Chapter Text
1824
Alice’s father didn’t mean to get her killed.
She understands that, even as she tumbles over the cliff and feels the skirts of her dress pulled up by the fierce winds, even as she flails uselessly at the air rushing past. She knows he never intended for this to happen, but when she strikes an outcropping of rock and feels the bones in her left arm shatter, his intentions cease to matter.
Her father wasn’t the one who pushed her, yet he may as well have, for he’d forced her to marry Robert, and that was the same thing, wasn’t it?
This fall is certain death. Alice is aware of that, along with a great many other frustrating facts. Such as: Robert will claim she jumped in an act of suicide. Such as: everyone will believe him, because it fits the narrative of the crazy duchess and no one will question a duke.
It’s her fury that keeps her fighting. If I’m insane, she thinks, then let me be insane enough to survive.
And so she grabs with her unbroken arm at the cliff flying past, screaming when rocks and tough little trees growing out of the harsh environment rip through her flesh. She has only seconds until the inevitable impact with the ocean below. Hitting the water at great speed will kill her instantly, so she keeps reaching, keeps grabbing, lets her body flip and crash and break apart, anything it takes to slow her descent.
She’s marginally successful. It’s true that her heart still beats when at last the waves engulf her, but not much more can be said than that. The limbs that carried her running over spring-fresh hills and scrambling into friendly trees in the carefree days of her childhood are mere hunks of flesh now, useless and bleeding. She cannot swim, cannot bring her mouth above the surface. She is drowning. There’s a roaring in her head, and a ringing, and somewhere far away, a sound like a voice calling. It’s such a strange arrangement, discordant and jarring, that she fights to stay awake even as black spots bloom behind her eyes.
I will not go, she tells the indistinguishable voice. You will bear witness. I will not go!
But death comes regardless, waving a dismissive hand at her attempts to fight it off, and in her final moments, she sets her soul upon revenge.
It had started with a dare. That was how Alice always got into trouble: she couldn’t turn down a challenge.The young men of the local gentry knew her competitive spirit well, and they’d approach her at parties to engage her in a bit of fun. Nothing scandalous, of course, or at least, not scandalous in the bedroom sense. Alice wasn’t interested in any of that, and the young gentlemen weren’t attracted to her wild red hair and unwomanly ways. No, what they wanted was sport. No one could ride a horse or shoot a bow like Alice. No one could run as fast, even in long skirts. No one could eat as much or belch as loudly. She was great fun, and her father had long since given up trying to rein her in.
In the country, the only daughter of a nobleman could be forgiven her uncivilized nature. Or, if not forgiven, it could at least be overlooked. Her mother was a barbarian after all, how could they expect anything else? They’d known what would happen when Granville brought home a bride from Egypt, a feral sort of woman with strange clothes and eyes that were too proud. She hadn’t lasted a year, succumbing to scarlet fever not long after delivering Alice into the world, leaving the Englishman to raise their daughter alone.
Granville never remarried. His estate and his title, he said, would go to his beloved child, to whom he could never deny any request. So Alice was free to run and play and get her skirts muddy for many years, without a care for the disapproving glares directed her way. The same people who had whispered behind fans and snifters of brandy when her mother arrived were the ones who clucked and tutted over Alice’s antics, telling Granville that he’d never be able to find her a husband if he allowed her to go on this way.
Her father didn’t share their concerns. He saw only the living spirit of his wife, reborn in Alice’s features. He saw the fire he had fallen in love with, and he refused to put it out.
It was Alice herself who began the reform that brought her out of the country and into London. She’d been issued an irresistible challenge by one of her closest friends, the son of a neighboring estate. He’d teased her about being permanently unmarriageable, and she’d shot off some retort, saying she could do anything she put her mind to. If, at the ripe age of sixteen, she wanted a husband, she could have her pick.
