Chapter Three

Alice was roused from her sleep by a loud bang. She sat up right in her little bed on the first floor of the orphanage and waited for the noise to happen again. It did.

“The children had better not be out of bed,” she said under her breath in French. The older children were as good as gold but it was the younger ones that enjoyed testing her patience. It wasn’t their fault. They were growing up without parents, or if they did have parents, they didn’t want them. It wasn’t the childhood for anyone to have.

Throwing back the blanket on her bed, she grabbed the lamp from the bedside table and turned up the flame so it gave off a flickering glow. Alice crept down the long hallway and was thankful when she didn’t see any of the children out of the beds. Another bang sounded, and she realised it was the door.

It was pitch black. The reverend had long since gone home for the night and the children had retired hours ago. Who could possibly be banging on the door at this hour?

She unlocked the door and pulled it open to see man lying on the doorstep. The scent of alcohol hit her nose so hard that it burned. He was intoxicated. From his clothes she could tell he came from money.

‘Typical,’ she thought.

As she knelt down beside him to try and wake up him, she recognised him as the man who had come to the orphanage earlier in the day to fix the bench. She’d thought him undeniably handsome, yet undeniably arrogant. Arrogance cancelled out handsomeness. He walked with a certain air about him, one that told others that he was important. It was a dismissive aura, one she’d been raised to detest.

But there he was on her doorstep, practically unconscious. His brown hair was completely unkempt and was sticking up all over the place and she could see the bottom of his dark blue hues through his narrowly parted eyelids. He had nice eyes, she would give him that. She’d never seen a larger man in her life, he was so tall and broad that she had no idea how she would ever move him. She was not a tall woman, nor a strong one.

“Hello,” he drunkenly slurred, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. His dark blue eyes opened and she felt momentarily frazzled at his charming looks. He had a nice smile as well. His teeth were straight and he had slight dimples in his cheeks. “I seem to have fallen over.” He started chuckling to himself. She was not going to be charmed by an aristocrat, particularly not a drunk one.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Alcott,” Alice huffed impatiently. “I’m going to need your ‘elp to get you inside.” She grabbed one of his arms and pulled it around her shoulder and tried with all her might to lift him to his feet, but he was twice her size.

But James helped her by getting to his feet clumsily. He didn’t remove his arm from around her shoulders and there was a small part of her that didn’t mind.

“Shh,” she hushed him as she closed the door behind them. Alice helped him down the hall to her little bedroom. There wasn’t much to the room. There was just her small bed and table, a shelf for her few possessions and a shabby armchair that sat beside the small fireplace that was just glowing embers. She threw James off of her and onto the bed, which he landed on heavily, still chuckling. She set the lamp down and brought her blanket up and over him to cover him. He seemed to fall asleep instantly even though he was much too long for her little bed.

She didn’t have to take care of him. If her parents or her brother saw her now than they would be so disappointed, but she wasn’t cold hearted. She could never be cold hearted.

Alice knew her family would be disappointed in her anyway. She’d made it to England in the crate of silks. She’d had every intention of finding French survivors but once she was in the streets of London she was afraid. She was terrified. All she wanted to do was run and hide. And that’s what she’d been doing for three years. She’d been hiding. She’d adopted the feminine version of her brother’s name and had been fortunate enough to come across Reverend Preston who, by some miracle of God, spoke her language. He’d taught her English to the best of his ability and had given her employment and a home.

Once she learned English, and was able to read it, she was able to read newspapers that reported on the aftermath of their revolution. Survivors were put on trial and were sentenced to death. It was all for nothing. Her brother had died and nothing had come of it.

And still she cowered in a London orphanage.

Alice breathed deeply and began to unbutton the fine coat he wore. The buttons looked like they were made of brass and they shone in the dim light of her little bedchamber. She individually removed his arms from the coat and then pulled it out from under him while he breathed evenly. She lay the coat at the end of the bed and then proceeded to untie his cravat. His clothes felt so fine under her fingertips. Lastly, she removed his boots and then set them beside the bed.

If the rich were good at anything, it was dressing well. The reverend provided her with calico to make her own clothes so she was able to make simple dresses.

Alice turned down the lamp once more and went to sit in the armchair beside the fireplace. She handled her mother’s silver rosary that hung on the tarnished old chain and touched a cross across her chest and whispered “S’il vous plaît pardonnez-moi.” It was something she did every night. She then kissed it and went back to sleep listening to the sound of James Alcott’s even breaths.

James squinted as he heard a faint ringing. Where was that coming from? It took him a few seconds to realise that the ringing was inside his head, thanks to his indulgence in alcohol the previous night. He drank until he’d forgotten the fact that he was engaged. He drank until he’d forgotten his own name. After that he was a little foggy.

He opened his eyes properly and blinked a few times to focus his sight. He was staring at a grey ceiling that had small cracks in the paint. This was not his ceiling.

He could feel his feet hanging off of the bed. The bed was too small for him.

