Chapter 21:
FFN Author's Note:
slexiefeels: Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad you're liking this story, especially after such a long break. (I'm grateful you're still sticking with Touch Me as well!) Aw, and thank you so much. That means so much that you think so highly of my writing; again, thank you. Meredith and Derek will definitely be involved in this story-and a few others I'm concocting! :) Thank you for your review!
Olimpia: I am so happy you liked the last chapter! I was hoping it would be well-received. Some of the parts you pointed out were my favorite to write, especially the moment where he wonders if he's falling in love with Alexandra. :) PS: I was happy to mention you in the last author's note, as well as in this one. I love seeing your reviews. :) I hope you had a fantastic holiday. Thank you so much for reading!
Summary: All of this was happening too fast. He didn't want a wife. He'd never wanted a wife. But he wanted her.
Disclaimer: I own Marcus and Alexandra.
Rating: M
Author's Note: I am so happy to be returning to Out of My Hands again!I always forget how much I love writing this story when I work on something else, and I have sorely missed the world of Marcus and Alexandra. This chapter was especially fun to write. Please enjoy! :)
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Alexandra did not want to wake up.
She was having the most wonderful dream, and she was in no rush to leave it behind. In it, she had done something extraordinary, something almost unbelievable—she had reconciled with her husband. Not only that, she had told him of her fantasies, her lurid thoughts and desires and he had not condemned her for such nor told her to repent for what she was sure had been sins. He had been willing to hear what she wanted and even went so far as to make it a reality. It had been like heaven.
Alexandra never wanted to leave that dream world, that paradise where she got everything she'd wanted these past few months. No, she didn't want to leave. She didn't want to wake up, alone. She didn't want to eat breakfast, alone. She didn't want to do anything alone anymore, not when she'd spent such time with him.
But nonetheless, she could feel herself slipping away from the dream. She was slowly coming back to herself: she could feel the cool sheets covering her body, the plush pillow against her face, and the comfortable mattress beneath her body. Even with all those feelings, she strained to hold onto the dream, to remember his gentle touches and consuming kisses. She wanted to hold onto him for as long as she could.
Finally, though, it was time for her to wake up. She did so with silent resignation, blinking into the bright sunlight that was streaming in through the windows. It took her a few moments for her eyes to adjust before she slowly propped herself up in bed, yawning as she did so. Her body felt curiously stiff and overtired, though she couldn't imagine why. She was just about to look around the room for Grace and Dorthea when her eyes wandered just a mere foot to her left and promptly froze in place.
There he was.
Her whole body trembled at the sight of him, her mind suddenly flooded with memories. She realized, beneath the onslaught of remembrances, that what she'd thought was a dream just before waking had, in fact, been a series of memories, played over and over within her sleeping mind. Even in sleep, her mind was forever unwilling to forget him.
"It wasn't a dream," she said at once, her wide brown eyes filling with joy as they stared into his warm blue ones. He smiled slowly at her, and she felt happiness burst in her chest. Just that one smile told her that he didn't regret that last night and that was all she'd ever hoped for: no regrets.
"Last night? No," he shook his head, still smiling. "It wasn't a dream."
Her eyes took a moment to roam over his now-familiar frame, and she couldn't be more grateful that she was able to remember the way his arms felt wrapped around her, and the way his beard scratched her skin wherever he kissed her. Since the morning after their marriage early in the fall, Alexandra thought she'd only ever have the memories of their wedding night to subsist on. It had been a wonderful night, yes, but it had always marked the start of his disappearance from her life. She couldn't be happier that she had new memories to accompany her thoughts; new memories, she now knew, that would be eclipsed by others as time went by. For one of the few times ever, Alexandra couldn't wait to go to bed with her husband again.
She looked over at him now, her eyes tracing over every feature of his face, and still she could hardly process it. He was here, in bed, waiting for her when she awoke. She had never been to heaven, only heard tales from older women in the village and priests at mass… She wondered if this would be her heaven when she died: waking up each morning to find her husband there, waiting for her with a smile on his face. If so, such a paradise could not come quick enough.
For now, she happily settled herself inside her comfortable reality.
"You're here," she stated the obvious in a half-whisper, like such an observation was a cherished secret. And, for Alexandra, it was. He had never before stayed beside her in bed long enough for her to wake up and have him be the first thing she saw. It felt like a miracle.
"I am," her husband replied, a smile playing on the edges of his mouth. He clearly didn't see this morning as momentous as she did, but Alexandra didn't mind. Just because it mattered to her did not mean it had to matter to him as well. It was enough that he was here, enough that he was happy to be here.
Her voice was scratchy when she managed to tell him, "You can't possibly imagine what that means to me." She hadn't meant to say the words—lest he draw the conclusion for himself and take his previous behavior as unwanted by her—but as the seconds passed, she couldn't hold them in anymore. She had to let him know, just once, what this morning meant to her, what his presence here meant to her. She cleared her throat, blinking hard to dispel the tears that had begun gathering in her eyelids. "Thank you," she finished in a whisper.
He smiled faintly, but tilted his head in confusion. He didn't know what she was talking about.
Alexandra shook her head before she could ask. "It's nothing," she assured him. She didn't like to lie to him, but she knew she wasn't ready to explain. Maybe later, she told herself, knowing full well that later would probably never come. It didn't much matter. Some secrets were meant for one's self only.
Starting at him, seeing the happiness still in his eyes from when they'd spoken of the previous night only briefly, Alexandra suddenly wanted to kiss him. Badly. All of the memories she'd thought were figments of her imagination were rapidly lining up in her mind, creating a full and real picture of the last twenty-four hours. She remembered their dance, her own desertion, their twin confessions and resulting kiss… She remembered how he'd pleasured her even before they'd made it back to castle, and how many times he'd then multiplied that pleasure within its walls. She remembered her body shaking and books falling from the shelves, and suddenly she wasn't sure if she could hold back from kissing him any longer.
Thankfully, before she was forced to figure out how to make a move herself, he leaned forward and covered her lips with his. Alexandra sighed automatically into the kiss, relieved, but with his mouth on top of hers it sounded much like a moan. Marcus took the noise as encouragement, and though her eyes were closed in early-morning bliss, she could still feel him maneuvering above her. Her hands, which had been still at her sides, rose at once to hang onto his shoulders. They were bare, rounded, and—like most of his body—hardened beneath the skin with muscle but softened at the surface by a lavish, sedentary, and comfortable life.
