A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp
door. “You, there, what do you think you’re doing, standing about like a gapeseed? Go fetch your mistress a glass of brandy. The rest of you, take some lanterns and go check the street—make sure that scoundrel isn’t still out there.”
The servants scattered at her words. Aunt Hortense sighed. “No sense, the lot of them.”
There was a gasp at the door, and they turned toward it. Alexandra’s mother stood in the doorway, staring in horror at Alexandra.
“My baby!” she wailed. “What happened? Did they get you, too? Are they attacking us?”
She rushed into the room and dropped on her knees beside Alexandra. Tears gushed down her face as she patted ineffectually at Alexandra’s hair and arm and tried to wipe some of the dirt from her skirts. “Oh, my dear, oh, my dear,” she repeated over and over.
“Mother, it’s all right. No one is attacking us,” Alexandra said, trying to keep her voice soothing. Her mother’s light, frantic touch and words jarred her already frazzled nerves. “Really. It’s all right. It was just an accident. I fell.”
“No. No. They’re coming here. I know it. We have to flee. Get the carriage.”
Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat. The light in her mother’s eyes was alarming. She looked almost mad. “Mother, it’s all right. No one is coming to get us. We are fine. There are plenty of servants, and we are inside the house.”
“You don’t know! You don’t know!” Rhea’s voice rose in panic. “The servants will turn against us! We’ll be helpless!”
“Mama!” Alexandra gripped her mother’s arms. “It’s all right!”
Nancy, her mother’s companion, came hurrying into the room, her feet bare and her voluminous white cotton nightgown billowing around her. “Miz Rhea! There you are! I’m sorry.” Nancy cast an apologetic glance at Alexandra and Aunt Hortense. “I didn’t know she was up.”
She bent over Rhea Ward and pulled the hysterical woman to her feet, wrapping her arms around her in a hug that was both comforting and restraining. “There, there. Nothing’s going to happen to you or to any of us.”
“It’s not?” Rhea turned toward the other woman, hope dispelling some of the panic in her voice. “Truly?”
“I promise you. You know I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you.”
“But the mob—” She cast an eye agitatedly toward the front window.
“There’s no mob out there, ma’am. Listen. Do you hear a mob?”
Rhea paused, her head cocked, listening. “No.” A tremulous smile broke across her face. “You are right. They must have turned and gone somewhere else.”
“That’s it,” Nancy agreed soothingly. “Now, let’s you and I go back to bed.”
Rhea nodded and went along with her docilely.
“Nancy,” Aunt Hortense said as the two of them reached the door, “perhaps it would be best if you slept in Mrs. Ward’s room tonight.”
“Just what I was thinking, Miss Hortense. I’ll have someone set up a cot for me.”
Alexandra watched her mother leave with the servant, and tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Mother,” she breathed. She looked at her aunt. “What is the matter with her? What should we do?”
“She’ll be all right in the morning,” Aunt Hortense told her matter-of-factly. “You’ll see. The noise woke her up, and she got scared. Probably heard all the servants jabbering and running around.”
“But what was she talking about? Why did she think there was a mob?”
“Oh, that. She used to do that a lot when you were little. You just don’t remember. She would wake up from nightmares, terrified and talking about the mob coming to get her and you. It was that thing she went through in France, I think. That revolution, with all those people rioting and running around with torches pulling people out of their houses. Rhea never wanted to talk about it, but I think it scared her to death. She was afraid they were going to try to kill her and you, too—mistake you for aristocrats or something, I guess.”
“But why now?”
“Oh, I doubt it was anything but being jerked out of her sleep and seeing the servants acting scared. She probably heard you screaming. It scared me, I’ll tell you. She was confused. Ah, there’s that brandy.” Her aunt turned as the butler entered the room, wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt, a nightcap on his head, and carrying a silver tray with a bottle of brandy and two snifters on it.
Alexandra subsided, a troubled expression on her face, as her aunt bustled to the small table where the butler set the tray and began to pour her a healthy dose of brandy.
“Here, you’ll feel much better after this.”
Alexandra took the snifter from her with both hands, surprised to find that she was trembling too much to hold it with one, and took a gulp. The liquor burned like fire all the way down to her stomach, making her eyes water. She coughed and tried to hand the glass to her aunt, but Hortense crossed her arms and told her to finish the liquor.
“Brandy was always Father’s cure for a case of the nerves—and anything else that ailed you, actually. And he lived to be eighty-six, so he must have gotten something right.”
“All right.” Alexandra tried not to breathe and took another gulp. A shiver ran through her, and her stomach felt as if it had burst into flames, but she could feel relaxation stealing through her.
“Good God, you fool, let go of me!” A man’s angry voice came ringing down the hall. “What the devil is going on?”
“Thorpe!” Alexandra surged to her feet just as Thorpe stalked into the room, shaking off the restraining hand of one of the footmen. The sudden movement made her feel dizzy, and she swayed.
“Alexandra!” he exclaimed, taking in her disheveled condition in a glance, as well as her wobbliness, and he crossed the room in two quick strides, then caught her in his arms. “My God, what happened to you? And why is your front door open and all the servants prowling about with lanterns?”
Alexandra sagged against his chest, warmth flooding her. “Oh, Thorpe. There was a man and he—he jumped out—”
“What!” Thorpe looked stunned, then thunderous.
“I—I—” Suddenly, surprising everyone, including herself, Alexandra burst into tears.
“Alexandra! My dear girl.” Lord Thorpe’s arms went around her, and he cuddled her close to him, bending his head over hers. “It’s all right. I’m here. I won’t let anyone get you. It’s all right.”
Gently he stroked her hair and back, murmuring softly. Aunt Hortense, who had watched in wonder the joy that spread over her niece’s face when she saw this man, as well as the way she collapsed against him, stood for a moment looking thoughtful, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Alexandra snuggled into Thorpe’s arms, luxuriating in the feeling of warmth and security, and gradually her tears abated. She stood for a moment with her head against his chest, listening to the soothing beat of his heart. It felt so nice here that she didn’t want to leave.
She lifted her tear-streaked face to Thorpe. “I’m sorry.”
Thorpe looked at her, her cheeks soft and damp, the big, dark eyes luminous. He smiled. “No need to apologize.”
He took out his handkerchief and began to blot the tears on her cheeks. She was beautiful, and so soft in his arms. Her hair was in charming disarray, curls escaping from their pinnings and tumbling over her shoulders. His gaze slid farther, to where her dress had been torn in the struggle. It had come completely off one shoulder, the little puff of a sleeve torn away, and the front of the bodice had fallen on that