Something Wonderful by Judith McNaught
“Of course,” Anthony said dryly. Alexandra said nothing, but stood rooted to the spot.
His grandmother glowered at him and directed her last remark to Alexandra. “I’ve never admitted this before, but I am superstitious. It seems to me that things which do not begin well rarely end well, and your wedding to Jordan— well, it was such a sad, inauspicious little affair. A large church affair will be just the thing. Society will be all agog over it, but it will give them something better to remember than all the talk about you that preceded it. Three weeks from today should do very well, indeed.” Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door, effectively cutting off any attempt by Tony or Alexandra to argue with her.
When she left, Alexandra clutched at the back of a chair for support and slowly turned to Anthony, who was grinning at the closed door. “She’s actually more ruthless than I ever realized,” he observed with a mixture of affection and exasperation as he turned to look at Alexandra. “Hawk was the only one she couldn’t wring out with one of her looks. My father was terrified of her, so was Jordan’s. And my grandfather—”
“Tony,” Alexandra interrupted miserably, drowning in guilt and confusion. “What have I done? I had no idea I was bringing disgrace down on us. Why didn’t you tell me I was spending too much on gowns?” Shame engulfed her as she suddenly saw herself with new clarity, leading a frivolous, expensive, aimless life.
“Alexandra!” She turned and stared blankly at his grinning face as he said, “You have just been subjected to the most massive dose of guilt, coercion, and emotional blackmail that I have ever seen anyone hand out. My grandmother didn’t miss a trick.” He held out his palm, smiling reassuringly, and Alexandra placed her hand in his reassuring grasp. “There is nothing wrong with her health, you are not sending us down the road to financial ruin, and you assuredly are not jeopardizing the Townsende name.”
Alexandra was not much reassured. Too much of what the duchess had said had often occurred to Alex herself. For more than a year she had been living with people who treated her as part of their family and who kept her in a manner befitting a royal duchess, when she was neither. At first, she had silenced her conscience with the knowledge that the dowager duchess truly needed her companionship in the months after Jordan’s death. But of late Alexandra had not been much of a companion to the elderly lady; there never seemed to be time to do more than wave to one another when their carriages passed on the street or they met one another on the stairway, leaving for their individual entertainments. “The part about Marbly was the truth though, wasn’t it?” she asked miserably.
“Yes.”
“Marbly doesn’t fancy himself in love with me like some of the younger dandies do. I can’t think why he’d have tried to abduct me.”
“My grandmother has an interesting theory on that subject. It has to do with little boys and toys. Ask her about it sometime.”
“Pray, don’t talk to me in riddles!” she pleaded. “Only tell me why all this is happening.”
Tony gave her an abbreviated version of the entire discussion he had just had with his grandmother. “The fact is,” he concluded, “you’re simply too desirable for your own good and our peace of mind.”
“What a rapper!” she chuckled. “There has to be more to it than that.”
“Exactly how much are you enjoying the Season?”
“It’s everything you said it would be—exciting and elegant and the people are so—elegant—exciting, and I’ve never seen such, such elegant carriages and phaetons or such—”
Tony’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You’re impossibly poor at lying.”
“I know,” she admitted ruefully.
“Then suppose we stick to the truth, you and I.”
Alexandra nodded, but still she hesitated. “How do I like the London Season?” she repeated, seriously considering the question. Like all the well-born young women in London during the Season, she slept until midmorning, breakfasted in bed, and changed her clothes at least five times each day for a round of morning calls, promenades in the park, parties, suppers, and balls. She had never been so frantically busy. Yet as she went about the occupation which was supposed to consume her every waking hour—that of enjoying herself—one question kept tolling relentlessly through her mind. Is this all there is? . . . Is there nothing more?
Unable to face him, Alexandra walked over to the windows and then said, “The Season is all very amusing, and there is diversion everywhere, but sometimes it seems as if everyone is working very hard at playing. I will miss London when I leave it, and I know I will look forward to returning, but there’s something missing. I think I must need work to do. I feel restless here, even though I’ve never been so busy. Am I making any sense?”
“You have always made sense, Alexandra.”
Reassured by his gentle tone, Alexandra turned around and faced him squarely. “Alexander Pope said that amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think. I don’t entirely agree with that, but as a goal in and of itself, I find the pursuit of amusement, well, a little unsatisfying. Tony, do you never weary of this ceaseless round of aimless amusements?”
“This year, I’ve scarcely had time to go about.” Shaking his head, he made a sweeping gesture with his hand and said wryly, “You know, I used to envy Jordan all this—his houses, his lands, all his other investments. Now that they’re mine, they’re like jewels that weigh a ton; they’re too valuable to neglect, too huge to ignore, and too heavy to carry. You can’t believe how diverse his investments are or the time it takes me to try to figure out when to do what with each one. When Jordan inherited the title at twenty, the Townsende holdings were respectable but not vast by any means. He increased them tenfold in seven years. Jordan worked like a demon, but he had time for amusements, too. I can’t seem to strike the proper balance.”
“Is that why you’ve been neglecting the ladies, who plague me to distraction, trying to discover where you plan to go next so they can be there?”
