Yet, though the two instances had a definite kinship, they were not the same. Juliet had not wanted to see the doctor again, but her reasons did not match Lucian’s. They were predicated on shame, a shame for which she was not responsible. But what would he think? It was too late to dwell on that. She lifted the knocker and let it fall.
The door was opened by a tousled-haired servant who gaped at her and in answer to her query grumbled, “ ’E’s not up yet. ’E’s been out most the night.”
“You will have to rouse him, then,” Alicia said firmly, and knew in that moment that she was doing the right thing. Yet, a second later, admitted to his parlor, she was once more unsure.
“Alicia . . . Lady Morley,” Dr. Hepworth, clad in a long brocade dressing robe, came hastily into the room. With a dismissive nod to the servant, he waited until the man had left the room and then strode to her, seizing her hands. “My dearest, what has brought you here at this hour? What is amiss?”
She flushed, thinking of their meeting in front of Madame de la Tour’s house and unaccountably feeling something she had not expected to experience: a definite regret. But it was far too late to decry the impulse that had brought her here. She said steadily, “She is with me. I have told her nothing, but though she does not want you to know, I thought you must be told.”
“What?” Still holding her hands, he stared at her blankly. “I do not understand.”
She felt her cheeks grow warmer yet. “I am not making myself clear. I am speaking about Juliet.”
He turned white. “Juliet?” he whispered, releasing her and moving backward. “What do you know about Juliet?”
“I was told . . . But never mind, suffice to say that I do know, and she is alive. There is a child ...” She saw him blench and added quickly, “From all she has told me, I have the feeling that she was ravished.”
“Where is she?” he demanded huskily.
“With me, in the abbey. I told her you were away, in London, because I did not know what you would say or whether you would want to see her. She is much changed, I would think. But I believe you should see her.”
“I want to see her,” he said chokingly. “Will you wait until I am dressed? Then I will come with you.”
‘‘Yes, I will wait, I . . .” But he had not lingered to hear what else she might have said. He had left the room. She stared after him, knowing what he must feel and hoping against hope that for both their sakes she had done the right thing.
In a very short time, the doctor returned. ‘‘Let us be on our way,” he said tersely. He was composed now, but his face was unnaturally pale. As they came out of his house, she saw that his man was waiting with the horses, but it was Dr. Hepworth who lifted her into her saddle and swiftly flung himself upon his own mount. Seconds later, they were off through streets that were just beginning to fill with carts of produce. Fortunately, that traffic was not as dense as it would be later in the morning. Still, by the time they had reached the abbey grounds, Dr. Hepworth’s impatience was almost palpable.
Looking at him, Alicia had an all-too-vivid memory of the day she had received Lady Octavia’s letter. And what would he think when he saw the battered waif, the changeling who had taken the place of the radiant young girl he had loved and lost? She would soon know, for they had reached the end of the carriageway and he had already leapt from his saddle, hurriedly tying his horse to a post and turning back in her direction with ill-concealed impatience. She had been about to dismount, but suddenly filled with trepidation, she let him help her from the saddle. Her concern increased as they arrived at the door. Juliet probably would not thank her for fetching him, but it was too late to consider her feelings now. She pushed at the door; it did not budge. She had left it on the latch, but someone had closed it. She reached for the knocker, but Dr. Hepworth was before her, slamming it against its plate.
A few minutes later, the butler, looking sleepy and vaguely resentful, pulled it open, moving back hastily as Dr. Hepworth strode inside. “Milady . . .’’he began and paused in consternation as the doctor moved toward the stairs.
“Where is she?’’ he demanded brusquely.
“Come,” Alicia said. She glanced back at Church. “ ’Tis all right,” she murmured, and started up the stairs with the doctor immediately behind her. As they had reached her chamber door, she pointed to it. “She’s in there,” she said softly.
For a moment he hesitated, staring blindly into space, and then he turned the handle and, opening it, went inside. In the act of closing the door, Alicia heard a cry, almost a scream, and in that same moment he, too, cried out, “Juliet!”
Alicia shut the door quickly. Feeling weak and drained, she sank down in an adjacent chair, staring at the sunbeams that were filtering through a crack in the comers to dance on the walls of the sitting room. Then, she tensed as she heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, she saw Lucian framed in the doorway. He said shortly, “Who is this woman you have brought into my house?” Before she could respond, he added coldly, “And where have you been at this time of the morning?”
She got slowly to her feet. “I went to fetch the doctor,” she responded in a tone as cold as his own.
“You . . . alone?”
“I, alone,” she corroborated. “But you must have known that, since you are aware that I was away. I presume one of the servants was your informant. The groom, perhaps?”
He regarded her with increasing anger. “I know very little about you,” he said, biting off each word. “But I had come to the conclusion that you possessed some sense of what is right and proper. Yet, I am told by my housekeeper that you brought into your chambers a vagrant from off the roads and her brat. I am also told that, without any explanation, you rode off alone—God knows where!”
