style="font-size:15px;"> “I would not be a very adept duke if I were not obeyed,” Stephen said mildly. “Clarewood would be in shambles. And I believe the family has enough reckless adventurers.” He smiled. The truth was, the de Warenne men were only reckless until they settled down, and Alexi was glaring proof of that.
“Clarewood in shambles? That is an impossibility, as long as you are at the helm.” Alexi gave him a mock salute. “And I gather you have decided not to follow in my footsteps, after all. I am unbearably despondent.”
Stephen smiled.
Alexi smiled back, then said, “So I take it nothing has changed and you are still Britain’s most eligible bachelor?”
Now Stephen was truly amused. His de Warenne relations—those who knew that Sir Rex was his father—loved to nag him about his bachelor status. Of course, he did need an heir. He simply dreaded a cold, bitter and boring marriage. “You have been gone ten or eleven months. What did you expect? For me to find my betrothed at long last?”
“You have just turned thirty-one, and it has been fifteen years since you began searching for a bride.”
“One can hardly rush the process.” His tone was wry.
“Rush? You mean prevent. One can only delay the inevitable, Stephen, not prevent it, and I, for one, am glad you have rejected this Season’s latest offerings.”
“I will admit, inane banter with an eighteen-year-old, no matter how polished, has become a discipline I dread. Of course, you will never repeat this.”
“You are growing up—and of course not!” Alexi exclaimed, crossing his heart.
Stephen laughed, something he rarely did, but Alexi could always make him see the humor in a situation. “I hope so—I am middle-aged.”
They shared another drink, this time in silence. Then Alexi said, “So nothing has changed while I have been gone? You remain as industrious as ever, building hospitals for unwed mothers and managing mining leases for the duchy?”
He hesitated. “Nothing has changed.”
“How boring.” Alex’s smile faded, and he glanced at the effigy. “Old Tom there must be proud—finally.”
Stephen tensed. He glanced at the effigy, too. And for one moment, it was as if Tom sat up and was staring mockingly at him, as alive as they were—and as accusatory as ever. Stephen’s tension increased but then the memory was gone. Tom had looked at him with such scorn a thousand times, and most of the time he preferred to forget, but today was the one day he always remembered. “I doubt it.”
They shared a somber look. “Sir Rex is proud,” Alexi finally said. “And by the way, you are nothing like Tom, even if you try to be exactly like him.”
Stephen considered the comment, knowing that Alexi had overheard him talking to the effigy. “I have no delusions about my character, Alexi. But as far as Sir Rex goes, he has always been attentive and supportive. He was kind to me when I was a boy, before I even guessed at the true nature of our relationship. You are probably right. But frankly, it doesn’t matter. I do not need anyone to admire me or be proud of my achievements. I know what I must do. I know my duty—mock it though you will.”
“Damn it, your character is just fine!” Alexi was angry, his blue eyes sparking. “I came to rescue you from old Tom, but now I think I must rescue you from yourself. Everyone needs affection and admiration, Stephen, even you.”
“You are wrong,” he said instantly, meaning it.
“Why? Because you grew up without any affection, you assume you can and will live that way? Thank God you are a de Warenne by blood.”
Stephen did not want to walk out on that particular plank and only said, “I do not need rescuing, Alexi. I am the one with the power, remember? I am the one who does the rescuing.”
“Ah, yes, and the good work you do for those who cannot help themselves is admirable. Maybe it also keeps you sane—because it prevents you from realizing the cold truth about yourself.”
Stephen felt a twinge of anger, which he quashed. “Why are you harping on me?”
“Because I am your cousin, and if I don’t, who will?”
“Your wife, your sister and any number of other relations.”
Alexi grinned. “Enough said, then. Let’s make a dash for the coach, and if the road below is flooded, we will swim.”
Stephen started to laugh. “If you drown, Elysse will drown me! I suggest we wait out the storm here.”
“Yes, she probably would, and of course you would choose to be sensible and pragmatic.” But Alexi opened the vault door anyway. The downpour remained torrential. “I am bored with old Tom. I vote we adjourn to your library for the very finest and oldest Irish whiskey in your cabinet.” He glanced back into the vault. “You know, I think he is here, eavesdropping on us, as disapproving as ever.”
Stephen tensed and said sharply, “He is dead, for God’s sake, and has been dead for fifteen years.” But he wondered if his friend had felt the old man’s presence, too.
“Then why aren’t you free of him?”
Stephen started. What did that mean? He said carefully, “I am quite free of him, Alexi, just as I am free of the past. But duty rules me, and surely even you can understand that. I am Clarewood.”
Alexi stared. “No, Stephen, you aren’t free, not of him and not of the past, and I wish you could see that. But you are right, you are ruled by duty, and by now I should not expect anything else. Except, oddly, I do.”
Alexi was wrong; Alexi didn’t understand the Clarewood legacy. And Stephen didn’t feel like arguing about it. He simply wanted to escape Tom. “The rain has let up. Let’s go.”
Chapter Two
ALEXANDRA PAUSED, facing her sisters. “Wish me luck,” she said grimly. Her smile felt far too firm, instead of being bright and reassuring. Squire Denney was waiting in the next room with Edgemont. Oddly, she was nervous. Or perhaps it wasn’t so odd. After all, her family’s future was at stake.
Alexandra knew that worrying about making a good impression was silly, given what she had to work with, but she glanced in the hall mirror anyway. Olivia had helped her with her hair, and the chignon seemed a bit severe. Worse, even though she’d chosen a dress that had fared better over the years than her other ones, it was clearly worn and out of fashion. She sighed. No amount of sewing could repair a frayed hem; only costly trim could do that.
“I appear ill kempt,” she said flatly.
Corey and Olivia exchanged looks. “You look like a fictional heroine, one suffering through tragic circumstances,” Olivia said, “and awaiting a dark hero to rescue her.” She reached up and teased several strands of hair from the tight chignon.
Alexandra smiled at her.
“I am not a tragic heroine, although the squire might very well be a hero. I suppose there is no putting this off.”
“You
