by Georgie Lee
‘You’re the only one talking now.’
‘But think of the Taylors. What would they say?’
‘I don’t care what they think and I’m tired of enduring Annette’s foolishness.’
‘Please try to be more cordial to her. There are things concerning the Taylors of which you are not aware and they may have a direct impact on Annette’s current mood. She can be a very sweet young lady.’
Julia crossed her arms with a disbelieving huff. ‘Annette constantly derides me, points out my faults to all and yet you describe her as sweet. I do nothing and you treat me like the whore of Daringford.’
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose, the dark circles under her eyes made deeper by the candlelight. Julia knew Emily was tired from nursing Thomas through the night in keeping with Rousseau’s ideals and Charles’s instructions, but at the moment she had no sympathy for her sister-in-law. ‘You must learn to get along with people. Life is not all deferential servants and friendly tenant farmers.’
‘Of this you and the Taylors have made me very aware,’ Julia fumed through clenched teeth, barely able to stand still with the anger coursing through her.
‘Forgive me. I was not clear.’
‘No, I understand perfectly,’ she seethed, balling her fists at her sides. ‘Despite everything I’ve done and can do, you two are ashamed of me. I’ll have no peace until I become a simpering wet goose or marry and leave. Why not simply send me to Paul, then you might never be bothered with such an embarrassing sister?’
‘Julia, please...’
‘No, I’ve heard quite enough for one day.’ She left, afraid of what she might say if she stayed longer.
Once in her room, her hands shook so hard with anger she could not undo the buttons on her habit without Mary’s help.
‘You are soaked through, miss,’ the maid giggled, dropping the soggy garment in a large china bowl along with her wet hose and gloves.
‘I’m quite aware of my current state of wetness.’ Julia bristled, then instantly regretted it. ‘I’m sorry, Mary. I don’t mean to be cross.’
‘It’s all right, miss.’ Mary smiled, lacing the dry stays, then helping Julia into an afternoon dress. ‘An exciting run with a man like the captain would be enough to send any woman into a state.’
‘I wish it was the captain who’d put me in such a state,’ she let slip, then caught herself as Mary shot her a knowing glance. Snatching the towel from the washstand, Julia rubbed her soaking hair, eager to do anything to relieve her agitation. ‘That will be all, Mary.’
Mary curtsied, then left. Julia threw down the towel and braided her hair, fastening it with a ribbon at the base of her neck.
How could Emily say such a thing to me and the captain? She flipped the braid over her shoulder and, determined to put the incident from her mind, headed for the study, craving the solace.
Once inside, she took a deep breath, hoping to gain some measure of calm from the familiar surroundings, but for once not even this comfortable place made her feel better. The fire had been allowed to burn out, taking with it all remaining warmth and leaving only the ashen tones of the rain-drenched light from outside. It made the room cold, the books heartless, the large mahogany desk uncaring. Despite the chill, she loved it all, but it wasn’t hers, as Emily had made abundantly clear.
‘Her house,’ Julia snorted. Emily might be Charles’s wife, but since her arrival she’d never lifted a finger to do more than arrange dinners or fuss over Thomas. The urge to march upstairs and hand the accounts to Emily was overwhelming. Let her manage the estate if she was so quick to call it her own. Instead Julia sat down at the desk and took the pencil in her shaking fingers. If nothing else, she still loved Knollwood and owed it to Father to keep it prosperous.
Lightning lit the room and a hard wind drove the rain against the window. Julia watched the heavy drops bounce off the stone patio. Her thoughts wandered back to the captain and their mad dash across the garden. Was this the kind of life he offered? Turning a rainstorm into an adventure, a ride into an energetic race? Chewing the end of the pencil, she remembered his face when he’d leaned close to her at the keep, the way his fingers brushed her neck sending chills of excitement racing along her skin. She’d wanted him to kiss her, to taste him, to give in to the urges swirling inside her. It might be worth compromising herself to live in such a daring way.
No, a man like the captain might make her forget herself, but he’d also make her regret it.
