by Sharon Page
“Oh no. That means I’ll be essentially locked up at Brideswell. They’ll never let me out.”
“Between men and mothers, we women never get to have any lives at all.” Diana smiled, but then Julia saw there was sadness in Diana’s eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “It’s not something with—I mean, all is all right, isn’t it?”
Diana let out a deep sigh. “I really shouldn’t trouble you now—”
“Diana, you can tell me. I’m not a piece of porcelain. I imagine it was just the heat that felled me. The sun was scorching and of course there were no shade trees around the sawmill. So tell me!”
“I’ve made my decision. I’ve realized I can’t keep my baby. I have been thinking of how much Ellen Lambert has suffered. It would be condemning the baby and me to hardship. I don’t think I’m that strong.”
“Diana, you are strong.”
“Julia, don’t lie. I am too used to being an earl’s daughter, one with position, privilege and very few real cares in the world. Even if Cal sells Worthington, the one thing protected is my dowry. I could marry.”
“Cal promised to help you.”
“He can’t help me if everyone is judging me for being a fallen woman.”
Which was wrong. So wrong. Julia was getting more and more fed up with societal rules. “There must be a way.”
“This is the best way. And I’d probably make a wretched mother. Too selfish.” Diana tried to smile.
Julia didn’t believe Diana was. She had changed—she was more thoughtful, less wild. But to protest that Diana would make a good mother would make this hurt more.
“This week I’ll leave for Switzerland,” Diana declared. “I didn’t think I would show yet, but in the past few days, I’ve suddenly developed a little bulge. Cal will take me to Paris. He knows a widow there that he wants to hire as my companion in Switzerland. She’s Parisian but speaks excellent English. She’s titled and respectable, but in need of money. He’ll turn me over to her. We’ll claim she’s a distant relative of his, so it makes it look like I’m just traveling to Switzerland to see the sights. I’m sure there will be gossip but no one will be able to prove anything. So after it’s all over, I can marry.” She sighed. “I wish I’d have a friend with me, not a stranger.”
“I could go with you.”
It came out impulsively. But Julia saw she could go. She was forbidden from working with her widows. What she could do was go away, give Nigel instructions on all the work to be done for the women—and he would have to do it since he was pigheadedly stopping her. By the time she returned, Nigel would beg her to take over. And by then, surely he would see sense about the risk of danger. She would also be able to see Sebastian in Paris.
“Will you come? Are you certain?” Diana bit her lip. “I would so love to have you with me. It’s going to be hard, when I have to give my child away,” she whispered.
“I’ll be there,” Julia promised, “to support you.”
“You are the very best friend in the world, Julia.”
Julia stood. “I should go back to Brideswell. I have to prepare for going away.”
“Pack?”
“Well, that. But I must send a telegram to Sebastian in Paris, telling him I’m coming. Then I have to write a very large list of instructions for my other brother.”
Diana looked mystified, but stood and hugged her. Diana then went to fetch Nigel. Julia went to the terrace and looked out over the lawns. Soon she would see Paris, a lifelong dream—
“We could marry now.”
Julia started. She heard the voice from around the corner of the house. It sounded like Alice Hayes.
“I know why you broke it off all those years ago. I did marry after the War, but my husband had wounds—he died of them.”
“I’m sorry, Alice.”
Cal’s voice. When Alice had told David she loved someone else...she must have meant Cal. Cal said huskily, “I can’t marry you, Alice. Even if David had never been in love with you, I couldn’t do it.”
“Because you are an earl now?”
“No. You think I’m turning you down because of social position? God, no. I don’t deserve a woman like you, Alice. Being an earl doesn’t change who I was. What I was.”
A lady would not listen in. A lady—Oh, forget being a lady. Her heart ached. Of course she could never have him, but she hated to know how much this must hurt him.
Alice said, “I know how you grew up in New York—”
“No, you don’t. David would never tell you the full story.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve always loved you, Cal Brody.”
“My name is actually Carstairs. I loved you, too, Alice. I’m sorry to hurt you.”
“I do think your brother would accept your marriage. David is a good man. And I would be happy to help take care of him.”
“There can’t be anything between us, Alice. I’m not planning to marry anyone. I’m going back to Paris. I could turn this place over to David. He’d make a better earl than me.”
Julia’s heart plunged. It thrilled her to think Worthington Park wouldn’t be destroyed, but she realized how little that mattered, if Cal never healed, never found happiness.
“Cal, I think you will be a smashing earl,” Alice said. “It was so good to see you again. I don’t regret coming. And I wanted to see David. But I guess this is goodbye.”
“My lady?” Wiggins stood in the terrace doorway and Julia almost leaped out of her shoes with guilt. “His Grace is out on the drive with the motor.”
“Th-thank you.” She hurried out. No doubt Wiggins knew she’d listened in, and there was no way she could gracefully explain that.
All the way home, she bit her lip and fought tears. Cal had been in love. Cal, who deserved love more than anyone, could not have the person he adored. Because he loved his brother so much.
And he might leave Worthington forever.
