He cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his cravat several times. “It was supposed to be a surprise but I…” He cleared his throat again, dropping his hand from his cravat, and met her gaze. After a long, quiet moment, he smiled. “I am afraid I am not very good at these things.” He nodded and snapped the parchment toward her again. “Take this. Your parents are waiting for you in a carriage outside to take you to Africa.”
“What? Why? I don’t—”
“Don’t ask any questions, Justine. Simply trust your husband in this and enjoy your unexpected holiday. Henri will assist you in preparing for the journey ahead. You have only twenty minutes, so make use of every one of them.”
“Twenty minutes?” Justine yanked the parchment from his hand and gawked up at him as she tightened her hold on the letter. “I can’t even put on my bonnet in that period of time, let alone prepare for a trip to South Africa. What is more, Matilda departs for Edinburgh tomorrow. I have to see her and little Justine off.”
He reached out both hands and rubbed the sides of her upper arms, rustling the puffed sleeves of her morning gown. “I will see Matilda off myself,” he said in a low, reassuring voice. “After everything you have done for her, I am quite certain she will understand. I hope you can trust me not to overstep my bounds with her or anyone whilst you are away. I belong to you, Justine, and you alone. Even my obsession cannot battle that.”
Her brows came together, and she couldn’t help but feel muddled about what it was that was happening or what he was saying. “I don’t understand. Why am I leaving? And why aren’t you—”
“I planned this trip weeks ago,” he quickly said. “I wanted to surprise you. But then this entire mess with Matilda and Carlton occurred and it all fell aside. But I refuse to cancel it. You deserve a good holiday with your parents. Now go. They’re waiting for you outside. I will join you soon. That I promise.”
Her heart raced at the thought of returning to Cape Town. Returning to that simple life so far away from the eyes of the ton. Returning to a life of heat and paradise with endless blue skies in which the only rule was breathing and living. A life she desperately missed. And it was going to be hers again. In fifteen minutes!
But the thought of leaving Radcliff behind for even a day didn’t suit her at all. “This is wonderful, Radcliff. And I cannot thank you enough. But might I suggest we go about this a bit differently? Why not allow my parents to travel ahead first, so that I can see Matilda and little Justine off. I hope you do not mind but I intend to give Matilda a hundred pounds to see her through whatever lies ahead.”
She leaned toward him and nudged him. “Once she is gone, you’ll finally have me all to yourself. And then once you are ready to leave, we can both depart to Cape Town. Together.”
A heavy breath escaped him as his thumb brushed the side of her face. “As much as your little plan tempts me, understand that I have matters to oversee here in London. I am in the process of stripping Carlton of all funds. It’s a mess I ought to tend to before I can depart and I prefer you not be around for it. I will join you as soon as I am able. I promise here and now, Matilda will receive the hundred pounds you wish her to. But what I want, Justine, more than anything, is for you to take some time to yourself and enjoy being with your parents. Do it. For me. For us.”
She blinked. Then blinked again, realizing of what he was offering. He was offering Cape Town. In fifteen minutes! He was offering time alone with her parents. In fifteen minutes! London and all of its stupid snobs and gossip be damned. She was going home.
A grin ruffled her mouth as she excitedly searched his handsome face. “Oh, Radcliff. A more generous gift I’ve never known. Not ever. You’ll join us as soon as you are able? You promise?”
He half nodded, his thumb now tracing her lips as his hand pressed more firmly against her cheek. “As soon as you wish it, dearest,” he murmured.
A bubble of laughter escaped her as she grabbed his face with both hands, crumbling the parchment he’d given her against his cheek. “I adore you! I absolutely adore you! Thank you!” She kissed him soundly on the lips. And then kissed him again.
Radcliff grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her close, pressing her firmly against the warmth of his large body. He tore his mouth away from her lips and buried his face into the curve of her neck, tightening his arms around her.
