Chapter 7:
Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews! I was going to post last night, but I went out with a friend instead of polishing it off… Sorry. ;) I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.
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It was a month later that he first called.
Alexandra watched him from her window, leaning to the side so those down below couldn't see her. She took a series of deep breaths, watching as he stepped out of the carriage and surveyed the land and building surrounding him. She couldn't tell if he was pleased or displeased with her home, but she figured it wouldn't mater. He was here, wasn't he? And it wasn't as if they'd be living here after they were married.
That thought sent Alexandra's heart to beating quicker. Where would they live? She closed her eyes as she silently chastised herself. That was just one of a score of questions she should've asked Lord Shepherd when she'd had the chance. But that smug, self-satisfied face of his… Just thinking of him made her scrunch her nose in annoyance, so she quickly reverted her attention to the man who really mattered, the one that was now being approached by her father.
She watched them greet each other and share a few pleasantries before she decided that it was probably time for her to greet their—well, her—guest. Alexandra took another deep breath and stepped a few paces to the mirror. She'd kept her hair down today, originally because she hadn't wanted to worry about pieces falling loose as she talked with him; but now she sighed, frowning. She looked too plain. She always looked too plain.
After a few seconds, though, she realized it was, unfortunately, a lost cause. He was already here and she didn't have time to have Sarah or any other maid do up her hair while he waited. Alexandra closed her eyes briefly, turned from the mirror, and made her way downstairs to formally meet her fate.
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Marcus had been in the middle of conversing with Thatcher Grey when the man broke off abruptly. Confused, Marcus was going to ask why the other man had stopped speaking, but he got his very welcome answer before he could even voice his question.
"Alexandra." Thatcher's worn face spread in a wide smile as he watched his daughter approach. Marcus immediately pivoted around to face her, only half-caring about how eager he appeared to be laying eyes on her again.
He wasn't sure how it was possible, but she somehow looked more beautiful today than she had been when he first saw her at the wedding. The idea confused him, for he was not one to be incredibly appreciative of natural beauty, nor to like simple girls. So it surprised him greatly when he saw that not only did her everyday looks match the refined ones she had sported for her sister's wedding, but—in fact—surpassed them.
All of this swirled through his mind in mere seconds; when he came to his ending conclusions, he started to wonder what she thought of him. It was odd—very, very odd, actually—that he couldn't tell just by looking at her. She was hiding something in those dark brown eyes of hers, he was certain, but he had no idea what it was. It could be loathing or it could be love, and Marcus regretted to admit he wasn't sure he would know the difference.
Most women he met he could peg easily. One look was all it took, and then he knew. This one was hoping to further her position, this one simply wanted to fuck and have him take her mind off of things, and a third was always hopelessly in love with him. He couldn't help but smirk a bit at the memories. Those were the worst; the ones that convinced themselves he and she were in love. Somehow he doubted this Alexandra would delude herself so easily, but if he had learned one thing over the years, it was that women were unpredictable. That trait was only compounded, of course, when its driving force was love or hate… and it was even worse when both were involved.
She was slowing to a halt now, just a few paces ahead of him, and Marcus idly wondered how long it would take her to decide which path she would choose: love or hate. His would always be indifferent, of course, but he wasn't sure she would be able to match him there. Women were never able to stay indifferent the way men were. Yes, she'd pick one road or the other, he was sure of it…
…But he just wasn't quite ready to admit to himself that he already knew the answer. He always knew the answer.
Just because he wanted her to be different, just because he felt that she was different… None of that meant that she really was different than any of the others. She would end up hating him, he knew it, just like everyone else had. Like his parents, his friends, his lovers and paramours…
He clenched his jaw so he wouldn't think of Addison, and focused on what Thatcher Grey was saying. It does no good to dwell on what is past, he reminded himself, most like for the hundredth time. He waited in vain for the message to sink in. It was only when he centered his gaze on Alexandra's that he forgot about her. Involuntarily, he felt a smile take shape on his lips.
Maybe this marriage would be good for something after all.