One of her hands slipped past his neck, and she splayed her fingers through the hairs of his rough beard as she cupped his cheek. The short hairs on his face scratched the skin of her chin, lips, and the space between her nose and mouth as they kissed, but Alexandra didn't mind. In truth, she had grown—in a very short period of time—to quite enjoy the scratchiness of his beard against her skin. She knew she should probably worry about her complexion, about her perfect porcelain skin being marred by such deep, probing kisses and the chafing that resulted, but Alexandra couldn't find it in herself to care at the moment. She never cared about anything but his lips when they were on hers.
Her hand that had hung onto his shoulder moved to the middle of his back, pressing there and silently directing him to come closer. He obliged, and when he brought his body flush against hers, she could feel the hardness of his member and she knew right then that she needed it, needed him. Before it had been simple want—she always wanted him—but now that she could feel the outline of his manhood against her thigh and feel the scrape of his kiss against her chin, she knew she needed him inside her. She would not settle for anything else, and—she hoped, guessed—that he wouldn't either.
His lips left hers slowly, making a trail of kisses down her face, her neck. Alexandra's breathing was loud and fast—labored from their long and involved kisses—and her lungs were desperate for the air that they'd been denied, but when his mouth began nearing her breasts, her breath stopped entirely for a moment.
She hadn't even realized she'd awoken naked. She searched her memory, but all she could remember wearing last night after he'd undressed her was that sheet she'd kept wrapped around her body. Her eyes flew around the room now, searching for it, before remembering that it was most likely the thing that was tangling her ankles together.
And then it suddenly hit her: She and her husband had slept beside one another completely naked last night.
Her cheeks were hot and colored with a deep pink hue when she looked down at him.
His chin was resting between the small twin swells of her breasts, but his eyes were on hers. "Have I embarrassed you again?" He wondered aloud, his hand seemingly absentmindedly reaching for and curling with her own.
Alexandra felt her heartbeat pick up; she hoped he couldn't feel it, too. They were naked, yes, but in actuality, he was doing no more than holding her hand. She had no reason to get so excited over something so small. Sometimes she got the feeling he was mocking her in his mind, and she didn't want to feed more fodder to the fire. She knew her heart was easily won over; she didn't need him to laugh or comment about it.
"I seem to be doing that a lot recently," he continued, seemingly oblivious to her change in heart rate. "Embarrassing you, that is." And then that smirk was back on his face and Alexandra knew the only way she could attempt to save face was to explain. Unfortunately, even the explanation was embarrassing. She wondered again if she would ever be completely comfortable around him.
"I awoke without a nightgown on," she explained quietly, hating the fact that her cheeks flamed as she spoke. She wished she wasn't so easily chagrined; she wished she could be more like Meredith with her bold looks and big laugh and confidence in everything from conversing with a man to sharing a bed with one.
"And do you think I pulled one off you in the middle of the night?" Her husband's mocking grin now accompanied his voice, and Alexandra had to close her eyes to compose herself.
"No," she replied after she'd taken a moment to breathe. Her eyes found his once they were opened, though from the slight up-turn of her lips, Marcus could tell she was still nearly just as shy as she'd been the night of their wedding. "I remember last night."
"All of it?" He wondered, letting go of her hands and cupping her thin, slanting body within his palms.
Alexandra gasped softly as his hands slid down her sides to cup the small mounds that were—unfortunately—her completely developed breasts. Though she tried to keep her eyes open, they flickered closed as his mere touch brought her such incomprehensible pleasure. She would never understand how the slightest touch of her husband's hand on her breasts made her as aroused as it did. It wasn't as if he were touching that incredibly sensitive spot between her thighs, but at times, it almost felt like he was when his hands were on her breasts. "Ma-ark," she whispered, moaned really, as his thumbs dragged across her sensitive nipples. They hardened at once into small, pert nubs. "Oh, please…"
"There she is." Alexandra fumbled her eyes open, and when she looked down at him now, it was not ridicule she saw in his smile but… almost… affection. Paired with amusement, of course. "I was wondering where my wanton little wife from last night had gotten to. I was worried she'd disappeared forever."
As he knew she would, Alexandra turned red as a beet at that comment. She opened her mouth to reply, but left it hanging in an outraged 'O,' not having anything to say to such a comment. Marcus gave her a small smile, informing her, "I meant it as a compliment, Alexandra," before pressing a kiss between her breasts.
Alexandra wanted to reply—to reprimand him for saying such a thing; she was his wife, after all, she deserved some respect—but she couldn't find the right words. She could barely find any words, in fact, and those few words that she grabbed ahold of in her mind soon flittered away once he returned his attentions back to her body in earnest.
His thumbs and forefingers returned to her breasts with haste. Alexandra had never thought having someone touch her breasts in that way—plucking her nipples with gentle strength—would be so pleasing, but it was. She wondered how he had learned so quickly that she enjoyed how he played with her breasts so. Soft moans escaped her mouth instead of breaths now, and though they were low and quiet, Alexandra could tell by his firmer, but still light, hold on her nipples, that he wanted to increase her pleasure. He wanted to hear her moan at full volume, like she had last night in bed.
Alexandra shut her eyes, her back arching up from the goose-feather mattress as he went back to palming her breasts instead of attending to her aching nipples. She couldn't believe that it had only been last night that he'd pleasured her so. She smiled reflexively, remembering. How had she done that, told him of her fantasies and asked him to act one out with her? Had she been insane? No. Drunk? Not enough. Was she simply that emboldened by privacy and darkness? Possibly. Whatever the answer, Alexandra was thankful that time was behind them.
She didn't know if she could be so bold again.
Her mind suddenly raced ahead, thinking of tonight. He wouldn't expect her to be so… so wanton again tonight, would he? Did he understand that last night had been a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence? Alexandra guessed he probably didn't. He didn't know her any better than she knew him, and the only time they'd spent together that he could draw her character from was last night. She figured he was the sort of man who always managed to get what he wanted out of women, but Alexandra didn't think she could be that sort of woman. He could manipulate her with touches and kisses to do nearly anything, but last night had been something so different altogether. She didn't think she could act like that again. She hoped he wasn't expecting it.
"You think too much," her husband whispered against her neck, his hot breath heating her already flushed skin and bringing her back to the present. "It makes me wonder if you aren't as interested in this as I am."
