An Earl’s Broken Heart by Ella Edon

Chapter Eighteen

Alexander stepped into his carriage and set course for Lichfield Manor. It was less than an hour’s ride from his home but with the dread of what lay ahead, it felt like every minute was an eternity in waiting. He had decided not to inform Isabel of this covert visit. If he was going to do this, he had to be able to carry out on his own.

When the carriage finally approached the massive iron gates that marked the entry to Lichfield Manor, Alexander was good and ready to be done with what needed doing.

He alighted from the carriage and glanced around. Everything had been as he had remembered it.

A formal lawned parterre kept in immaculate condition by a gardener who lived on the grounds and the beginnings of the Lichfield Maze visible from the side of the building. The entire place still filled him with dread. The residue of the great pain he had suffered on these grounds was still hot and strong in his throat. It had been over seven years since he had walked these grounds and the pain was still there waiting for him after all that time.

He drew in breath, straightened, and approached the door, knocking twice.

An old, greying man appeared in the doorway. He had a slight crick in his walk, not severe, but such that he always seemed like he was on the brink of falling. Though he showed all the infirmities of age, he had a sharp alertness to his look. The look of a man that was never, ever taken by surprise. It was a face that Alexander knew only too well. The man who had caught him and Isabel all those years ago.

“Mr. Baldwin,” he said leaning back from the door.

Mr. Baldwin’s eyes widened in recognition. “Mr. Steward.”

Alexander’s lips curled into a smile. “Lord Carter, now, Mr. Baldwin.”

Mr. Baldwin’s face turned darkly sour as he gave a perfunctory bow. “My apologies, Lord Carter.”

Alexander tapped him on the head playfully. It was the sort of tap that an older brother might give his much younger brother. He knew it would irritate Mr. Baldwin, but it was the small act of defiance he had owed the man for so many years of disrespect.

“Is Lord Lichfield around?” Alexander asked.

“Indeed, he is… my Lord.”

It was clear that the honorific came as an afterthought to Baldwin.

“I would like to see him,” Alexander said.

Mr. Baldwin bowed. “Please, let me show you to the study. I will notify him that you are here to visit.”

Alexander nodded. “Good job, boy.”

With a barely concealed scowl, Mr. Baldwin led him to Lord Lichfield’s study and went to inform the Duke that Alexander was there to visit.

The sinking feeling he had felt when he stepped into the grounds was redoubled in Lord Lichfield’s study. Sitting there looking up at the numerous shelves of books, he was reminded of how they had looked upon him then. How he was not more than an inconvenience in their world.

Lord Lichfield’s oppressive energy lingered like a thick smoke over the room. A large painting of the Duke when he was much younger hung from the far wall. Isabel’s father had been a handsome man in his day with broad shoulders and a commanding bearing, bold eyes, and the vintage Lichfield smile. Even in the painting, Lord Lichfield had the look of a man who expected his every word to be obeyed without dissent. Alexander wondered what this encounter would be like. He could not back down from the Duke, but he could not go on the attack against him either. Everything he said or did had to be supremely tactful.

The Duke made him wait. Alexander wondered if he had done it on purpose; an effort to demonstrate to Alexander that his time was not important to him and that he was always to wait upon men such as Lord Lichfield. The unease in Alexander’s stomach seemed to build with the waiting, every second more uncomfortable than the last. He drummed his thigh with increasing speed as the minutes flew by as reported by the standing grandfather clock at the corner of the room. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous but with every moment that past, this was exposed as a vicious lie.

At the height of dramatic tension, Lord Lichfield stepped into the room with all the practiced poise and timing of a veteran actor. He wore a dark waistcoat and breeches over a white linen shirt. He was still a tall, powerfully built man, though he now carried more paunch around his arms and stomach than the lean muscle of days gone by. He had dark, arresting eyes that seemed to bore into anything they settled on.

“Mr. Steward,” Lord Lichfield said.

It was the opening insult in what was sure to be a torrent of them. Lord Lichfield knew good and well that Alexander was now correctly addressed as Lord Carter. By calling him Mr. Steward, the Duke was trying to say that he still saw him as nothing more than the little commoner boy he was.

Alexander felt no shame in having been a commoner, but he was not going to let the Duke have his way. Without betraying a hint of emotion, he bowed and returned the greeting. “Your Grace.”

The whisper of a frown colored the Duke’s face. “How may I help you?”

