“Julian.” His father’s voice was deep yet cold, as always. “Or should I say, Lieutenant Swift now?”
“Thank you for the commission, my lord. I intend to make you proud.”
“You’re leaving soon?”
“Yes. I’ve said good-bye to Mother, Donald, and Daphne. I’ve leaving for Surrey in a few minutes, to say good-bye to Miss Monroe.”
His father snorted. “You might as well tell her good-bye forever. No reason to keep her on the hook, waiting for you.”
Julian’s brow furrowed. “My lord?”
“Since you won’t be coming back.”
Julian kept his jaw locked, his eyes still focused out the window. “You’ve that little faith in me, Father?”
“On the contrary, this is about the faith I do have in you. You said you intend to make me proud.”
“Father?”
The earl slammed his fist against the desk, making the papers and ink pot bounce. “Damn it, Julian. Must I spell it out for you? You’re meant to die in battle. Honorably, of course. The more honorably, the better. That’s why I purchased the commission for you. I expect you to make both me and your country extremely proud.”
An icy claw grabbed at Julian’s chest. He concentrated on keeping his gaze straight, his jaw firm. A harsh breath escaped him. “Sir.” He bowed once to his father, turned on his heel, and left the room.
It was the last time he ever saw his father.
Julian had wrestled with those words during the entire ride to Surrey seven years ago. Would he say good-bye to Miss Monroe for good and let her go, or would he ask her to write to him? He understood what he had to do. Understood what it would finally take to gain his father’s love, his approval. And he would do his duty. But it might be weeks, months even, before he died, and he couldn’t bear the thought of not having something to look forward to in that time. When Cassie had offered to write to him, he’d had some small glimmer of hope, some small shred of happiness to hang on to.
Julian had left for the Continent with his division as soon as he returned from Surrey. Within the month, word came that his father had died.
The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, the months to years. And Cassie’s letters arrived like clockwork, comforting, uplifting, friendly, and funny. Daphne and Mother wrote to him of course, but their letters were less frequent and meant to distract him with humorous bits of news. Cassie’s letters were different. They were heartfelt, meaningful. They were the only evidence he had left that he was still alive. And he’d never been able to write to her—this girl who kept him from a dark abyss—and tell her that he never intended to return. He couldn’t do that to her and he didn’t want to believe it himself. Cassie’s letters were real but they were also the only place he allowed himself to pretend.
* * *
Julian glanced around the room, his brother’s room, his brother’s house. Julian had been back in town for less than a fortnight but already he was seeing to the correspondence and acting in his brother’s stead. The servants came to him with issues and his mother seemed perfectly content to allow him to run things. Daphne seemed quite pleased with it all, too, probably because he allowed her to get away with more than Donald did.
Donald.
Julian took a deep breath. He and his brother had not been close. Donald was several years older than he and had been raised to be an earl. When Donald wasn’t away at school, he was spending time with their father. It had always made Julian envious. How he craved his father’s attention and approval for one day, one hour, one minute, even. Daphne had always been close to Mother and that had left Julian alone, alone and unnecessary, a spare to an earldom that didn’t require a spare. Father had made that clear enough.
Julian shook his head. None of that mattered now. Not at the moment. He’d done as he was told, gone off to the army, off to war. And in all those long, lonely days and nights, he’d looked forward to Cassandra’s letters. Waited for them each time the mail arrived, and while other soldiers were often disappointed to find that the call came and went with nothing for them, Julian could always rely on Cassandra. She never failed him.
“I heard that Lady Cassandra’s parents are ever so unhappy with the fact that she rebuffed the Duke of Claringdon’s advances,” Daphne offered from her perch at the writing desk.
“Yes, but anyone could see that the duke and Lady Lucy make a much more matched pair,” his mother said. “Still, I can understand their disappointment.”
Julian laughed. “Derek told me himself that he did his best to win Lady Cassandra.”
“It’s true,” Daphne added. “Though he never truly had a chance at winning her heart.”
Julian frowned. What did his sister know about it? “Why do you say that?”
Daphne’s lips turned up at the corners in a whisper of a smile. “Oh, there’s only one gentleman Lady Cassandra is interested in and he’s been, ahem, quite unavailable.”
