Morning Side of the Dawn
When she woke the next morning she was the victim of sick anxiety. Why had he not come last night . How was she to stand another day of waiting? Would he come to her to discuss the matter in broad daylight? That seemed horrible to Lizzie, so detached and coldblooded, she wanted it to be over with .Where was it written that she had to wait meekly in bed for him to show up? She would go and confront him.
"HE'S OUT? HOW CAN HE BE OUT at this hour?" Lizzie stared at Newton.
The sky had just lost the pinkness of dawn. Street sweepers were trundling their carts home across the cobblestones. Newton stared back at her down a nose that would have done any ancient Roman proud. "I couldn't say, my lady." Two spots of red burned in the butler's otherwise cadaverous cheeks.
Lizzie looked at them suspiciously. Her own face began to heat. Surely Alexander wasn't with another woman?
No, of course not. But Lizzie felt shaken nonetheless. She hardly knew Alexander.
A big black carriage rattled up, interrupting her thoughts. Lizzie turned to look. The carriage bore Alexander's crest. A footman jumped down and set the steps. Henry and Nicholas descended. Lizzie frowned. Why . . .? Alexander stepped down. Behind her, Newton exclaimed. Alexander was in his shirtsleeves, despite the cold. One sleeve was streaked with blood, and he held a soaked rag to the upper arm. Spatters of red arced delicately across his chest. In strange contrast to the gore, he wore an immaculate white wig. Lizzie gasped; her lungs wouldn't fill with air. How badly was he hurt? She stumbled down the steps. "What has happened?"
Alexander stopped and stared at her, white-faced. He looked as if he didn't recognize her. "Merde." At least he could talk.
"Newton, send for a doctor! Lizzie didn't bother to see if the butler followed her orders. She was afraid if she took her eyes from Alexander, he might collapse. She reached him on the street and held out a hand, hesitant to actually touch him lest she harm him further.
"Where are you hurt? Tell me." Her voice shook.
He took her hand. "I'm fine-"
"You're bleeding!"
"There's no need of a doctor-"
"He killed James," Nicholas suddenly said.
"What?" Lizzie looked at her husband's best friend.
He seemed dazed, as if he'd seen a tragedy. What had happened?
"Not out in the street for all the pious listening neighbors to gossip about, please," Alexander said. His words dragged as if he were weary to his soul. "We'll hash it out, if we must hash it out, in the sitting room." The fingers clutching her wrist were sticky with blood. "Come inside all of you."
"Your arm-"
"Will be fine as soon as I dose it with brandy-by mouth, preferably." He marched her up the steps.
Behind them, Nicholas called, "I'm going home. Had enough. Sorry."
Alexander paused on the top step and glanced back. "Ah, the golden resilience of youth."
Nicholas swung around violently. "You killed him! Why did you have to kill him?"
Oh, God. Lizzie stared, mute, at Alexander's friend. She felt dread seep into her chest, paralyzing her.
"It was a duel, Ravenwood." Alexander smiled, but his voice was still gritty. "Did you think I meant to dance a pretty gavotte?"
"Jesus! I don't understand you. I don't think I even know you." Nicholas shook his head and walked away.
Lizzie wondered if she should echo the sentiment. Alexander had just admitted killing a man. She realized- horribly-that the bloodstains on his chest weren't his own. Relief flooded her, and then guilt that she rejoiced at another's death. Alexander led her through the door into the great receiving hall. The ceiling, three stories overhead, was painted with classical gods lounging about the clouds, unperturbed by the upheaval below. He dragged her down the hallway and through double doors into a sitting room.
Behind them, Newton groaned. "Not the white settee, my lord."
"To hell with the settee." Alexander pulled Lizzie down beside him on the immaculate piece of furniture.
"Where's that brandy?"
Newton splashed brandy into a crystal glass and brought it over, muttering, "Blood. And it'll never come out."
Alexander swallowed half the glass and grimaced, laying his head against the settee back. "I'll have it recovered, if that'll make you feel better, Newton. Now get out of here."
Henry entered the room, carrying a basin of water and linens.
"But, my lord, your arm-" the butler started.
"Get. Out." Alexander closed his eyes. "You, too, Henry. You can bandage, dose, and mother me later." Henry raised his eyebrows at Lizzie. Silently, he laid the basin and bandages beside her and left. Alexander still held her wrist. She reached across him with her free hand and carefully pulled back the ripped sleeve.
Beneath, a narrow wound seeped blood.
"Leave it alone," he murmured. "It's only a shallow cut. It looks worse than it is, believe me. I won't bleed to death, at least not right away."