She arrived at Brideswell to find her maid, Sims, standing in the foyer, with a carpetbag beside her. Zoe was there, holding Nicholas. “Sims has found a new position with Grandmama. Apparently, Grandmama’s maid has left her and—well, you know the dowager. She wanted someone at once.”
“I can work my notice, my lady, if that’s what you want.”
“Oh, Sims, that is fine,” Julia said. “I can brush my own hair, and I don’t need anyone putting me in a corset anymore. I wish you the best of luck with Her Grace. This will be a great step up for you and I am happy.”
“Are you certain you will be all right without a lady’s maid?” Zoe asked. “I can have my maid help you and Isobel as needed.”
Julia watched Sims get into the Daimler and drive away. “I’m going to Paris, Zoe. And I intend to pack my own trunk.”
“Paris?”
Julia hastily explained as they walked back to the drawing room, the one used in the late afternoon.
“I will help Nigel with the widows,” Zoe said. “I think it’s a rather good idea to let him take charge for a while. You’ve dreamed of seeing Paris—you should see it. It will be a wonderful adventure.”
“Yes. It’s been my lifelong dream. Perhaps I’ll find my heart’s desire there. I’ll stay in Paris with Sebastian and become an artist.”
“Why not?” said Zoe. “It’s time you did something just for you—to make you happy.”
17
Paris
Paris had been the first big city outside of New York that Cal had ever seen, when he’d arrived there in 1917. It had been wild in the War. When you could die any day, you fit in a lot of living.
In Paris, he drank a lot of red wine. He gambled. He seduced a few bold French girls. They liked the Americans—their money, the treats they brought, their bravado and their bold, cocksure attitude.
Cal had gone back to Paris after the War, after he made money bootlegging and in other...illegal enterprises. Paris always made him feel like he could be something more. Made him forget what he’d done. When he argued about art in the cafés, he felt like he was more than a rough kid from the slums.
He wanted to show Paris to Julia—Julia who had never traveled but always dreamed of it. Maybe he wanted to do it so badly because it was a gift he could give her before he left.
Once he’d started talking about changes for the sawmill he’d seen the hope in Julia’s eyes. She thought she’d won. And for a moment, she almost had. When he was talking to Alice, he’d got a crazy idea. He’d looked out over the green lawns of Worthington and he’d thought about getting married, having a family, staying there. Julia had almost made him forget the promise he’d made to Mam.
He would take care of Diana—he would never turn his back on an innocent child. And he would lay Paris at Julia’s feet.
From Brideswell’s station, he traveled with Julia, Diana and David by train to London’s Victoria Station. They took a ferry to cross the Channel to Calais, and were now on a train steaming across the French countryside to Paris.
Cal knew Julia was worried about her brother Sebastian. Something about a telegram she’d received just before she left Brideswell—days after she’d telegrammed her brother to let him know she was coming. But when Cal asked what was wrong, she told him she didn’t know. He could tell she was hiding something. Why?
Right now, the troubled look had left her eyes. She glowed with excitement. The train to Paris clacked along the tracks. Following Julia’s gaze, Cal looked out at the blur of scenery. It was strange to see leaves on the trees and fertile fields following the tracks. He remembered blackened trees, bombed villages, fields that were wet, muddy mires. Or frozen with ice.
“Are you remembering the War?” Julia asked gently. She sat across from him.
He glanced up. “How did you know?”
Her hand brushed his wrist. He forgot all his memories and got hard at once. The more he was with her, the less of her touch it took to arouse him. But he knew he couldn’t have her.
“I can see it in your face.”
He’d been a flyer. There was no need to tell her what it had felt like to look at the charred remains of men pulled from wrecked planes—fuel consumed those bits of wood, paint, cable and fabric and burned the men down into wizened statues of charcoal.
She touched his knee as if soothing him.
But her light touch was like a jolt of lightning.
“Are the memories troubling?” she asked.
He met her large, concerned blue eyes, and—and hell, he wanted to be alone with her. He wanted to lay her back on the velvet first-class seat and make her scream with ecstasy. He wanted to be thinking about nothing but pleasuring Julia.
“They do trouble you, don’t they?”
“They aren’t sunshine and roses, but I don’t have shell shock, Julia. I’m fine.” He sounded abrupt, fighting to hide the raw need coursing through him. Anyway, war memories weren’t the ones that haunted him. It was the memories of what he’d done before that.
“I learned you are hiring a special doctor to come from London to heal Ellen’s shell shock. Dougal told me, before we left. Thank you.” She smiled.
And he knew that was why he’d done it. Not just for Ellen, but to see Julia glow. “You’re welcome. Tell me, what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you reach Paris?”
“I’d like to go to a dressmaker,” Diana said. Then bit her lip. “If I have a clothing allowance.”
“You do. Get the bills sent to me,” Cal said. “What about you, Julia? Are you going straight to the House of Worth and Coco Chanel’s establishment?”
She looked surprised he would know fashion designers. Then an adorable frown puckered her brow. One day he would paint her like that. He loved her expressions when she forgot the rules about ladies hiding emotion and let the real woman peek out.
Hell, he wasn’t going to paint her. He should leave before that.