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"I know you have already met, but…" Thatcher paused, sweeping an arm towards his daughter. "Marcus Sloan, may I present my daughter, Alexandra?"
Her father said what should have been a statement as a question, but that didn't bother Alexandra. To her, it somehow still seemed that everything was still writ in sand and not yet in stone, so the uncertainty of a question felt welcome. She kept her eyes lowered to the ground as she curtsied deeply, wondering when it would all become real. She hoped it would happen before they were standing side-by-side at the altar. By then, it would all be too late.
"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Alexandra." He paused, and the edge of his mouth turned up in what might've been a half-smile. She hoped he wasn't thinking of how she'd lied to him; she hoped she was imagining his emphasis on her name. "Again," he added after a moment.
She tried to smile, but she was sure it only came out a grimace. "And yours," she replied politely, trying not to let her voice shake. She took as deep a breath she could, realizing that shaking was not an option anymore. Neither was hesitating. She was not scared, not worried, not apprehensive. She was the oldest now and she would be brave.
As if on cue, her little sister took that moment to casually walk past the threshold—no doubt hoping to be spotted and introduced—and was rewarded.
"Ah, Laura," Thatcher called, and Alexandra immediately felt flushed with embarrassment. Not now, she thought, her eyes flying to her father's so they didn't have to meet his. Why now? "There's a guest I'd like you to meet, dear."
The girl smiled, pleased with herself, and walked up. She halted by her sister's side, just brushing her arm against Alexandra's as she curtsied. "Hello, sir."
Alexandra stared at the ground as her father made introductions again, but finally managed to look up at their visitor just as he was straightening up. There was something playing in his eyes when he looked at her, and wondered with a crafty smirk, "So this is Laura?"
Alexandra bit the inside of her lip hard, almost hard enough to draw blood, and hoped her cheeks didn't blush redder (though she knew they did). "This is my younger sister," she managed to reply, ignoring his implication and avoiding his eyes.
"I'm happy to meet you finally," Laura smiled, sounding much more eager than Alexandra herself had at the very same prospect. She took another steadying breath as the man she would marry responded with polite words. She could feel his eyes on her while he spoke.
Luckily, her father intervened a moment later. He shepherded her sister aside and indoors, all the while remarking on how beautiful a day it was. Alexandra knew it was a cue that she was to spend some time with their guest on a stroll of some sort, but the idea was so unappealing she had half a mind to run inside herself. But she knew that wasn't an option. Steeling herself, she leveled her eyes with his and tried not to flinch away. She was, once again, completely awestruck by him, and unable to understand all the thoughts and feelings whizzing through her mind. One moment she was sure she wanted nothing to do with him, and the next, she wouldn't have minded if they were to spend hours and hours alone.
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She was not an easy person to read.
Right now it was simply amusing not to be able to figure her out, like a game… But part of him wondered when the novelty of such a game and its person would wear off and the annoyance and frustration would set in. For now, though, he smiled and offered his arm to her. "Shall we?"
She took his arm wordlessly, and the two set off around the side of the Grey's home. He didn't know if she didn't want to speak or simply didn't know what to say, so he began with the simplicities.
"I'm sure you're very aware of the fact that we're to be married." She stared straight ahead as she nodded, denying him a verbal response. He bit back a sigh, wondering if he'd have to force her to speak, force her to even look at him. "Well… Is there anything you'd like to ask me before then?"
That drew her attention. Her head turned completely to the side to look at him, and then a moment later—as if she'd realized what she'd done—she quickly faced forward again.
Obviously she had something more than that one elusive lie that she felt the need to hide from him.
He did sigh this time, and realized that if she was ever going to speak, he would indeed have to force her by posing direct questions. "You were married before?"
"Betrothed." Her correction came immediately, and oddly, a bit strongly. Her voice softened, though, when she repeated the word. "I was betrothed," she replied. "Not married."
Marcus nodded, remembering now. He frowned slightly—it had been stupid of him to assume that she was a widow. Derek had told him of her circumstances, he just hadn't remembered.