“Prove it, then,” her friend had dared her. “Get a proposal.” Before she could form a saucy response, he’d added, “But not from just anyone. If you’re so high and mighty, get the most eligible bachelor of the season to propose to you.”
“And if I do?” she’d asked.
“I’ll give you my hunter.” The chestnut gelding was a beautiful horse, the envy of the county, and Alice desired him greatly.
“Deal.”
“And if you lose, you have to marry me.”
She’d thought it was a funny joke at the time. Why should he want that to be his prize? It seemed more like a punishment than anything. Regardless, for the first time in her life, Alice set herself on womanly pursuits. Her father was astonished at her new interest in sewing and dancing, astonished still more when his headstrong daughter declared that she wanted to go to London to be presented to society.
Though he didn’t understand what could possibly motivate such a request, he was happy to oblige. Her wardrobe was bolstered with fine gowns covered in lace and silk. Her carriage was reupholstered in an elegant pink brocade. When the transformation from hellion to demure young lady was complete, Alice made her way into the city for the first time, accompanied by an entourage of servants and her dear father.
Acting came easily to her. Though she held no true enthusiasm for social affairs, she could manufacture just the right aura to convince others that she did. The rumors that had spread of her wild behavior in the country were disproved within a fortnight. All who met her declared that they’d never seen such a lovely and proper young woman.
And every night when the door to her room was firmly shut, Alice would kick off the dainty slippers she wore and fall back into her bed in fits of laughter. She was a mastermind, and the world was her game to play.
It was with this thought that she set her eyes upon Robert Beauchamp, the Most Noble Duke of Bridgewater and recent widower. Every mother with a daughter of the right age also had their sights on him, for anyone could see that he was looking to marry again. Some clucked their tongues behind closed doors; his first wife had died in childbirth only eight months before. They said he was moving on quickly, displaying an almost unseemly need for an heir, but anyone of similar station could understand such an urgency.
In Robert, Alice had found her hardest challenge yet. He was a stuffy man, tall and thin with a serious face and no love for anything he deemed frivolous. He attended the parties that season only to hunt down a proper woman, someone young and fertile and beyond reproach. Pretending to be the kind of modest, solemn prey he would find appropriate was nearly beyond Alice’s acting abilities.
But only nearly.
After two weeks in London, Robert began to officially court her. After seven weeks of dinners and balls and nights at the opera house, Robert proposed. Alice nearly laughed in triumph when he made his offer of marriage. The beautiful chestnut hunter was hers! That was her only thought as she gleefully gave her approval. All through the carriage ride home, she was caught up in visions of dashing across verdant fields atop the grand horse.
When Robert asked her father for his permission, Granville looked to Alice to see her thoughts on the matter. She smiled placidly at his confusion and gave a slight nod. Concerned, but thinking that perhaps matters of the heart were unable to be explained, Granville consented to the union. It was only after Robert left the house that Alice finally let down her act and clapped her hands in delight.
“Oh, this is wonderful! When can we go home? Tomorrow?”
Granville looked at his daughter in bewilderment. “Home? Don’t you want to stay here and spend more time with your betrothed?”
She waved a hand and began pulling pins out of her hair, letting it tumble free the way she preferred. “I don’t actually want to marry him! This was all in good fun. We’ll cancel the engagement in a week or so.”
“Alice, my dear…” His voice held astonishment and disapproval. “You have agreed to the marriage. You must go through with it now.”
“Nonsense,” she huffed, naively unaware of the predicament she’d gotten herself into. “It’s not a binding contract. They were merely harmless words.”
She would soon discover, however, just how harmful words could be. According to her father, going against her promise to Robert Beauchamp would bring great shame upon the family. He wouldn’t allow it. All her life, she’d been given anything she wanted. She’d been permitted to roam freely and behave in the most inappropriate ways, but in this matter she had finally discovered a boundary her father would not let her cross.
There were many arguments. There was much yelling, a broken vase or two, and a surfeit of slamming doors. Alice had always considered herself to be like a wild horse, able to run where she chose and shape the world to her whims. Granville was the first man to show her how badly she had misjudged things. He wouldn’t be the last.