Alexandra's eyes went wide as she twisted her neck back so she could look at him. "No!" She protested at once, not wanting at all to have given that impression. "My lord, please, I am, I promise. M—My mind, it just, it wandered—"
He silenced her with a single finger against her swollen red lips. "Alexandra," he began slowly, "I was teasing." He paused, and Alexandra swallowed worriedly as she saw a frown disrupt the previous cheer on his face. "And I believe we had a conversation about titles," he added, fixing her with that penetrating stare.
Alexandra's tongue snaked out to wet her lips nervously as she bowed her head. "Of course," she whispered quietly. "We did."
When she managed to look back up, he was still fixing her with that serious stare. She remember too late what else they'd had a conversation about—the level of her voice and the aversion of her eyes. She hadn't done either of the things he'd asked of her.
"I apologize," she told him, her voice soft but not too soft, as she forced herself to look him right in the eyes. Though it was tough to do, she resisted the urge to look back down as she added, "I hadn't meant to; I'm sorry."
Marcus cupped her cheek, pressing a light kiss to her lips. He pulled away before she could kiss back. "I don't want you to apologize," he told her.
Alexandra had to bite down on her tongue hard so she wouldn't say "I'm sorry" again. "All right," she replied meekly instead, obedient as ever. Ofttimes, she couldn't help it. It was in her nature to apologize for the wrongs around her, even if they weren't her own. She silently swore that she would change, however, for she knew he didn't like or appreciate it, and if she wanted to be anything in life, it was a good wife to her husband.
Slowly, she trailed the fingers of her left hand up his side, leaving her hand resting on his muscular shoulder. He turned his head when he felt the warmth of her small palm against his broad shoulder. At once, he spotted her gold wedding band on her hand, and, surprising even himself, he smiled. Alexandra watched him, feeling her chest tighten with happiness so acute that it strangely felt like pain. She stayed silent as he bent over to kiss the ring on her finger, but tilted her hand so it would be easier for him to reach. With the sun streaming into the room from the window, the ring glowed in the morning light.
Slowly, he turned his head back to hers. He spent a long moment staring into her eyes before noting, with that suggestive grin he wore so often, "I think we've talked long enough."
Though she didn't say, Alexandra couldn't agree more. Her womanly center had been yearning for him since before she'd even awoken, and though she'd wanted many times to beg him to have her, she knew she couldn't. Even in a bed as, well, changeable as theirs, she was aware there were modes of propriety she had to employ.
Again, she thought of Meredith, wondering after her relationship with Derek. Did those two ever maintain any respectable airs between one another? Or did they simply go about their days naked, announcing the moment it struck them that they wanted one another, and following through with it wherever they happened to be? It certainly seemed like that was what they did. Alexandra wouldn't put it past her bold older sister, and—she surprised herself by laughing softly at the thought of him—she wouldn't exactly put it past Derek, either. She remembered when she'd nearly walked in on their private moment at their own wedding party with another laugh. She'd had a feeling for a long while now that the two drove each other on, with one always wanting to get the better of the other. Alexandra had no doubts now that such behavior existed within the confines of their bedroom as well… or within whatever room they chose to make their bedroom.
"What are you giggling about there?" Her husband wondered, the words floating up from between his lips, which were currently attached to her neck.
"Derek," Lexie replied at once, unable to lie and knowing he wouldn't tolerate it otherwise.
Marcus lifted his head from the crook of her shoulder at once, staring down at her with his eyebrows furrowed. Alexandra realized with private pride that she would've cowered from such a look just a few months ago. Now it almost made her smile. "Derek?" Her husband repeated, understandably not grasping what she was alluding to. "Why are you thinking about him when we're—" He broke off suddenly, his mouth hanging slightly open, and Alexandra couldn't help but be shocked. She couldn't remember a time when he was speechless, nevertheless when concerning a topic inside the bedroom.
"I was just thinking about him and my sister Meredith," Alexandra replied, deciding to take the high road and not tease him. She silently hoped he would take her example to heart, though she greatly doubted that he had even noticed. "And if… Well, honestly, I wondered if their… bedroom habits… were like ours."
Marcus grinned at once, understanding immediately. Though he hadn't thought about it before, he wasn't at all surprised that Alexandra had an idea of how often those two stripped each other naked for pleasure. For being such a model son, it surprised and entertained Marcus to no end how free he'd become with himself since meeting—and now wedding—Meredith. He was certainly a lot more fun, Marcus smirked to himself, now that he was getting regular sex.
"I don't know if they take each other in the Shepherd's library," Marcus smirked after a moment, causing a light blush to color Alexandra's cheeks, "but I'm sure you've noticed how… active," his eyebrows moved suggestively, "those two can be."
Even though Alexandra tried to be as confident as her elder sister as she propositioned her husband, a blush spread over her cheeks, ruining the effect of her would-be-bold words. "Do you think we're just as active?"
Her fumbling temptation didn't even faze him. If anything, Alexandra thought with surprise as he moved forward, it only aroused him more. She could practically see the lust glaze over his eyes before his hands were grappling with her body and his lips were all but swallowing hers.
One of his hands got tangled in her messy dark hair as he tried to cup her neck and bring her mouth closer to his, but neither cared. Even when he ended up tugging roughly on the strands wrapped around his fingers in frustration for getting his hand caught, all Alexandra could feel was pleasure… most likely due to the location of his other hand.
While his first was busy getting accidentally tangled in his hair, the second had made a beeline for the apex of her thighs—and what lay hidden there. Marcus couldn't help but grunt aloud into their kiss when he first touched her. They had spent a long while wasting their morning arousal with words; he hadn't expected her to be as wet as she was after all that. But she was; gods, was she wet. It made him wonder, idly, if she'd been this wet when she woke up. He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he kissed her. Ever since she'd told him how she'd fantasized after him, he hadn't been able to forget about it. He wondered if she'd had any more naughty thoughts last night, and if she did, whether she'd ask him to re-enact any of them. He was more than willing to do so.
Alexandra pulled her mouth from his when she felt his fingers push their way inside her tight opening, his name escaping her breathless lips in a desperate gasp. "Marcus!"
His lips twitched upwards, and he kissed her lips briefly before lower his head to her neck and sucking the pale skin there.
"Mm," she whimpered, her body already rocking against his hand. Her hands clutched his shoulders in a death grip. "More," she whispered, surprising even herself. After the many rounds they'd had last night, she thought her womanly place would be sore in the morning. But all she felt down there was starvation. All she wanted was more of him. Hair of the dog that bit, I suppose, she found herself thinking with a smile. If it was true—if the way to cure her aches and pains was last night was to have more of him inside her, she would gratefully take it.
