Page 20 of Courting the Duchess (Spy Society #1)

S terling lurked in a distant corner in a room at White’s like a vengeful spirit, watching life but not part of it. When men made eye contact or dared inch toward him, he glared until they turned away uncomfortably. He relied upon his seething, brooding countenance to warn others away, woe be to the man too dense to notice the danger. He was poor company, in no mood for any social niceties, and couldn’t stomach inquiries at the moment. He’d have been better off drinking at home, had everything not been a reminder of his wife and all the mistakes he’d made.

The worst part was that Sterling knew he deserved it. He deserved to spend the rest of his days a lonely bitter man suffering the consequences of all the poor choices he’d made and seemed to continue to make where Alaina was concerned.

For several hours, he tossed back drink after drink and contemplated the great, disgusting mess of his life.

On one hand, he’d made significant accomplishments in his position as a diplomatic spy. He’d earned more than one commendation (albeit, secret ones) for his bravery and cunning; however, it had always felt like such a farce. Who was proud of awards earned from behaving as a dense, spoiled, debauched young buck? It mattered not that he’d ferreted out vital information in foreign courts and likely prevented assassinations and at least two wars. It felt like a joke. He felt like a joke. And he’d been looking forward to exacting some real change at home in England where he might directly impact the lives of others using his true voice and soul.

On the other hand, Sterling had wound up losing a part of himself in the process. The weight of his sacrifices to his personal life and personality was far greater than he ever could have anticipated as a younger man eager for adventure and excitement and serving his country. Aside from the unforgivable sin of abandoning his wife on their wedding night, he’d been forced to become someone else—to adopt a persona and do things he found more than a little distasteful. The ton had always shaken their heads over his decision to wed so young, but they didn’t know him, not truly. Debauched parties and hell-raising had always held little appeal for him. Having lost his parents so young to illness, he’d formed in his head the vision and hopes of a comfortable, stable home with a loving wife and a passel of children. That had always been his goal. Along the way, the sense of duty his father had instilled in him from the cradle had gotten in the way; he viewed quantity of the impact over quality and saw helping England as a spy was of greater use than being just a duke in the House of Lords. He’d always told himself there would be time to achieve his dreams—that he had a wife who was waiting and seemed fine with doing so because she hadn’t attempted to annul their marriage—but as the years dragged on and Ramsay’s society deemed his presence on the Continent more beneficial than back in England, he’d put off that dream in the name of responsibility.

Now, he saw what it had truly cost him.

He realized just how fortunate he’d been that he had been able to begin salvaging his marriage—the one thing he’d wanted above all else—however briefly. It was as if his past had come back full circle to bite him.

He couldn’t escape all that he had done…all the decisions he’d made and impulses he’d followed had led him no closer to the life he’d wished for. If anything, he was further away now than he had been a few weeks prior.

He asked himself for the hundredth time why he hadn’t simply divulged the true reason for his absence to Alaina all those years ago or any time since, and he came to the same conclusion he always did—he was trying to protect her. Alaina having knowledge of his movements and his motives could have placed her in danger with anyone seeking to harm him or do damage to the Spy Society. One of the first things he’d learned in training was that England wasn’t without its own dangers. If anyone was aware of how much she meant to him, then she might have become a target if it was discovered that Sterling was spying on some of the most powerful and dangerous people on the Continent. England still reeled in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars, and he would do whatever it took to neutralize threats before they could present another threat—be it from Spain, Italy, German princes, Russia, or any number of other European powers. He couldn’t regret the lives he’d saved with his work, but he absolutely regretted the life he’d lost with Alaina.

His fingers clenched around the cut crystal glass with dangerous force.

Just then, a man (either foolishly brave or utterly stupid) appeared in Sterling’s periphery. He could sense the rest of the room grow quiet as the other members waited to see if there would be bloodshed.

Sterling refused to move, choosing instead to glare at the dark figure out of the corner of his eye.

The man remained motionless for several irritating minutes.