"He died," she continued, her voice sounding strangely dethatched. He pondered over her tone for a moment before recalling wholly his conversation with Derek. She hadn't really known the man, Derek had said. Therefore it wasn't surprising that she wouldn't sound grief-stricken anymore, not this long after the war…
But he had to be sure. He couldn't allow her into his life while she was still nursing old wounds… no matter how much of a hypocrite such a demand made him.
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His next question took Alexandra completely by surprise, and try as she might, she couldn't help but stare at him in shock as he asked, "Was there feeling?"
Feeling? She took a breath, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. Yes. It felt very much like her heart had risen in her chest and was attempted to escape out her mouth. Suddenly, she felt his eyes on her, more intense than before. She met them, and her feet faltered to a stop. There was no choice but to tell the truth. She couldn't lie, not again, not about this. She knew, somehow, that if she did lie… he would know. His blue eyes pierced through her, and seemed to read her mind and know her soul as the Father and Mother Above did. She held her breath. She had no idea how she would do this everyday: look into his eyes and speak.
Nonetheless, she forced herself to do so now, hoping it might become easier with time. "S—Some. We… We met once."
He nodded once, curt, before turning away. He continued walking, and she could do naught but stare at him, confused by his response. She remembered her feet soon, and hastened to catch up. His strides were long and powerful, even on what should be a leisurely walk. She was nearly sweating.
"What was he like?" He wondered suddenly.
Alexandra's eyes flew to his, surprised, but she quickly focused them forward again when she answered. Handsome, Alexandra almost said. But she caught herself—using such a word to describe what George had been, as callous as it might make her, would be an insult to the man standing before her now. "Plain," she managed finally. "But kind, he had a kind face, and a kind demeanor. He…" She took a breath, but found that, strangely, speaking of George didn't twist at her heart or bring tears to her eyes anymore. She almost caught herself smiling as she told him, "He was from three villages over. We'd never met before… The second he saw me, he proposed."
What a lackwit, Marcus might've thought… if only it were any other woman in the world talking. As things stood now, he couldn't blame this George for proposing on the spot. I would've, he thought to himself with the ghost of a smile just barely tipping up the corners of his lips. It took a second. I did.
"So you see…" She hastened to explain and do away with the silence between them. She didn't want him thinking over this anymore than was absolutely necessary. "You won't—won't be marrying a widow." She didn't know why she felt the need to make this clear—to make him understand that she and George had been nothing more than two children promised to one another—but she just had to tell him. "Just, just a girl who's betrothed saw his Final Day sooner than she saw hers, that's who you'll be marrying." If you don't want to walk away right now, that is.
"I know whom I'm marrying." His cool voice made something lodge in her throat, and she wondered briefly what sins she had, in his eyes, that she must atone for. We weren't married, she wanted to tell him again. We didn't do anything. We never even kissed. But then his tone softened, and when he looked at her, he seemed a different person. "Do you know whom you're marrying?"
No was the obvious answer. No was the correct answer. But she couldn't say no. She took a breath. "Yes, of course."
She could swear he almost smiled. His blue eyes seemed to dance for a moment, amused. He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "Do you, truly?"
"Yes." She was proud for sounding more confident this time, but of course that only backfired.
"When was I born, then?"
She stared at him, dumfounded. If he were a gentleman, he would not press me so. He knows I do not know him.
He looked to be taunting her as he asked, "You said you knew me, well… When was I born?"
"In…" She bit her lip, struggling for a time or date or month. "Winter," she finally settled on, too nervous not to answer. "In the winter."
His mouth twitched just momentarily into a smirk at her evasion, but he quickly continued instead of commenting. "How old am I?"
"Old," she replied immediately, hoping her confident rush would distract him from the fact that she hadn't offered a concrete answer to any of his questions yet. A second too late she realized her mistake.
"Old?" He laughed aloud, his wide grin mocking her as his blue eyes danced with amusement.
She couldn't help blushing at her error, but she managed to smile a little in return, stammering, "I—I meant to say 'older.' Older. You are older than, than me. Older," she repeated again, as if the word needed to be said a fourth time for him to hear it.