"Please, Marcus," she moaned as his fingers pushed in and out of her, "I want…" She trailed off, not being able to say it.
"I know," he whispered in her ear, delighting in the way she shivered when his lips brushed against her lobe. "I know what you want." He grazed his teeth over the edge of her earlobe, loving the sharp gasp she gave off at the action.
He withdrew his fingers from her then, carefully spreading her slick folds so he could push himself inside her without trouble. She was whimpering practically incoherently now, and Marcus couldn't help but take more than a little pride in that fact. He'd quickly come to love being able to render his usually babbling wife incapable of speech.
Once again, he pressed his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, waiting for confirmation. "Are you ready, dear?"
He could feel her nod vigorously. "Yes. Yes." Her hands moved from his shoulder to his head. They ran through his hair as if crazed—and, he supposed, she was a bit crazed when it their activities in the bedroom. They both were. Last night had proven that, when their wedding night had only hinted at such passion. Forcing in a deep breath, Marcus took care to slowly push himself inside her. Even though she was perfectly willing this morning, and had been last night, a voice in his head still warned him to be cautious. He never knew when he might cause her pain again.
And after last night, he knew it was more than likely that her body would have come away sore and delicate from their many sexual encounters. He didn't want to hurt her now and drive her away from him, scared. No, he would take his time with her, and make her feel good. He would not cause her any more pain.
When he finally pushed his length inside her, the sound that came out of her mouth, thankfully, was so far from pained. She cried out in pleasure, being overwhelmed at feeling him so fully there, in that place that had never been occupied by anyone or anything before she married him. Alexandra knew it was unseemly—wanton, like he'd said—but she couldn't help the way her back arched off the bed and the nickname she was still embarrassed for creating for him tore from between her lips. "MARK!"
Marcus merely grinned in response, grunting as he pushed himself fully inside her. After their activities last night, he certainly hadn't expected her to want him in the morning, let alone so enthusiastically. However, he grinned, pausing a moment inside of her to let her small, tight body adjust, it seems as if we have similar wants most of the time.
Her hands fisted in his hair, gripped his forearms, his shoulders, anywhere she could find purchase. "Please," she moaned, no longer caring how loud she was or how obscene she sounded. She needed him so much right now that nothing else in the world mattered. "More…"
He obliged her at once, sinking his hard member into her body as easily as a hot knife would pierce butter. She gasped aloud with each penetration, as if each was the first all over again, and soon enough her gasps gave way to one long, loud, and unbroken moan. Marcus kissed her—her cheeks, her neck, her mouth—but her lips barely responded to his. If her nails weren't practically drawing blood from beneath his skin with her tight grip and her inner walls weren't clutching his manhood so tight he was a second away from bursting, he might've thought she wasn't keen to participate. But all he had to do was open his ears and hear her cry out for him and he knew that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
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The little blonde girl jumped in place, her eyes flying to the older woman beside her. "Did you hear that?"
The brown-haired woman shook her head impatiently, being drawn out of her deep thoughts by the silly question, which she ignored. The girl was always hearing things that weren't there, or watching after butterflies as they flew over the grounds, or standing in shafts of sunlight so her hair would shine. All frivolous things that had no place while she was at work, things that always interrupted Dorthea's mental tally of the day's work ahead. "Will you get breakfast finished, already?" Dorthea glanced over her shoulder, her teeth nervously chewing on her lower lip, a bad habit she'd picked up from her mother as a child and never been quite able to shirk. "We're late. She's probably starving, stuck up there waiting for us."
It was late in the morning—only two hours away from noontime—and still her mistress had never come down for breakfast. Though Dorthea hadn't seen him, she suspected Lord Sloan had departed from the castle early; maybe before the sun rose as had become his custom recently. She sighed to herself, wondering privately how long the man was planning on ignoring his young wife. Sooner or later, he'd have to move on from whatever misgivings he had and take her to bed again. She wasn't pregnant now—Dorthea still remembered how subdued her mistress had looked the last time she wondered after rags for her bleeding—and she certainly wouldn't become pregnant, not without his help.
Grace finally finished assembling the platter, lifting it up and balancing it perfectly in her two hands like she'd been taught. "I'm ready," she announced proudly, a bright smiling lighting up her childlike face.
Dorthea spared a small returning smile for the girl. No matter how cross she got, that little girl's happy smile could always make her burdens less, if only for a moment. She bit down on her lip again, telling herself for the hundredth time not to get attached to the child. "Come on," she instructed, leading the girl out of the dining room and to the stairs even though she knew the way well enough by now. Grace had been insisting for days now that she could make the trip with the breakfast tray alone, but Dorthea had denied indulging such a practice. What if the one day the older handmaiden let the younger go alone, their mistresses needed her?
And besides, Dorthea comforted herself with fact, Grace is much too little to help Lady Alexandra with her dressing. But soon enough, Dorthea knew, the girl would grow taller and stronger and become a woman herself. Dorthea wondered, privately, what would become of the two when that time came. Who would stay and who would go? The older maid liked to think she had a special connection (albeit weak) with her mistress, but she had learned in her time that there really was no way to tell which way a noblewoman's affections would lean. Dorthea liked to believe her mistress would be kind enough to keep them both on, regardless of whether or not two handmaidens were necessary, but Dorthea knew those sorts of decisions were not left up to her. In the end, all she could really do was voice her opinion, if she could manage that much.
Dorthea frowned as she ascended the stairs a few steps behind her young protégé. She wondered what Lord Sloan would do with them when it was prudent to keep one over two. How would he know which to sack? He was barely ever in the castle for a few hours at a time these days. She was half-certain he had no idea what their job entailed, and even more certain that he didn't know their names. Could he fire her if he didn't know her name?
Dorthea shook her head, shoving the errant thoughts of her head. Her master could do whatever he wished, and if she was fired in favor of young Grace, than she was fired. She comforted herself with the fact that she still had a few more years to spend here before such a decision would be forced upon the two handmaidens.
She nearly tripped over the girl when she stopped halfway down the hallway. "Grace!" Dorthea hissed, struggling to right herself. "What are you—"
"You had to have heard that!"
"Hush," Dorthea snapped at once, for the girl's voice had been so much louder than it should've been. "Be quiet," she ordered, quickly crossing to the end of the hall and putting her hand on the doorknob of her mistress's bedroom. She had had enough of the girl's antics—she'd been commenting about errant noises for the last half-hour—and Dorthea simply wanted to feed and clothe her mistress and get the day on its way.