Finally, Sterling turned and fixed the man with his most ducal glare.

In the face of his expression, the man bowed bravely and took up the seat beside Sterling. His graying hair was slicked back. His clothes were fine, if simple. He had a face unfamiliar to Sterling and yet…there was something intentionally unobtrusive about his appearance. Something nondescript. Something everyone would see, but no one would notice. Black was a master of this—blending in while in plain sight.

“Do I know you?” Sterling growled with derision, his every sense suddenly on alert and overcoming the alcohol he’d imbibed.

“No, Your Grace,” the man said softly with a single shake of his head; “but we have a mutual acquaintance.” A cold chill danced across Sterling’s skin, and he sobered immediately. “The Phantom would have performed the introductions, but he finds himself indisposed.” The man held out his hand, palm tilted toward the floor. Sterling eyed the appendage as if it might strike like a cobra, but he couldn’t ignore it. His sense of duty demanded it. He took the man’s hand and felt a small, sealed note from Ramsay slip into his palm. Sterling concealed it within the cuff of his sleeve with the ease of habit.

“Our friend hopes you’ll meet him in the usual place in one week’s time.”

The man stood and tipped his head deferentially and took his leave.

Conversation gradually resumed around Sterling, but he heard none of it. The corner of the note pricked the inside of his wrist. He didn’t need to read it to know his wife would have her wish granted, and a part of his soul would wither and die forever.

She’d be rid of him.

“Wha’ ’appened to the princess?” demanded a little voice so shrill with excitement that it was all Alaina could do not to flinch.

“Yes!” another child chimed in. “Tell us, m’lady!”

No less than half a dozen girls aged between four and nine years of age danced about Alaina’s skirts, tugging at her hands and practically dragging her to the chair near the hearth from which she usually read to them.

“Girls!” fretted Miss Smythe. “We mustn’t pull on the duchess!”

“It’s quite alright,” Alaina reassured the poor, harried young woman with a light laugh. Despite her aching heart, it was difficult not to allow the girls’ infectious joy to wheedle its way in. She had been right to seek solace within these walls. Less than five minutes in their company and she already felt marginally better about her day. There was nothing like the honest adoration of a child. They possessed no hidden agenda, they didn’t ask her to be someone she was not, and she and these girls shared the unfortunate kinship of being adrift in the world. “I’d be anxious, too, if I didn’t know whether the prince was able to conquer the Black Knight.”

Miss Smythe smiled with tired eyes. Younger than Alaina, her habitual simple black dress, severe chignon, and intense dedication to her wards left the unmarried woman with a constant look of exhaustion far more advanced than her years. Alaina had come to know her quite well through her consistent visits to Mrs. Worthy’s Home and School for Girls, and there was an unending well of kindness behind her blue-grey eyes. Not a visit passed where they hadn’t shared a kind word and Alaina could always count on Miss Smythe to provide the most thorough information about the children in residence, the schooling, and the facilities. Alaina had always felt it extremely admirable that the young woman had dedicated her life to the raising and education of these unfortunate children when she, by all accounts, was sweet, intelligent, and pretty enough to have found a husband with ease. All the better for the children to have her as an advocate, though. In the five years since Alaina had first arrived unannounced and carrying a basket overflowing with sweets, books, and toys, she and Miss Smythe had enjoyed one another’s company on numerous occasions and worked together to implement necessary updates and reforms to turn the home into what it had become.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll just work on some mending,” said Miss Smythe, retrieving the basket from the corner of the room and setting herself up near one of the tall windows overlooking Westminster Bridge Road. Unfortunately, most of the windows remained closed even in nice weather because the proximity to the Thames left a lingering odor if one wasn’t careful. The building, however, was in good repair and the grounds were well-kept.

