“I know. I didn’t realize it until after the kiss, actually convinced myself that you’d been waiting for me. More the fool was I. When you called me Albert, it was like a kick to the gut, but it didn’t lessen the tumult that you created within me.”
Opening her eyes, she discovered him studying her once more, his expression an impassive mask, and yet within the brown depths of his eyes was the want, the need. How had she been so blind before? Because he’d been so incredibly unpleasant that she’d never bothered to look beyond the surface.
“Since you mistook me in the garden, I thought there was a chance that after a four-month separation from Albert you might mistake me again and I could pull off what he asked of me.”
From the moment she had walked into the library, she would have sworn he had been more honest with her than he’d ever been, but part of his story made no sense. Was he merely striving to weasel his way out of what he’d done? Was everything he’d said merely a lie to gain her favor, her forgiveness? How could she trust his words when he’d done something so untrustworthy? She furrowed her brow. “When did Albert ask you to do what you must to ensure I didn’t lose the child?”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“I assume the story about the manner in which Edward was killed was truly Albert’s, that he died instantly. Is that correct?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Then how did he have a chance to ask anything of you? How can any of this that you’ve done”—she flung her arm out to encompass weeks of deception—“have been at his request?”
He raised his glass, scowled at its lack of content. “One night as we were sitting by the fire, he said that if anything happened to him I was not to let you know until after the babe was born. He feared the news would cause you to miscarry. He had a premonition, I suppose.”
“Once again, I don’t believe you.” It was too farfetched. He was either lying about Albert’s request or lying about how he’d been killed. She thought she might be ill. “He didn’t die straightaway, did he?”
Lowering the glass, his hold on it so tight that his knuckles were turning white, he met and held her gaze. “It’s as I said. He died with the first blow.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. She wanted to believe that Albert’s death had been quick, that he’d been spared any pain, but it seemed unlikely. “So some night, during a random conversation, he just happened to ask you to pretend to be him if he should die?”
“Two nights before we spotted the baby gorilla.”
The tale of a premonition was preposterous. Yet she wanted it to be true, wanted to believe Albert didn’t suffer. But Edward would know that, wouldn’t he? If he truly cared for her as he claimed, he would want to ease her pain.
She didn’t know what to make of his declaration, his confession. It confused her, made her feel as much the betrayer as the betrayed. She didn’t like all the tumult he was creating within her. “I loved Albert. I love him still.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to love me, Julia. I’m not even asking you to think kindly of me or forgive me for the duplicity. I understand that you’re angry, furious. You have every right to be. I’m merely asking that you not do anything rash that might have an adverse effect on Alberta’s future.”
Damn him, damn his deception. Originally she had wanted to hurt him in some manner, publicly humiliate him, but she did have to take care not to ruin her daughter’s future chances for a good match. “I don’t know that I can stay here,” she admitted, not certain she could trust her feelings, trust him. The wounds of his betrayal still festered. Her grief, her loss of Albert, seemed to suck the very life from her.
“Where will you go? To your cousin’s? Can he provide for you any better than I can?”
She despised that he understood the truth of her situation, used it to his advantage to keep her and Alberta near. Her parents were gone. She had no siblings. The cousin who had inherited her father’s titles and estates had been pleased beyond measure that she’d married at nineteen. “Albert must have made some provisions for me.”
“Ironically, I believe I’m it. I’ve been unable to locate a will.”
Apparently, all the hours he’d spent in the library had not been solely about managing the affairs of the estate. “Surely his solicitor has a copy.”
“I wrote him asking if Edward had left a will and to advise me regarding mine. I worded it in such a way that it wasn’t obvious the earl was completely unaware as to whether he even possessed one. His response was that Edward had left no will—which, of course, I knew, being Edward, after all—and his advice regarding the earl’s will remained what it had been for some time now: One needed to be prepared with all due haste and diligence.”
She sank against the wall, then straightened, to avoid showing any disappointment or weakness. “It seems I’m dependent upon your kindness.”
“I will be more than generous with an allowance, and I shall ensure that Lady Alberta never wants for anything.” He seemed to hesitate, sighed. “There is a cottage in the Cotswolds. Based upon notes I’ve uncovered, I believe our father intended it to be the dower house for our mother. Apparently she liked the countryside there. It’s not part of the entailment. I could gift it to you, but as I mentioned, I truly believe with all my heart that Albert would want his daughter raised here.”
Unfortunately, she was of the same opinion. He had often spoken of how he longed to have his children grow up within the shadow of Evermore, how much he’d regretted that he’d been denied the same. “As I have a good deal to consider, presently I can’t commit to any decisions or a course of action, but I do agree that we must take care in how this situation is managed—for Alberta’s sake. What are you going to tell the servants?”
“They serve the Earl of Greyling. I am Greyling. I’m not going to tell them a damned thing.”
“They’ll be suspicious with your move into the other wing.”
