The situation only made Julia more frustrated with Oliver. He’d placed her in an unfortunate position. Now what was she to do? She would give him a piece of her mind when he finally decided to make an appearance.
Blast him.
She smoothed the skirt of the pale blue gown she’d donned with Oliver in mind. How silly of her to want to look her best. She swallowed hard, refusing to focus on her disappointment at his absence. Surely her happiness wasn’t becoming dependent on him. That would never do.
~*~
Back in his library, Oliver ran his finger slowly along a vellum page, seeking information about one of the symbols he’d copied from the prison cell wall. He’d seen the symbol before but couldn’t remember exactly where.
“Anything?” Hawke asked, having stopped his pacing to stare over Oliver’s shoulder.
“You’ll be the first to know as soon as I find something.”
“Humph.” Hawke turned away to begin pacing again, his limp barely discernible.
“You are aware that your behavior is not assisting me in any way?” Oliver couldn’t help but shake his head at his friend.
“Then give me something productive to do. I can look through one of those books as easily as you.”
“No, thank you. These books are delicate, ancient texts. I shudder to think of you paging through them with all the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.”
Hawke glared at him.
“What?” Oliver asked, his gaze never leaving the page though he could feel the weight of his friend’s stare. “I only speak the truth.”
Hawke resumed his pacing but slower this time, apparently attempting to be less distracting. Several quiet minutes passed as Oliver jotted down the possible interpretations of the symbol before moving on to the next one he’d copied on the paper.
“Did you actually visit the museum?” Hawke asked.
Oliver glanced up at the question, surprised his friend knew. Then Hawke held up the pamphlet Oliver had taken yesterday. “Yes,” Oliver answered. “With the Earl of Burnham and Lady Julia. We toured the medieval artifacts exhibit.”
Hawke’s brow rose as he drew closer. “What ho? Visiting a museum with the lady and her father? What does that mean?”
Oliver couldn’t help the uncomfortable feeling that rolled through him at Hawke’s words. Not that he was embarrassed by the outing. He just didn’t care to discuss it. “It means I went to the museum with them.”
“And?” Hawke prodded.
“There is no ‘and.’ I have nothing more to report.”
“You’ve been in Lady Julia’s company more than once now. Several times, in fact.” The innuendo in his friend’s tone was impossible to ignore.
“As you well know, her father has the book I need.” Suddenly he remembered his promise to pay a visit to Lord Burnham that day to assist him. “Damn.”
“What?” Hawke asked as he hurried forward.
Oliver held up a hand. “Nothing to do with the current task. I forgot I was supposed to do something today.”
“It involves Lady Julia?”
“Indirectly. More to do with her father. I promised to spend some time with the earl today to assist him in our research. He seems despondent at times. I thought some company might aid him.”
“Then you must truly care for his daughter.”
“I didn’t say that.” Oliver was careful not to meet Hawke’s gaze. The man was far too observant.
“But surely you know what she must be thinking.”
“I don’t follow your logic.” Or rather, he refused to try.
Hawke shook his head. “If you’re spending time with her father, she has every reason to believe you’re interested in courting her.”
“She knows I’m not.” But he couldn’t say that with certainty. Not after the kisses and everything else they’d shared.
“Unless you told her some reason as to why you can never marry, that has to be what she’s thinking. Believe me, I received a lecture from my brother on the same topic. Most women in the ton of marriageable age attend social events to find a husband.” Hawke walked closer to Oliver’s desk. “Is there any reason why Lady Julia wouldn’t marry?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
“Perfect,” Hawke declared. “The two of you are good together.”
“You can’t be serious.” Oliver sat back in his chair, unable to believe where this conversation was going.
“She’s attractive, intelligent, and kind from what little I know of her. Letitia is quite fond of her. Lady Julia will make an excellent wife.”
“I don’t intend to marry.” Oliver did his best to study the book on his desk again, anything to halt Hawke’s words.
“You’re the heir. I believe you must.”
“My cousin will inherit. He’ll be a fine earl.” He’d considered the matter from every angle. It was the only solution.
“What does your father think of your plan?”
“I haven’t yet discussed it with him.”
“I can see why. He’ll be appalled.” Hawke shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you wish to marry?”
“While Miss Fairchild is obviously the perfect match for you, I don’t believe a lady exists that could understand my...issues.”
“What issues are those?”
Oliver threw down his pen, frustrated that Hawke wouldn’t let it go. “We’ve already discussed them or have you so quickly forgotten?”
“Are you referring to your anger?”
“Of course.” That very anger which he tried so hard to contain threatened to rear its ugly head. He drew a deep breath and told himself to release it.
“Frost.” Hawke stood directly in front of his desk and leaned forward with both his hands on it, his face mere inches from Oliver’s. “Have you considered my suggestions about forgiving yourself and finding something with which to replace the anger?”
His quiet tone eased Oliver’s irritation. “Easier said than done.”