About three decades prior, Mrs. Mary Worthy—former orphan and wife of a shipping magnate—and her husband purchased the horseshoe-shaped home from a lord with a gambling problem and converted it into a refuge for disadvantaged girls. Patronage of the Home had passed to Mrs. Worthy’s daughter upon her death and then her grandson following that. When it was clear the grandson had no motivation to improve upon his family’s legacy, Alaina had made it her personal mission to assume the position of informal patroness, providing time, necessary items, and funds whenever she could. Her first visit to the home exposed her to the need these girls had for warmth in their lives. Having no children of her own and only an absent husband, Alaina sympathized with them and became a mother hen.

The home had first gained Alaina’s attention at an event for an entirely different charity. Mrs. Worthy’s was mentioned as one of the homes that would benefit greatly from an event such as the one being held that evening. Many homes and schools for orphaned children were parish-run, but independent ones like Mrs. Worthy’s required additional support from patrons and an efficient foundation. Her first meeting with Mrs. Worthy’s disinterested grandson was all the urging Alaina needed to take the home and its wards beneath her wing. Without the official approval from its current patron and little desire on his part to put effort into the creation of an appropriate foundation and board, her position was informal, though that suited her just fine since it allowed her to act without any real supervision. Gaining the trust of the matrons who ran the day-to-day operations had been difficult at first, but she proved through her time and her efforts that she was no fickle duchess seeking to make a great show of helping the less fortunate only to wander away when it no longer suited her.

Alaina’s greatest joy came from seeing the girls grow into young women who, at fifteen years of age, possessed the skills that would allow them to be apprenticed out in households and earn wages to support themselves. Not only that, but the additional education for which Alaina advocated meant they would also be able to read, write, perform arithmetic, and have a better chance at holding their own in the world.

For now, the littlest girls crowded around Alaina, jostling for places of honor closest to her, far less concerned with their futures or their tragic pasts than they were in the Medieval tale of chivalry and love. Scooping up the smallest child—a doe-eyed little doll named Mary, as many of the infant wards were named upon arrival both in homage to the Virgin and the Home’s founder—and situated her in her lap. The girls were checked for lice each week, so Alaina had no concerns when the child curled up against her like a kitten and popped her thumb into her mouth to await the story.

Alaina had a difficult time swallowing past the lump in her throat and her eyes burned suspiciously.

Do not cry , she admonished herself. Do not cry in front of the girls. No matter how broken your heart is, it is nothing compared to what these children have endured.

She took a bracing breath, found the page in the book another of the girls handed to her, and she used her words to carry them all off to a much happier place.

*

An hour later, Alaina descended the steps of the Home and ducked into the Morton carriage awaiting her. She gave the driver instructions to take her to Lady Juliette’s townhouse—it was on her way back to Mayfair and she wasn’t quite ready to chance a meeting with her husband just yet.

The tears which had threatened her since that morning reemerged with a vengeance. She had managed to sink into a pool of numbness and shock following the abrupt turn her marriage had taken, but that tactic was quickly wearing thin. She focused on taking slow, even breaths as they clattered across the bridge toward Westminster. Her foot tapped restlessly, and she tried not to contemplate how she’d been betrayed again…how bloody foolish she’d been to believe Sterling could be the man who could enrich her life rather than hinder it. She didn’t need a husband to feel fulfilled—the last eight years had proven that time and time again—but it had been so nice, for however brief a time, to feel like she didn’t have to handle everything on her own.

She was so lost in her thoughts and trying to keep her composure that she hadn’t realized they’d arrived at her friend’s home until a footman opened the door and reached inside to offer her his hand. Before she knew it, Alaina was shown into the sitting room by the housekeeper, where she promptly fell into Lady Juliette’s arms and allowed the tears to finally flow freely.

There, sitting tightly side-by-side on the sofa, Alaina explained everything. The story started off painful, like the reopening of a wound, but the words came more easily as she described the truth of her marriage, how Sterling had left for the Continent without consummating their marriage, about the letters she’d written to him without response, how much he’d tossed her life upside down since his sudden return, and his assertion of celibacy—though she omitted Sterling’s claim that he’d been sent on an espionage mission for which he’d supposedly trained for years; there was no sense in dragging her friend into that mess. She detailed all of his concerted efforts to woo her all over again, the glimmers of hope she’d had at a future with him, the ways he’d proven to her that he did, indeed, care. And then she told her how it had all come crumbling down with the evidence of his lack of trust in her…that he’d also had Alaina followed and had spied upon her for years.

