Page 14 of The Earl's Christmas Gift

The kind that had long fascinated both kings and poets alike.

Hehad certainly found himself fascinated the first time that he saw her. It was summer, and he was impatient to begin his Grand Tour, but the sight of her–a gorgeous garden princess dressed in virginal white–had quite literally halted him in his tracks.

He didn’t remember what he had said to her. Something dry and cutting, no doubt. While he’d hardly describe himself as a paragon of virtue now, he’d truly been an arse back then. An arrogant young pup determined to take the world in both hands and bend it to his will. When he finally made it back to London, almost three years older and somewhat wiser, he was surprised to discover that the golden-haired garden princess remained on his mind. Enough so, that when given the choice between a wicked night of debauchery with friends or a torturous evening spent socializing and dancing, he inexplicably chose the latter. A decision that had ultimately paid off, as he found Alexandria there…and discovered his princess had transformed into a queen.

He set their courtship into motion the very next day with a call upon her father, the Earl of Wilshire. The sense of…ofurgencyhe’d had brewing inside of him…to marry her, claim her, and bed her as fast as possible…it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Right behind that urgency had been the very real fear that at any moment, she’d move beyond his grasp. Refuse him, or accept another proposal, or be swept off her feet by a duke or a marquess. Now here she was, asleep in his bed. Right where he’d wanted her. And the sheerenormityof that…he hadn’t the words to describe the momentous weight of responsibility that accompanied such a conquest.

His father had warned him again and again, both through his speech and his actions, that to love someone not of your own blood was to open yourself up to hurt and to heartache. Duncan had largely ignored him, or so he’d thought. But some of it–mayhap more than ‘some’–must have been internalized, for how else to explain why he would have ever pushed Alexandria away? Why he would have ever pushedthisaway?

Tenderly, so as not to wake her, Duncan smoothed a loose curl off her temple and then pressed a feather-soft kiss to the spot he had exposed.

His beautiful, sweet, stubborn, intelligent, wonderful wife.

He was a damned fool to have ever taken her for granted.

To have ever taken thismarriagefor granted.

The type of marriage that not many of their peers had the chance to have.

When she’d stood in the foyer and demanded a separation, she’d spoken of her happiness. More specifically, herlackof it. Johnson had noted much of the same. It appeared he was the only one that either hadn’t seen the cavern growing between them, or had unconsciously looked the other way. But no more. From this moment on, from thismorningon, he was going to start appreciating what he had before he lost it. Before he losther. The only woman he’d ever come close to loving.

A ray of sunlight streamed in through the window, cutting between the heavy velvet drapes and reaching all the way to the bed where the Earl of Chesterfield watched over his sleeping wife…his stoic cynicism slowly melting away to reveal the hopeful yearning underneath.

* * *

Alexandria woke with a yawn and a stretch. Already smiling before she even opened her eyes, she reached out blindly beside her…and touched nothing but air.

“Duncan?” she said, her voice drowsy with sleep. She reached further, stretching her fingertips as far as they would go. And abruptly sat up, shoving a tousled lock of hair out of her eyes, when the only thing she felt was a cold pillow. “Duncan?”

The bedchamber was empty.

She was alone.

Again.

Alexandria didn’t cry as she put on her shift and went to her own room, using a connecting door to avoid the embarrassment of running into a servant. There were no more tears to be had. She didn’t feel angry or confused or even sad. She just felt…numb. And in the numbness, her mind was startlingly clear.

Last night was not a beginning, but a final ending. The last chapter in a book that never should have been written. While she loved Duncan, and she wanted to be his wife, she wouldn’t sacrifice her own wellbeing to do it.

He’d had every opportunity to prove himself. From the way he had spoken, she’d thought that at last…atlastthey’d turned a corner. Together. And while it wouldn’t be perfect, it would be a start. But she wasn’t about to waste her Christmastide wishes on dreams that had no chance of coming true.

“Can you have a small trunk readied and a carriage brought round?” she asked her lady’s maid. “Enough clothes for a fortnight, and an extra cloak if there’s room.”

“Right away, my lady.” The maid paused, and her face brightened. “Are you and Lord Chesterfield going on holiday?”

“I have no idea what Lord Chesterfield is doing,” Alexandria replied stiffly. “The trunk, if you would. I’ll be downstairs in the parlor waiting.”

Her hand glided along strung garland as she slowly descended the staircase. There were more boughs of evergreen hanging from the window frames and on the mantles. Green wreaths dressed in pine cones, dried orange slices, and tufts of red ribbon decorated the walls while vases stuffed with holly branches shared tables with round candles. The air was infused with the scent of pine, and logs burned in every hearth.

Setting her jaw, Alexandria turned away from the festive decorations. For her, they were not a cheerful harbinger of things to come but a reminder of what had already happened…and what would never be.

She wanted to picture herself content in front of a roaring fire, her hands cupped around a mug of hot tea while snow fell outside. The door would open, and there would be Duncan, home two days early from London because he couldn’t wait to get back to her. Still wearing his scarf and greatcoat, he’d scoop her into his arms and swing her around, his cheeks red from the cold. He would kiss her and she would kiss him back until they were both warm, and then they’d curl up by the hearth on a pile of blankets and watch the flames while he told her about his trip and how much he had missed her.

“Lady Chesterfield, your carriage is here.”

Alexandria blinked, and the cozy scene evaporated.

Just as well, she said silently as she raised the hood of her cloak and slipped on her fur muff.There’s no use in imagining the impossible.

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