She turned the knob on the door, ushered the girl inside without a second glance, and then promptly stopped dead in her tracks at what she saw before her. Vaguely, as if from a far distance away, she heard the wooden tray clatter to the ground, accompanied by the sound of shattering china and porcelain.
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Alexandra's gasp was terribly audible in the silent room, heard by all just a half-second after the tray slipped from Grace's hands and smashed on the wood flooring. Around the bulk of her husband's body, she could see her two handmaidens standing, visibly slack-jawed, in the doorway.
They were staring at her husband's bare backside, buttocks, and legs. And they were staring at her.
She was completely naked beneath him, her legs spread wide to accept him gratefully and her knees bent to support herself. Thankfully, her husband covered most of her nudity from view. Unfortunately, it left him completely bare for her servants to oogle at.
Alexandra swallowed. She had no idea what to say. She knew she had to tell them to leave—they should have left already, but she understood why they couldn't move—and yet, she couldn't find the words. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Surprisingly, her husband quickly came to her rescue, reaching back to grasp the sheet at the end of the bed with one hand and quickly wrapping it around them. He directed his words at Grace when he spoke, telling her quietly, "I think it would be prudent for you to take your leave now, little one."
Looking completely stunned and quite a bit scared, the girl nodded mutely. She scurried out of the room without ever uttering a single word, her eyes trained away from her master and mistress the entire time. Alexandra felt guilt rising in her. She tried to remember how old Grace was. She always seemed so much younger than what Alexandra would guess were her probable thirteen years. She hoped she hadn't shattered the little girl's innocence. She deserved to have her childhood for a year or two more before marrying.
"Sh—She said she heard noises earlier, my lord, my lady, I didn't think anything of it…" Dorthea was talking rapidly, breathing rapidly—Alexandra never seen her usually calm and matronly demeanor so completely flustered. "I am so very sorry, I never expected to see—" The maidservant broke off at once, her eyes going wide, seemingly having realized what she'd just been about to say, and what, in turn, she'd ended up implying. She looked as if she wanted to say something else but couldn't find the words or will to do so. "I am so sorry," she whispered again. "Forgive us the intrusion, the both of us, I beg of you," she added, her eyes on the floor as she fled the way she'd come, pulling the door shut tight behind her.
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The first thing Marcus did once the servants were gone was laugh.
It was long and loud and done with so much amusement that even afterwards, his shoulders still shook. Alexandra couldn't help but smile a bit herself, though that was only because his laughter was so endearing. She'd only heard him laugh once before—maybe twice—and even though Grace and Dorthea's arrival had been one of the more humiliating moments in her life so far, the fact that it made her husband laugh was enough for her to feel a bit better about it—if only for the moment.
"I will never be able to face them after this," Alexandra spoke, mortified, after his laughter had died away. Her cheeks were an almost—almost—unattractive shade of deep red mixed with patches of bright pink. Marcus, in truth, had never seen her look so embarrassed, and he had seen her embarrassed many times. He didn't blame her. He was used to the errant walk-in while he was in the throes with this woman or that, but of course his virtuous, previously virgin wife had never had the opportunity.
"I can hire you new handmaidens," Marcus told her at once. "It would be no trouble. I can find you more discreet ones, and you won't have to see those two again."
"No!" Alexandra protested immediately. "No, don't fire them, please." She was both flattered and worried that he'd offered so quickly to remedy the situation. She didn't want to lose the two people she'd come to lean on most over the past few months just because they'd made a simple mistake. She pressed her lips together to hide a smile, though—knowing he would fire them in an instant if she asked made her feel important. Cared for. Looked after.
She wondered for a moment if that was what she was always supposed to feel in this marriage. She was grateful that now, at least, she had a taste instead of a dream to follow.
"It may happen again," he warned her.
Alexandra couldn't help but smile, looking over at him. She had thoroughly enjoyed their morning together—even now, after her handmaidens had disrupted them. She didn't know if it was foolish to hope for a reoccurrence. Quietly, she told him, "I do hope it might." He smiled back at her, and for a moment, twisted up in covers and still a bit twisted up in each other, they laid back and simply smiled at each other.
After a few seconds of indulging in that foreign practice, Alexandra implored him softly, "They're so kind to me, Marcus, my handmaidens. Please keep them on. I know they won't speak of it. They would never embarrass either of us like that."
He shrugged, leaving it up to her. "They are your maids, after all."
"Thank you," she replied, grateful. She didn't know what she'd do without Dorthea or Grace, or how she'd get along with new handmaidens. Things were simpler like this, more familiar—and that was worth the humiliation.
There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. Though neither were dressed in the least, and therefore not presentable even in emergencies, Marcus called for the visitor to enter. No one came forward. He called again, but again, there was no answer. He groaned softly, getting out of bed, as he muttered under his breath.
"First they barge in, now they can't be called in." He pulled a few thin articles of underclothes to cover himself for the meeting. He looked over to his wife as he neared the door, stepping around the shattered glass, spilled milk, and bits of mangled food strew on the floor. "What are we going to do with these maids of yours if we can't fire them?"
He opened the door, expecting to see the little girl—Gretel, was it?—or the elder one whose name he couldn't remember. But when he opened the door, there was no one standing there. Just two breakfast trays sitting on the floor and a little note.
He picked it up, his eyes running over the text there. Afterwards, he glanced down at the two trays. He quickly recognized the contents of one—it was what he usually ate for breakfast—but the second looked rather foreign. He picked it up, carrying it to his wife. His set it on top of her legs, ignoring her soft protestations that he didn't have to, that she could've gotten it herself and carried him his, too. He then passed her the note and then went to get his own.
Alexandra's eyes flew over the note, surprised at even its existence. She hadn't known either of her maidservants could write. She might've expected it from Dorthea, so much older and well-trained, but even such a good worker could be as illiterate as the next common laborer.
My lord and lady,
I am so very sorry for the intrusion. I cannot begin to describe the height of my embarrassment—for both walking into your private quarters unannounced and not leaving immediately thereafter. I hope you can both find it in your kind hearts to forgive Grace and myself. Especially the girl—she hadn't meant to drop the tray. It will be cleaned up as soon as you call for us. If need be, please extract the cost from my pay and not hers.
Lady Alexandra, when you need assistance, please ring the bell. We will be belowstairs and will likely not hear if you call.