His smile was self-deprecating. “They’ll think we’re having a bit of marital discord, and if they value their position here, they’ll keep their suspicions to themselves.”
“And Society?”
“I think it will be best if we wait to make any sort of admission until all the lords and ladies are in London for the Season. I shall be there as well and can personally handle any repercussions that might arise with the revelation of my duplicity. That gives us time to determine exactly what we wish to say.”
With a nod, she turned her attention to the winter gardens beyond the window. “Your wife won’t be too pleased if Alberta and I stay on here.”
“My wife?”
“As you said, you are the Earl of Greyling. You require an heir.”
“That won’t happen for years yet, decades, if ever. Not until Lady Alberta is well situated. She matters above all else.”
She touched the pane. It felt as cold as her soul. She wondered if she’d ever know warmth again. “We shall remain here for now. I shall not take meals with you, nor spend time in your company in the evenings. If you must communicate with me, please do it through a servant.”
“If you need to speak with me—”
She quickly faced him. “I shan’t.”
With that, she spun on her heel and marched from the library, wondering how it was that two brothers could each break her heart in vastly different ways, and wondering why it was that her heart ached painfully in equal measure for the loss of each brother.
Standing at the window, savoring his scotch, Edward watched as darkness fell. One glass was all he was going to allow himself. He didn’t want to dull the sting of her parting words that he so justly deserved or the ache in his chest because he had opened his heart to her. A tiny part of him had hoped, prayed, wished that she would claim her love for him when he had professed his for her, even as the greater part of him had known it was a fool’s errand t
o travel that path.
He wasn’t even certain he’d completely understood the depth of his feelings until the words had burst forth. He didn’t know exactly when he’d fallen in love with her. He knew only that he had. Unequivocally. And he feared she would forever hold that place in his heart. While to her, he would remain little more than a rodent, striving to make off with the scraps to which he wasn’t entitled.
“Dinner is served, my lord,” Rigdon announced.
He had bathed, shaved, and dressed in his finest evening attire, just in case her anger with him lessened a bit and she took enough pity on him to dine in his company. He didn’t care if she didn’t speak with him. It would be enough just to have her near. They could eat in the formal dining room. Dressed in her widow’s weeds, she could sit at the far end of the table, yards away from him. He suspected she would join him if she understood the extent of the agony that sight would cause him.
“The countess . . .” If he waited a bit longer, perhaps she’d show.
“Informed Torrie she would be dining in her rooms. I believe she’s feeling a bit under the weather.”
He had to give his butler credit for at least striving to pretend that all was right with the lord and lady of the house.
“I’ll be there in a moment.” Dear God but he was a sorry excuse for a lord, sniveling about. He’d had a little over two months with her. He was going to have to make due with that for a lifetime. With a sigh, Edward finished off his drink and headed to the small dining room.
He didn’t know why he expected to see her there, why he felt like he’d taken a punch to the gut when the only ones waiting for him were the butler and a footman. The heart was a cruel mistress, always giving one hope.
Taking his seat, he stared at the flames burning in the candelabra in the center of the table while his wine was poured and soup was served. The room was so blasted quiet, the only sound his silver spoon periodically clinking against china. He’d never thought to miss the screeching winds of Havisham Hall, but at that moment anything was better than being surrounded by the silence of Julia’s absence.
Chapter 16
My dearest darling,
How I wish you were here to enjoy this adventure with us. Edward is quite the tyrant, constantly pushing us forward. He seems to be in his element, thriving on his role as leader of our little expedition. He does not drink as much. I have yet to see him inebriated. Perhaps it is because he is at home here. Or maybe it is that he is fully aware that once our stores of liquor are depleted there is no more to be had within these jungles. If the latter is the case, he is showing remarkable restraint.
Although we have made many journeys together and he has always ordered people about, I don’t know why it is that this time I am appreciating the manner in which he takes charge. Watching him, I cannot help but believe that he is better suited to being the earl than I. I have always found being responsible for others a chore, while he revels in it. It seems to me that something more than exiting the womb first should determine who inherits a title.
Closing her husband’s journal, Julia set it carefully in her lap and gazed out her bedchamber window. She was a dozen days into their journey. She didn’t want to read about how Edward made him laugh, or taught him how to prevent blisters, or ensured they were served proper tea in the teeming wilds. She wanted to read about how much Albert missed her. She wanted to read a passage that said, “I had a premonition last night. I want you to forgive Edward for what I am going to ask him to do. Know I do it out of love for you and our unborn child.”
But as of yet, she discovered no such revelation. He’d penned no words of comfort, no words to confirm that he had known he would die. No final words reaffirming his love for her, no parting message, no tender goodbye. Everything was inconsequential, nothing of import. It was as though he had fully expected to write in his journal a thousand more times.
While she dearly wanted to read the final entry, she refused to read the entries out of order. She wanted to experience his last few weeks as he had lived them. While she had never had any interest in traveling, she suddenly found herself wishing that she had been at his side the entire time he’d been away, as though her presence would have been enough to prevent the horribleness of what had transpired.
