“That kind of enmity hurts more than just themselves,” Cara went on. “Think about it—if she had said who her father was, maybe everyone would have been released! Or maybe Lord Westbridge would have gone there himself to get his daughter out.”
“No, his lordship would not have gone there,” Julia said, not wanting Cara to start imagining unrealistic scenarios. “And in any case, there are plenty of ways to solve a problem other than having a father come rescue you.”
Her rebuke stemmed from deep-seated frustration at her sister’s constant daydreams about their long-lost father. She was tempted to feel bad when she saw the hurt on Cara’s face, but she would not apologize for speaking the truth. “I do not say, however, that Edith did the right thing in hiding her rank. If we had been freed last night, I could have gone looking for you.”
“Don’t go down that path,” Michael put in sharply. “The worst possible thing would have been for you to go wandering those dangerous streets alone at night.”
“But she would not have been alone!” Cara responded adamantly. “She would have gone looking for you first, surely? Just like I did?”
“I would have done nothing of the sort,” Julia protested, her face growing hot. “That would have been too presumptuous.”
“But are you not friends? He was so eager to help last night that I just assumed . . .” She looked between them for confirmation.
It was a question that Julia could not imagine how to answer. There did not seem to be any word to correctly describe their relationship. Not friends, but no longer mere acquaintances. Not after all the time they’d spent together over these past weeks. But she could not explain any of that to Cara. She sent an embarrassed look toward Michael, worried he might think she’d told Cara about the Latin lessons. But she had kept her word and not told anyone, not even her sisters.
Michael turned his gaze away, as though he, too, was unsure how to answer. His attention snagged on something in the distance. “Robbie looks out of his depth,” he commented.
The boy was on the ground, pinned down by the dog, whose nose was rammed into Robbie’s coat pocket. Robbie was shrieking in the way boys do that makes it impossible to tell whether it is from delight or terror.
Cara jumped up from the bench, shouting as she ran toward him, “Robbie, what are you doing? Oh!”
Julia ran after Cara. Michael followed more slowly, heartily relieved for the distraction. The conversation had veered into dangerous territory. At the same time, he realized it was a landscape he wanted very much to explore. But he had to talk to Julia alone first. Her expression after Cara had asked if they were friends had been most interesting. There had been a blush on her cheek, he was certain of it. He had to know if she was beginning to feel as he was.
By the time Michael reached them, Cara was caught up in the tangled heap of child and dog, trying to push the animal away. He took hold of the dog’s collar and pulled him off the boy.
Cara dragged Robbie to his feet. “What on earth happened?”
Now it was plain the boy was laughing. “I was . . . teasing Napoleon . . . with this bit of candy,” he gasped between giggles. “When I put it in my pocket, he tried to get it.”
The dog was still wriggling excitedly. To calm him down, Michael led him back over to his owner. After the nanny thanked Michael profusely, she took her young charge and the dog away from the park, exclaiming that it was time to go home.
Cara crouched in front of Robbie, busily dusting him off. “Look at the dirt on your clothes,” she chided. “And you’ve torn your coat! There’ll be the devil to pay if your mother sees it.”
Her angst rolled off the boy. “Is it tea time?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”
Cara licked a thumb and used it to wipe a smudge of dirt off his face. “You might not be so hungry if you’d eaten that sweet instead of teasing the dog with it.”
She sounded just like a stern mother. In the short time Michael had known her, he’d seen her curious mix of flightiness and resourcefulness. Now he could add something else to that list: when she got down to the business of mothering, she could do it as well as anybody.
Having returned Robbie to some semblance of order, Cara stood up but kept a firm hold of the child’s hand. “Have you the time?” she asked Michael.
He checked his pocket watch. “Nearly three.”
“We have to go,” Cara said, her sadness clearly mixed with anxiety. “I must find him clean clothes and get him something to eat before the Needenhams arrive. They’ll be furious with me if they see him in this state. Robbie, where is your ball?”
The boy pointed to where it lay about twenty yards off.
“Run and get it, will you?”
Robbie raced off to retrieve his ball, and Cara turned to give Julia a hug. “I probably won’t see you before we leave London. Miss Needenham will be presented in court tomorrow, and we’re taking a train to Exeter the following day. You will write to me, though, and tell me how things are going? And you will send my love to Sybil and especially to little Sam and Jemmie?”
Julia promised she would. Once more Cara drew her close and whispered something in her ear. Looking startled, Julia whispered something back. Wanting to give the sisters a moment of privacy, Michael strolled toward the little fountain in the center of the park and feigned interest in the tiered waterfall that topped it.
He didn’t turn back until he heard Robbie say, “Here is the ball! Can we go now?”
“May we go now,” Cara corrected him. She took Michael’s hand and clasped it warmly. “I am so grateful to you! I would say that at last my sister owes me something—but I know you are the one we are indebted to.”
“You don’t owe me anything. It was my pleasure to help a lady in need.”
Michael meant every word. The bizarre events of last night had not been a burden or an imposition, as Julia had fretted. Instead, it had been a refreshing break from the rigid path he’d been following. In fact, it had opened his eyes to the truth that his life had changed from the day Julia had come into it.