“I should like to see the Eiffel Tower. But I would love to visit a café. Or go to one of the clubs. Seeing Josephine Baker perform would be thrilling. I would also love to see the Left Bank and see where you would paint.” Words bubbled out of her, like she was made of champagne. “Paris is filled with painters, writers, dancers, musicians. I’m so excited to see that world. Since I’m going to give up on marriage, perhaps I could become an artist or novelist. Though I fear that artistic talent begins and ends with my brother.”
“You’ll never know unless you try. I never thought I could really paint until I came to Paris,” he admitted. But her words had hit him hard. She was giving up on marriage.
This was Paris, where he’d reveled in a bohemian artist’s life. He’d get drunk and engage in wild sexual activity—love affairs with married women, multiple partners in one bed. But he didn’t want that now.
He wanted Julia.
When he desired a woman, he would paint her, make love to her, and once the painting was finished, his ardor was spent. He always chose experienced women who wanted no more of him than a wild affair.
Damn it, he couldn’t have Julia.
Alice had told him she was in love with him and he’d pictured marriage. But it had been Julia’s laughter he’d heard in his imagination. Julia playing with their children on the Worthington lawn. It was a fantasy he would never have—not with his past. He couldn’t marry a lady like Julia without lying to her about his past, or keeping it hidden. And he couldn’t seduce her.
The train chuffed into the station. “I’m here. I’m finally here,” Julia breathed, and her delight almost broke his heart.
Cal summoned a cab. The car made its way through the ancient streets and took them to their hotel—the Hotel Le Meurice. Julia’s sister-in-law, Zoe, had suggested it. Old and beautiful, it had majestic rooms. The largest suite had a terrace that gave a complete circular view of Paris.
He hadn’t wanted to spoil Julia’s chance to stay in Paris’s most beautiful hotel, or his brother’s chance to savor the luxury and the views. So Cal had agreed. It had been a long time since he’d been at Le Meurice and he figured no one would remember him.
“Do you like it?” he asked Julia as they drew up in front of the classic stone facade, the archways decorated with ivy, and the French flags snapping in the wind.
“It’s beautiful.”
Then he saw the surprise in Julia’s eyes as the doorman’s face lit up in recognition.
He was wrong. They remembered him.
* * *
Julia received a message from the concierge, left by Sebastian, to meet her brother at a Parisian café at two o’clock that day. Just before they moved from the desk, Julia heard the concierge say to Cal, “So delightful to have you with us again, Monsieur—Monsieur Le Comte.”
She turned to Cal to ask him about it, but he put his hand on her lower back and led her through the lobby.
Her heels clicked on tiles polished to a mirror finish. Cal was recognized here and the Hotel Le Meurice was one of the most fashionable hotels in Paris. The cream of Parisian society dined at the beautiful Roof Garden. Picasso and his wife had selected the hotel to host their wedding dinner.
“You’ve stayed here before,” she said as he took her to the lift. She spoke casually, but she ached with curiosity about his past.
Cal shrugged. “When I sold a few paintings I brought a model here to celebrate. We dined on the rooftop. That’s how I know the hotel. And that’s where I would like to have dinner tonight. All four of us. Surrounded by the lights of Paris.”
But the staff wouldn’t remember him from that. No, he had been important to them. But a lady couldn’t pry. “It sounds lovely.”
“It is. And I wan
t to see you, silhouetted by Paris.”
Her heart pattered. But Cal loved Alice Hayes—and she wanted him to find happiness with Alice. She had no right to be dazzled by the idea of dining with him with the lights of Paris spread around them.
Cal helped David roll his chair into the lift, while a porter brought the luggage and trunks. She and Diana followed and when she stepped into the suite she was sharing with Diana, Julia ran across the thick carpet, pulled open the glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony.
Paris spread out around her, trees rich with foliage, the streets in the complex circular pattern of an ancient city. The Eiffel Tower rose against the sky. Boat and traffic horns blared, and out there, all around her, adventure waited.
Behind her, Diana laughed. “Julia, I’ve never seen you like this. Bouncing like a child.”
Julia spun. “I’m being thoughtless. This isn’t such a happy time for you.”
“No, I don’t think I shall enjoy the wildness of Paris this time,” Diana said ruefully. “But I should be relieved—that’s a good enough substitute for happy, isn’t it? And at least my mother never found out I’m pregnant.”
Julia knew relieved wasn’t as good as happy, but someone rapped on their door and she went to answer it. Cal lounged there, looking gorgeous in a summer-weight suit of pale gray. It made his hair look utterly gold. “I’ll escort you to meet your brother,” he said. “Since I know my way around.”
She hesitated. Sebastian had warned her something devastating had happened. He could be awfully dramatic, but his terse words in the telegram made her realize this was the truth. Sebastian had secrets he wouldn’t want a stranger—Cal—to know. “I don’t know—”
“I’ll leave you to meet him alone. But I don’t want you getting lost in Paris.”
She agreed and Diana offered to stay with David. As they exited the hotel, Cal commanded a car—a gleaming blue four-seater Citroën. The driver wound his way through streets crowded with cars, motorized streetcars and horse carts. Everything was thrilling to see.
Cal smiled at her excitement. Then he pointed out the window. “Here’s the café from your brother’s message.”