If her father so chose, he could remove all financial support from her life—Alice owned nothing of her own. Everything was given as a loan and could be rescinded at any time. He made this very clear to her during the days after Robert’s proposal. Her carriage would not come when she called. No maid would help her dress. She could not order a meal on her own or send for a new book to be delivered. She was given only what he allowed: paltry meals and a Bible—to study, he said, so that she might make the correct decision.
She was caged, and there was no escape. She could walk out the door, certainly, but where would she go? No one in society would have her once she was disgraced. Without funds or connections, how would she live? Would she choose to be a beggar on the street?
It took many days to break her down. In the end, Alice relented, though she couldn’t understand how things had gone so wrong so quickly. The only mercy was that the wedding wouldn’t take place for at least a year. In the meantime, she was allowed to return home, and her father restored every privilege that had been withheld.
The arrival of the hunter was no comfort. The boy who had made the bet, her closest friend, came riding up the driveway of the Granville estate with the gelding tied to his saddle, a bleak look on his face. Alice ran out to meet him looking equally troubled.
“Well,” he said, coming to a stop and staring down at her from his seat atop his own bay mare. “You won. I didn’t think you would actually do it.”
She wanted to punch him for getting her into this mess. “Are you happy now?” she hissed. “I’m to be a duchess! Isn’t that grand? Aren’t you so proud?”
To her utter astonishment, tears began to form in his eyes. He jerked his head away angrily, staring off into the gardens. “Take your prize. I must return home.”
Seeing an old friend crying over this news brought a swift halt to her anger. Why was he upset? She was the one who had to marry the old codger. Did he feel her pain so keenly? “I don’t want to do it,” she whispered. “Father is forcing me.”
A halting intake of breath. “I’m sorry. May it turn out well for you.” Then he dropped the reins of the hunter and galloped away.
She never saw him again.
Alice is not dead.
Or, she doesn’t think she is. She’s never been dead before, so she isn’t certain what it should feel like. Her pain is gone, and her limbs are whole and functioning again, which would be a point in favor of having expired, but she never thought the afterlife would be so sandy.
“Rise,” a husky, feminine voice says from somewhere above her. “You have been given a second chance.”
Alice scrambles up, blinking in the bright tropical sunlight, and stares at the women before her. They look like angels, all shimmering and serious, three seraphim displaying a full range of heights and skin tones. But again, angels wouldn't be on an island dotted with scrubby brush and foul-smelling seaweed, would they?
"What has happened?" is her first question.
The tallest one, lean with dark skin and noble eyes, steps forward and says, "You have been chosen. Today was the day of your death, and now it is not. Do you understand?"
Alice is not afraid—her father had sometimes joked that she'd been born without the ability to feel fear. It wasn't true, though perhaps she felt it less than others did. What is there to fear now? Here before her is a grand adventure.
"I understand," she says, and finds that her voice sits oddly in her throat.
"I am Adimu," the tall woman says. "We," an elegant hand gestures to the other two, "are sirens. Do you know what that means?"
When Alice indicates that she’s only vaguely familiar with the idea, Adimu explains the deal they’ve made with the Ocean. She states in plain terms the nature of the bargain and its attendant consequences.
“Our life is not for those who are weak of spirit,” she says. “You must be strong.” Her eyes flick over Alice’s tiny form doubtfully. “Of course, no one will force you to stay. If you agree now, you may still change your mind at any time. Many forfeit their lives after seeing what is truly required.”
A contract she can back out of at any time. Already, her new life differs greatly from the old. She tilts her head and says, “I accept your deal. I will not change my mind.”