“Justine,” he murmured against her shoulder. “The parchment in your hand is a token of my affection. Open it a week after you arrive in Cape Town. Not a day sooner. My hope is that it will keep you company whilst we are apart.”
Justine closed her eyes and savored having him and his words so close. “Thank you,” she whispered back. “I love you, Radcliff. I love you so very much.”
The room grew quiet, and all she could hear was her own breath mingling with his. And though she knew he would never say the words in turn, in that moment, it didn’t really matter. Because in her heart she knew he felt the same. She could feel it in the way he continued to hold her so tightly against himself. His embrace bespoke emotion. Not lust.
Radcliff eventually drew away, releasing her. Stepping back, he rounded his chair and waved her off. “Hurry now. And whatever you do, don’t fall fancy to the charms of some Hottentot whilst we are apart.”
She laughed. “Never. You are my one and only Hottentot.” She grinned and pointed to the parchment in her hand. “I promise not to open this until I reach Cape Town. No matter how tempted I may be.”
His hands gripped the chair and he smiled. “Good. Have a safe journey, my dearest Justine.”
“I will.” She blew him a kiss, drew in a breath, then dashed off to tell Matilda and little Justine.
The following morning
RADCLIFF PACED THE TILE FLOOR of the foyer, willing himself to focus. The all-too-brief kiss Justine had so ardently offered him before she left still lingered like sweet, burning brandy. It had barely been a day, and it already felt like a year. He was beginning to believe he’d bloody muffed everything up with his blind determination to prove her parents wrong.
The echoing of steps and the rustling of skirts caught his attention. He turned.
Matilda made her way toward him, dressed in a pretty cornflower silk gown and a matching oval bonnet, carrying her bundled babe in her arms. A babe she had named after his Justine. Matilda paused before him and met his gaze.
Radcliff did his best to smile, even though it required quite the effort. “Your trunks have been strapped atop the carriage, Miss Thurlow.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied coolly.
He wasn’t going to miss her. Not at all. Carlton aside, Justine’s parents aside, the woman had tried to bed his own wife. Right under his nose.
He shoved his hand into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a bundle of crisp notes he had counted out earlier. He held it out. “A hundred pounds to see you through your journey and the next year. If you are wise with it, it will last longer.”
Matilda’s gaze softened. She glanced down at the peaceful, sleeping babe in her arms and shook her head. “I cannot.”
He sighed. “It is not I who offers this, but Justine. She insisted upon it, and as such, I ask that you show your gratitude by taking it.”
Matilda glanced up and blinked rapidly, a lone tear spilling down the length of her pale, smooth cheek. She quietly reached out a gloved hand and took the money, fisting it in her hand before tucking it beneath the babe she held.
“I know what you did, Bradford. Don’t think I don’t. Do you not realize she kissed that letter of yours during my achingly brief farewell with her? She foolishly insisted that in it she would finally find the words of love she’s been waiting to hear all this time. But you and I know better, don’t we? There are no words of love in that letter, are there?”
He lowered his chin but said nothing.
She narrowed her gaze. “I swear upon whatever is left of this soul that if you ever injure her heart, I’ll not only find my way back to London
, but I will see to it your heart never beats again. I would have never let Justine leave my sight. Not even if hell were riding my skirts. And therein is the difference between a man’s love and a woman’s love. A woman fights for love. Whilst a man runs from it.” She set her chin and swept past, carrying herself and little Justine toward the carriage.
Radcliff stepped back, snorted and slammed the door so hard that the crystal chandelier in the foyer above him chimed. One thing was for sure. Matilda didn’t know a damn thing about men. Or women, for that matter…
SCANDAL TWENTY-THREE
Shedding tears over anything, especially a man, is terribly bad form.
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
Cape Town, South Africa
Two and a half weeks later
JUSTINE BROUGHT HER HANDS TOGETHER and deeply bowed in greeting to Aloysius, causing the large satchel around her waist to sway. Aloysius was her father’s dearest friend from years past who had guided them from station to station throughout most of South Africa, brilliantly distinguishing not only locations but also the tracks and paths of every animal they had sought to study.