She pursued her lips. "I'm not your butler. Or your valet, for that matter."
"No, you're not." He sighed. "I forgot."
"Well, try to remember in the future that I hold an entirely different role in your-"
"Not that."
"What?"
He didn't listen. "I will never be able to forgive myself, but do you think you can?"
Silly. Her eyes pricked with tears. How could he deflect her anger with such silly words? "For what? Never mind. I forgive you for whatever it is." She dipped a cloth in the water one-handed. "This would be easier if you let me go."
"No."
She wiped at the blood awkwardly. She really ought to cut the sleeve off altogether. She cleared her throat to steady her voice before she inquired, "Did you really kill a man?"
"Yes. In a duel." His eyes were still closed.
"And he wounded you in return." She squeezed out the cloth. "What did you duel over?" She made sure her tone was even, as if she were asking the time.
Silence.
She looked at the bandages. There was no way she'd be able to tend to him, shackled as she was. "I'm going to need both arms to bandage you."
"No."
Lizzie sighed. "Alexander, you'll have to let me go eventually. And I really think your arm should be cleaned and wrapped."
"Oh Lizzie." He finally opened his eyes, frost gray and intense. "Promise me. Promise me on your mother's memory that you won't leave me if I give you back your wings."
She blinked and thought about it, but in the end there was really no other answer. "I promise you."
He leaned closer until she could see the shards of ice in his eyes. "Say it."
"I promise on my mother's memory," she whispered, "that I won't leave you."
"Oh, God."
She didn't know whether it was a curse or a prayer, but his mouth came down on hers hard. Biting, licking, sucking. It was as if he meant to consume and draw her into himself so that she might never abandon him. She moaned beneath the onslaught, confused and enthralled. He angled his head, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She clutched his shoulders, and then he was pushing her back on the settee, climbing on top of her and shoving her legs apart with his own hard thighs. He settled on her, and even through the multiple layers of her skirt she could feel his hard shaft. She arched against him. Her breath was coming in breathless pants; she couldn't seem to get enough air. He cupped her breast. His hand was so hot she could feel his heat through her bodice, branding her.
"Lizzie." He broke away to whisper against her cheek. "I want to see you, to touch you." He trailed his open mouth over her cheek. "Let me take down your dress. Let me see you. Please."
She shuddered. His fingers molded her shape, stroking and massaging. She felt her nipple bud, and she wanted, needed, him to touch it. Naked, with nothing separating their flesh. "Yes, I-"
Someone opened the door.
Alexander reared up to glare over the back of the settee at whoever it was. "Get out!"
"My lord." Newton's voice.
Lizzie wished she could dissolve this very instant and become a puddle on the settee.
"Get out now!"
"Your mother's here, my lord. "
Or, she could simply die of mortification.
Alexander stilled, breathing heavily. "Damn."
"Yes, my lord," the butler replied stonily. "Shall I put her in the blue sitting room?"
"Damn your eyes, Newton! Put her anywhere but here."
The door closed.
Alexander sighed and rested his forehead against her own. "I'm sorry for everything." He brushed his lips against hers. "I'd better leave before Mother gets an eyeful. Stay here; I'll send Henry with a shawl." He got up and strode out the door.
Lizzie looked down at herself. There was a bloody handprint on the bodice of her dress.
He was happy that they had been disturbed .He could not take her with fresh blood on his hands. To murder his enemy and then go to her bed would be an abomination in the sight of God and man. Lizzie was too far beyond him and he was a fool to let the shine of her eyes or the softness of her lips make him weak, even though his body clamored for her
Lizzie rushed back to Alexander , her mother in law had been most insistent that they go shopping today and later tonight to the opera Lizzie had managed to dimly nod , only so that she would leave now . She would send a note to her later on saying that she was feeling sick and would be indisposed.
She was met by the discreet Newton, who informed her, not without a note of severity in his voice that his lordship's arm had broken out bleeding again. And although his lordship was abed, but he meant to go out again in a while.
"Has the surgeon come?" inquired Lizzie, feeling guilty for having taken so long.
"His lordship will not have a surgeon, madam," said Newton. "It is the opinion of Henry, his lordship's valet, and myself, that he should see one."
"Then pray go and fetch one," said Lizzie briskly. Newton shook his head. "I daren't take it upon myself, ma'am."
"I don't ask you to," Lizzie replied. "Have the goodness to do as I bid you."
"I beg pardon, madam, but in the event of his lordship desiring to know who sent for the surgeon-?"
"You will tell the truth, of course," said Lizzie.