Quite suddenly, Alexander felt uneasy about what he had to do. He was having to ask a man who evidently despised him for the means to restore a heavily indebted Earldom. Though it was likely that the Duke would accede to his request, it was also particularly possible that the Duke would use the request as a stick to beat his Great Uncle and the esteem of the Earldom. For him, it would be the ultimate confirmation that Alexander was still not good enough for his daughter. But Alexander had no choice, this was his last hope, and as much as it meant he had to swallow a great deal of pride, he was duty bound to do so on behalf of the Earldom.

Thinking quickly, he changed tact. This was not a man one could win by appealing to his generosity. He was the sort of man who worked from a place of ego and pride. “I thought it would be prudent to obtain your opinion on certain matters of business and administration, given your storied prowess on the matter.”

The Duke of Lichfield blinked. Plainly, it was not the angle he had expected. “Go on,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“I am new to the Earldom and there are a good many things that I seek to improve upon, but I know these objectives cannot be achieved without the right guidance. Given our… connection through marriage, I wanted to request your support in my business efforts.”

The Duke snorted. “My support?”

“Yes, your Grace, it would be—"

“What makes you think you deserve my support boy?” He snapped, cutting Alexander’s sentence in half.

Alexander opened his mouth to speak but the Duke didn’t let him get the words out.

“I always knew you would stain whatever it is you came close to and now here you are, groveling for money like a commoner. Tell me, have you beggared the Earldom already?”

“Your Grace, I—”

“You were never good enough for Isabel, never. By some devilish mixture of trickery and deceit, you have managed to ensnare her in marriage but do not believe that you will ensnare me boy.”

“I am of the opinion that—"

“If the impossible happens and I was ever to feel the need for your opinion on any matter of importance I would ask it of you. Don’t you ever think to volunteer it,” the Duke spat.

It was all too much. Alexander could feel his temper rising with every word the Duke spoke. The man’s only object now was to insult him and degrade him.

A chill shot down Alexander’s spine. He took a slow breath before speaking. “Will you provide your support or not…Your Grace?”

“Why should I?”

“Your Grace, I—"

“Speak up when you’re talking to me, boy,” he snapped. “Project your voice.”

Alexander drew in breath, swallowed, and remastered himself. What was I thinking? The man was not one he could outsmart. He had to swallow his pride, take the bull by the horns, and obtain his favor. No matter what it took. The Duke did not respond to subterfuge. He responded to strength.

Alexander straightened and drew in breath. “My Lord, I know that you do not have great regard for me, but we find ourselves in a situation where we must work together to our mutual benefit. Like it or not, I am your son-in-law, there is no changing that at this present time.”

The Duke seemed to relax his shoulders at that and regard Alexander with a more contemplative stare as though he was surprised to see him speak with such sudden confidence.

Alexander continued. “You may not respect me, Your Grace, but know this of me — I am a diligent man. I am a dutiful man. I will not suffer any insult of my Earldom, my person, and certainly not my wife. Your daughter is now part of my family and there is no greater loyalty than that which I owe to her. I am here because of the duty I owe to her and the Earldom that we may exist in peace and prosperity. Not enmity or contempt. I trust that you will ultimately do as you please but know this, I won’t go away, and I will stop at nothing to secure the best for me and my family.”

He rose to leave when the Duke’s voice froze him in place. “Sit down.”

Alexander glanced over his shoulder but did not sit. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and waited to see what the Duke had to say.

Though the Duke was plainly not pleased to see that Alexander had not complied with his instruction to sit, he seemed resigned to accept his compromise in not leaving all together. He drummed the arm rest with his fingers and looked up at Alexander.

“I had an excessive regard for your Great Uncle when he was alive. But with a father and mother such as you had, I did not believe there was any prospect of advantage of your marriage to my daughter. It was brave of you to come here and I can see you have some of the late Lord Carter in you. By all accounts, he was a forthright man before the passing of his wife. A family man, too. I cannot profess to like you but know that when you go, you have my blessing, and favor to your household.”

Alexander let out a heavy breath. It was as good as he was like to get from the Duke of Lichfield and could certainly be classed as a success as it pertained to the fortune of the Earldom. It meant that he could draw upon the Duke’s influence to shore up the Earldom’s business affairs in the knowledge that he would not be rebuked.

He bowed politely and met the Duke’s eye. “Thank you, your Grace.”