Page 134 of Doxy for the Ton
Forgive me, my love. We both want what the other cannot give, and if we remained as we are, the wanting would drive us both to destruction. I pray with all my heart that you, at least, will be happy, and I trust that, in my actions, I am doing all I can to make that possible.
Mimi
Footsteps approached, and Alexander snapped his head up, buoyed by hope. But it was the butler. His heart ached at the sadness and resignation in the man’s eyes.
“Where…?” he asked, but Wheeler shook his head.
“Even if I knew, Your Grace, I wouldn’t…”
“I understand,” Alexander said, as the knot of pain swelled in his heart.
Mimi had gone.
“She sent for your clothes last night,” the butler said, his gaze wandering over Alexander’s crumpled shirt and breeches. “A fire has been lit in the guest bedchamber for you, and I took the liberty of sending Charles in with a washbowl and razor. Shall I assist you, or would you rather I send for your valet?”
Alexander shook his head. “There’s no need to disturb him. Perhaps some tea before I shave?”
“Charles is already making it.”
“I see you’re fully prepared, Wheeler.”
“Her ladyship’s orders were quite specific.”
“What were her orders?”
“To see to your every need so that you might enter the world with pride, in the knowledge that you have nothing but a bright future ahead.”
“Is that what shereallysaid?”
The butler frowned. Then he averted his gaze, but not before Alexander caught a sheen of moisture in his eyes.
Evidently Alexander wasn’t the only one who would miss her. The stoic butler had a heart after all, even if he concealed it.
“Thank you, Wheeler,” Alexander said.
The butler raised his eyebrows in response. There was no surer sign of a breach of etiquette than a man of Alexander’s rank actuallythankingthe staff. But it seemed the appropriate thing to do—not just appropriate, but kind.
Since when had he, a selfish profligate, considered kindness toward others?
Sinceshecame into my life.
He strode upstairs, then paused outside Mimi’s bedchamber—or what had been her bedchamber until this morning—before entering the guest bedroom, where Charles was already setting a tea tray on a table. A fire blazed merrily in the hearth, almost as if it had no idea of what the house, and Alexander, had lost, and a long cheval mirror had been placed in a corner beside a washstand, which bore a bowl of steaming water with a washcloth, towel, cutthroat razor, and leather strap.
Charles poured the tea—just how Alexander liked it, with a splash of milk and one spoonful of sugar—then set to work on the razor, sharpening it against the strap while Alexander drank his tea, then splashed hot water over his skin.
“Will you require assistance to shave, sir?” the footman asked, holding up the razor. The blade shimmered in the firelight, while the young servant’s hand shook.
The butler stepped forward and plucked the blade out of the footman’s hand.
“I think, Charles, His Grace would prefer to survive the morning with his throat intact. Why don’t you see to his boots?”
The butler steered Alexander to a chair beside the mirror. “Did you shave yourself when you stayed here, sir?”
Alexander shook his head.
Shehad shaved him, her touch lighter even than his valet’s, though he’d never admit that, at least not when Larry held the blade to his throat.
How he’d relished her touch—the soft drip of water when she rinsed the razor, then the gentle caress of the blade on his skin. The knack, she’d said, was to ensure that the blade was really sharp, so that hardly any pressure was required to remove the stubble.