Again, I am so very sorry. I pray you will be able to forgive the both of us in time.
Your humble servants,
Dorthea
Grace
Alexandra looked to him the moment she finished the letter, worried. "You—You won't make them pay, will you? For the shattered dishes? Because—" She was going to continue, but her husband was already shaking his head.
He grinned indecently at her as he replied, "It was not the girl's fault."
Alexandra bent her head so he wouldn't see her replying grin. After a moment, she nodded, happy that he wasn't going to punish them. "Thank you," she spoke up. "I didn't think it was her fault either."
She paused a moment, inspecting the letter again as her husband started on his breakfast.
"I didn't know she could write," Alexandra noted, her eyes looking over the note a second time. "And even little Grace…" She had inspected the girl's name in writing, and being able to distinguish it from the main script, she realized the girl must've signed it herself. "They can both write?" She wondered, shocked. She recalled her home, and knew that the members of her family were among a small fraction of the village's population that were well-versed enough in their letters to be able to write so fluently.
"Everyone who works here can read and write," Marcus replied, and Alexandra stared at him in disbelief. There must be a hundred—if not more—servants who worked in this enormous place. Was he telling her that every single one—from the handmaidens to the lowest scullery maid or stable boy knew how to read and write? She'd never heard of so many literate people in such low stations.
"Why?" She couldn't help but blurt. She hoped it didn't sound callous when she asked, "What's the point?"
"The point is communication," her husband replied. "If I send a letter home from abroad, I want to know there will always be someone here who can decipher and carry it out, even if only the caretakers are left. I want to be able to know that they all possess at least a modicum of skills; if they were all as stupid as the village farmhands, what use would I have for any of them?"
Alexandra thought this over, decided that it was rather convenient. Written orders would be at once understood by everyone who came across them. It let everyone do their job faster and with less room for error if they understood language at one glance and didn't have to spend an eternity puzzling out the strange symbols.
Quietly, Alexandra asked, unable to quell her interest, "Do you go abroad a lot?" She'd never been anywhere but here—and her natal village—but she'd heard enough tales from her father to know that the world was much bigger than either of the two places. She so longed to visit the outer world, but sufficed herself from hearing about it from others and from dusty old books. She looked at her husband now, imaging him in all number of exotic locales, walking through strange streets and talking with strange people in strange tongues. Doing all sorts of things she knew she'd never be able to do.
"I used to," Marcus replied—off-handed, she noticed, for he seemed to be more interested in spreading jam on the bread on his plate than discussing his travels. Alexandra bit her tongue. If he didn't want to converse about it, she would not be impertinent and push him on the matter. Even still, she couldn't help but wonder after the many places he must've been to. What did he do there? Who did he meet? And how did he ever make the decision to leave and come back home?
Alexandra turned her attention back to the letter, realizing that there were a few other other items that were bothering her. "What is this bell she's talking about?" Alexandra wondered. She glanced to her bedside table, but, as always, there was nothing there but her solitary candle. She smiled faintly at the sight of it, realizing she hadn't lit it last night before she fell asleep. She'd been too preoccupied, she thought with warmth rising in her chest.
"It's there," Marcus told her, pointing towards the wall behind her table with a finger.
Alexandra stared at the wall, confused. Was there supposed to be a bell built into the wall? She didn't see anything; no flash of gold or silver or bronze. "I'm sorry…" She turned back to him. "I'm sorry, but I don't see anything."
Marcus set down his knife and fork, leaning across her side of the bed to grasp onto a small string protruding from the wall. It had a small wooden peg at the bottom, a little longer than the length of Alexandra's hand. She grasped it lightly when he put it into her hand. The wood was cold and smooth in her hand, clearly well-worn. She tried not to think what other women had laid in this bed—in her place—and grasped the wood to pull the bell. She tried to only picture her husband's mother, but even that thought was far from comforting, though for an entirely different set of reasons.
"You pull that," he instructed, "and a bell will ring in the servants' quarters, directing one of them to come up and see what you need." He frowned. "Your maids didn't show you this your first day?"
Alexandra shook her head slowly, still staring at the string. She fingered the worn wooden handle for a moment before letting it go. Though it was an absurd whim, she suddenly wanted to use the bell as often as possible, if only to leave her mark on the wood as well. To prove that she'd been here, been with him. Her mind plummeted a moment, realizing it might be the only mark she'd have for a time if their coupling didn't soon lead to a child.
"Alexandra?"
She jumped in place, causing her saucers and dishes to clatter against once another. She let the string go at once, and quickly turned her attention to her husband. "Yes?"
He frowned slightly at her, and she reprimanded herself for not listening. "Didn't your maids show you this the first day you were here?"
Alexandra shook her head again, quicker this time so he would see. "No, they never showed me." She paused, looking at her plate. "I suppose they had no need to. They were able to come in whenever they needed to, since I was… the only one here."
Marcus stared at her, wondering what to say. He knew he should apologize, but he wasn't sure how to say it. I'm sorry I left you alone for weeks on end, but I'm here now? What kind of an apology was that? He knew she deserved something better than that, but he couldn't think of anything better, so he stayed silent on that front. "You should eat your food before it gets cold," he instructed quietly, not able to let the silence continue after her words.
Alexandra nodded. Dutifully, she took up a spoon and dipped it into her porridge. It was still warm when she brought it to her lips, and she smiled at the taste of sugar on the oats as she chewed and swallowed. Ever since she'd once asked for a sweetener of some sort, the cook had always made sure it put it on her porridge prior to sending her breakfast out. Alexandra smiled to herself, remembering her single encounter with Wenda the cook. Like her handmaidens in the early days of her marriage, that woman had been a savior to her when she had no one to speak to about all the worried that had plagued her at the time. She wondered how improper it would be if she were to visit the kitchens. She suddenly felt like talking with Wenda, telling her that things were better now and, even if she didn't know her place yet as a noble lady and a wife to her husband, at least she'd figured out part of her marital duties.
"What are you eating there?" Her husband wondered, disrupting her thoughts as he leaned over to eye her tray. "Porridge?" He nearly spat out the word.
Alexandra couldn't help but smile at his immediate disgust, glancing over to him. "What?" She returned. "Am I not allowed to like porridge?" She meant the question as a joke, but a small part of her was serious. While living at home, porridge was what she and her sisters had eaten nearly every single day. She had complained then, for it had been so bland as to be near inedible, but now that she was away—in a new home—she missed it. It was the smallest reminder of the place and family she'd left behind, but it was enough.