“Oh, my dear…” Lady Juliette crooned as she patted Alaina’s back and handed her yet another handkerchief.

“And now, I feel as if I’ve been shattered all over again,” Alaina said with a very unladylike sniffle. “He speaks of trust and civility and moving forward with our lives, yet he does things like this.”

“Men are often not the clearest thinkers.”

“To say the least.”

“And I had such high hopes for him after the last Society meeting…” Lady Juliette sighed.

“I am furious with myself,” Alaina groaned and swiped at her eyes again. “How could I fall for everything he said? I am a more intelligent, more self-reliant woman than that.”

“This has very little to do with brains or self-reliance.”

Did it? Alaina didn’t feel that way. She’d long prided herself on not needing a husband around to support her emotional needs. With Sterling, however, all of that seemed to have changed in an instant. She hadn’t needed to be so strong. Someone had been there to let her know she was seen, she was heard, and…she was loved.

A fresh wave of hot tears threatened to spill over. “He said he loved me. But a man who loves someone does not do the things he did. He does not have his wife followed, for goodness’ sake!”

“He said he loves you?”

“Yes. Though I suppose it was likely another of his falsehoods as he tried to endear himself to me once again.”

“Alaina,” Lady Juliette squeezed her hand. “The duke has made several mistakes—ones I fully believe for which he should be held accountable, and apologies are in order—but mistakes do not negate love. At least not real love.”

Alaina scowled. “The man was disproportionately upset about my involvement with Mrs. Worthy’s. He asked me to trust him but didn’t hold me in the same regard. He uncovered information through underhanded means and, rather than discuss it with me, he believed the worst.”

“We all believed the worst of him for many years, did we not?” her friend asked evenly. “And none of us trusted him. But now we have all seen the way he looks at you and…Alaina…that man loves you.”

Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Do not shake your head at me,” Lady Juliette admonished with a playful note. “Someone can make terrible mistakes and still be in love. Someone can be an utter imbecile and still be in love. If anything, love often amplifies a person’s other emotions and makes them far less rational than they normally are.”

“That sounds like an excuse to behave poorly.”

“It is not an excuse; I am speaking from experience. Men like to pretend they are noble and sensible, but it all flies out the window when love comes into play. Level-headed men act like fools, calm men run wild, hardened men turn soft.” The empathy in her friend’s eyes began softening Alaina’s resolve. “He was hurt, he jumped to a terrible conclusion, and it spiraled out of control. It was wrong that he did not trust you after asking you to place your faith in him, but it sounds like he regrets it. Did he regret it?”

Alaina pictured Sterling’s pleading hazel eyes, the utter devastation on his face when she told him she would be staying elsewhere. Part of her wanted to say he regretted it only because he’d been called out for his mistrust of her, but she knew him better than that. Alaina looked down at her lap and nodded.

“That’s a start.” A thoughtful silence dragged out between them before Lady Juliette continued. “You know, through this all, you have yet to tell me how you feel about him.”

Alaina’s head whipped up. “I am furious with him, of course! And I am hurt.”

“Understandable.” She tipped her head and lifted her brows at Alaina as if to say, And…?

“I thought…maybe…that is, no one ever made me feel like Morton has. I hated him for leaving, but I loathe him for returning and giving me hope—” Alaina’s voice caught on the last word. “He gave me hope for things I thought I’d lost forever. Companionship. A family.”

“Why must we lose all hope?” The words were a whisper floating on the air before lodging themselves within Alaina’s subconscious.

Was all hope lost? Had she and Sterling really tread into lands from which they could never return?

More importantly, could Alaina go back to a life without her husband?