing all morning. She’d slept badly and had woken in the wee small hours and lain in the dark, waiting for the dawn to show through the crack in the curtains, going over the speech she would make to him.
She would be calm and quietly resolute. She would explain her reasons—no, she wasn’t required to justify herself. A simple yes or no would do, and there was no question about which it would be: no. She wasn’t playing coy or hard to get. She meant it.
She would never marry again.
Oh, why had he gone and ruined everything? It wasn’t fair, making her feel safe with friendship when all the time he was plotting marriage. She was halfway to loving his daughters already, thinking perhaps she could be like an aunt or a godmother to them, or simply an older friend, as she was now with Lucy.
She recalled the feeling when little Lina had slipped her hand into Alice’s and skipped along beside her. She’d never had a child hold her hand like that before. Such a simple thing, unthinking childish trust, but it had moved her unexpectedly.
She would miss him as well, more than she could say. His presence in her life—and that of Lucy—had dispelled some of the loneliness she’d lived with most of her life. He’d given her the kind of adult companionship, understanding and acceptance that she’d never really experienced.