Adimu nods with only the slightest hint of approval in her black eyes. “This is Sarnai.” She gestures to her left, indicating a sturdy woman nearly as short as Alice whose round face looks sweet, though her mouth is set in sadness. “And this is Aurore.” The woman to Adimu’s right has a more familiar cast to her features; she could have been any of the blonde-haired beauties on the dance floor at Almack’s, right down to the disinterested air she’s putting on. Adimu continues, “May we know your name?”
Her name. Here is another second chance, an opportunity to be someone other than Alice Beauchamp, mad wife of the Duke of Bridgewater.
“Alix,” she says, having always liked the French variation. “I’m Alix.”
Her last year of freedom was bittersweet. She had a mind to act out in horrible ways with the goal of forcing Robert to break the engagement himself. She tried, once, and her father put a quick end to such thinking. After an outburst during one of Robert's infrequent visits, Alice awoke the next morning to discover that her hunter had been sold. The very prize she'd traded her life for was gone.
She didn't act out again.
When the year was up, they traveled back to London for the wedding, arriving just as the weather turned gray and sodden. Alice felt only fury as the tiny buttons on her wedding gown were meticulously fastened.
"I'll never forgive you for this," she told her father as they got into the carriage.
"This is your own doing," was his reply. She heard graves inside his voice, desolation and death. She knew he feared she would face the same fate as Robert's first wife, but she didn't plan on ever being in that position to begin with.
They could make her marry this horrid man, but they couldn't make her bear his children. The ceremony was quick, and the dinner afterward was a quiet affair. She left in Robert's carriage, heading toward Robert's home, with the expectation of ending up in Robert's bed.
But when he led her, silent as a lamb to slaughter, to the threshold of his rooms, she wouldn’t cross into them. She stopped in the doorway, her complicity at an end.
The duke was surprised to find that the meek young woman he’d thought he’d married had turned into a rebel. Still, he seemed utterly unbothered by her stubbornness. "You do not wish to perform your wifely duties?"
Alice shook her head, tight-lipped.
"So be it. You'll come around in time."
And he’d sent her to her own room down the hall, leaving her feeling as if she’d won a battle. He is weak, she thought. I will prevail.
It was a comfort, that first night, to go to sleep thinking that perhaps something could be salvaged of the life she used to have. Perhaps Robert would be as permissive as her father had been. Perhaps he would leave her alone at his country estate while he spent his days here in London.
What a foolish child she was.
In the morning, a maid came to tend her fire. Alice asked for her breakfast, and the young girl flinched, eyes darting nervously around the room.
“His grace has requested your presence for breakfast in the dining room.”
“I do not wish to go. Have my food brought up here instead.”
The maid twisted the ties of her apron and stuttered, “H-his grace has instructed us not to bring you food. He requests your presence in the dining room.”
So. It would be like that. Had her father given him some tips for controlling her? Alice declined to eat breakfast at all, staying locked away in her room, but by noontime she was too hungry to keep up her obstinacy. Robert was waiting for her when she trudged down the stairs.
“Ah, you’ve decided to join me at last.” His cravat was tied so high and tight around his neck, she wondered how he would be able to eat. “Come, sit. We have things to discuss.”
Silent, glaring, she took a seat at the opposite end of the table. A servant placed a plate of food in front of her, and Alice began eating without waiting for her husband’s approval.
“You will learn how things are done in my house, Alice. I do not appreciate sulkiness or a bad temper.”
“You deprived me of food,” she said pointedly.
“I did not. I simply set forth conditions for which you may eat your food. It is my right and my duty as your sovereign to provide you with such guidance.”
She hated him. They’d been married for less than twenty-four hours and already she wanted to spit in his face. “Am I to have no freedoms?”
“You are my wife. That is a position of great privilege. Provided that you behave in an acceptable manner and fulfill your obligations, you may have a great many freedoms.” He took a small sip of water, his food still untouched.
Alice shoved another bite into her mouth and chewed loudly. “I will not share your bed,” she proclaimed, a small bit of bread flying out onto her plate in a graceful, defiant arc.