Still defiantly, she glared back at him. “And now you know my destination. I went to fetch Dr. Hepworth, and as for the woman I brought into the house, she might be a vagrant, but she does have a name. It is Juliet Cotterel.”
“And am I supposed to know who that is?” he demanded coldly.
“No, you were not here when it happened. She was kidnapped two years ago, when she and her fiancй, Dr. Hepworth, were set upon by highwaymen. She has lived a dog’s life ever since, ravished and got with child by one of them. He is dead, and pursued by another, she ran into the ruins. I saw her. I brought the doctor here because I was told that he has lived in the vain hope of finding her. He gave up preferment, a London living, because he prayed he might hear something of her. Can you not guess what it means to him to know that she is alive and not lying rotting on the battlefield beneath a pile of bodies and ...” She paused in consternation, realizing what she had just said, “I mean ...” She choked and turned away, trying vainly not to allow the tears that were swelling her eyelids to fall.
“Alicia!” Lucian came to her side. His anger had faded. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry . . .”
She was still trying to stem her tears, but to no avail. They came seeping through her fingers. She was hardly aware of her husband’s arms closing about her or that it was upon his shoulder that she sobbed out all the pain and anguish with which she had been living for months.
12
Informed that Dr. Hepworth had called to see her, Alicia wished that Lucian were with her, but he was out, she did not know where. Four days had passed since the doctor had insisted on taking Juliet back to his house, and in that time Alicia had been of two minds as to the wisdom of bringing them together. Again she was comparing her situation to the doctor’s. There was no gainsaying the fact that the lovers of two years previously were not the same individuals anymore. Even if Juliet had not lost her memory, her life with a quartet of highwaymen and their occasional hangers-on must needs have toughened and coarsened her. That the delicate, fairylike creature Tilda had described was gone, went without saying. Even bathed and garbed in one of Alicia’s gowns, there had been something wary and wild about the girl who had left in the company of Dr. Hepworth, and she had looked far ol
der than her twenty years. As for Hepworth, he had still appeared dazed, and though he had been carrying the infant, it had seemed to Alicia that he had looked upon the poor mite with something less than affection. But as Lucian had said, the doctor would undoubtedly have trouble summoning up any tender feelings for the by-blow of the miscreant who had been shot by the late coachman of the Duke of Pryde on the night of Tilda’s ball.
She had agreed with him, and remembering a conversation
she had had with Tilda the day before yesterday, she winced. That outspoken lady had said frankly, “I can only hope that Dr. Hepworth can find a good home for the poor woman and her brat.”
“You do not believe that he will take Juliet back?”
“He could not take her back and remain here—or in London, either,” Tilda had said. “Though nothing of what has happened to her was her fault, she would never be able to lift up her head again. Hewes, alas, is a case in point. If he has said it once, he has said it at least twenty times that he cannot imagine that a young man of Dr. Hepworth’s cut, with all his life before him, would be willing to take as his bride the ex-doxy of a highwayman and his misbegotten whelp besides.”
“He said that?”
“As I have just told you, and furthermore, he is of the opinion that rather than having suffered the degradation of the past two years, Juliet should have found some means by which to kill herself.”
“I told you that she had intended—”
“And I conveyed that information to Hewes. He said ’twas a pity she had not the courage to abide by those intentions. And I will tell you, my dear, that I have heard that same opinion voiced by half my friends. The other half, excluding only yourself, have remained silent on the subject, though of course everyone fears his departure. In view of the circumstances, they believe that he might put sentiment above common sense.”
And now, Alicia thought unhappily, she would soon know his decision. The butler opened the door. “Dr. Hepworth, milady,” he said.
“Thank you. Church.”
James came in quickly, and Alicia, seeing his pale set face, felt her heart begin to pound heavily in her chest. He crossed the space between them in two strides and bent over her outstretched hand. What would he tell her? Releasing her hand, he straightened and faced her. “I am going away,” he said bluntly.
“Must you?” she questioned, knowing that she had expected such an announcement, but at the same time she was still shocked by it.
He regarded her gravely. “I have no alternative. I love you, Alicia, but there’s no hope for me, is there?”
Her heart seemed to be pounding in her throat. She ought to have been affronted by this forthright admission, but she was not. She regarded him regretfully. He had spoken hopelessly, but she suspected that he might still cherish a tendril of hope. Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. “I wish . . . But no, James, I love Lucian. I expect that no matter what happens, I always will.”
He nodded, and from his expression she could read an acceptance of a truth he must have known before he uttered those words. “I know that you will continue to wait and hope,” he said huskily. “And ’tis such a waste. God, I do not know why he cannot realize that you are worth twenty, nay, a hundred and twenty Barbara Barringtons! I cannot understand why, memory or no memory, he, living in the same house with you, seeing you each day . . . The man is a fool. But be that as it may, I cannot stay here and . . . there is Juliet.”