Tapping the pencil against the desk, she debated calling a footman to relight the fire, then decided against it. She didn’t feel like being alone. On rainy days when he was with them, Uncle George usually played billiards in the library with a warm fire and a glass of port. She hesitated, knowing Captain Covington would be with him. The thought of his company appealed to her as did the desire to spite Emily, though it would hardly be spite with Uncle George playing the chaperon.
* * *
‘I wondered when you’d join us,’ Uncle George greeted when she stepped into the library, the crackling fire and friendly faces a welcome contrast to the lonely study. ‘Will you play?’
She caught the captain’s eye. He offered an apologetic smile before disappearing into a glass of port.
Julia shook her head. ‘No, finish your game. I’ll join the next one.’
‘She’s quite the player, Jim. Takes after me.’ George leaned over the table, taking aim at the red ball and striking it with the cue ball.
‘She also has your spirit of adventure.’ The captain strolled to the scoreboard standing near the fireplace behind her. ‘I’m sorry to have caused you trouble,’ he whispered, sliding a tally along the line.
She ran her fingers over the smooth-wooded side of the billiard table. ‘It’s not your fault. Emily has a great concern for propriety.’
‘Which is surprising considering,’ Uncle George commented, sipping his port as James took his shot.
‘Considering what?’ Julia asked.
George turned a strange shade of pink, then pulled on the sleeves of his jacket. ‘Nothing.’
‘Tell me. You know you can’t keep a secret.’
‘Of course I can keep a secret.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘Name one secret I’ve failed to keep.’ Uncle George leaned over the table, practising before he took his turn.
‘Only one?’
‘One will do, thank you.’
Julia thought a moment, studying the wood-beam ceiling, debating whether to reveal a certain scandalous and unladylike bit of knowledge. With Emily’s rebuke still ringing in her ears, she decided to be bold. ‘The woman you visit in London.’
Uncle George whiffed the cue ball and jerked up straight. ‘You know better than to distract a man when he’s taking a shot. You’ll ruin his game. Besides, how do you know about her?’
‘Paul, of course.’
‘Did he tell you who she is?’
Julia sighed in frustration. ‘No.’
‘You see—’ he pointed his cue stick at her ‘—I can keep a secret.’
‘I’m sure it’s the only one.’
‘Who is she, George?’ the captain joined in. ‘Miss Howard is right, you know. You can’t keep a secret.’
‘Don’t think the two of you will get me to reveal it.’ He was about to say more when Davies stepped into the room.
‘Captain Russell, the foreman from Creedon Abbey is here to discuss the progress of the repairs.’
‘Excellent.’ George straightened, his smile wider than Julia would have liked. ‘If you’ll both excuse me.’
‘You can bring him in here if you’d like,’ Julia offered, uneasy about being left with the captain.
‘No, I’ll return shortly and tell you all the details. In the meantime, please continue
my game.’ Uncle George handed her his cue stick, then left, the proud way he carried himself making her suspect there was no foreman for him to meet.
She gripped the cue tightly, worry creeping through her. Despite her previous desire to spite her sister-in-law, the very real threat of Emily catching her alone in a room with a gentleman worried her.
‘So, who is this woman George is seeing in London?’ the captain asked, the mischief in his eyes dissolving some of her concerns.
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t even sure she existed until just now.’
‘Clever.’
Julia swelled her chest with mock pride. ‘Paul taught me well.’
The captain leaned far over the table to execute a difficult stroke and Julia admired the way his breeches pulled over his backside. She wanted to run her hands from his hair, over the length of his back to the snug breeches, feeling every contour of his body.
A small medallion slid out from beneath his shirt, glinting in the candlelight and stopping her mind from wandering too far.
‘What’s that?’
‘A reminder.’ He fingered the pendant, his voice more measured than before. Distant thunder rolled outside, the storm moving off deeper into the countryside. ‘I had it on the last time I was aboard ship. We were off the coast of Spain when we came across a French frigate and it opened fire.’