Julian sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. There it was again. Just as Hunt had said, Cassandra Monroe was in love with another man. That’s why she’d refused Hunt. But who was this man? And when had it happened? None of Cassandra’s recent letters had mentioned a man. Well, any man other than Derek and Garrett … Upton. Upton? Could it be Upton?
Why did the thought of Cass with another man make Julian’s chest hurt? It made no sense. He shook his head. No matter. Whoever the chap was, he had better be good enough for her. That was all. Cassandra was loving and kind. She deserved to be happy. He wanted only the best for his closest friend. She meant a great deal to him. So much that when he believed he was dying, his first thought hadn’t been for himself or even Penelope. No. It had been for Cassandra. Hunt had been there, his face a stone mask, trying his damnedest not to look as if he knew his friend was already dead. He’d pressed his kerchief against the flow of blood from the bullet that had torn through Julian’s chest. Hunt had clenched his fist and his jaw and Julian had known right then that his friend would do anything he asked. His dying wish. What had it been? Hunt had already promised to tell his mother and Daphne in person, let them both know how much Julian loved them. That would be taken care of, no question. That day on the blood-soaked battlefield, he’d made Hunt promise to return to London and marry Cassandra. Julian had known from her letters that she was still unmarried. She needed someone, someone good, someone strong, someone who would take care of her and treat her well. Hunt was the perfect candidate. Or so Julian had thought.
“Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man,” Julian said, absently rubbing a hand through his hair.
“And you haven’t even seen her yet,” Daphne said under her breath.
Julian glanced up and narrowed his eyes on his sister. “What was that?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing,” Daphne replied, turning back to her letter.
Julian leaned back in his chair. It didn’t matter. He wished Cassandra well in her match, but marriage was the furthest thing from his own mind. He intended to put an end to his almost engagement and then go in search of his brother. Fate had intervened and made a mess of things. His brother was on the Continent in harm’s way and Julian was here, safe in London. He needed to right that wrong.
Julian looked across the room at his mother and his sister. He hadn’t informed them of his intentions of ending things with Penelope. Better to do it first and then explain afterward. But he knew what he had to do. The weeks of recovery had taught him something he couldn’t forget. He couldn’t live his life as a lie. Marrying Penelope would be a lie. His sense of honor had warred with his gut instincts, but in the end, he knew he must put an end to their agreement. He didn’t even know Penelope, certainly didn’t love her. He hadn’t been thinking about her as his blood seeped into foreign soil. No. He’d been thinking about Cassandra, Cassandra whom he only remembered as a young girl. She’d asked him for a kiss for her sixteenth birthday. He smiled at the memory. She’d been a scrawny little thing, all arms and legs, knees and elbows, but she’
d certainly had the potential to turn into a beauty. Perhaps not one as gorgeous as, say, Patience Bunbury, but a good-looking young woman just the same. What did Cassandra look like today? Once he arrived in Surrey, perhaps he’d write to his friend Owen, Cassandra’s older brother, and see if he was in residence in the country, too. It would be good to see both siblings again.
Julian’s first goal was to find Pen and end things. His second goal had been to find Cassandra and … what? See her? Thank her? Tell her that she’d changed his entire life? It sounded idiotic in his thoughts. He could only imagine how it would sound in person.
His third goal was to return to the Continent, with or without permission, and help in the search for Donald and Rafe.
But first things first, hence his planned trip out to the countryside tomorrow to attend a house party. He supposed it had been fortunate, his running into Lady Worthing and Miss Bunbury. If he hadn’t met the two ladies at Penelope’s house three days ago, he might not have known where Penelope had gone off to and he certainly couldn’t have arrived uninvited. It had been quite fortunate, indeed.
“I cannot wait to hear all about the house party,” Daphne said with a sigh. “It almost makes me wish I had been invited. And I detest house parties.”
“Why would you say that?” their mother asked, sipping at the teacup the butler had just handed her.
Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Ah, all that country air and tedium. I much prefer town. So much to see and do.”