"You're allowed to like whatever you want," Marcus replied. His nose wrinkled. "But porridge is so… plain. It doesn't taste like anything."
She smiled, dipping her spoon in it and hefting it up so he could see. "That's why there's sugar on it, see?" She tilted it to show off the glistening, melting morsels on top.
He eyed it for a second before leaning forward and, to her shock, taking a bite of her breakfast that she hadn't exactly been offering. He chewed it for a moment and then swallowed.
He glanced at her ruefully. "All right," he admitted, "it does taste good with the sugar."
She smiled, feeling more pleased than the situation probably warranted that he enjoyed the food after all. Just a few months ago she had thought porridge was plain and dull-tasting, too. But that had been at home, where she ate breakfast in the rowdy company of her sisters, and her father, if he wasn't already off to work. Strangely, it had been one of the first things she'd wanted when she'd awoken to grand and strange surroundings. When her handmaidens had asked after what she would like to eat to break her fast that first morning, she'd meekly asked for porridge, if they had it, and maybe an egg or two. They had asked again and again if she'd wanted anything else, fish or ham or beef, but she always answered that porridge was enough. Even the eggs were a bit grandiose, though the servers had kept trying to push more on her. She hadn't wanted more to eat; she'd only ever wanted the porridge. It reminded her of home: of her sisters chattering and laughing as they ate, and of her father quietly going over the inventories and sums before he left for the day as absentmindedly stirring his food. It reminded her of her mother, who, even after all the years without her, still occupied an empty chair and a place of respect at the head of the table opposite of Father.
Alexandra was brought back to the present when her husband snatched something else from her tray—a few pieces of dried fruit from a small dish she was supposed to use to sprinkle over her boiled oats. She sipped at her tea, eyeing him beside her. He grinned before popping them into his mouth.
"You're a thief, you know," she informed him, setting down the cup and picking up her spoon again. "Stealing from your wife like that."
"I wouldn't call it stealing," he replied, piling his fork with eggs and fish from his own plate. "What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours. In truth, I'm stealing from myself, if I really am stealing at all."
Alexandra shook her head, "If you must make it as complicated as all that, then I might as well invite you to just take and not ask."
He tilted his head at her. "Why would I ever bother asking?"
Alexandra pressed her lips together so she wouldn't smile. She nodded towards her tray. "I know why you want my food. Yours is as dull as you perceive mine. You have three pieces of bread there. Bread." He also had fish and eggs, she noted, but she decided not to remark on those. She had to admit the fish looked rather good.
"I," he replied at once, as he slathered another piece with jam, "happen to like bread."
"Bread is plain, too," she reminded him, not stopping to wonder how she was bold enough to be able to tease him. It felt so good to talk like this, anyway—and with him, of all people. She didn't want to waste a second thinking on the matter.
He smirked. "Fine. Then we are both plain. Are you content now?"
Alexandra shook her head. "You are anything but plain," she replied at once. She clamped her mouth she the moment those words left her mouth. She had no idea where they'd come from, or why she thought they were appropriate to say.
But he simply smiled. "The same holds true for you," he returned to her astonishment.
Alexandra blushed, looking down so she could gather herself. What was he talking about? She was the plainest woman in the world. She could easily pass for a woman like Dorthea if she simply donned a less extravagant dress during the daytime. She was as plain as women came, but here he was telling her she was something more? Something better? She didn't believe him. She was nothing but the middle Grey daughter, less pretty than Meredith and less sociable than Laura, and therefore the least likeable on everyone's terms.
And yet, somehow, here she was: married to a man who seemed to enjoy her company and thrust so far above her social standing it made her head spin. Most days, it took all of her to simply get from dawn to dusk. She had no idea how to be the wife of someone so rich, someone so handsome, someone so tilted and brave and noble. She had no place beside men that looked and acted like gods, men like her husband. She wondered for the hundredth time how their marriage had ever occurred. She was still so painfully aware that she didn't belong, despite the shirking of her maiden name and her maidenhood, the ring on her finger, and the very real possibility that her husband's child might be taking root within her womb at this very moment.
Her throat constricted at the thought, and she struggled to swallow to clear her airway and her mind.
His child.
What would she do then, when she was finally pregnant? Though it should seem second nature to her, being a mother was—somehow—even less familiar to her than being a noblewoman, and the latter was completely unknown at best. It scared her—terrified her, really, when she stopped to think about it—how close to motherhood she could be at any one moment, especially after all the times last night (and this morning) they'd spent themselves in each other's bodies. During all their copulations last night, Alexandra had never had not once thought about the fact that they might be creating a child, that his seed might find a home within her each time it spurted from his manhood.
When they went to bed together—well, the few times they had done it so far—it had always been spontaneous and passionate. It left no time for thought or worry; it was always about releasing one's self for pleasure. Alexandra blinked. For fun. But that wasn't what it was supposed to be about, was it? They were supposed to be actively trying to make a son, not… not having fun. Just as her husband's occupation was to care for his land and all the people that lived on it, hers was to bear him a son, and then another, and then another. Enough boys to be able to carry on the family name as long and as far as possible; enough boys so that if one or more was lost, another could take its place and assume his father's duties.
Alexandra looked up, her eyes finding her husband across the room. He was pulling open drawers in a large wooden chest, putting on shirts and vests and pants over his underclothes. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. She wanted reassurance; she wanted him to tell her that she was a good wife, a fine wife, and that she would become pregnant in time. She wanted him to promise there was nothing to worry about and that he would take care of her.
Alexandra looked away, damning those thoughts as she set her breakfast tray to the side and drew her knees up to her chest. She made sure she sheet was still covering her bare body as she started at the remnants of their shared meal. She knew she wasn't a good wife or a fine wife; she wouldn't be either of those things or anything but a disappointment to him, his family, and her own until her stomach grew large and round and a baby boy's cries filled the house. There were things to worry about, and though he might take care of her, this worry was not something he could assure her would be rectified in due time.
She shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose to covertly blot the tears gathering in her lids.
"Are you all right?"
Alexandra tried not to jump when her husband's voice cut through the air, but she couldn't help it. She brought her hand from her nose immediately, smiling quickly as she looked over to him. "Yes. I'm very well, thank you."
He didn't leave it there. He stepped closer, examining her. "Does your head hurt? You can have them make you tea for—"
"No," Alexandra interrupted softly. "My head is fine."