Although Aloysius’s coarse, curling hair had completely whitened and his round face had thinned, the man still wore his usual leather attire, which most Hottentots and Bushmen wore. The long leather kaross covered his broad shoulders and backside, whilst the fore-kaross covered everything below his hips, leaving his throat, narrow chest, ankles and feet bare and exposed for the world to see.
Aloysius waved her toward the sun-burnt grass beneath the shade of an old, gnarled tree. He and her parents had already laid straw mats and spread a feast of wooden bowls bearing ostrich eggs and oxen blood boiled to the consistency of liver. “Joosteen,” he insisted, gesturing a dark hand toward an empty mat beside her parents. “Seet.”
Justine bit back a laugh and shook her head. The man never did get her name right, even after all these years. Nor did he seem to offer better food. But what did any of that matter now that she was back home?
She pushed her bonnet back from her moist forehead and swiped at the sweat trickling down the sides of her face. Gathering her cotton skirts from around her booted feet, she quickly made her way toward him and her parents, needing to escape the pulsing heat of the sun.
Whilst it was divine to finally be back in Cape Town, without Radcliff at her side it all seemed pointless. But today, at long last, was an extraordinary day. Not merely because she and her parents had reunited with Aloysius after two years of being away, but also because today marked the week after her arrival into Cape Town. It meant she could open her letter from Radcliff, the letter she’d been carrying within her satchel every day.
Justine kneeled onto the straw mat and ceremonially arranged her skirts around herself. “How have you been, Aloysius?”
Inquisitive dark eyes met Justine’s as he lowered himself onto the mat beside her. He grinned crookedly and nodded about his wellness. He then clasped his thin, brown hands, shook them and then pointed at her, signaling how pleased he was to see her again.
Justine clasped her hands, in turn, then pointed at him and grinned, showing how pleased she was to see him. “And how is your wife? How is Cokkie?”
“Cokkie?” He clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Nag. Always. Eck.”
Justine burst into laughter. It was so good to know he still remembered their conversations. Even after all this time.
Lady Marwood leaned toward them. “Wherever did he learn the word nag?” she drawled in astonishment. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard him use that word before. Not in all the years I’ve known him.”
Justine winced as she cleared her throat. “His memory is impeccable. One of our last conversations before we left Africa involved me complaining about you. And how you are forever nagging me and father.”
Lord Marwood chuckled, his cheeks rounding. “Yes. Your mother most certainly does nag, doesn’t she?”
“Charles!” Lady Marwood exclaimed, smacking him soundly on the shoulder with the end of her closed parasol. “I do not nag.”
Lord Marwood snorted. “Yes, you do.”
“I do not. Nagging refers to someone being incessant.”
Lord Marwood snorted again. “My point exactly.”
Justine smirked at Aloysius. “Do you see what you started, you naughty man, you?”
Aloysius grinned. Though his dialect was, for the most part, Dutch, she had always chosen to speak to him in English and found him to be very attentive and quick to learn.
He grabbed up a small wooden bowl filled with thickened, dark brown oxen blood—or blood pudding as she referred to it—and promptly held it out toward her.
Justine smiled and shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Aloysius sighed and shifted from his squatting position, sticking out the bowl toward her father, brows raised.
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Aloysius.” Lord Marwood leaned toward the bowl and scooped up a small amount of the dark brown paste with his bare fingers. “This is what I call South African caviar, Justine. You really should try it. ’Tis very, very good.”
Justine wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like caviar any more than I like boiled oxen blood. You, of all people, should remember that the last time I ate oxen blood, I spent two days heaving it up, not only through my mouth, but my nostrils.”
Lord Marwood shrugged and sucked the brown paste from his fingers. “Even the French cannot compete with such cuisine. Is that not so, Aloysius?”
Aloysius nodded in agreement and gallantly passed the bowl toward her mother, who also scooped up a small amount onto her fingers.