Newton eyed her with dawning respect
She went in, and when the door had shut behind Newton, walked up to the big four-poster bed and said contritely: "It took longer than I expected. Indeed, I am sorry, my lord."
Alexander was sitting up in bed, propped by pillows; his eyes looked a little feverish, and his cheeks were flushed." No need to apologies madam , it is not your fault .I was anyways making preparations to visit my clubs "
"You will stay where you are for to-day." She picked up a pillow from the floor, and arranged it carefully under Alexander's injured arm. "Is that more comfortable, sir?"
"Perfectly, I thank you. But whether you wish it or not madam wife. I have to go out today otherwise people will get suspicious."
She smiled at him. "It's my turn to play the tyrant, sir. You will stay in bed."
"You are mistaken; I shall do no such thing." He sounded cross; she wanted to take his face between her hands and kiss away his ill-humour. "No, sir, I am not mistaken."
"May I ask, ma'am, how you propose to keep me a-bed?"
"Why yes, I have only to remove your clothes," Lizzie pointed out.
"Very wifely," he commented.
She winced a little at that, but said without a tremor: "I have sent your man for a surgeon. Pray do not blame him."
"The devil you have!" said his lordship. "I'm not dying, you know."
"Certainly not," replied Lizzie. "But you look feverish, and maybe your wound may be inflamed. I think you should be blooded."
Alexander regarded her speechlessly. She drew a chair up and sat down. "Do you feel well enough to talk with me for a few minutes, sir?"
"Of course I am well enough to talk with you. What do you want to talk about?"
"The cause of your injury, if you please."
He looked frowningly at her. "That's my affair, ma'am."
They were interrupted by a French surgeon coming in,( as secrecy was very important Englishmen could not be trusted ) .He talked volubly and learnedly, with a great many exclamations and hand-waving's. His lordship suffered this for some time, but presently became annoyed and opened his eyes (which he had closed after the first five minutes) and disposed of the little surgeon's diagnosis and proposed remedies in one rude and extremely idiomatic sentence.
The doctor started back as from a stinging nettle unwarily grasped: "My Lord, I was informed that you were a Marquis!" he said.
My lord said, amongst other things, that he did not propose to burden the doctor with the details of his genealogy. He consigned the doctor and all his works, severally and comprehensively described, to hell, and finished up his epic speech by a pungent and Rabelaisian criticism of the whole race of leeches.
Whereupon the doctor, who had listened rapt to the unfaltering diatribe, said with Enthusiasm: "But it is wonderful! An Englishman to have so great a command of the French tongue! It is what compels the admiration! I shall now bleed you. Madame will have the goodness to hold the basin. The English have such phlegm!"
Alexander became aware of Lizzie standing demurely by the door. "What, are you here?" he said. "Do you understand French?"
"Tolerably well, sir," she replied placidly. "How well?" demanded his lordship. A glint of amusement shone in her green eyes. "Well enough to understand the doctor, my lord. But I could not follow very much of what you said. Most of the words you used were strange to me."
"Thank God for that!" said Alexander. "Now go away, there's a good girl, and leave me to deal with this fellow."
"Having phlegm, sir, I am to hold the basin," replied Lizzie. "You did as much for me, after all."
He grinned. "I'd a notion you'd never forgive me for that, whatever else you forgave."
"Forgive you? I was exceedingly grateful," said Lizzie matter-of-factly.
"You're a remarkable woman," he said. "But I'll have none of this blood-letting for all that."
Lizzie had the bowl ready. She said kindly: "It will not hurt you, sir, I assure you."
For the second time that morning his lordship was bereft of speech.
Lizzie said, as one reasoning with a rebellious child: "If you desire to be well, and able to finish your work in the city, you will do as the surgeon advises. But if you are minded to be stupid and obstinate, I shall find the means to keep you here."
Alexander sat up. "Thunder and turf, how old do you take me for?"
"Not very old," said Lizzie, "or you would have more sense." She smiled at him, a warm smile of understanding. "Please permit this poor man to blood you, my lord."
"Oh, very well!" snapped his lordship, relaxing again. "And for the future, ma'am, I'll thank you not to interfere in my concerns."
"I'll try and remember your expressed wish, sir," promised Lizzie.
Alexander gave his wrist up to the surgeon, but continued to look at Lizzie . "If I don't end by wringing your neck, madam wife, you will be in no way to blame," he informed her.
The cupping left his lordship too weak to attempt any outing that day. He slept most of the day, and when he lay awake seemed disinclined to talk. Lizzie, a capable female, took charge of taking care of him, and issued a number of orders concerning my lord's well-being that made Newton exchange startled looks with Henry. Both these highly discreet gentlemen treated her from the first with proper respect (which surprised her), but by the end of the day their respect was no longer due to their fear of his lordship.