Robert’s eyes grew dangerously cold. He dismissed the servants then said in a hard tone, “I require one thing above all from you, and you will not deprive me of it. I must have a son.”
Her reply was just as hard, striking like a viper: “You’ll have to rape me.”
But Robert claimed to be above such things. He used force in other ways, beginning a concentrated effort to break her will. It was like the fight with her father all over again, except this husband of hers was far more cruel. Granville, at least, had held love for her alongside his pride. She did not have that benefit with Robert.
At every meal, she would sit across from him and he would demand that she come to his bed that evening. Every time, she refused. If she chose not to come to the meal, she was not allowed any food. When she did come to eat and refused his request once again, a punishment was doled out. He was creative, she’d give him that, frequently coming up with new ways to evoke misery. He had her bed removed, so that she was forced to sleep on the floor. Servants were not allowed to make her a fire, so she spent her nights huddled for warmth. All of her clothes were taken as well, and in return she received only the most basic of dresses made out of coarse cloth that irritated her skin constantly.
There were those punishments, and there were worse ones as well.
She doesn’t like to think about those times.
Anger was her only friend, the burning flame that kept her resisting even when he tortured and starved her. She was furious at her own impotence, and she railed against the laws that kept her confined. She had no recourse, for everything he did was perfectly legal. She was a disobedient wife, and it was his prerogative to subdue her. Alice imagined herself as stone: cold and unaffected by his mistreatment. She imagined herself as a forest fire: too deadly to be touched, powerful and relentless.
She made rules for herself:
She would never, under any circumstances, cry.
She would never willingly consummate their marriage.
And finally, the rule that kept her determination alive most effectively, she would never, ever give up trying to find a way to give him back every ounce of suffering he’d given her.
She lies about her country, too.
When Adimu asks where she is from, Alix suspects that her answer will be important somehow. “Italy,” she says. “My father was English, but I’ve spent my life in Italy.” That was where her almost-death had occurred: a cliffside Italian town whose air was supposed to be restorative to fragile minds like her own. She almost laughs to remember it. Indeed, she feels so restored.
“Your first year of service will be spent in a probationary period,” Adimu goes on. “You must stay with us, so that we may instruct you. After that, you will be free to travel where you wish. All the earth is open to you, except the country in which you spent your first life. This is to protect you from being recognized. If you are discovered to be something other than human, your own life will be forfeit along with any who even suspect you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she says. She’ll need to be careful, that’s what she understands. Very cautious, very smart. She can do that.
“Very good. Do you have any questions before we leave?”
The excitement Alix has been holding back surges up through her chest. She leans forward, grinning. “Do we have any special powers? Other than the whole deadly voice thing? Can we fly? Can we turn invisible?”
One thick, dark eyebrow arches over Adimu’s deep brown eyes. “You are still but a human, frozen in time and given the temporary gift of a siren’s voice.” She pauses, notes Alix’s disappointment, then continues. “There are, however, benefits to being frozen. We do not need to breathe, eat, or sleep, though we can choose to do so. We cannot feel physical pain, and our bodies cannot be harmed in any way. I suppose you could call this a power of sorts.”
She supposes? Alix feels her hopes rise again, for this is more than she could ever have asked of the universe. Eager to test Adimu’s information, Alix pinches her arm as hard as she can. Her skin is still soft and pliable, exactly as it was before, but there’s no pain and no redness left behind when she pulls away. “Fantastic!” she says in awe, looking up to Adimu. “Would you hit me?”
The other three sirens share a look, and Adimu closes her eyes briefly before answering, “There will be time to test your new strength later. For now, we will allow Aurore to leave. I can feel her impatience.”
The blond woman walks across the waves and sinks under them without so much as a goodbye.
“Why doesn’t she stay with you?” Alix asks.
“She sleeps,” Adimu says simply. “Except when she is called to serve, she remains under the water, unconscious. It is her way of being a siren. You will find your own.”
“What’s yours?”
