Something Wonderful
Page 65
Behind them, in a coach bearing the gold crest of the Duke of Hawthorne—an insignia which Anthony no longer had the right to use—Alexandra sat perfectly still beside Uncle Monty and across from Anthony, who was staring out the window. Her mind was racing in wild circles, her thoughts tumbling over themselves. Jordan was alive and well—except that he was much thinner than she remembered. Had he deliberately vanished because he wanted to escape from the pathetic child he had married, returning only when he discovered his cousin was about to become a party to bigamy? Her joy that he was alive and well gave way to bewilderment. Surely he could not have been so revolted by her as that!
No sooner had that thought consoled her dazed spirits than sharper ones began to stab at her in rapid, relentless succession: The man whose return she had just been rejoicing was the very same man who had pitied and despised her. He had mocked her to his mistress. Jordan Townsende, as she now knew and must never forget, was unprincipled, unfaithful, heartless, and morally corrupt. And she was married to him!
In her mind Alexandra called him every terrible name she could think of, but as their coach neared Upper Brook Street, her fury was already abating. Anger required mental energy and concentration, and at the moment her dazed mind was still nearly paralyzed with shock.
Across from her, Tony shifted in his seat and the movement suddenly made her remember that she was not the only one whose future had just been drastically altered by Jordan's reappearance. "Tony," she said sympathetically, "I'm… sorry," she finished lamely. "It's just as well your mother felt she ought to stay home with your brother. The shock of Jordan's return would surely have brought on an attack."
To her amazement, Tony started to grin. "Being the Duke of Hawthorne was not quite so delightful as I once thought it would be. As I said a few weeks ago, there's little joy in possessing fabulous wealth if one can't find the time to enjoy it. However, it has just occurred to me that fate has handed you quite a boon."
"What is that?" she said, staring at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses.
"Only consider this," he continued, and to her disbelief he began to chuckle out loud. "Jordan is back and his wife is now one of the most desired women in England! Be honest—isn't this exactly what you used to dream would happen?"
With grim amusement, Alexandra contemplated the shock that was in store for Jordan when he discovered that his unwanted, pitiful little wife was now the toast of the ton. "I have no intention of remaining married to him," she said with great finality. "I shall tell him as soon as possible that I want a divorce."
Tony sobered instantly. "You can't be serious. Do you have any idea how much scandal a divorce will cause? Even if you can get one, which I doubt, you will be a total outcast in Society."
"I don't care."
He looked at her and his voice gentled. "I appreciate your concern for my feelings, Alex, but there's no need for you to think of a divorce on my behalf. Even if we were desperately in love, which we aren't, it wouldn't matter. You are Jordan's wife. Nothing can change that."
"Hasn't it occurred to you that he might want to change that?"
"Nope," Tony declared cheerfully. "I'll wager that what he wants to do right now is call me out and demand satisfaction. Didn't you see the murderous look he gave me in church? But don't fret," he continued, chuckling at her look of terror, "if Hawk wants a duel, I'll choose rapiers and send you in as my stand-in. He can't very well spill your blood, and you stand a better chance of drawing his than I do."
Alexandra would have argued tempestuously that Jordan wasn't likely to care that Tony and she had been about to marry, but argument required clear, rational thinking and she could not quite shake off the blur of unreality still surrounding everything. "Let me be the one to tell him I wish a divorce, Tony. For the sake of future family tranquillity, he must understand that this is entirely my decision and has nothing to do with you."
Caught between amusement and alarm, Tony leaned across and took her by the shoulders, laughing as he shook her lightly. "Alex, listen to me. I know you're in shock, and I certainly don't think you ought to fall into Jordan's arms this week or even this month, but divorcing him is carrying vengeance too far!"
"He cannot object in the least," Alexandra replied with a flash of spirit. "He never cared a pin for me."
Tony shook his head, his lips twitching with the smile he was trying unsuccessfully to hide. "You don't really understand about men and their pride—and you don't know Jordan if you believe he'll just let you go. He…" Suddenly Tony's eyes gleamed with laughter and he fell back against the squabs, chuckling with mirth. "Jordan," he declared mirthfully, "hated sharing his toys, and he's never passed up a challenge!"
Uncle Monty looked from one to the other of them, then reached inside his coat and removed a small flask. "Circumstances such as these," he announced, helping himself to a swallow, "require a bit of restorative tonic."
There was no time for further conversation, because just then their coach drew up behind Jordan's at the house on Upper Brook Street.
Carefully averting her eyes from Jordan, who was already helping his grandmother down from the other coach, Alexandra put her hand in Tony's and stepped down. But as Jordan followed her up the steps with his grandmother on his arm, the shock that had blessedly anesthetized Alexandra up until now, abruptly began to dissipate. Less than two feet behind her, his booted heels struck the pavement with sharp, relentless clicks that sent shivers of apprehension dancing down her spine; his tall body and broad shoulders threw an ominous shadow across her path and blocked the sunlight. He was real and alive and here, she thought, and her body began to tremble uncontrollably. This was not a dream—or a nightmare—from which she might awaken.