She was a widow, had been one in truth for more than four months. Yet time with Edward had tempered her sorrow. She thought she might hate him for that most of all. When she should be thinking about her husband she was thinking about his brother. The way he had made her laugh, the way he had held her, how he hadn’t left her side as she had brought her daughter into the world. The admission that he had fallen in love with her.
If he truly loved her, how could he have allowed her to live a lie, how could he have withheld the truth? Perhaps she could forgive him for the weeks before Alberta’s birth, but the ones after—
The rap on the door barely caused her to stir. “Enter.”
Torrie cautiously strolled in, looking somewhat wary, and handed her a note. “From his lordship.”
Julia took it, unfolded it, read the words inscribed in his neat, precise script, almost identical to Albert’s but not quite. Now she found herself searching for the most mundane differences between the brothers, swearing beneath her breath each time she noted one, wondering how she’d missed it before.
I shall be in the nursery from two until half past.
—Greyling
She wasn’t surprised. He’d had the same message delivered every day for the past week. And she knew that he knew she couldn’t deny him visiting Lady Alberta without causing speculation and gossip among the servants as to the reason she would not allow the child’s father to spend time with her. While staff was not supposed to blather about what went on upstairs, Julia wasn’t fool enough to think they held everything they observed to themselves. With a harsh unladylike curse, she’d torn the first note into tiny shreds. She’d ripped the second in half. Balled up the third. Did little more than sigh and refold all the others.
At least he forewarned her about his intentions so she wouldn’t cross paths with him in the hallway or the nursery and have to endure seeing him.
“Would you like me to deliver a message to him?” Torrie asked.
Go to the devil was probably not what her maid had in mind. “No. Let Nanny know that she should prepare Lady Alberta for the earl’s two o’clock visit.”
“Yes, m’lady. Shall I press a gown for you to wear to dinner?”
That question had also become part of her daily ritual. “No. Have dinner brought to my room.”
“Yes, m’lady.” She heard the disappointment and sorrow in Torrie’s voice. Her maid knew something was wrong. The entire staff no doubt knew something was wrong. They simply couldn’t imagine what it could be. Why would they—why would anyone—suspect the truth when it was preposterous and unfathomable?
“It’s not the nanny, m’lady,” Torrie suddenly blurted.
Julia looked at the young woman who was rubbing one hand over the other as though apprehensive she’d said something she shouldn’t. “I beg your pardon?”
“Everyone knows he goes to the nursery each afternoon. The scullery maid, she’s a bit dimwitted, she said he fancies the nanny and that’s why he goes, that no father takes that much interest in a baby. But he sends the nanny down to the kitchen for a cuppa when he’s in the nursery. He’s just spending time with Lady Alberta. He’s not being unfaithful to you.”
She’d never considered that he would be; perhaps she should have. He was a young, virile man—
What was she thinking? He owed her no faithfulness. Why did that thought bother her? What did she care who he might bed? She looked back out the window. She did wish spring would arrive, that the weather would warm, that she could go riding.
“He likes to go into your relaxing room.”
Into the room where she worked with
her watercolors. She’d once told Torrie that it relaxed her, and the maid had taken to calling it her relaxing room. And now she was offering up this tidbit as though that would somehow redeem him in Julia’s eyes when the poor woman didn’t even know what he needed redemption for. “When?”
“Different times, but at least once a day.”
Was he hoping to find her there, stumble across her? Well, she wasn’t going to allow it. Julia surged to her feet. She would have her maid deliver a missive instructing Edward to stay out of her room—
Only it was no longer hers. It was his. The entire residence was his, every room, every painting, every knickknack, every bauble, every statue. She couldn’t order him about. He would simply laugh. She was here by his good graces. Everything he gave her was only because he deemed it worth her having. She sank back into her chair. Suddenly she desperately wanted to watercolor. Since she’d learned the truth of her widowhood, she’d only left her bedchamber to visit the mausoleum and Alberta. The remainder of the time she’d remained in seclusion, grieving a loss that often made it difficult to even consider climbing out of bed. Now there was a chance she would run into him in her sanctuary, if she should decide to go there. How easily he took things from her.
“Thank you, Torrie. You may go.”
“Wish I knew why you were so sad, m’lady.”
She offered her maid a solemn smile. “I discovered the earl was not who I thought he was.”
Honest, but cryptic. The words no doubt failed to satisfy the young woman’s curiosity, but they did cause her to make a hasty retreat. Julia rose and walked to the cheval glass and studied her reflection. The black made her appear so somber. The staff probably wondered at her change in attire. She’d seldom dressed in mourning when it was Edward supposedly in the mausoleum, but now she wore only black. Thank goodness she did not have to explain her actions to the servants. It was difficult enough to explain them to herself, especially when the clock on the mantel neared the stroke of two and she pressed her ear to the door.
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