He unclasped the chain from around his neck and handed it to her. She examined the bronze surface, running her thumb over the dent with its worn and nearly illegible letters.
‘It stopped the bullet?’
‘Yes, but there were two.’ He took the medal back, fastening the chain around his neck and tucking it into his shirt.
‘And the other?’
He hit the cue ball with such force it rolled around the table, bouncing off the sides and missing the red ball. ‘It struck me in the left shoulder.’
Their eyes met and she realised why he’d reacted so vehemently to her comments about Admiral Nelson. No wonder he’d been so intent on challenging her reasoning. What must he think of her? Would she never learn to control her tongue? Embarrassment overwhelmed her accompanied by the urge to make her excuses and flee. ‘Is that why you resigned?’
‘Mostly.’ He picked at the end of his cue stick. ‘But I had other responsibilities. My father died four years ago, while I was at sea. He left a large share in a shipping company to maintain my mother and sister, but the company faltered after losing a number of ships to storms. My mother tried to manage as best she could, but neither she nor my sister possess your business acumen. I discovered the troubles a few weeks into my recuperation when a bailiff appeared to collect the debts. I instructed my solicitor to pay them and once I was sufficiently recovered, took over Mother’s affairs and saw to my sister’s dowry.’
‘Once everything was settled and you were well, couldn’t you have gone back to sea?’
‘I wanted to, but it seems the Navy is quick to forget a man once he’s away from active service.’
‘Didn’t they know you were recuperating?’
‘They did, but there are always younger, eager men craving ships and, unlike me, those men have not been badly wounded.’
‘But Admiral Nelson was wounded and he commands the fleet.’
‘As Admiral Stuart was kind enough to point out, I am no Nelson.’
She gasped. ‘How could he be so cruel?’
‘He wasn’t cruel. He was honest. Admiral Stuart and I have known each other a long time and, despite a mutual respect, we both know the way of things. I just needed someone to state it plain enough for me to acknowledge it.’ He laid the cue stick on the table and traced the polished wood with one finger. ‘The Navy isn’t an easy life. George is one of my oldest friends, but I’ve lost too many others to sickness or French bullets. Most men pursuing commands need to face those hardships to make a living. I’d made a handsome fortune and the Admiralty knew it. Thanks to Admiral Stuart’s honesty, I have the chance to enjoy my rewards instead of suffering who knows what fate.’ He touched his shoulder, a far-off sadness filling his eyes before he jerked his hand to his side and turned to face her. ‘It wasn’t easy resigning my commission and it still troubles me, as much as my shoulder.’
Julia stepped back, rolling the cue ball, wishing lightning had struck her on their run, allowing her to avoid this embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry for what I said about wounded men. I shouldn’t have been so callous or spoken so freely.’
He slid his hand along the table’s edge, allowing it to rest very close to hers. ‘Don’t berate yourself for your views. It’s a brave person who does not bend under pressure to others’ opinions.’
His fingers brushed the tops of hers, sending a shiver through her body. All of this was inappropriate, his touch, the seclusion but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. He stepped closer, his expression more tender than she deserved. She met his soft eyes, anxious, wanting, eager to follow him down whatever road he led her.
The clock on the mantel chimed, the tinkling bells bringing her back to reality.
Cursed interruptions. It was almost time for dinner. If she wished to avoid her faux pas from the night before, she needed time to prepare. ‘Please excuse me. I must dress for dinner.’ Sliding her hand out from beneath his, she noticed his fleeting disappointment as she hurried from the room.
Chapter Six
‘Are these all of them?’ Julia stared at the dresses draped over every surface, her room resembling the inside of a milliner’s shop.
‘No, miss. I left the three formal dresses in their trunks.’ Mary laid an assortment of gloves on the writing desk. ‘Should I bring those down, too?’
‘Yes, for heaven knows I may have use for them yet.’ Julia fingered the hem of a pink-silk pelisse.
‘Which dress would you like to wear tonight?’ Mary asked, arranging a few fans on the bedside table.