The group seemed to turn in unison toward the drawing room. Her senses heightened sharply by her growing awareness of his menace to her future, as well as Tony's concern about a possible duel, Alexandra paused inside the drawing room and swiftly surveyed the seating, weighing the psychological advantages and disadvantages of each location. Looking for a neutral position, she decided against the sofa, seating herself instead in one of the two wing chairs facing each other in front of the fireplace, then concentrated all her will on trying to subdue the sudden, quickened pounding of her heart. The dowager duchess apparently opted for neutrality also, for she chose the other chair for herself.
No sooner had that thought consoled her dazed spirits than sharper ones began to stab at her in rapid, relentless succession: The man whose return she had just been rejoicing was the very same man who had pitied and despised her. He had mocked her to his mistress. Jordan Townsende, as she now knew and must never forget, was unprincipled, unfaithful, heartless, and morally corrupt. And she was married to him!
In her mind Alexandra called him every terrible name she could think of, but as their coach neared Upper Brook Street, her fury was already abating. Anger required mental energy and concentration, and at the moment her dazed mind was still nearly paralyzed with shock.
Across from her, Tony shifted in his seat and the movement suddenly made her remember that she was not the only one whose future had just been drastically altered by Jordan's reappearance. "Tony," she said sympathetically, "I'm… sorry," she finished lamely. "It's just as well your mother felt she ought to stay home with your brother. The shock of Jordan's return would surely have brought on an attack."
To her amazement, Tony started to grin. "Being the Duke of Hawthorne was not quite so delightful as I once thought it would be. As I said a few weeks ago, there's little joy in possessing fabulous wealth if one can't find the time to enjoy it. However, it has just occurred to me that fate has handed you quite a boon."
"What is that?" she said, staring at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses.
"Only consider this," he continued, and to her disbelief he began to chuckle out loud. "Jordan is back and his wife is now one of the most desired women in England! Be honest—isn't this exactly what you used to dream would happen?"
With grim amusement, Alexandra contemplated the shock that was in store for Jordan when he discovered that his unwanted, pitiful little wife was now the toast of the ton. "I have no intention of remaining married to him," she said with great finality. "I shall tell him as soon as possible that I want a divorce."
Tony sobered instantly. "You can't be serious. Do you have any idea how much scandal a divorce will cause? Even if you can get one, which I doubt, you will be a total outcast in Society."
"I don't care."
He looked at her and his voice gentled. "I appreciate your concern for my feelings, Alex, but there's no need for you to think of a divorce on my behalf. Even if we were desperately in love, which we aren't, it wouldn't matter. You are Jordan's wife. Nothing can change that."
"Hasn't it occurred to you that he might want to change that?"
"Nope," Tony declared cheerfully. "I'll wager that what he wants to do right now is call me out and demand satisfaction. Didn't you see the murderous look he gave me in church? But don't fret," he continued, chuckling at her look of terror, "if Hawk wants a duel, I'll choose rapiers and send you in as my stand-in. He can't very well spill your blood, and you stand a better chance of drawing his than I do."
Alexandra would have argued tempestuously that Jordan wasn't likely to care that Tony and she had been about to marry, but argument required clear, rational thinking and she could not quite shake off the blur of unreality still surrounding everything. "Let me be the one to tell him I wish a divorce, Tony. For the sake of future family tranquillity, he must understand that this is entirely my decision and has nothing to do with you."
Caught between amusement and alarm, Tony leaned across and took her by the shoulders, laughing as he shook her lightly. "Alex, listen to me. I know you're in shock, and I certainly don't think you ought to fall into Jordan's arms this week or even this month, but divorcing him is carrying vengeance too far!"
"He cannot object in the least," Alexandra replied with a flash of spirit. "He never cared a pin for me."
Tony shook his head, his lips twitching with the smile he was trying unsuccessfully to hide. "You don't really understand about men and their pride—and you don't know Jordan if you believe he'll just let you go. He…" Suddenly Tony's eyes gleamed with laughter and he fell back against the squabs, chuckling with mirth. "Jordan," he declared mirthfully, "hated sharing his toys, and he's never passed up a challenge!"
Uncle Monty looked from one to the other of them, then reached inside his coat and removed a small flask. "Circumstances such as these," he announced, helping himself to a swallow, "require a bit of restorative tonic."
There was no time for further conversation, because just then their coach drew up behind Jordan's at the house on Upper Brook Street.
Carefully averting her eyes from Jordan, who was already helping his grandmother down from the other coach, Alexandra put her hand in Tony's and stepped down. But as Jordan followed her up the steps with his grandmother on his arm, the shock that had blessedly anesthetized Alexandra up until now, abruptly began to dissipate. Less than two feet behind her, his booted heels struck the pavement with sharp, relentless clicks that sent shivers of apprehension dancing down her spine; his tall body and broad shoulders threw an ominous shadow across her path and blocked the sunlight. He was real and alive and here, she thought, and her body began to tremble uncontrollably. This was not a dream—or a nightmare—from which she might awaken.
The group seemed to turn in unison toward the drawing room. Her senses heightened sharply by her growing awareness of his menace to her future, as well as Tony's concern about a possible duel, Alexandra paused inside the drawing room and swiftly surveyed the seating, weighing the psychological advantages and disadvantages of each location. Looking for a neutral position, she decided against the sofa, seating herself instead in one of the two wing chairs facing each other in front of the fireplace, then concentrated all her will on trying to subdue the sudden, quickened pounding of her heart. The dowager duchess apparently opted for neutrality also, for she chose the other chair for herself.