Tony laughed. “No. I’ve been neglecting them for the same reason you neglect your beaux. I’m flattered, but not interested.”
“Hasn’t any young lady suited you in all these years?”
“One,” he admitted, grinning.
“Who was she?” Alexandra promptly demanded.
“She was the daughter of an earl,” he said, his expression sobering.
“What happened to her,” Alexandra prodded, “or is it too personal to discuss?”
“Not at all. It isn’t even a unique story. She seemed to want me as much as I wanted her. I offered for her, but her parents wanted her to wait until the end of the Season before accepting an unpromising catch like me—a man of respectable birth, good family, but no title and no real fortune. And so we agreed to keep our feeling for each other a secret until the end of the Season.”
“And then what?” Alexandra asked, sensing instinctively that he wanted to talk about it.
“And then someone with a title and a fortune and a very elegant address paid her passing notice. He stood up with her at a few balls, called on her a time or two—Sally fell for him like a rock.”
Alexandra’s voice dropped to a sympathetic whisper. “And so she married him instead of you?”
Tony chuckled and shook his head. “To the nobleman, the interlude with Sally had been nothing but a stupid, empty, meaningless flirtation.”
“It—it wasn’t Jordan, was it?” Alex asked, feeling a little sick.
“I’m happy to say it was not.”
“In any case, you’re better off without her,” Alexandra announced loyally. “She was obviously either very mercenary or very flighty.” One of Alexandra’s warm, entcancing smiles touched her soft lips and she laughed with sudden delight: “Now that you are the most important duke in England, I’ll bet she regrets turning you away.”
“She may.”
“Well, I hope she does!” she exclaimed, and then she looked guilty. “That is a very wicked way for me to fe
“We’re both wicked,” Tony laughed. “Because I rather hope she does too.”
For a moment they merely regarded one another in silence and the friendly accord they had always enjoyed. Finally Tony drew a careful breath and said, “The point I was trying to make earlier is that too much work is no more satisfying than too much amusement.”
“You’re right, of course. I hadn’t considered that.”
“There’s something else you ought to consider,” Tony said gently.
“What is that?”
“You ought to consider the possibility that the indefinable thing you said you felt was lacking from your life might be love.”
Alexandra’s unexpected mirthful reaction to that suggestion stilled his hand as he reached for a pinch of snuff. “Good heavens, I should hope it’s lacking!” she said, and her musical laughter bubbled over, spilling through the room without a single note of anger to reassure Tony that her reaction was merely one of temporary bitterness over Jordan’s treatment. “I have been in love, your grace, and I didn’t enjoy it in the least!” she chuckled. “I’d sooner have a stomachache, thank you very much.”
She meant every word of it, Tony realized as he gazed at the beautiful shining face turned up to his. She meant it—and the knowledge filled him with almost uncontrollable rage at Jordan. “You only had a small taste of it.”
“Enough to know I don’t like it.”
“Next time you might like it more.”
“It gave me a dreadful feeling inside. Like—like I’d eaten eels,” she laughed. “I—”
The curse that exploded from him stopped her short. “Damn Jordan! If he were alive, I’d strangle him with my bare hands!”
“No, you misunderstand!” Alexandra said, hurrying to him, her luminous eyes searching his, trying to make him understand. “Even when I foolishly thought he cared for me, I felt horridly queasy inside. I couldn’t stop worrying about every little thing I said. I wanted to please him, and I was quite turning myself inside out to do it. I think it must be a hereditary defect: The women in my family always fall in love with the wrong men, and then we worship them with blind devotion, tearing ourselves apart to please them.” She grinned. “It’s quite nauseating, actually.”
A shout of laughter erupted from Tony an instant before he snatched her into his arms and hugged her, laughing into her fragrant hair. When their mirth had subsided, Tony gazed down into her eyes and soberly said, “Alexandra, what is it you want out of life?”
His steady gaze locked onto hers, holding her immobilized. “I don’t know,” she whispered, standing stock still as the man she had regarded as an older brother cupped her face between his big hands. “Tell me how you feel inside, now that you are one of the Reigning Queens of Society.”
Alexandra could not have moved if someone had screamed that the house was afire. “Empty,” she admitted in a ragged whisper. “And cold.”
“Marry me, Alexandra.”
“I—I can’t!”
“Of course you can,” he said, smiling at her resistance, as if he expected it and understood. “I’ll give you the things you truly need to make you happy. I know what they are, even if you don’t.”
“What things?” Alexandra murmured, her eyes moving over his face as if seeing it for the very first time.
“The same things I need—children, a family, someone to care for,” Tony said huskily.
“Don’t,” Alexandra cried as she felt her resistance begin to weaken and crumble. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Tony, I’m not in love with you, and you’re not in love with me.”
“You’re not in love with anyone else, are you?”
Alexandra shook her head emphatically and he grinned. “There, you see, that makes the decision much easier. I’m not in love with anyone else, either. You’ve already met the best of the crop of eligible husbands during this Season. The ones who aren’t here aren’t much better. You can take my word on it.”
