by Lily Maxton
Sometimes they spoke. Sometimes they were silent, though it felt like an easier silence than the ones that had come before. Sometimes he simply listened while she talked.
“I like the dawn,” she’d remarked one day, almost sounding surprised. “It’s so quiet and peaceful. The air even feels calmer. It’s like the world is just waking up from a long sleep.”
He knew what she meant. It was his favorite time of day. It always had been, even in the city. For a small period of time, everything was in absolute and perfect stillness. Everything, life and all its inhabitants, was in harmony. “You’ve never seen the dawn in London?”
“Only if I stay up late, and that doesn’t feel the same.”
“It doesn’t?” he asked, pulling at a particularly troublesome weed.
“It’s not so hopeful when it marks the end of the day instead of the beginning,” she said thoughtfully.
“Aye,” he said, to show that he understood, and that was really all that needed to be said.
He’d noticed, even though she no longer touched the soil, she liked to smell it. He would catch her sometimes, leaning forward until her face was only a foot or so away from the ground and breathing in deeply through her nose. It both perplexed and amused him, but she smelled the soil more than she smelled the flowers.
Not that he could fault her for it. He’d always liked the smell of good soil, too.
So when Molly asked him if he’d seen Julia, he imagined their time together being cut short because of his sister’s presence. Wasn’t it enough that he lived in dread of Riverton returning to Blakewood Hall every single day? He enjoyed his time with Julia more than he’d enjoyed anything other than gardening in a good long while. It seemed masochistic that he should feel that way—fifteen years ago he’d kissed her and she’d promptly fallen into bed with someone else—but there was the truth, and it would be a mistake to ignore it.
She might like him. She might enjoy his company. She might even care for him. But he didn’t think she’d ever felt the same sort of cruel longing that had torn him apart all those years ago. The same longing he was desperately trying to protect himself from this time. Trying, and failing.
Sometimes he enjoyed being with Julia so much he even forgot she was another man’s mistress.
Though it didn’t happen often.
That knowledge was sort of like wearing a barbed cilice around his skin—it was there, always digging, always biting, but on short occasions, as long as he stayed motionless, as long as he didn’t think, he could almost forget it was there.
But still, cilice or no, he wasn’t willing to give up his time with her quite yet. He would tilt the hourglass and slow the sands for as long as he could. Like a damned opium eater, always wanting, needing, more, more, more.
“She’s not here,” he told Molly, allowing himself this rare moment of selfishness.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen her,” he replied.
“Drat,” she said, her nose scrunching with frustration.
“I take it your visit will be shortened?” he asked drily.
She stood from the chair and stepped close to him so she could pat his shoulder. “I do love visiting, but you’re right. The cottage is quite small.”
“Is it?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“Don’t be like that,” she said. “You know I—”
“Mama!” Sarah suddenly squealed. She was standing on her tiptoes with her face squashed into the corner of the sash window. “Look! She’s beautiful!”
“Sarah,” her mother said. “Please don’t interrupt—” She paused when what her daughter was saying sank in. “Who is beautiful?”
“There’s a woman walking outside. Her hair looks like silk.”
Adam mentally cursed his seven-year-old niece. “It must be the new maid,” he said in one last, futile attempt at misdirection. “That one turns heads everywhere she goes.”
Molly’s eyes narrowed, then she spun and rushed to the window before he could stop her. She pressed her face to the upper corner, looking like a larger replica of her daughter. “It’s her,” she breathed. “Adam, you lied to me!”
“Is it Julia?” he asked, trying his best to sound surprised. “I hope you won’t trouble her. She’s probably too fancy to bother with the likes of us anymore.”
“People don’t change that much,” she replied.
“And she is a fallen woman. Do you really think Francis would approve of you speaking to her?”
“Francis won’t know unless you tell him,” she said. Then she started with a soft exclamation. “She’s walking away. I must catch her!”
She dumped baby Jane in his arms and rushed out the door, leaving him to resignedly coax the startled child. And bemoan the fickleness of fate.
…
Julia was twirling a daisy in her fingers and absentmindedly walking across the lawn when she heard a feminine voice call her name.
She turned and was startled to find a plump, dark-haired woman speeding toward her from the open door of the cottage she’d just passed.
“Hello?” she said uncertainly.
The woman halted a few feet away from her and stared, a smile curving her lips. “Do you not remember me?”
Julia looked at the woman from head to toe. She did seem familiar—especially that unruly black hair. Her gray dress was made of fine muslin but had a stain near the neck. Julia focused on her face. She looked— Good Lord, she looked like Adam.
Julia started. “Molly?”
The woman surprised her by throwing her arms around her shoulders in a tight embrace. “I knew you wouldn’t forget me!” She crooked her arm through Julia’s as though they were the best of friends and dragged her toward the cottage. “You must come inside so we can chat.”
Julia gazed at the small structure. She’d thought it might be the gamekeeper’s house when she’d first passed it. She knew the gamekeeper usually had his own dwelling, but she wasn’t sure about the other servants. “Is that where Adam lives?”
