Page 7 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
His abandonment was painful, but yet to come was the worst—Marcus’s secondary news of Alexander’s untimely death. It was unclear, Marcus had reported, how exactly he had met his death. Whether it was from exposure to the elements, as it had been a harsh winter when he ran, and, without any preparatory clothing or sustenance to aid him on his journey, he could have frozen or starved to death.
It was also possible, Marcus advised, that bandits had killed him. Dressed in his finery as Alexander had been, bandits would have assumed he was monied, and when he was unable to produce any coins to fend them off, they would have slaughtered him.
Either way, Marcus had regretfully told Arabella, Alexander had not sent word of having arrived safely at his agreed place of refuge. It must therefore be assumed that he had not, and Marcus must reluctantly accept the role of earl in his brother’s rightful place.
Arabella had mourned for Alexander in a torrent of unremembered grief. Six months had apparently passed when Edmund made his proposal.
She had married out of convenience and social expectation, the only alternative to being ostracized by society. It was obvious to everybody that being the betrothed of a man rumoured to have committed patricide and fled the scene would commit one to a life of insolvency.
She had therefore compromised a loving relationship with a man she adored for one of steady sensibility with a gentleman who was kind but did not stir her emotions in any particular way.
The conscious effort Edmund always made with her also reinforced her awareness that he did not feel marital love for her either. Their partnership was civil and vaguely formal. She felt eternally indebted to him for having saved her from ruin, though Edmund himself never fortified this notion; he did not flaunt his charitable gesture.
It was merely a feeling within Arabella—that he had sacrificed his own chance of love and freedom to grant her a secure and comfortable life.
They appeased one another constantly, but it brought neither party any joy. This cheerless existence was a constant reminder that Edmund married her as a nod of respect to his deceased cousin, and this fact alone painted Alexander as the catalyst of her everyday comfort, even though he could not be there to live it with her. Most days, the conflict in her heart felt unbearable.
As if these sadnesses were not abundant enough, the world had sent her further heartbreak when Edmund had succumbed to some unknown illness and died quite suddenly. Arabella grieved again, though the depth of her melancholy did not hit as hard—losing Edmund was a tragic sadness, where losing Alexander had been catastrophically soul-destroying.
Why now, Arabella thought angrily, must the wind howling over the bridlepath mock her sorrow by contributing false hope in a dark, cold night?
Composing herself and throwing a polite smile in Sally’s direction, Arabella continued to prepare the tea, breathing through the palpitations and concentrating on her hands, which could not stop trembling.
Chapter 3
Any other man on any other horse would have run into a tree trunk in the orchard or tripped upon ground roots in the woodlands, cantering as they did through the darkness of the Wellwood estate.
Alexander was grateful that the night sky was clear, with defined stars and the moon so bright that it paved his way with a mellow, dim light. He experienced a bittersweet wave of joy as they negotiated the meandering pathways without obstacle. Three years had passed, yet the moment his foot had hit home turf, Alexander was renewed with a fierce sense of belonging.
His eye had caught on the house at the top of the estate; in the darkness, he could only make out its shape, but well he knew the welcoming honey-coloured Bath stone and balustrades framing the terrace outside the large sash windows. Home. Smiling sadly, he headed directly to the stable, hoping his loyal steed, Stirling, would still be alive. His eyes were readying to weep at the prospect of his poor horse having not survived his absence.
Yet he was there! Tall and proud as he always was, though—Alexander noted as the horse whinnied in the funny way he always did—his ribcage protruded a little too distinctly. Alexander opened the stable door to greet his pet fully, and as he prepared to mount him, he noticed how the usually silky black coat was unbrushed and his flowing mane matted.
“How have you been neglected, my friend?” Alexander spoke over the lump in his throat. He felt sure his brother would have taken care of Stirling in his wake, and this worried him; Thomas had not made any mention of Marcus’s health—was Marcus, too, suffering some difficulty?
Alexander looked in on the other stables. His mother’s pony, Lillian, stood there rather sadly, and one other horse that worked the fields, but three years ago these stables housed twenty horses! Alexander pondered where they had all disappeared.
Stirling was excitable, and it was a joy for Alexander to ride him again, even if it had to be bareback. They galloped through the meadow in the moonlight; this was where they used to race, and Stirling seemed as ecstatic as Alexander felt to be here together, once again.
As they entered the woodlands, though, Alexander noticed how the bordering fence panels had come loose and some lay in the shrubs, as though they had been there for some time.
The grass had grown so high, and the gardens were clearly unmaintained. The land had not been cared for; his father would rage to see it in such a state of dilapidation. Alexander shook his head, not understanding how Marcus could have allowed their beautiful home to deteriorate to such an extent.
Alexander slowed Stirling as they approached the old oak tree, so warmly familiar to him. This was where he had taught Marcus to climb, as a small boy with pudgy little legs; he remembered how Marcus would get agitated that he couldn’t reach the higher branches, and Alexander would lift him to reach all the same parts of the tree he himself could.
It then became their brotherly hideout where they would play for hours during summer days before they were called in for dinner.
And there—Alexander studied the core of the tree—it was still there. An engraved heart with the initials ‘AH and ‘AS’. He almost chuckled to himself as he remembered himself and Arabella selecting stones sharp enough to scrape into the bark.
Arabella lamented that she didn’t want to harm the tree, looking warily to their chaperone, who turned a blind eye, and Alexander had laughed affectionately.
He loved her compassion, her thoughtfulness and … Alexander stopped himself from thinking too deeply of her. His smile dropped, and he encouraged Stirling to move forward.
It was harder than he’d imagined, being back at Wellwood. He had wrongly assumed that the feelings of familiarity and nostalgia would rise out of missing his father and his eagerness to see his mother and brother.
However, since Thomas had advised him that Arabella was currently residing here, it burned to know she was so close by, yet he could not see her. Alexander blinked back tears; this was not an appropriate time for sentimentality. He needed to access the house with stealth and focused senses.
It was risky to ride any closer to the house on thundering hooves, Alexander recognized this, but he had—for once—embraced his impulses. His need to be with his horse and experience the feeling of belonging in his familiar surroundings had overpowered the sensible option. He brought his horse to a slow walk as they approached the house.