He stared at her for a moment more, as if trying to decipher her thoughts by looking at her face. Alexandra hoped he wasn't able to read her mind at this moment in time, for all he would see was what a failure as a wife she was thus far. She was certain he already knew, but even so, she was not eager to remind him.
"Do you have things to do today?" She wondered, hoping to take his mind away from hers. She glanced at his dress, and discovered that it didn't seem to be anything particularly special. He might just be going for a walk on the grounds for the attire he was wearing. For a moment, her heart leapt. Maybe he had no plans. Maybe he was as eager to waste the day away in her company as he had been this morning. Maybe he would want to go for a walk with her on the grounds. She pushed away the thoughts immediately. His dress didn't mean anything; he could dress however he liked. And just because they were friends between the sheets now, that familiarity did not necessarily transfer into the daytime and public sphere. Maybe he doesn't want your companionship at all; have you ever thought of that? Alexandra wished she could say this was the first instance such a thought had entered her mind.
"I do have one thing to do today," he answered, curiously keeping eye contact with her as he spoke. Alexandra didn't look away, though the intensity of his gaze confused her. As did his answer. One thing? He was an important man, her husband; when did he ever only have one thing to do?
"Might I ask what that one thing is?" She queried softly, oddly eager to hear his plans now that they sounded so strange. He had never shared such with her before. Then again, they had never spoken this much before.
"Of course," he replied, a smile teasing on his lips. "Since it involves you, you are welcome to ask."
"Me?" Alexandra repeated whimsically, her mouth spreading in a happy smile. "Really?"
He snorted softly, bending down to put on his boots. "Don't sound so surprised."
Alexandra held back from asking what else she should sound like. Her husband just informed her that the only thing he had to do today involved her. For the first time in months, he was spending time with her. Was she supposed to treat this as an everyday occurrence and not a special treat? Was she supposed to sound bored? She didn't think she could fake that.
"So what is the one thing we will be doing together?" Alexandra asked, unconsciously leaning forward as he straightened back up. He was dressed now, and free to leave whenever he liked, but she didn't want him to go. She would keep him talking as long as possible if it meant he'd stay here with her for a little while longer. She wanted to reverse time, to go back to lying beside him in bed and smiling and just enjoying one another's company.
But, of course, time raced on. And, after a moment, her mind raced with it, trying to guess what they might do today. Again, her thoughts returned to walking, for it was one of the few activities they'd enjoyed together. Maybe they would go for a walk, through the village or the countryside to meet some of the townsfolk she now presided over as his wife. A smile turned up her lips that she couldn't force away as she imagined it. He would no doubt have to introduce her to the many villagers, for she knew not one of their names. In doing so he would have to call her by her proper title, and refer to her as his wife, and just thinking of that had her basking in happiness. Her heart nearly burst when she realized the townsfolk would have nothing to call her besides Lady Sloan; her husband could not go about telling each and every one they met to call her "Lady Alexandra."
"I'd like to show you the castle," he told her. His words broke through her thoughts, and somehow the idea that he wanted to show her their home sounded even better than meeting the villagers. "And the grounds, too, if you would like."
"I would love that," Alexandra replied at once, breathless with enthusiasm. "That would be so wonderful."
He smirked slightly at her eagerness, but she didn't care if she seemed to be over excitable. She simply couldn't wait for this day to start. Already, her hand was itching to reach over and pull that bell, to be dressed and ready to spend the entire day with him.
Marcus smiled at the happiness on his wife's face, unable to determine if he was more smitten or amused. She was nineteen, and yet her emotions seemed to run away with her like a child's might sometimes. He crossed the room, and when he was close enough, he bent down to kiss her, lifting her face to his with a hand below her chin. He would've been lying if he said he didn't expect her to wrap her arms around him at once. When she didn't, in fact, he was slightly disappointed. His mind had been running wild with fantasies of her throwing away the covers, pressing her naked body against his, and drawing his cock out of his breeches so they could pleasure themselves again. But she did little more than lean into him. He could fell her shiver, though, when his tongue trailed along her lips and that—for the moment—was enough.
He pulled back, satisfied, at least, to know she'd enjoyed the kiss. He could still see that happiness sparking in her dark eyes; it was a sight he was certain he would never tire of. He rubbed her chin with his thumb, supporting it with his index finger. He wanted to kiss her again already. Instead, he forced his wanting into words, and told her, "Don't take too long to get ready, will you?"
Alexandra shook her head, promising she wouldn't. She breathed deeply, trying not to melt into his warm touch. She didn't think she would ever get tired of feeling him touch her—be chaste handholding or lascivious groping, it didn't matter. Every moment of every day, she wanted his hands on her. "I'll join you soon," she told him, already dreading the moment when his hand would leave her face and his body would leave the room.
He seemed just as reluctant to leave, her his thumb and forefinger were still touching her, rubbing her skin gently. "Ring the bell when you're ready to be dressed," he told, finally drawing his hand away and stepping back. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs."
Alexandra watched him go, holding herself in check all the while. The moment he left the room, however, she nearly shouted in happiness. She wrapped her arms around her naked self, let her mouth finally split in that enormous grin she'd been holding back, and fell sideways against the mattress, narrowly missing knocking over their breakfast trays. She buried her face in a nearby pillow, and her smile stretched so wide it was almost starting to hurt. She could not remember ever feeling so happy in her entire life, and certainly never from something so simple as a walk. She laid against the bed—his side, she realized with a momentary widening in her smile—and simply enjoyed the perfection of this single moment in her life. She then took a few deep breaths—happily inhaling the scent he'd left behind on his half of the mattress—and finally managed to right herself.
She was going to spend the entire day with her husband. That simple realization sent frenzied emotions whirling within her again. He wanted to spend the day with her. He wanted to walk with her, speak with her, enjoy her company.
And he was waiting—dare she think it? Impatiently—downstairs.
Remembering that, Alexandra reached over and pulled the string hard, realizing a moment too late that her enthusiasm to greet the day might've been a bit painful on the servant's ears three flights below. She was probably imagining it, but she could swear she heard the bell peal even up here, on the second floor. In the next moment, though, she didn't care. Only one wall and a set of stairs separated her from her husband, and even he had told her to hurry to meet him. Nothing would put a damper on her mood or ruin this day.
.
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Author's Note: Reviews would be great appreciated. I had such fun writing this chapter, and I hope you guys had fun reading it. I will try to update as soon as I can!