Oliver still feared his anger would erupt and anyone nearby would take the brunt of it. The blind rage that had filled him in battle scared the hell out of him. How could he begin to describe what it was like? The thick black fog that smothered him, turned him into a machine that could destroy so easily. It eliminated all thought and switched on some sort of instinctive power he couldn’t control.
One of the men who’d served under him had witnessed it and told Oliver his actions fit the definition of ‘berserk,’ an ancient Scandinavian warrior frenzied in battle and said to be invulnerable.
The idea of that happening again made him shudder. He had no way of controlling it. God forbid anyone he cared for was in his path if it happened again. When it happened again.
Hawke drew back, still studying him. “You may remember that I was never close to my father.” When Oliver nodded, he continued, “The things he told me from a young age made me believe that my life held little value. I suppose I joined the Navy to prove him—and myself—wrong.”
Oliver knew Hawke had risked his life to save others. Now the motivation behind that brave, heroic behavior was clearer.
“Meeting Letitia changed my way of thinking. It took some time before I could grasp the idea that I do matter. In all honesty, my life was not going well after leaving the military. I missed having an objective that gave me a reason to rise each morning. Discovering Smithby and the effort to stop him gave me an intention again, but it didn’t fill the emptiness inside.”
“I know to what you’re referring,” Oliver admitted. “It’s hard to feel relevant by merely existing. Not after the higher purpose we served in the Navy.”
Hawke nodded. “When I learned how Letitia was fighting a battle in her own way, it changed my thinking.”
Oliver frowned, hard pressed to believe the admirable woman Hawke was to marry had such problems.
“Many people are fighting, Oliver. And while those battles may not seem important to us, to them, the stakes are high. To
them, it’s life or death. Letitia’s family treats her more like a servant than a daughter and sister. That treatment was slowly wearing her down until she was beginning to believe it. Understanding what she was going through helped me come to terms with my past, my beliefs, but more importantly, what I wanted for my future.”
Future? The word was not one Oliver had considered. He couldn’t picture what it might look like.
“I would ask you to seriously think about what you want your future to be. Living alone is no easy task. Neither is living life to its fullest. But one is infinitely more satisfying than the other and has the potential of true happiness.”
When Hawke paused, Oliver nodded. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I know it’s not easy for you to share something so personal, and I don’t take your confidence lightly.”
“There’s one other aspect you should consider.”
“Oh?”
“Hers. You may not intend to, but you could be ruining her reputation and any chance she has to make a match.”
“I hardly think—”
“Nor did I. But society is unforgiving. The slightest tarnish is all it takes. What might be of little consequence to you might mean no one else will offer for her.”
Oliver could only clench his jaw as he remembered the feel of her in his arms, of the kisses they’d shared. They could have easily been seen while in the garden at the ball. Or she might have been seen when she called on him. Then what? He had no desire to cause her harm in any way.
“I’d urge you to think long and hard about the future, Frost. If you’re like I was, my focus was on one day. That was all I could handle. But now...” He shifted his gaze to the window as his words faded. “Now I see the future so clearly, and instead of being empty, I’m happy. I want to live each day to the fullest, so I don’t miss a moment of it. That’s a far cry from where I was a few weeks ago.”
Oliver couldn’t help but envy the gleam of joy in his friend’s eyes. It had been a long time since he’d felt like that. Yet it was difficult to believe it was possible or that he deserved to feel that way again. Not when the darkness was such a big part of him, looming over him.
“I only ask you to think on all I’ve said.” Hawke held Oliver’s gaze once more. “If you want to speak further of what happened in Ethiopia, I’d be pleased to. You’re not alone in this.”
Then why do I feel like I am?
He doubted Hawke would be able to understand what frightened him about living. And if he tried to explain further, he feared Hawke would be appalled at his behavior.
“What do you think of the clues thus far?” Hawke asked.
Oliver welcomed the change in the conversation. He needed to consider what Hawke had told him, especially for Julia’s sake. He already feared his darkness would spill out onto her. He certainly didn’t want to ruin her life by losing control in her company, nor did he want to ruin her chances of making a good match.
Where did that leave him? Should he find a way to sever his ties with her? Step away completely? If only he had a strong enough will to do so.
In truth, he feared that if he released her light, he’d be cast into darkness even further. The idea frightened him more than he cared to admit.
With effort, he shifted his focus to his notes. “As I expected, much of these words and symbols are nonsense. While many are genuine, combined, there is no message I can see.”
“So why would Smithby go to such effort to put all that on the wall?”
“Who would know the markings mean nothing? Very few. I’d speculate that the police wouldn’t have known who to contact to decipher them if you hadn’t thought I could be of assistance.”
“True,” Hawke agreed. “By managing to convince Rutter to draw those symbols and pose in that odd way before he died, it created quite a stir amid the prisoners and guards alike. The general public will feel the same.”
“Exactly.” Oliver considered the details of it. “Why do you think Rutter agreed to do all that?”
“Was he so frightened of Smithby that he would agree to anything?”