When Alexandra bit her lip and continued to hesitate, Tony gave her a light shake. “Alexandra, stop dreaming. This is life as it really is. You’ve seen it. All that’s left is more of the same unless you have a family.”
A family. A real family. Alexandra had never been part of one—not a family with a father and mother and children; with cousins and aunts and uncles. Of course, their children would have only Tony’s younger brother for an uncle, but still—
What more could any woman possibly hope for than what Tony was offering her? It dawned on Alexandra for the first time that, although she had teased Mary Ellen forever about her romantic notions, she herself had been acting like a romantic schoolgirl. Tony cared for her. And she had it in her power to make him happy. The knowledge warmed her and made her feel good inside, good about herself in a way she hadn’t felt in ages. She could devote herself to making him happy, to bearing his children.
Children . . . The thought of holding her baby in her arms was a powerful motivation to marry this kind, gentle, handsome man. Of all the men she’d met in London, Tony seemed to be the only one who felt as she did about life.
* * *
With great effort, Jordan helped his weary friend to stand and pulled his arm over his own shoulders, bracing his weight against his side as he half-carried, half-dragged George Morgan across the shallow creek. Grinning and exhausted, Jordan glanced up, trying to gauge the time by the sun, which was low in the sky, blocked from his view by the hills and trees. He wanted to know the time, it was important to him. Five o’clock in the afternoon, he decided.
At five o’clock in the afternoon, he had first seen the uniformed troops moving stealthily through the trees ahead of him. English troops. Freedom. Home.
With luck, he could be home in three or four weeks.
Chapter Nineteen
EVERYONE WAS BEAMING at her as Alexandra came downstairs in a swirl of heavy ice-blue satin encrusted with a wide border of pearls, diamonds, and blue zircons at the low, square neck and the bottom of the wide sleeves.
Penrose opened the door for her as he had done thousands of times in her life, but today, as she prepared to leave for the huge gothic church where she and Tony were to be married, his kindly old face was wreathed in smiles, and he bowed deeply from the waist.
Filbert’s shortsighted eyes swam with tears as Alexandra turned and reached around his neck to give him a hug. “Take care now,” he whispered to her, “and mind you don’t soil your frock.” He had been admonishing her thus forever, and Alexandra felt tears of affection blur her own eyes.
These two old men, and Uncle Monty, were the only family she had in all England. Her mother had sold their home in Morsham and left for a long sojourn in the islands, so she couldn’t be here to see Alex marry; Mary Ellen and her husband were expecting their first baby to be born at any hour, so they couldn’t come to London either. But at least Uncle Monty was here to give her away. And although Melanie had just discovered she was with child, her pregnancy wasn’t yet apparent, so she was able to be Alex’s matron of honor.
“Are you ready, my dear?” Uncle Monty beamed, offering her his arm.
“See that you don’t step on Alexandra’s train,” the dowager duchess admonished him sharply, casting a critical eye from the top of his white head to the tips of his highly polished black slippers. For the last three days, she’d been lecturing Sir Montague on his general conduct, his duty at the wedding, and the merits of sobriety so unmercifully that he was now cowed by her. Suddenly her eyes narrowed on the suspicious tint of his round cheeks. “Sir Montague,” she demanded with snapping eyes, “have you been at the claret this morning?”
“Certainly not!” Uncle Monty boomed, appalled. “Can’t abide claret. No bouquet, no body,” he said, puffing up like an offended rooster, even though he’d been liberally imbibing Madeira all morning long.
“Never mind all that,” the old duchess interrupted with brusque impatience. “Just remember what I said to do: After you escort Alexandra to the a
“I ain’t an imbecile, you know, madam. I am a knight of the realm.”
“You’ll be a dead and dishonored one if you make a single mistake,” the worthy lady promised as she pulled on the long silver-grey gloves that Penrose handed her. “I’ll not countenance another odious display of irreverence such as the one you gave last Sunday.” The diatribe continued all the way into the coach. “I could not believe my ears when you dozed off in the middle of the service and began to snore in that appallingly loud fashion.”
Uncle Monty climbed into the coach and cast a long-suffering look at his niece, which clearly said, I don’t know how you’ve managed to reside with this old harpy, my girl.
Alexandra smiled. She knew, and he knew, that the high color at his cheekbones testified to his having consumed the better part of a bottle of Madeira.
Settling back against the luxurious squabs of the crested coach bearing her toward her future husband, she looked out the windows at the sights and sounds of the London streets. Melanie was riding in the coach just ahead of this one, along with Roderick Carstairs, who was acting as Anthony’s best man.
Behind and ahead of the two vehicles bearing the bridal party was a veritable sea of elegant equipages—all bound for the same church. They were, Alexandra realized with a wry smile, causing a huge tie-up in traffic several miles long.
How odd, she thought, that she had felt so nervous, so jittery and excited about her wedding to Jordan. Fifteen months ago, when she had walked into that silent drawing room to join her life with Jordan’s, her legs had been shaking and her heart nearly bursting with each thunderous beat.
Yet here she was, about to be married to Tony in one hour before three thousand members of the haute ton, and she felt—totally, utterly calm. Serene. Unafraid. Unexcited . . .