Adimu finally shows an expression, a close-mouthed smile barely lifting the corners of her lips. “You will see. Come.”
Alix isn’t sure what to expect from these very serious new acquaintances. Adimu has said they have unlimited time and funds at their disposal, but they are also limited by their inability to talk to humans or form close relationships with them. What, then, do they do with their time?
The answer is something she would never have guessed. The Ocean brings them to an unfamiliar land—Alix isn’t sure what country or even what continent they’re on—and the other two sirens lead her to their home, a ramshackle place hidden within a lush jungle.
“There is no one nearby,” Adimu says. “We may speak freely.”
Alix turns in a circle as she walks through the door, realizing that the sirens must have made this place with their own hands. On every wall, there are boards with insects pinned on display: jewel-colored butterflies and glistening beetles and large red ants. On every surface, glass containers hold live samplings of the creatures, fluttering and scuttling and burrowing into mounds of dirt.
“I hope you are not afraid.” There’s a slight taunting under the surface of Adimu’s voice. “You may sleep outside if you are.”
Sarnai, who has yet to say a word, pads over to a desk and sits down, pulling a journal over and working on a sketch of a many-legged centipede.
“I’m not afraid,” Alix insists, telling the truth. “Just…why?” She gestures at the bugs everywhere. “What’s the purpose?”
“Science,” Adimu says firmly. “I am lucky to have Sarnai. She understands.”
Science. Alix remembers the eccentric man who had stayed at her father’s estate for several years during her childhood. He’d called himself a natural philosopher, a student of nature. He’d been quite enraptured with the plants that grew in the fields of her home, though his interest had sometimes extended to the insects and birds there as well. He’d been bitten by a snake during one of his studies and died of infection a week later.
At least such things are no longer a concern for her. “Can I hold one?” Alix asks, because she wants to, but also because she wants to prove that she isn’t faint of heart.
Without expression, Adimu takes down a container filled with moss and stones and lifts out a small, hairy spider. When Alix holds out a hand, Adimu dumps the spider into it so quickly that the little beast reacts with violence, attempting to sink its fangs into Alix’s palm.
Nothing happens. The spider backs up her arm, the hairs on its legs making her giggle from the tickling sensation. She blocks its progress with her other hand and coos at it.
“He is highly venomous,” Adimu says. “That bite would have caused you much pain, were you still human.”
“Nice,” Alix grins. “I like him.”
Thus, her probationary period is not the ordeal she thought it might be. Though her new sisters aren’t much fun, their work is interesting enough and they don’t seem to mind Alix’s boisterous personality. They don’t ask about her past, and she doesn’t ask about theirs. They don’t talk to each other very much at all. Instead, Alix spends her time exploring the forests and testing the limits of her new abilities. She goes days without eating or sleeping, just to marvel at the way her body doesn’t complain. She ties stones around her legs and floats at the bottom of a lake for an entire week just to see what will happen. She runs for days without stopping, hangs upside down from trees, jumps off of waterfalls, and wrestles with wild animals.
With every experiment, Alix becomes more thrilled by the second chance she’s been given. She’s invincible. Nothing can harm her. Even better—she holds within her the power to bring harm to others. During her year of forced cohabitation, she works on a plan.
A plan for revenge.
When punishment didn’t work, Robert turned to the medical field instead. Many doctors were brought into the London mansion to inspect Alix for hysteria and other feminine maladies. She was diagnosed with a variety of illnesses and prescribed medicines that ranged from harmless to incapacitating. Even in a stupor, though, she didn’t forget her rules. Robert grew angrier with every attempt, until the day came that he presented his ultimate threat:
“Alice, my wife, I’m afraid that if you don’t recover from whatever is ailing you, I will have to consider alternative treatment for you.”
He wanted to hospitalize her. It was a fate worse than death, and one that was bestowed upon many an unruly woman. That was how husbands dealt with the ones who fought back: they locked them away to suffer and eventually die in a mental institution.