“Or did he believe Smithby still intended to free him?” Oliver asked. “That makes more sense to me. I’ve heard of a drug that will slow the heart enough to make one think the person is dead. If Rutter thought Smithby was giving him that, he’d probably be willing to draw on the walls and pose in that position. But the slit on his throat—”
“Speaks of desperation or fear. Hmm. From what little we know, Rutter must’ve believed Smithby truly did have some power.”
Oliver held Hawke’s gaze. “Is Rutter truly dead? What if Smithby intends to free him by taking his body once it’s been released to the next of kin and somehow revive him?”
“Damn. If Rutter were free, but the police thought him dead, it would solve many of his problems. And Smithby’s.”
“Do you know if the body has already been released?”
“I have no idea, but I intend to find out.” Hawke moved toward the door. “While I’m gone, why don’t you think up something clever for Sergeant Rollins to tell the reporters?”
“Such as?”
“Something that will truly anger Smithby. That will make him want to prove he does indeed have power.”
Oliver stared at the empty doorway. Within seconds, he heard the front door slam shut. He glanced down at his notes, wondering what they could say that would be believable yet prompt Smithby to take rash action.
It appeared he had his work cut out for him. Unfortunately, his visit to Lord Burnham would have to wait until the morrow. He called for a footman to deliver a message, sighing with regret as he realized how much he’d miss seeing Julia.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“The species of dishonesty alluded to, as not coming within the official term ‘professional,’ has many aliases. Ordinarily it is called by the cant name of ‘perks’...”
~The Seven Curses of London
“Are you certain you don’t want to go to the party tonight?” Aunt Matilda asked. “I can stay here and keep your father company.”
“No need,” Julia said as she sat beside her on the settee in the drawing room with evening approaching. “I don’t feel like a party anyway.”
“All the more reason you should venture out.” Her aunt looked up from her needlework. “It will lift your spirits.”
“I fear I’d only worry about Father.” She hesitated to mention how concerned she was. His condition had worsened significantly since the previous day. He hadn’t left his bed. If he had any notable symptoms, she’d send for the doctor, but he just seemed exhausted and uncomfortable. This morning when she’d checked on him, he’d only said he hadn’t slept well, but he’d tossed and turned the rest of the morning, tiring himself further.
“I am worried about him as well.” Her aunt set aside her needlework as her gaze met Julia’s. “Do you know if anything occurred that set him off? I wondered if it was Viscount Frost’s broken promise to visit.”
“Oliver sent a message saying he’d come when he could.”
“That didn’t seem to appease Alfred.”
Her father’s melancholy often began with a small, seemingly minor event. Once the melancholy struck, he fell ill. Sometimes it wasn’t truly an illness of the body, but of his spirits. That was almost worse, for there was little anyone—from Julia to her aunt to the doctor—could do. When his illness had physical symptoms, they could give him something that helped.
Julia sighed. “That is hardly the viscount’s fault. He couldn’t possibly realize how little it takes to upset Father.”
“No, of course not. I just wish he wouldn’t have offered to visit him if he didn’t intend to.”
“Something unexpected must’ve come up.”
The weight of her aunt’s look had Julia picking up a book on the table beside her, anything to act nonchalant. She hoped the heat in her cheeks wasn’t noticeable.
“It sounds as though you’re defending him.”
“Oh?�
�� Julia glanced up to look at her aunt, hoping she was treating her comment casually. “Well, he seems to be the sort of man who would keep his word. And it’s not as though he truly promised. It was more of a suggestion.” Though she’d thought he’d visit based on their conversation.
“Well, Alfred certainly expected him. Perhaps next time you see the viscount, you might explain how fragile your father is when it comes to such matters.”
Julia did her best to protect her father from the minor disappointments life threw his way. At times, it was difficult to anticipate what might upset him.
She wished she had the power to make her father happy. It seemed like she was always searching for something, whether it be a book or a person, that would light his interest. In all honesty, she felt like a failure. Why couldn’t she be the reason he enjoyed life? To be enough to stave off these bouts of despair and illness?
“Julia.” Her aunt’s stern tone had her looking up once again. “I can tell by your expression exactly what you’re thinking. And let me remind you that you are not responsible for his happiness or lack thereof. That belongs solely to him.”
“I just wish I could—”
The older woman held up a finger. “I’m going to stop you there. I understand as I wish the same. However, he has to choose to be happy. While we can do what is possible and reasonable to lift his spirits, we cannot bring him true joy. That only comes from within.”
“But if Mother—”
“If your mother hadn’t been so selfish, you and I might not be here discussing this today. The circumstances are what they are. We can only do the best with the situation. I will also remind you that you are not responsible for her actions either.”
Julia couldn’t help but bite her lip as tears filled her eyes. Despite her aunt’s words, Julia knew the truth. If she’d been a better daughter, her mother would’ve loved her and her family more. She wouldn’t have been so unhappy and chosen not to honor her marriage vows. Julia knew she’d been too demanding as a child, always wanting her parents’ attention, their love. Her mother had made it very clear by both actions and words. Time and again, she’d ignored Julia, turning her back on her.
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