James rolled over stiffly and froze. Sitting, or rather sleeping, opposite him on a tired armchair in the tiny room, was the beautiful, young woman he’d met at the orphanage the day before. She looked so peaceful. All she wore was a thin, white cotton nightdress and her dark hair was pulled into a loose braid. Her relaxed face looked completely innocent, completely different to the reserved face he’d seen before.

But what was he doing in her bedroom?

Suddenly, it all came flooding back to him. He’d been closest to the church when he left the tavern quite inebriated so he’d planned on sleeping on Annie’s settee to sleep off the alcohol but his subconscious had taken him to the orphanage instead. No matter how much he drank, he still was unable to forget one thing.

James made an involuntary groan as his head reminded him how much he’d had to drink the night before. It was as if someone was ringing the church bell inside his skull just to be cruel.

At the sound of his moaning, Jacqueline awoke with a start. Her wide, blue eyes found him instantly and she looked as though she was both curious and annoyed with him.

James couldn’t help but admire her in her minimal clothing. He was a man after all, and she was a very attractive young woman.

“I apologise, Mademoiselle,” he said sincerely, using the French term as she did with him. Perhaps she would forgive his ungentlemanly behaviour if he addressed her that way. “This was highly inappropriate of me to come to you in my state last night.”

Jacqueline merely nodded as she quickly slipped on a cotton wrap to make herself appear decent before a man.

James realised that he too was not properly dressed. Jacqueline must have removed his coat, cravat and boots the night before.

“It is not ‘ealthy to drink so ‘eavily,” Jacqueline murmured as she untied her braid with her dainty hands. She allowed her long, brown curls to fall down her back, only pinning her fringe away from her face. “You should go before the enfants wake. I need to dress.” James saw how she nervously fiddled with her rosary as she tried not to look at him. It was as if she found something on her wooden floor that was terribly interesting. Perhaps she wasn’t completely immune to him after all. But the second any inappropriate thoughts entered his mind concerning him he cursed himself. Jacqueline was not the type of girl to be charmed into his bed. She was different … special.

“Thank you for tending to me last night. There are not many women who would allow a drunk man to sleep off the whiskey in their beds. I also apologise for taking your bed – you should have just put me in the chair,” he said chuckling.

Jacqueline didn’t smile though, she didn’t even look at him. It bothered him. He wanted her to smile and laugh. She was far too young to look so burdened. “You’re welcome, Monsieur Alcott,” was all she replied.

James stepped into his boots and lazily tied his cravat around his neck. He then slipped his arms into his coat and buttoned his brass buttons. “I’ll take my leave now, Mademoiselle.” James took one last look at Jacqueline before he quickly made his way out of the orphanage.

It was early, the sun was only just rising. He fished his pocket watch from his waist jacket and popped it open to see that it was nearly seven in the morning. The summer air was already warm which was unusual for England. He knew when he returned that there would be a thousand invitations waiting for him and his future bride. There was no doubt that Sarah had already spread the news of their engagement around like wildfire.

He knew marrying Sarah was the right thing to do … in some ways. He’d been courting her for a long time and it was only fair that he married her. Yes, she was high and mighty and his family didn’t like her, but there was no doubt she’d be a proper Countess. But thinking about marrying her, thinking about tying himself to her made him think of Jacqueline. The petite, little woman had gotten under his skin in more ways than one.

But she couldn’t be … could she?

All he wanted to do was go back and see her. He wanted to talk to her, get her to tell him her woes. He wanted to know what made her so sorrowful. He wanted to know the story behind how she came to be in England. He wanted to know the story behind her tarnished rosary. He wanted to know everything.

Could it be possible that he’d met the woman he might be able to fall in love with on the day that he’d finally given Sarah what she wanted.

He had a large family, but there was only one who truly understood him.

He changed his walking direction, heading towards his sister and brother’s in law’s medical practice. They’d been doing quite well for themselves, and with the money from their patient’s they’d been able to convert the back rooms of the practice into an apartment for themselves. There were two bedrooms, one that was to be a nursery once Baby Gray arrived, and a lounge and kitchen area they retired to after they closed for the night.

He and Little J had always understood each other best. He loved his siblings and his parents but his sister really knew him.

It was close to half past seven when he finally arrived at the medical practice. It didn’t open until eight but Little J and Harrison would most likely already be away. He knocked on the door loudly until it was finally opened. Little J stood before him wearing her blue, calico gown and a fresh white apron. Her golden hair was pulled back into a braid and her cheeks were flushed with the summer heat.

“James?” she said in a confused tone.

“I need to talk to you,” he said intensely, crossing the threshold rather rudely and walking into the reception of the practice. He saw Harrison appear at the bottom of the stairs with a happy smile on his face.

“James, good to see you,” he said warmly. It was much too early for him to be this happy. Or perhaps the alcohol was dampening his mood.

“James, you smell like whiskey,” Little J said, scrunching up her nose.

“I know,” he huffed. “But I need to speak with you about something. Something important.”

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

“I want to ask you about love. More specifically, and don’t doubt my masculinity for saying this, but love at first sight. I’m confused … really confused.”

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French translations:

S’il vous plaît pardonnez-moi: Please forgive me

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