She’d slowly grown on him, stolen steadily larger portions of his thoughts—and his heart. For years he’d allowed no emotional attachments to anyone, aside from Corinna and, to a lesser extent, David. Last night, after the torment that came with the knowledge that Julia was in danger, he could no longer deny to himself what she meant to him.
He was painfully aware that falling in love with Julia would only cause endless and perhaps insurmountable difficulties for both of them. But at this moment, he didn’t care what trouble she might bring his way. Not if he discovered that she loved him in return.
CHAPTER
21
THE LITTLE PARK WAS EMPTY of anyone else now. Michael and Julia were, for the first time since he’d met her, truly alone.
He was curious what the two sisters had discussed in whispered tones before Cara left them. Whatever it was, it left Julia unsettled. She didn’t want to meet his eye.
“Right,” she murmured, making a motion as if she were dusting her hands. “I should be going. You have your work to get back to, and I must make my explanations to the house matron for not coming home last night, not to mention apologizing to Dr. Chase for missing the natural history examination this morning—”
“Wait.” Michael stepped close to stop her. He’d never seen her agitated like this before. Perhaps the strain of the night and the resulting tiredness had subdued her usual air of indomitability. He was seeing a rare glimpse beyond her self-assured façade. “Surely those things can wait a little longer. It’s pleasant here; why not take a few minutes to enjoy it?”
Finally, she looked up at him, trying unsuccessfully to push an errant lock of hair back into its pins. “After a night at the jail, I am terribly bedraggled.”
Julia Bernay, worried about how she looked. Now Michael was sure she was not her usual self.
He reached up and tucked one last strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve never seen anyone who could mana
ge to look bedraggled and yet so pretty at the same time.”
Her eyes widened. “You are too kind.”
He noticed, with not a little satisfaction, that her words came out a touch breathlessly. At this moment, as they stared at one another, Michael wanted very much to ascribe her agitation to something other than the trials of the past twenty-four hours. They stood so close that he could see a tiny quiver of her lips as she smiled. Sunlight, filtered and dappled through the leafy trees, danced over her face.
“Please stay,” he coaxed.
After another pause, she nodded. But the way she searched his eyes first, and the way they moved in quiet unison to sit together on the bench, told him that something important had just happened.
They sat without speaking, looking out at the well-manicured little park. A gentle breeze rustled in the trees and teased the flower beds. The little fountain gurgled, and birds chirped as they splashed in it. This walled enclave felt intimate and private, as though they were removed from the rest of the world. Julia was mere inches away from him, and he savored this nearness. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and take hold of them. But he was not going to risk doing anything to rush—and possibly upset—the quiet bond building between them.
He was glad he held back, for she sighed, her shoulders relaxing and her hands growing still, as the peacefulness of the park touched her. “It’s so lovely. I feel as though, sitting here, all the cares of the world could be set aside, if only for now.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“What you did for me—and most especially for Cara—words cannot express. . . . My sisters and I relied on each other through all the terrible times in our childhood. Now that we are grown, things are changing, and yet our care and concern for one another never changes. But I know you understand these things.”
“I do.” Julia’s oblique reference to Corinna pained him, because he knew how much his sister would object to what he was doing just now. “I realize, to my chagrin, that I never asked you about your parents. Cara spoke of your father’s disappearance?”
Julia’s hands begin to fidget again. “That’s because she won’t accept that he is dead.”
“Perhaps I should not have asked.”
“It’s not that I mind speaking about it.” She turned to face him. “I get upset at Cara sometimes, that’s all. The question of what happened to our father has been a source of disagreement between us for years. He was the captain of a merchant ship, traveling most often to South America and the Caribbean. They made stops in America sometimes, too, although those were suspended when the American Civil War began in 1861. A little over a year later, the ship disappeared.”
“Sank, do you mean?”
“That’s what the owners of the shipping company said. They determined it was lost in a hurricane. We were so young when it happened, all three of us under ten years old, so we had to accept the story the adults told us. But later I began to doubt the truth of it. Based on where the ship should have been at the time, it would have been well to the south of the hurricane. I began to fear that my father had not died but had abandoned us.”
Michael closed his eyes briefly, feeling an almost visceral reaction to her words. He knew the pain of losing a father. He knew the irrational feelings of guilt felt by the child who’d been left behind. “Why do you think he abandoned you?”
“It’s a rather long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
She asked the question earnestly, perhaps remembering how he’d tried in the past to stop any discussion of personal matters. But Michael also saw a sadness that he wished he had the power to wipe away.
He said gently, “Yes, I would.”
“I should say that what I’m about to share . . . well, I’ve never told it to anyone.”
Michael felt as though she were putting her heart into his hands. “I’m honored” was all he could say.
“Here it is, then. The day before our father left us for the last time, he was at the pub near our house, having a pint with his friends. My mother sent me to fetch him and tell him supper was ready. This was my favorite thing to do, because it gave me a few precious moments alone with my father. He was away so much that whenever he was home, we all competed for his attention. But during his last few visits home, he’d grown more surly. Short-tempered. He’d once been so lighthearted, but that seemed to be eroding away. Children pick up on these moods without understanding their cause. Like many children, I suppose, I began to think that my sisters and I were the cause of it. I began to doubt whether he even loved us.”