Molly’s eyes narrowed. “He told me he didn’t know you were here.”
“Ah. Well, we haven’t spoken,” she hurried to say. “I saw him from afar one day.”
She didn’t know if it was a very believable story, though she’d delivered the lie without blinking or fidgeting, or any of those things that would give a lesser actress away. Molly watched her face a little suspiciously, but there wasn’t time for questions before they moved past the threshold of Adam’s cottage.
He was the first thing she noticed, standing by the window with a baby cradled in his arms.
A baby.
She stopped, feeling as though she’d just been prodded in the chest with a hot fire poker. Adam granted her the smallest smile and lifted one shoulder, as if to say, I did my best.
“That’s Jane,” Molly said, then pointed at the two little girls who were staring up at Julia with wide eyes. “And Sarah and Hannah.”
“Hello,” Julia said tentatively, turning her attention away from the baby, which helped to ease the irrational fluttering in her heart.
“You’re as pretty as an angel,” Sarah said.
“Oh, dear me,” Julia said, laughing. No one had ever compared her to an angel before. She noticed Adam’s swift grin, which amused her even more. “Thank you.”
She glanced down when she felt a tugging at her skirt. Hannah, the younger girl, was looking up at her shyly, her lower lip tucked between teeth that had a gap in the middle where she’d lost one.
“Yes?” Julia asked gently.
“Can I braid your hair?”
Like mother like daughter, she thought resignedly. Outwardly, she smiled so she wouldn’t hurt the child’s feelings. “That would be splendid.”
“You don’t have to—” Molly began.
“It’s perfectly fine,” Julia assured her.
Julia was led to the settee by Hannah’s surprisingly firm grasp on her hand and ordered to sit facin
g the window while the girl climbed up behind her. Julia swiftly took the pins out of her chignon and let her hair fall around her shoulders.
She sensed Adam’s sudden stillness and glanced up. He was looking at her loose hair in a way that caused a low throbbing between her legs. He was looking at it like he would give anything at that moment to feel its softness between his fingertips, to press it against his lips. And she wanted to let him.
She cleared her throat. Again. Damnation!
While Hannah’s small hands yanked at her hair and made her scalp burn, Sarah sat in front of her, showing off her rag doll. It felt as if she’d gone back in time fifteen years and now there were two Mollies seeking her attention!
She did her best to speak to both children, though one was in front of her and the other was hidden behind her. She learned that Sarah’s rag doll was named Lizzy and loved chocolate but hated tea. From Hannah, she learned that boys were horrid creatures and that Sarah had turned into a traitor by nursing a tendre for one.
“That’s not true!” Sarah exclaimed, her small round cheeks turning red.
“Yes, it is,” Hannah insisted, pulling vigorously on a strand of hair. Tears pricked at the corners of Julia’s eyes. “His name is Arthur, and he’s only six!”
“Six!” Julia exclaimed good-naturedly, through the pain. “And you’re seven, are you not? You’ve set your cap for a younger man.”
“Is that wrong?” Sarah asked hesitantly.
“Of course not,” she answered. “But you must remember that younger men might not be as mature as you are.”
“What shall I do?”
Julia thought about it for a moment, pursing her lips. “Well, I suppose you must take charge. Has he kissed you?”
“Julia!” Adam exclaimed from the window, causing the baby to mewl like a cat. “She’s not old enough.”
Julia looked at Sarah, and the girl nodded slightly, her cheeks turning so red they must’ve felt like fire. Julia spared a moment to glance haughtily at Adam over the girl’s head.
“Did you like the kiss?” she asked.
“No!” Sarah exclaimed quickly and with utter disgust. “It was wet!”
“Oh dear,” Julia commiserated. “I understand how you feel. Some men simply don’t know how to kiss. They think they can just stick their tongue in your mouth and—”
She broke off when Molly started to cough pointedly.
“Um,” Julia continued. “As I was saying, don’t let him kiss you if you don’t like it.”
“But won’t he be upset?”
“He shouldn’t be. Unless he’s a bitter sort of person, in which case you’re better off without him, I think.”
Sarah nodded as though Julia was God imparting the commandments to Moses. Julia hadn’t known children were quite so impressionable. The realization sent another shot of fear straight down her spine. What if she said something ridiculous to her child without thinking and the child carried it with them as gospel for the rest of its life? What if the child took it in its head to idolize a bad person?
If Hannah hadn’t been yanking on Julia’s hair, she would have sunk her head into her hands in utter defeat. Before, she’d only been terrified about having a newborn—now the whole progression of baby to child to adolescent to adult was starting to scare her, as well. Thankfully, she didn’t have time to dwell on it with two lively children flitting about her.
“How will I know if I like a kiss?” Sarah asked. “What should it feel like?”
“That’s a good question,” Julia answered thoughtfully, looking at the girl. “I suppose a kiss should make you…want.”
“Want what?”
Julia ignored an exclamation from the other side of the room. “It should make you want another kiss,” she continued. “It should make you want the first one to last forever. It should make you want to be around him all the time. It should…it should give you hope.”