He did smile now, wide and full, and it nearly took her breath away. She had not seen many well-bred men recently; not only did he have all his teeth, each was perfectly straight and very white. Despite herself, Alexandra thought that she could get used to seeing him smile. "Of course that's what you meant, I have no doubt." He regarded her for a moment, and the smile faded. She wondered how she could call it back, but he had already moved on. "What is my middle name?"
Alexandra wracked her brain. She could say any name, she knew, but she wanted one that would fit. Eventually, she just gave up, unable to find one, and replied quietly, "I do not know, my lord."
"So you admit you do not know me?"
She swallowed, struggling to keep her calm. "We have only just met, as you well know." She glanced at him. "But… There is plenty of time for us to get to know each other after we are wed. We don't need to know everything about each other now."
He studied her for a moment, digesting her words. Something about the way she said them bothered him. They were too stilted, as if she were reciting them on command. He frowned, but returned quietly, without protest, "That is true."
She licked her lips, staring at him. He had been studying her for too long and she didn't know why. Before she could venture a guess, though, he began walking again, and she had to rush to keep up. He was talking before she could even catch her breath.
"Well, to answer my own questions, as I'm sure you're curious…" That smile flashed across his face for a split second, and then was gone as he continued: "I was born in the spring, actually, not the winter. On the twenty-third day of April. As of this moment, that makes me thirty-and-three." He paused, looking over at her, and slowing his gait a bit. "Answer the same about yourself." When she hesitated, he nodded towards her. "Go on," he added, and she knew the encouragement was more an order than a request.
Alexandra took a breath, studying her feet as she spoke, and watching the ground pass beneath them. "I was born on the fifth day of December, the last month before the year turns. I'll be twenty the next time my name day comes." She drew another breath. "My middle name is Caroline. It was my grandmother's name, on my mother's side." She paused, looking up finally and meeting his eyes. "You never told me your middle name."
Half of his mouth turned up in a close-lipped smile. "No, I did not."
Something in the finality of his tone told her not to ask, but still she noted, "I told you mine."
"You did."
"And you're still not going to tell me yours?" She wondered, getting a little annoyed at the evasion. How hard is it to tell someone your middle name?
"You still won't tell me why you lied to me when we met," he shot back.
Color rose to her cheeks as she immediately looked away to save herself further embarrassment. "It was nothing," she mumbled into the breeze.
He waited until she looked back at him to inform her, "Still, I'd like to know." His serious voice matched his ever-serious eyes, and for a moment she really thought about telling him. But the humiliation she knew she would endure for admitting the truth was just too much. So instead, she focused on what else he'd divulged about himself.
"You look younger than thirty-and-three," she admitted.
Interest flickered across his face at the change in subject, and after a moment, he replied, "Most would say I look older, not younger." He paused before adding, "And much older at that." Sighting the confusion on her face, he lifted a free hand to indicate his greying hair.
"I like your hair the way it is," she found herself admitting without sparing a moment for thought. She closed her eyes at once, hoping to force away the heat from her cheeks. They were no doubt flaming now. I'd been trying to escape humiliation, and instead I've walked right into it.
Only his voice made her open her eyes. They flew open in surprise when he spoke. "I like your hair, too," he replied quietly. Her shocked eyes barely had time to register the small smile on his face before he added, "Especially when you keep it down like that."
She couldn't think of what to say, so she simply said the first response that came to her, unable to withstand the silence. "I—I had it pinned up at the wedding."
"Yes, I saw."
She swallowed. He was there, idiot. "But you… like it like this?" Oh, that's even worse. Now I'm not only an idiot, but also horribly pathetic. She thought about calling back her words, but instead she waited, desperate for his answer… Gods know why I care what he thinks, but I care. I really, really care. She tried not to let that scare her.
"I do." He paused then, and dropped her arm as he turned to face her. As he stood just two feet away from her, Alexandra could feel her heart begin beating faster in her chest; it sounded as loud as a drum and she wondered if he could hear it too. She suddenly had the insane idea that he might kiss her.
