Alicia stared at the doorway, then heard the door beyond close. No—wait! was her instinctive reaction. Instead, she sighed and rolled onto her back.
Foiled again, yet there was no point in ranting. Aside from all else, when she spoke to him of marriage, she wanted Sir Freddie and all his works finished with, no longer in any way hanging over them.
Which left her facing her current situation—in his room, in his bed—and how best to deal with it.
In the end, brazen and resolute, she decided to behave within his house precisely as she meant to go on; she had had enough of deceptions. She rang for water, washed while a round-eyed maid shook and brushed her gown, then, determined to be completely open and honest with Tony’s mother, she found her way back to the hall and was deferentially conducted to the breakfast parlor.
There, she found her four siblings in high spirits. Geoffrey rose as she entered; she smiled and waved him back, then bobbed a curtsy to the viscountess, seated at the end of the table.
Marie smiled warmly. “Come and sit here beside me, my dear. We have, I think, much to talk about.”
The light in her eyes was delighted, frank, and encouraging; Alicia took her words to heart, piled her plate high at the sideboard, then returned to sit at her side.
She’d barely taken the first bite when Geoffrey asked if he could take Adriana to visit at his home. “I’d like her to see the house and meet Mama.”
The viscountess, busy pouring Alicia a cup of tea, murmured, “Manningham Hall is but two miles away, and Geoffrey’s mama, Anne, is waiting to welcome your sister.”
Alicia glanced at Adriana, read the eager plea in her eyes. “Yes, of course.” With a flicker of her own resolve, she added, “It’s only sensible to seize the moment.”
Geoffrey and Adriana glowed with happiness; with various assurances, they excused themselves and left.
They passed Maggs in the doorway. He lumbered in, saluting both ladies. “If you’re agreeable, ma’am,” he addressed Alicia, “I’ll be taking these scamps down to the stream. I mentioned it this morning—seems they’ve been an age without holding a rod, and I’m happy to watch over them.”
As Alicia glanced at her brothers, Marie again murmured, “Maggs is entirely trustworthy.” She smiled at the large, homely man. “He’s been watching over Tony since he was no older than your David.”
Alicia regarded her brothers’ shining eyes and eager expressions. “If you promise to behave and do exactly as Maggs says…” She glanced at Maggs and smiled, too. “You may go.”
“H’ray!” Setting down napkins, pushing back their chairs, they rushed to Maggs, pausing only to make their bows to Alicia and the viscountess before happily heading off.
Alicia watched Matthew, his hand in Maggs’s, walk confidently out, and felt a rush of emotion. Not just for Matthew, but for the children she would bear; here, like this, with this sort of continuity was how children should be raised.
“Now!’ Marie settled back in her chair. At her signal, the young butler departed, leaving them alone. “You can eat, and I will talk, and we will learn all about each other, and you can tell me when your wedding is to be. With his customary flair for avoiding details, Tony hasn’t told me.”
Lifting her gaze from her plate, Alicia looked into Marie’s bright black eyes. “Yes, well…” She dragged in a breath; she hadn’t expected such a direct approach. “Indeed, that’s a subject I wished to discuss with you.”
She glanced around, confirming that they were indeed alone. She drew another breath, held it for a moment, then met Marie’s gaze. “I’m Tony’s mistress, not his intended bride.”
Marie blinked. A succession of emotions played across her features, then her eyes flared; she pressed her lips tight and reached across to lay her hand on Alicia’s arm. “My dear, I greatly fear I must, most contritely, apologize— not for my question, but for my oh-so-tardy son.”
Marie shook her head; Alicia realized with some surprise that she was struggling to keep her lips straight. Then Marie met her eyes again. “It seems he hasn’t told you either.”
Over the next hour, she tried to correct Marie’s assumption, but Tony’s mother would have none of it.
“No, and no and non, ma petite. Believe me, you do not know him as I do. But now you have told me your background, I can well see how you, through his laggardliness, have come to think as you do. You have had no mentor, no guide to rely on—no one to…what is the word…‘interpret’ his behavior for you. Rest assured, he would not have allowed anyone to know of you, much less established you as his consort in the eyes of the ton, or, indeed, brought you here, if he hadn’t, from the first, seen you as his bride.”
It was increasingly difficult to cling to her argument in the face of Marie’s conviction, yet Alicia couldn’t— simply could not—believe that all along…“From the first?”
“Oui—without doubt.” Marie pushed back her chair.
“Come—let me show you something, so you will see more clearly.”
They left the breakfast parlor; while they walked through the large house, Marie quizzed her on her brothers’ education. On the one hand, Alicia’s heart soared; this—this house, this sense of family, of immediate and natural care—was the stuff of her dreams. Yet her wits were whirling—she couldn’t accept it, couldn’t take joy in it, stymied by her uncertainty over Tony’s intentions.
Had he always seen her as his wife? Did he truly do so now?
Marie led her to a long gallery lined with paintings. “The famille Blake. Most we need not consider, but here—here are the ones that might make things clear.”
She halted before the last three paintings. The first showed a gentleman in his twenties, dressed in the fashion of a generation before. “Tony’s father, the last viscount.” The middle picture was of a couple—Marie herself and the previous gentleman, a few years older. “Here is James again, now my husband.” She turned to the last painting. “And this is Tony at twenty. Now look, and tell me what you see.”