“Did I do the right thing?” she asked tremulously.
“Yes, you did,” he assured her hastily. “There was nothing else you could have done, knowing you. And also ’twas an action that made my last question only a wish, rather than anything more concrete. I think I can help her. I do care for her still, not as much as I once did. I am sorry for that, but there it is. And also she has the child, his child.” His brows drew together. “She cherishes the boy.”
“Could she do anything else? He is flesh of her flesh,” Alicia cried.
“I know, but the blood—”
“You are a doctor. Can you believe that the so-called sins of the father will be visited up this child?”
He sighed. “My common sense tells me no, but—”
“Heed your common sense, James,” she begged. “Juliet is his mother.”
“Yes, that is true, and though she has changed, I still see traces of the girl I knew. Perhaps in time and with care—”
“And love,” Alicia added quickly. She gave him a long look. “Do you know, I think you might have been drawn to me because I reminded you of her.”
He was silent a moment. Then, he said slowly, “In the beginning, perhaps. I know I’ve not seen you very often”—he took a step toward her—“but you are quite unique and ’tis a great pity that . . . But I’ll not torment you by repeating what we both know. As I once told you, there is the hope that your husband will regain his memory. And possibly that incident at the ball is significant. For my own paltry reasons, I fear I did not want you to build your hopes on it.” He sighed. “I am saying too much that is beside the point. I came to tell you that I have made arrangements to go to Canada.”
“Canada,” she cried.
He nodded. “A man I knew in Glasgow, Dr. Angus Malcolm, is practicing in Nova Scotia, where there is a great need for qualified medical men. He has written to me often and I—we will join him there.”
“ ’Tis so far away,” she could not help protesting.
“But there no one will know that my son,”—he swallowed—“is not my son. Juliet is willing, poor child, and I do still have a place for her in my heart, but—”
“I am glad, then.” Alicia interrupted. “And once you are away . . .”
He smiled mirthlessly. “I expect you are trying to tell me that absence will not make the heart grow fonder.”
“It must not,” she said firmly.
“I expect you are right.” His eyes lingered on her face. “And I do thank you for that kindness that is such an integral part of your nature. Juliet is also very grateful. She wants me to tell you that until she met you, she thought every hand would be raised against her. You have helped restore her faith in her fellow man and . . He frowned. “There is something else she wanted me to tell you. She says that on two occasions she and her companions came here to your cellars. They had been hiding in another abandoned house, but that one burned down. They were not here often, for shortly after they came, word reached them that your husband was expected home. They did make an effort to frighten you off by reviving that old tale of the phantom monks and chanting one night in the midst of a storm, but their, er, acting debut appeared to fool no one, and it being mighty uncomfortable in the ruins, they decided against any more ‘appearances.’ However, they still have an eye on this house, for what reason I do not know, nor does she. She warns that you must hire more keepers.”
“I will tell Lucian,” Alicia said.
“Do,” he urged. “I would not like to think of you or yours in danger. I had best go now.” He paused and stared at her. “That day I met you in town, I hope you’ll not think ill of me for that. Being with you . . . Oh, God, Alicia.” He bowed his head.
“I do not think ill of you,” she told him quickly. “I was as much to blame as you. We must both forget what happened, my dear.”
“I will never forget it,” he said huskily, and cleared his throat. Moving to her, he took her hand and once more pressed it to his lips.
“Fare you well, Alicia.”
“And you, my dear James. Let me know that all is well with you.”
“I will,” he said, and bowing once again, he hurried out.
Tilda Hewes, looking a trifle wan, was resting on the crocodile-headed sofa in the parlor, a place of jackal-shaped incense jars, cobra-based tables, and other equally exotic furnishings collected by Lord Hewes’ mother at a time when all England was celebrating Nelson’s Egyptian victories. Having refused to obey her husband’s earnest request that she banish these exhibits to the attic,
Tilda received only her most intimate friends there.
Smiling at Alicia, who was about to take her leave, she said half-accusingly, “I must tell you, my love, that I do miss Dr. Hepworth. He officiated at my last lying-in and I only hope that Dr. Withstanley proves as competent. I shall be seeing him later this afternoon.”
Alicia returned her rueful glance with one of her own. “I need not say that I am also sorry he is gone. But I must agree with his decision.”
“I, too. Poor Juliet would never have been received here, as I believe I told you.”
“Yes. ’Tis a pity. I am sure he will do well in Canada, however.”
“I agree. James Hepworth would do well anywhere,” Tilda said positively. “And mark my words, now that Juliet is removed from her past, she will probably become a lady of high degree. She has the birth and the breeding.”
“And the courage,” Alicia said softly.
“True.” Tilda nodded. “She has more than I ever dreamed she possessed, poor creature. God, the life she must have led these two years past. Damn those villains, I wish the rest of them might have joined her ravisher in hell.”
The Forgotten Marriage Page 19