Julia circled the room, examining each one, trying to remember which one had looked the best on her. She barely remembered the ensembles, having banished them to the attic the instant they’d returned from her horrible Season in London. She’d have gladly given it all to Mary, but her mother had stopped her, insisting she might one day need it. Tonight, Mother would discover how right she’d been. ‘Which do you suggest?’
‘The green one, it was so pretty on you in town.’
Julia nodded, allowing Mary to help her out of the simple afternoon frock and into the fancy, green-silk creation. The dress highlighted her amber eyes and showed off her curves to their best advantage. However, the low-cut bodice made her feel exposed and very self-conscious. Examining herself in the mirror, she felt all of her London awkwardness come rushing back.
* * *
Her embarrassment increased when, half an hour later, after patiently bearing Mary’s many attempts at a fashionable coiffure, Julia curtly dismissed her. As she stared at the lopsided style in the mirror, tears of frustration stung her eyes. How could she possibly hope to capture Captain Covington’s interest with dishevelled hair?
Not his interest. Simon’s, she corrected herself, furiously combing out the style, then tossing the brush down on the table where it rattled against a small vase with a lone rose. Obviously my money isn’t enough to attract him. The stupid peacock.
Despair crept along the edges of her irritation, but she shook it from her head with the last of the hairpins. She couldn’t afford to lose hope now.
I will catch Simon’s eye. I have to. With renewed determination, she twisted her hair up the way Mother did, fastening it with a tortoiseshell comb while leaving the front curls, Mary’s sole accomplishment, to fall about her face.
* * *
James trailed his fingers on the marble mantel, wincing at another of Miss Howard’s hollow laughs. Twice today he’d nearly kissed her. Twice he’d allowed the
wanting in her eyes to overcome his better sense, yet there she sat on the sofa next to Mr Taylor, seemingly enthralled by the twit. What game was she playing in her London finery, her white, round breasts well displayed by the curving neckline of the green dress? What hold did Mr Taylor have over her? He wondered if she knew about his affair with the dowager baroness or the wager at White’s as to whether or not they would elope to Gretna Green? Surely she must know, having previously claimed a broad knowledge of London gossip.
Flexing his left hand, he leaned his elbow on the mantel, pretending to study a small horse figurine. He’d watched her throughout dinner, noticing the way her eyes lost their sparkle whenever Mr Taylor turned away. This was not the same woman who’d dared him to keep up with her on the downs or challenged him in the library.
He thought of asking George what his niece was about, but it would only make his feelings obvious. What where his feelings? He’d struggled against them ever since they’d met, yet this afternoon at the keep he could no longer lie to himself. She enchanted him, amused him. She was an original in every way, fresh and free spirited, tethered by a prudish brother and an indifferent mother. How she’d blossom if she ever cut herself loose from Knollwood. Yet she clung to it like a man clings to a sinking ship, praying against all odds it might still save him.
Miss Taylor’s voice accompanied by the tinkling notes of the pianoforte drifted to him from the far corner of the room. She flirted with him from across the instrument’s polished surface, dropping her head coquettishly, her eyes betraying her true intention. James knew he could not go back to such women. However, it was a fool’s errand to chase after a young lady who held no real interest in him. Melinda had taught him that lesson years ago. He must find some way to draw Miss Howard out and drive thoughts of Mr Taylor from her mind.
* * *
While Simon spoke of his London house at length, Julia stole a number of glances at the captain. He stood by the fire, watching the flames consume the log with a sense of distant wondering. He wore his blue uniform, the high collar framing his strong chin. The firelight danced in his dark hair and blue eyes. For a moment she pictured him on the deck of a ship as it sailed into Bombay, watching the far-off coconut trees on the rolling hills sway in the warm breeze, just as Mr Ivers described in his book. Only the strange sadness surrounding him interrupted the lovely dream. Seeing the way it darkened his eyes, she wanted to take him in her arms and caress it away, but with so many people around them, she couldn’t even entreat him to tell her what troubled him.