He wouldn't, she told herself, all the while feeling her breaths become shallower at the prospect. She tried to ignore the part of her that wanted it to happen, the part of her that wanted more from him, the part of her that wanted him…
"How do you like autumn?"
She stared at him, trying not to gape. What? She blinked, not seeing the connection. He speaks of liking my hair and then wonders what I think of the fall? "I… like it," she replied, not having any idea what to say or why he'd asked or even if that was, indeed, the correct response.
But he nodded to himself at her answer, and seemed to look pleased. A minute later everything was illuminated. "I was thinking, if it pleased you as well… that we'd have the wedding then." She felt her breath catch in her throat, but she struggled not to let her surprise show on her face. He was watching her intently, ready to take in anything and everything that she might let slip.
She couldn't falter here, so she simply replied, "I would like that." It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that she realized they weren't a lie. The realization brought a small, unsure smile to her lips. She knew she should be questioning her judgment here—questioning why and how he made her feel like this about their wedding, one which she had been previously dreading for weeks—but she couldn't. Not now. Not while he was smiling back at her, and stepping closer, and now—
Her breath truly caught in her throat now. He was close, so close, so much closer than he had ever been before… He would kiss her. She didn't know why she was so certain, but she was suddenly completely sure of that fact. He had to, and he would. She felt excitement coil her body tight, twisting her intestines into a spring.
As he bent forward, she thought about leaning up to meet him, but she found she was too frozen in shock to prepare herself. She could barely understand her own excitement; acting on it seemed out of the question. So she simply waited as he leaned down towards her. Afterwards, she would be grateful for this stall; if she had followed that first instinct it would have only made things worse, she was certain to think later.
As it turned out, his lips had not been aiming for hers… But merely dipping down to touch the back of her hand again, as they had the night of Meredith and Derek's wedding. She swallowed her nerves as his mouth brushed across her skin in a soft kiss, and tried to beat back startlingly high levels of disappointment that were rising within her. Where was all this coming from? She wondered, fear seeping into her disappointment. She couldn't understand where her mind was going, what her body was craving, or where all her thoughts were coming from. Why did he have to confuse everything?
She struggled to clear her expression by the time he straightened up. "I will see you in the fall, then," he told her.
She swallowed. "Yes," she managed to confirm, "the fall."
He spared her another small smile, just for a second or two, and then walked away. She watched him go, curious as to where he was headed, before she realized where they were. Without her knowledge, he had somehow brought them full circle—and was now boarding the carriage that would take him back to wherever his home was.
As she watched the young coachman reach forward to shut the door behind his master, she suddenly had the very strange urge to run forward, to call out his name. She held herself back, of course, but only just barely. Her need for more contact with him had started to simmer within her after this meeting—she wondered if it would rise to a boiling point between now and autumn. She hoped not. Nonetheless, she thought it would be best to immerse herself in wedding plans until then; hopefully keeping her mind and body preoccupied would leave little space for him.
But there was part of her—an admittedly very large part, if Alexandra was being honest with herself—that was certain he'd find a way to insert himself into her life, even when he was nowhere to be seen.
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Alexandra laid awake abed that night, long after Laura's hours-long questioning had ceased and her father's polite remarks had been heard. She had been right, earlier, when she'd predicted that he would find a way to insert himself into her life—she couldn't stop thinking about him, and it had been hours and hours since he'd left. She marveled at how different it would be for them after they were wed. He would be near all the time… At least now she had the excuses of distance and impropriety to keep them away from each other… But when there was nothing that separated them, truly nothing, how would things change?
She closed her eyes, thinking back on their meeting. It had been fairly short, all things considered. She had gone over it time and time again, now she had every moment memorized, even the embarrassing ones. She recalled the start of their encounter, reviewing it once again. It was the only thing that might be able to lull her to sleep… But it was also the only thing that kept her wide awake.
'You were married before?' She remembered hearing him inquire. It was the first question he'd asked, and she could almost hear his voice—he kept it soft and low, as if aware what sort of sensitive subject he was broaching. She had just been trying to get over his looks then—not that she was convinced that she would ever be able to get over his looks—and then his voice had gone and seduced her all over again.