Whilst the others ate, signaled and chatted amongst themselves, Justine drew in a deep, steadying breath and opened the leather flap of the satchel hanging around her waist.
She pulled out the folded, sealed parchment she had carried with her these past many weeks and smoothed out its crinkled edges affectionately. Finally.
“Justine.” Her mother scooted toward her, her thin brows coming together as she eyed the letter. “Must you read that here and now? We are visiting.”
“Nonsense. Today is officially a week since I’ve been in Cape Town and I have absolutely no intention of waiting another moment to read it. I am quite certain Aloysius won’t mind. I’ll even show him the letter when I’m done. If it isn’t too naughty, that is.” She waggled her brows, her fingers sliding toward the red seal which was already detaching from the heat. The wax bent away, instead of cracking, as she separated the seal and unfolded the letter.
She held her breath and quickly read:
My dearest Justine,
First, I must apologize for betraying your confidence and not fully disclosing the truth behind your journey. Your parents were genuinely concerned about the state of our marriage and asked that we spend time apart to allow you to better decide whether your happiness does, in fact, belong with me. Whatever you decide, dearest, I can only thank you for forcing me to make a personal inventory of my life. You have done far more for me than I could have ever done for myself. After reading that damn etiquette book of yours, I realized something. Men are in many ways at a disadvantage and lack the sort of guidance women are given. Though I suppose too much guidance, as if often imposed on women, can be quite the burden, as well. A lack of guidance and a lack of understanding of my own needs is what ultimately pushed me toward my obsession. I have no doubt it had commenced with the strain of being duke at an age when most boys were barely out of the nursery. Constant responsibility brought on by the demands of those around me, including my mother and brother, who cared only for their own needs, always made me want to escape the world around me. In having this open and rare understanding of myself, I know I will be able to overcome this obsession, and I wish to thank you for making this broken man feel whole again. I look forward to your response and know we will not be apart long.
Gratefully and forever yours,
Radcliff
Justine’s breath h
itched in her throat, and despite the incessant heat of the day throbbing around her, she felt as if ice were spreading across every inch of her skin. Her hands trembled as she fumbled to fold the parchment, refusing to look at Radcliff’s words anymore. Refusing to believe he would allow her own parents to separate them like this. To prove what?
Shoving the parchment into the satchel, she settled her gaze on her parents who were enthusiastically discussing their travels.
Her mother paused, sensing Justine was watching them, and met her gaze from across the straw mat. After a long, quiet moment, Lady Marwood blurted, “He told you.”
Justine swallowed and half nodded. Her mother and father had both known. They had known all along. And yet never once did they say a word. They had cruelly tried to separate her and Radcliff. Her own parents, who she thought loved her.
Lady Marwood leaned forward and reached out a pleading hand. “Justine. It needed to be done. He was destroying you and your very name before all of London.”
Unexpected tears blurred Justine’s vision as she pushed herself up and stumbled to her feet. “How could you?” she choked out. “How could you even propose separating us? He is my husband and I love him.”
Lady Marwood scrambled to her feet, as well, but did not attempt to approach. “How can you claim to love a man who allowed you to endure so much? He is anything but perfect. Can you not see that? You need time away from him to better understand your situation.”
Tears trickled down the sides of Justine’s cheeks as she stepped out of the shade and back into the searing heat of the sun, a sun she wished could melt away the inner torment chilling her soul. “What little you know. Radcliff taught me something invaluable. Something I never truly learned to appreciate until now.” More tears trickled down her cheeks. “Self-respect is far more important than the respect given by others. He also taught me that love isn’t something that can be put into words, and that love is indeed far from perfect. It has many flaws. But everything in this world has flaws. Even you have flaws, Mother. And yet…I still love you. Don’t I? I still love you despite the fact that you ripped apart my very soul and tossed it to the wind as if it were yours to toss!”
Prelude to a Scandal Page 22
