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The air was sharp to the taste. The ground was covered in a thick layer of snow. The sky was a morose cloak of gray. And Alexandria felt as frozen as the icicles hanging off the edges of the roof.
Taking another drink of tea, she opened the paper and turned to the gossip column on the third page. What had once been her whole world–balls, the theater, charity events, formal dinners–was now reduced to a handful of paragraphs in dots of black ink. Where she had once been a diamond, sparkling and new, she was now an observer, dull and jaded.
And tired.
Always so very tired.
But then, heartbreak was a heavy burden to carry.
Not for Duncan, she thought with a rare, red hot surge of annoyance. No, for her husband of nearly a year, heartache was merely an excuse to go trotting off to London to do heaven only knew what with God only knew who.
She assumed he had a mistress there. That was, after all, where her father had kepthismistress. But if he did, at least he was discreet about it, for the name had not yet spilled over into the paper that she was holding. A small mercy that did little to lessen the ache in her chest. An ache put there by the man who had promised her the world…and then left her to live in it alone.
Alexandria murmured a quiet thank-you when Sarah arrived with a platter of food, but merely poked at her eggs and the thick slab of bacon with her fork after taking a small, single bite. Her appetite had abandoned her just as Duncan had, and over the past two weeks she’d lost close to half a stone, leaving her cheeks gaunt and her clothes hanging off of her already slender frame.
It was the date. Or rather, the date thatwasto come. The seventeenth of December. A day that used to hold no special meaning or significance. A day like any other. Until last year, when she woke early in the morning, her body humming with excitement, put on her very best dress, stood in front of an audience of two-hundred, and recited vows that would bind her to Lord Duncan White, Earl of Chesterfield, as his wife and his possession…but never his partner.
A month.
That was all it took for her to realize her mistake.
A mistake born of passion and impulsivity and a stolen kiss in the shadows. A kiss that had somehow turned into an engagement, and an engagement into a wedding, and a wedding into a marriage.
So fast.
It had all happened sofastthat she’d not had time to catch her breath until it was over. By then, it was too late. What had started as a flame had already gone cold to the touch, like a hearth left untended. And thisdate, this damned date that marked her one-year wedding anniversary, was a looming reminder of all that she’d hoped for…and all that she’d already lost.
It was her own fault.
She’d let herself believe in a fairytale, but instead of turning into the princess who rode off in the arms of the dashing knight, she was the bird trapped in a gilded cage. Warbling a song that the prince didn’t care to hear.
Lifting her fork, she poked at the bacon, but couldn’t bring herself to eat another bite. Instead, cupping her tea between her hands to warm her icy fingers, she rose from her chair and walked to the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she stared out across the snow-covered drive…and began to think of a plan to rescue herself.
Duncan paid for his purchase and tucked the small parcel under his arm. His valet opened the door, and they walked out onto the busy London pavement together, narrowly avoiding being run over by a vendor hawking miniature silver bells and other useless trinkets.
Further down the street, a group of carolers had gathered in front of a bookshop and were belting outHere We Come a Wassailingwith far too much vigor for Duncan’s personal liking. Children threw snowballs at each other, then scattered like rats fleeing a ship when one wayward missile accidentally struck a stern-faced gentleman on the back of his coat. Sleighs sailed past, jingling merrily, while an elderly lady collected money for the orphanage and gave out sprigs of mistletoe tied in red ribbon to anyone who tossed a coin into her basket. There were boughs of evergreen wound around every lamp post and wreaths decorated each storefront window, filling the air with the sharp smell of pine.
“Should I take that to the carriage, my lord?” asked the valet, nodding at the parcel.
“What?” Duncan said, absently tossing a shilling into the ladies’ basket as he strolled past.
“Your purchase.” Shuffling the boxes and bags he was already carrying to his left arm, the valet held out his right hand. “Would you like to me to take it to the carriage for you?”
“Sir!” One of the elderly women fluttered a white handkerchief in the air, catching Duncan’s attention. “Sir, you’ve forgotten to take your mistletoe!”
Carolers he could tolerate–barely. Snowball fights were amusing, so long as he wasn’t in the line of fire. A fast sleigh was a vehicle to be admired. Evergreen had a pleasant scent, despite serving no other discernable purpose. But mistletoe? Mistletoe he could certainly do without.
“No, I didn’t forget,” he called back with a clipped, irritated shake of his head. He turned to his valet. “Johnson, why don’t you–”
“Sir, sir youhaveto take the mistletoe.” Toddling over, the elderly woman thrust an entire bouquet of the offensive shrub directly into his face. “It’s to thank you,” she chirped brightly. “For your generous donation!”
“Yes, I know what it’sfor.” Politely, but firmly, he pushed the mistletoe aside. “But I don’t want it.”
The woman’s watery blue eyes crinkled with confusion. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t. Johnson–”
“Don’t you have a sweetheart?” she interrupted, giving the bouquet a shake. “A fine gentleman such as yourself ought to have a sweetheart. A pretty lady that you’re courting, or a wife waiting at home. I’m sure thatshewould want some mistletoe.”