Michael was well acquainted with this feeling. He’d suffered through his father’s bizarre behavior after his mother died. He and Corinna had even wondered whether they’d somehow caused her death. Wondered if they were responsible for the way he was growing distant and unreachable.
“When I got to the pub, I paused before going in. I’d gotten a rock in my shoe, and I sat down on the edge of a horse trough to get it out. While I was doing that, my father stepped out the door. There was a man with him, but it wasn’t anyone I knew. They didn’t see me at first, because there was a stack of crates between me and the door. But Father was clearly upset about something. ‘It was the biggest mistake of my life,’ I heard him say. ‘I wish to heaven I could be free from the whole lot of them. I had such plans for my life, you know. And it was nothing like this.’”
Julia was looking forward as she talked, her eyes focused on the bubbling fountain, but Michael had the impression she was seeing that last day with her father very clearly. “I think he was talking about us—his family. He and my mother squabbled about money. She was never good at economy. She was supposed to spread out the money he left her over the time he would be gone, but she never could manage to do that. We always ran short.”
Michael shook his head. “He might have been talking about any number of things, not necessarily your family.”
“Perhaps. But then the man said, ‘Well, you have no choice, now. Do this thing, and you’ll at last be free of them.’ My father said, ‘But will I ever really be free? And the suffering it will cause—’ And then I stood up, and my father saw me. ‘What are you doing there?’ he yelled. He grabbed my arm and shook me, his face red with anger. ‘How long have you been listening?’”
Julia spoke with the same raspy harshness that her father must have used. Michael hurt for her, knowing how deeply a parent’s sharp words could cut a child’s heart. He wasn’t surprised when she said, “That was the first time I’d ever been afraid of my father. I insisted I’d heard nothing, mostly from fear of what he might do to me. The other man left, but not before saying to my father, “Stay the course, Bernay.’”
“And then?”
“We walked home. My father said not one word the whole way, and he was very short with us that evening. He was gone by morning, his ship leaving with the four o’clock tide.” She rubbed a thumb and forefinger over her eyes, perhaps to ward off tears. “We never saw him again.”
“I’m very sorry,” Michael said, knowing the words were inadequate.
“Cara always felt he was alive somewhere, wanting to return to us but not able to for some unknown reason. I took his disappearance as proof that he’d abandoned us—that he wanted to be free from us, even though he knew we’d be hurt by his leaving.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’m ashamed to admit there are times when I fall prey to the same foolish hopes that Cara has nurtured. But then I tell myself it can’t possibly be true. At best, he did mean to come back, but his ship really did sink, as we’ve been told. And really, why should we doubt it? The ship and the entire crew were never seen again. If only we really knew what happened . . .”
Michael thought this over. “How alike our stories are. While there is no doubt my father is dead, there are mysteries surrounding his death. And yet, even if we were to know everything, would the pa
in of loss be any less? I don’t think so. It would remain just as bitter. Just as terrible.”
He spoke from the depth of his being, even if these were not the consoling words he ought to be sharing right now. “I’m offering you small comfort,” he said apologetically.
“I do feel better for having shared it, though.” Julia reached out to take his hand. A friendly gesture, filled with warmth and support. “Will you tell me about your parents? How was it that you and Corinna were left in so much trouble?”
He looked down at their clasped hands. “I think that, in order for you to understand, I may have to go back a ways.”
“I want to hear everything.”
“All right.” He inhaled—the kind of deep breath he always took before plunging into deep water. But he began with the simple, straightforward facts, as though slowly wading in. “My father was the son of a bank clerk, but he had a flair for business and soon earned a lot of money in investments—railroads, mostly. He had no social connections, but my mother was allowed to marry him anyway because he was rich. They were intensely happy. She raised Corinna and me with all the tender care a child could wish for. But she died when I was nine years old. Corinna, who was just twelve, became the de facto mistress of our home.”
Julia gave a murmur of sympathy. Knowing what he now did about her life, Michael heard the depth of understanding behind it.
He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to share the burdens on his heart. Although he and Corinna had shared these trials together, each had borne their own burdens separately. They had not truly discussed what was in the depths of their hearts, only what steps to take next, what actions were necessary to survive. They’d given support to one another, but not true comfort.
“In a sense, you could say I lost my father at that time, too. He became distant to us in every way, often leaving us for months at a time and barely interacting with us even when he was home. He began making bad business decisions and unwise investments. As Corinna got older, with her responsibilities at home, she came to understand what a terrible state we were in financially. She tried to hide it from me and did her best to outwit the creditors. I was sixteen, away at school, when our father died. He fell from a horse, which he’d been riding late at night at full gallop over a field. From the tracks in the mud, it was clear he’d been jumping the horse over fences and hedgerows. This was unusual, because he was a mediocre horseman and never did such things. Some say he was purposefully trying to kill himself.”
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