“Ah, yes. And said, I’m quite certain, with all the fervor of a younger son, who doesn’t have to worry about such things. So Alana is crushed, I’ll assume?” she added, again surprising Bailey with her candor.
He hadn’t blinked when she’d mentioned his father, but it was rather amazing to know that others felt as he did; his father was a total loss. He’d lived his life determined to never do a single thing his father had done. He’d always considered himself an upright man, doing his duty. And as his reward, the gods had smiled on him, and sent him Alana.
He spared a moment to wonder who had sent him Sylvia Wise.
“Yes, I’m certain she is.” Bailey looked into his wineglass and then put it down without tasting its contents. “I can’t say that I blame her. Why should she believe I love her?”
“Pity there aren’t any fire-breathing dragons about for you to slay. To save her, you understand, with some grand bit of derring-do,” Kate said, and then gnawed on her lower lip for a moment. “I mean, the closest thing we have to a fire-breathing dragon is my grandmother, and she adores Alana, so that wouldn’t work.”
Bailey looked at her levelly. “Max and Valentine said you’d help. That doesn’t sound like help.”
“No, but it does give me an idea. We should think of what Trixie would do.” Then she frowned.
“What?” Bailey leaned closer, rather like a drowning man reaching for a bit of floating straw.
“No, you can’t do that. I can’t even say it.” Then Kate waved her words away. “Well, I could certainly say it. I’m not missish, for pity’s sake. And it could work. I mean, it should work. The way I’ve heard it, in one way or another it has worked for a thousand years.”
“Kate…”
“Oh, all right, don’t glower. Alana loves you because you’re sweet and wonderful and kind and all sorts of other laudable attributes that make my teeth itch, but to each his own, I say.”
“Thank you,” Bailey said, fairly certain he wasn’t feeling all that sweet or kind at the moment.
“You’re welcome,” Kate said absently, or perhaps the proper term would be obliviously. “Now promise me you didn’t hear this from me, because I’d deny it in any case. Remember that. It’s Trixie. She’s…she’s speaking through me. Yes, that’s the way of it. You’ll never say I was the one to suggest such a thing.”
“I’ll swear that on your family Bible, if you just tell me where it is. For God’s sake, Kate, tell me. I love Alana. I’d do anything to make her see that.”
Kate didn’t blush. It wasn’t in her nature, but she did say the words rather quietly. Still, they seemed to echo all around the room, bouncing back from the walls as Bailey sat there, rather stunned.
“Bed her, Bailey. That’s what Trixie would say. If you truly love her, show her.”
* * *
JUST AS THE LARGE CLOCK in the grand foyer was striking ten the following morning, Kate entered Alana’s bedchamber. She carried with her a tray holding two china cups and a squat ceramic teapot, the favorite receptacle for Redgrave hot chocolate for the past decade…replacing the pot that had been the favorite before that, thanks to Trixie having tossed that one at Valentine’s head for one reason or another.
“Alana? You’re not still asleep, are you?” she asked, squinting into the dimness in the general direction of the bed. “Up you get, slugabed, I’ve brought hot chocolate. And biscuits.”
There was some slight rustling of bedclothes and then Alana raised her sleep-mussed blond head from beneath the covers as she pushed herself back against the headboard. She wanted to be alone. She’d ask Kate to leave if she thought her friend would obey her, but since she already knew Kate obeyed no one, she didn’t bother. “I’m not hungry, thank you. Or thirsty.”
“Good, more for me,” Kate said, sliding the tray onto a low table and seating herself on one of a pair of facing chairs placed in front of the fireplace. “Do you know what’s wrong with Bailey?” she asked as she poured two cups of the steaming chocolate. “I saw him downstairs just now in the breakfast room, and if his chin got any lower, he’d be dragging it along the ground when he walks.”
What had she said about Bailey? All right, so perhaps she didn’t want to be alone. Alana turned back the covers and carefully aimed her feet toward the floor. The beds at Redgrave Manor were all built for giants. “He is? I mean, it is?”
“Hmm?” Kate asked, looking up from her pouring. “Oh, we’re talking about Bailey, aren’t we? Never mind. I’m sure I was mistaken. The man’s to be married in a few days. He can’t be anything but happy. You’re happy, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Alana slipped her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown and sat down on the facing chair, wrapping the soft white material around her. “Brides are always happy,” she replied, going on her guard. Kate wasn’t the sort for idle chatter.
“Oh, I seriously doubt that. Her Royal Highness Princess Caroline certainly wasn’t, or so it’s said. I doubt any of King Henry Tudor’s wives were happy, always wondering how long it would be before their heads were separated from their shoulders. Then there’s—”
“In general,” Alana said quickly. “I was speaking of brides in general. As…as a species.”
Kate looked at her and smiled. “Brides are a species? What a singular idea. In any event, you’re happy, and that’s all that concerns me.”
At which point, Alana burst into tears.
But that was all right. That was probably very good. She’d wanted to speak with someone about what had happened the day before in the gardens. Needed to speak with someone. She loved Bailey, and she had hurt him. She had asked him a question she should not have thought, let alone asked, and now she didn’t know how to fix what she very well knew was her obligation to correct.
Kate was her best friend in the entire world. Who better to unburden herself on, who better to advise her as to what she should do n