Julia’s heart stuttered as she realized only one kiss in her whole life had made her felt like that. The boy who’d given it to her was standing just a few feet away. And he was certainly not a boy any longer.
She couldn’t look at him. She felt a flush rise in her cheeks—a flush! As though she were a naïve blushing virgin. How dreadful.
Even when she’d been a virgin, she didn’t think she had ever been naïve or blushing. It was beyond frustrating that Adam could reduce her to such a state so easily, when the most sophisticated aristocrats hadn’t even come close.
“I’m finished!” Hannah announced.
“Find me a looking glass, dear,” Julia said, managing, somehow, to keep her voice level.
She finally flicked a glance at Adam, and noted that he was no longer watching her with that heated gaze from before. Instead, his lips were pinched at the corners as if he was trying to stop himself from laughing aloud. It was a bad omen.
When Hannah placed a small mirror in her hands, Julia understood his expression. It appeared as though a bird had been enthusiastically building a nest in her hair. The strands were frizzy and hopelessly tangled, forming a halo of disorder around her head. She wasn’t even sure how the girl had managed to make it look like that.
“Why, it’s lovely,” she exclaimed, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice, even as her mind worked ahead to the impossible task of untangling the mess.
“Can I braid it now?” Sarah asked.
That would require undoing the braid Hannah had done, and Julia, whose entire head was throbbing, wasn’t sure she was up for it.
Molly finally decided to put her foot down. If only she’d done it sooner. “You two should play outside. Stay in front of the window where we can see you.”
“But Mama!”
“Now,” Molly said, in a voice that was so firm and cool that even Julia wanted to flinch. The girls sulkily trailed out the door.
“I shall put on some tea,” Molly announced as though they were guests in her house, before disappearing into the kitchen.
Julia and Adam were alone.
He moved to the settee and sat down on the other end. But it was a small settee, so the distance between each end was only a few feet. It felt odd to be sitting next to him, in his home.
Almost too intimate.
She glanced around the room now that the girls weren’t there to distract her. It was small and clean. The sparse furniture was comfortable, but worn. A rug sprawled across a good portion of the wood floor—a plain, dark rug, not one of the bright Persian carpets that were so popular amongst the wealthy. The mantel around the fireplace was practical stone with a clock and a few short candles resting on the top. Light green paint colored the walls, not expensive paper, and there were no adornments.
Adam didn’t seem to be too attached to worldly goods, if his sitting room was any indication.
“You should hang some paintings,” she remarked.
“I don’t have any. Will you give me one of yours?”
Her head swung around to see if he was jesting, but his face was smooth. “I already told you, I’m no painter.”
“Then my walls stay bare,” he said.
She huffed. “More’s the pity. It’s like a monastery in here.”
“It isn’t that bad, is it?”
“It needs more color.” She peered over his arm to look at the baby’s round, pale face. “Is she all right? She’s so quiet.” The baby was looking up at her uncle with eyes that didn’t seem quite focused.
“She’s just a quiet baby. Some are. Sarah and Hannah weren’t,” he added with a smile.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Julia drawled, which made his grin widen. She liked that she could make him smile. Liked it far too much.
The baby blinked for no apparent reason, and moved her wobbly head around, one fat arm coming up out of her blanket.
Julia felt a stab of fear. “Are you supporting her head?”
“I think so,” he said.
“You don’t know?”
“Well, she’s not sh
rieking with pain.”
She supposed not. “Aren’t you worried you’ll hurt her? She looks so weak.” Part of that might have stemmed from the fact that it was Adam’s arms cradling her, and he was a large man. But he was also surprisingly gentle. His niece was wrapped up carefully, like the most delicate porcelain.
“She’s fine,” he said. “You can take her if you don’t think I’m doing it properly.”
“No!” she exclaimed, too quickly. She moderated her tone. Pushed down the panic clawing at her throat. “No. That’s not what I meant to imply.”
His head tilted as he glanced at her curiously but then, as he studied her, his expression turned a bit sly. “I know why she’s so quiet. It’s what you’re wearing—it’s shocked her into silence.”
Julia frowned, and glanced down at her bright yellow dress with green trim. “What is wrong with it?”
“Do bees ever try to feed from you?” he asked.
She laughed at the absurdity of that image. “I like bright colors. I don’t see why they shouldn’t be fashionable at any time of day.”
“You always did have the worst fashion sense,” Adam said. “I remember the things you would point out in shop windows.”
“Oh? Because you are so knowledgeable on the subject? If I dressed like you, no one would be able to tell me apart from a storm cloud! Color is cheerful.”
He gazed at her solemnly. “I’m just worried about the bees, Julia. They’ll get all turned about.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. She leaned closer to him. “This color is one of my favorites.” She indicated the green trim on the hem of the dress. “It’s called Pomona green.”
“Pomona?”
“For the goddess of the orchards.”
His frowned. “It’s supposed to be the color of an apple, then? I thought that might have been a mistake by the dressmaker.”
She realized what he was doing. He was teasing her, drawing her out of herself because he’d sensed she was worried. Just as he’d always done.