“Just divorce me!” she cried out in frustration. That had been her goal from the very first day of their marriage: to be such a bother to him that he would resort to cutting their ties.
“I’m afraid that’s not a possibility,” he replied with utter calm. “The Beauchamp family has never had a divorce, and I don’t intend to be the first. You will learn to obey, or you will find yourself incarcerated.”
“Do that, and you’ll never get your heir. You can’t remarry as long as I live.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
The first time Alix sings for the Ocean, she understands why Adimu said this life wasn’t for the weak. She hadn’t given much thought to the price she had to pay for her second chance, but the sight of men happily throwing themselves off of a ship and immediately sinking under the waves disturbs her greatly. It’s clear that the others are affected as well. Aurore leaves without a word to return to her sleep, and the remaining two bury themselves in their work upon getting back to the jungle.
It isn’t until days later that Alix is finally able to put aside her regret for the souls lost during the feeding. When she does, she feels a secret, shameful spark of delight. Her voice is powerful. She’s dangerous now, a force to be reckoned with.
The fury she’d felt after being pushed off that cliff has not lessened in the slightest. Even though she’s pleased with her wonderful new set of abilities, she still wants justice. She wants to clear her name, and she wants Robert to pay for what he did. Once her probationary period is over, she’ll be able to do all that and more. It’s just a waiting game at this point.
So she helps Adimu and Sarnai with their research. She sings dutifully for the Ocean and learns everything her sisters have to teach her about being a siren. It’s her season in London all over again: acting as someone else, pretending to be obedient and harmless while scheming to get her way all the while. Nevermind that things didn’t turn out well for her before. This time, she won’t make mistakes. This time, she fully understands the danger of her words, and, indeed, that’s the whole point.
For two years, Alice lived as Duke Beauchamp’s wife. During that time, she only saw her father a handful of times. He came to her the way one would visit an invalid or someone wracked with a deadly disease. Robert had spread the news of her ill health far and wide and made sure to dress her properly whenever a doctor or a visitor came to call. Her weakened body and dark-circled eyes made her look the part of a woman suffering from madness.
To her father, Alice tried to tell the truth. The first time he came, she ranted to him about the way she was being treated, and he’d listened with grave solemnity.
“My dear,” he said when she was finished. “I’m quite concerned for you. Robert has told me—”
“He lies!” she shouted, which had only made her father grow more still, more apprehensive. She was inadvertently affirming his belief of Robert’s tales. He left after giving Robert his full approval of any treatment necessary.
Then he stayed away for nearly a year, apparently unable to handle seeing his only child in such a state. On his next visit, she remained calm. “Father, please. I need you to believe me.” She explained again about the things Robert did. She begged him to ask the servants, for they could bear witness.
But her entreaties fell on deaf ears. Rather than making things better, all she did was dig her own grave, for it was Granville himself who recommended Italy, having heard tales of miraculous recovery due to the fresh sea breezes. He suggested it as a kindness, truly believing it might help his daughter come back into her right mind. Alice understood that even then, and yet, when things turned out as they did, she couldn’t help blaming him.
For his pride, she had endured unimaginable things.
For the family name, she had been trapped under the cruel ministrations of the duke.
And when no amount of threatening or starving or drugging worked, Robert decided to be rid of her altogether. On their second day in the little town, he harassed her until she agreed to go on a walk with him along the cliffs. She had no hope that the salt air would be a remedy, for there was nothing actually wrong with her mind, and Robert wasn’t going to give up on his campaign so easily. But she’d been locked in a cold, empty room for so long, and the colors and sounds of the Italian town were a welcome balm. Walking along the path with the ocean spread out below was as near to happiness as she’d been since before she’d taken that infernal bet.
As they’d wandered out of sight of prying eyes and ears, Robert had asked one last time, “Will you give me an heir, Alice?”
“Never.”
Then he’d given one mighty push and sent her tumbling over the edge.