Alexandra shut her eyes tight, smacking her head back against the pillow beneath her. She tried to suppress the smile that curved up her lips as she thought of him, but it was impossible. They'd gotten along today. They'd really gotten along, and for the first time since her father had told her of George's death, Alexandra could start to see how she might be able to create a life with someone else. With him, even.
Alexandra sighed to herself, wondering for the millionth time why he was interested in her, of all people. She did not have money. She did not have a title. She did not have looks or even a proper figure. Alexandra sighed, lifting a hand to cover her eyes and making the darkness in her room ever darker. Perhaps he has scared away every other woman on the face of the earth, she mused, entertained for a moment before she remembered her sister's comments about his whoring. Or had them already, most like, she amended, her thoughts turning dark and inhospitable. I'm the only thing left that's new and untouched, and men always like to be the first to touch something no one else has and claim it as their own.
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, as if hoping doing so might erase her doubts. I was happy with him a moment ago, she thought desperately to herself. Why did that all have to go away?
Because you won't stop second-guessing yourself, she could hear that Meredith-like voice tell her. Leave yourself alone, let come what may, and you will always find a way to be happy.
Alexandra didn't feel very happy just now. Again, for what must be the hundredth time, she wished her sister hadn't gone off and married that tiresome Shepherd man. It wasn't that she didn't want them to be happy—she loved seeing Meredith happy… though she couldn't quite give a fig for Derek's happiness—but she just wanted her sister back. These were not things that she could speak to Laura about, no matter how caring or "understanding" her child-like sister was. She just didn't have the experience that Meredith had, and experience—above everything else—was what Alexandra craved.
It was impossible, of course, to be experienced.
If she had married George then, yes, probably, she would have some experience. Then she might not be a maiden anymore, then she might've kissed a man. But she hadn't married George. She hadn't married anyone; she never come close to marrying anyone after George. Not until him.
Alexandra took a long breath, remembering how she'd ached for him to kiss her just before he'd left. She remembered how she'd thought to lean forward as he bent down—looking back, she couldn't even remember where that instinct came from. She supposed it was just that—instinct—and she found herself half-wishing that she'd followed it. Then maybe they would've kissed.
She let that regret fester—as she let every regret—and fell asleep with it still gnawing at her. She rose early, unfortunately, just as the sun was warming her room to a near-uncomfortable heat. As she got to her feet and Sarah helped her dress for another boring and commonplace day, Alexandra began to wonder if he would visit again. It was all empty hopes, though, she knew, for if the wedding wasn't far off, he had just as many preparations to go through as she did. She remembered hearing her father mention that the ride to bring him here had taken hours, just one way… Alexandra was more than certain that he wouldn't make such a trip again simply to see her. She knew he must have more important things to do.
Interestingly enough, as it turned out, she did too. The next weeks and months were completely devoted to planning the wedding. Though it would not be as widely attended nor as large as her sister's had been, that did not mean that there was that much less work to do. She had to have all of her affairs in order—her clothes, books, furniture, anything that she might want to take to her new home—packed and shipped just days before their wedding.
While the days passed, and then the weeks and months too, she was interested to discover that he never diminished accordingly in her mind. He was always there—sometimes lurking in the back of her mind, sometimes grinning just behind her eyelids… And even if she had wanted to get rid of him, she wasn't sure she'd be able to. When she was in a mood to admit it, she could be happy they were arranged to be married—at least she had a proper excuse for him always being on her mind.
That first morning after he'd visited, he truly was always on her mind, each and every moment. So much so that, when Sarah reached into a nearby bowl on her dresser to pin up her mistress' hair, Alexandra stilled her with one word. "Don't."
The servant girl turned to her, quietly surprised. "My lady?" She wondered politely. The brunette usually always liked to keep her hair pinned up, the girl knew. It the flyaway strands out of her face and the bulk of her long, dark and heavy hair off her back and shoulders.
She met her maid's eyes in the mirror and gave her the smallest, most tentative smile. "I'd like to keep my hair down today."
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Author's Note: Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you all for reading!