The Marquis had the first intimation of the change that was taking place in his household at four in the afternoon, when Newton, his face like a mask, presented him with a bowl of thin gruel. He had received it from Lizzie, and meeting Henry upon the stairs, had said with great presence of mind: "You may take this to his lordship, Henry."
Henry, after one glance at the tray, declined the office. "And if I was you, Mr. Newton, I would send it by one of these Frenchies," he recommended.
The suggestion offended Mr. Newton's dignity, and he said stiffly: "And why, my lad, can you not wait upon his lordship?"
"Because I don't want a basin of gruel thrown at my head," replied Henry with brutal frankness.
The Marquis looked at the contents of the bowl in the silence of amazement. Then he looked at his major-domo, who stared woodenly at the bed-post. "My good fool," said the Marquis, "what is this repulsive pap?"
"Gruel, my lord," replied Newton, expressionless. The Marquis leaned his head back on the pillows, and continued to survey his henchman. "Have you taken leave of your senses?" he inquired softly.
"No, my lord."
"Then what the devil do you mean by bringing me a bowl of gruel? Where did you get it?
Don't dare to tell me the French chef perpetrated such an abomination!"
"Her ladyship prepared it, my lord."
There was a short but pregnant silence. "Take it away," said his lordship, with dangerous restraint.
"My Lady told me, my lord, that I was on no account to do so," said Newton apologetically. My lord's fingers crooked themselves round one of the handles of the bowl. "Are you going to take it away, Newton?" he inquired very gently. Newton, with one eye warily on the movement of that white hand, said, abandoning the struggle: "Certainly, my lord."
Alexander removed his hand from the bowl. "I thought so. Bring me something fit to eat, and a bottle of claret." Newton bowed and removed both himself and the tray. Three minutes later the door was opened again. Lizzie came in bearing the same tray. She set it down on the table by the bed, and handed his lordship a napkin. "I am sorry I cannot let you have your bottle of claret, sir," she said. "But I think you won't find my gruel so very bad. I am thought to make it tolerably well."
There was a spark of anger in Alexander's eyes. "You're outside your rights, ma'am," he told her.
"I don't require either your solicitude or your gruel. Have the goodness to refrain in future from meddling in my concerns."
Lizzie was not noticeably dashed. "Very well, sir, but will you not, to oblige me, at least taste my gruel?"
"No, ma'am, I will not."
Lizzie picked the tray up again, with a small unhappy sigh. "I did not mean to offend you, my lord," she said wistfully. "I thought, perhaps, that if I prepared it very carefully you would not be so unkind as to refuse even to partake of a spoonful."
"Then you are wrong, ma'am," replied his lordship icily.
"Yes," Lizzie said rather sadly "I see that I was. I suppose it was presumptuous of me. I am sorry, sir." She went slowly to the door. My lord said, in the voice of one goaded beyond endurance:
"Oh, bring it back, girl-bring it back! I'll swallow the brew if it will please you."
Lizzie seemed to hesitate. "Yes, indeed, it would please me, but I do not at all desire to plague you with it."
"For God's sake let's have no more words!" besought Alexander. "Give it to me, and have done!"
Lizzie obediently brought back the tray. She sat down by the bed, and watched his lordship drink the gruel. He looked suspiciously at her, but she preserved an innocent front.
He finished what was left in the bowl, and put it down. "Lizzie ," said he, "come a little closer and present your left cheek."
A dimple quivered. "Why, sir?"
"Don't you know?" said Alexander.
She laughed. "Why yes, sir. You would dearly love to box my ears."
"I should," he said. "Don't think I'm deceived by that meek face! Where are you going?"
"Down to the parlour, sir."
"Stay with me. I want to talk to you." This was decidedly a command. Lizzie raised her eyebrows in fault hauteur. Alexander grinned. "Dear Lizzie , pray do me the honor of remaining at my side."
She sat down again, slightly inclining her head. "Certainly, sir, but only if you tell me why you fought the duel"
"Lizzie ," said his lordship, "may I proffer a piece of good advice?" She looked inquiring. "Do not be forever arguing with me," said the Marquis. "It will be very much better for you to refrain. My intentions are admirable, but I seldom act up to them, and I should not like to lose my temper with you again."
"But, indeed, my lord, I cannot-"
"Dear Lizzie ," said his lordship, "hold your tongue!"
"Very well, sir," replied Lizzie obediently.