“And trouble to get into?” Julian offered.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Daphne replied, turning her head and batting her eyelashes at him innocently.
Their mother gave Julian a knowing look over the lip of her teacup. She’d written to him on more than one occasion about Daphne’s penchant for, ahem, colorfulness. The countess set down her cup and stood. “I bid you both good night. I’m exhausted.” She turned to Julian. “I’ll see you in the morning, dear, before you leave on your trip.”
Daphne and Julian said good night and Julian stood as his mother left the room. Donald’s absence was wearing on her. Julian could tell. After the door shut behind the countess, Julian settled back into his seat. “Don’t worry, dear sister. I’ll tell you all about the house party after I return.”
“Thank you. And you must tell me all about this Miss Bunbury. I’m simply dying to make her acquaintance,” Daphne replied.
Julian stretched his legs out in front of him and let his head fall back against the chair. He stared absently at the frescoed ceiling. Miss Bunbury. If he were being honest, he wasn’t exactly reluctant to see her again himself. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to get the image of that young lady out of his mind. She was gorgeous. Yes, it had been a long, long time since he’d been with a woman, but he’d seen many of them since returning to England. None of them had affected him the way she had. The way she smiled and flashed a row of bright white teeth that tugged at her full lower lip when she was thinking about something.
“What does she look like?” Daphne asked, shaking Julian from his thoughts. “Perhaps I have met her and I’m thinking of a different young lady.”
Julian took a deep breath, still staring at the ceiling “She’s tall, blond, pretty.”
“Pretty or beautiful?” Daphne asked, a smile in her voice.
Gorgeous. “Quite pretty.”
“And her friend, what did you say her name was? Lady Worthing?”
“Yes, she’s got dark hair and the most unusually colored eyes.” Julian stood. “I’m going to retire for the evening, as well. I have some letters to write before I go to sleep. Good night, Daphne.”
“What’s unusual about them?” Daphne asked, just as Julian made it to the door.
Julian stopped. “Unusual about what?”
“Lady Worthing’s eyes.”
“Oh, one is blue and the other is green.” He reached for the door handle.
“Really?” Daphne’s voice was sharp and he turned to face her.
He narrowed his eyes on his sister. “Yes, really. Why?”
Daphne pursed her lips. “And you say this house party is in Surrey?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I do know this Lady Worthing after all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cass wore her lavender gown. The newest one she had had made for her twenty-third birthday. Her hair was twisted behind her head in a fetching chignon and she’d pinched just enough pink into her cheeks. She might have been ill-prepared to see Julian the first time, but when he arrived at Upbridge Hall, she intended to look her very best. She’d decided to stop thinking about the madness of the plot she’d become involved in. The fact was that she would have a few days with Julian, a few uninterrupted, wonderful days in which she could dance with him and laugh with him and talk to him without having to acknowledge the fact that he was meant for another woman. That’s all that mattered. For now.
She would tell him the truth. She would, just as soon as the opportunity presented itself. In her quieter moments, however, she had to wonder. Would Julian know her? Know from her speech, her voice, her mannerisms, her words? Know that she was his dear friend whom he’d been writing to for years? He was certain to guess. How could he not? But then she had only to look at Lucy and see her sparkling, radiant confidence. A certainty she wore like a cloak, a cloak Cass desperately wished she could purchase or borrow.
It was madness, pretending to be Patience, and nothing good could come of it. Lucy was hoping that somehow Julian would fall in love with her and renounce Penelope. Cass already knew for certain that would never happen. It couldn’t. Julian, the honorable man she’d come to know and love, would never do anything so callous as toss over his intended for another woman. And of course there was the inevitable day of reckoning, in the background, overshadowing her happiness. For eventually, Julian would learn her true identity—as Pen’s cousin, she couldn’t pretend to be someone she was not forever—and then he might well hate her for lying to him. Cass wasn’t usually a liar. She wasn’t. After all, she was the same young woman who had walked an entire five miles to the vicar’s house one sunny summer afternoon at the age of fifteen after discovering that her dog had come home with the vicar’s hat in her mouth. It would have been quite easy, preferable, perhaps, to hide the evidence and pretend as if she knew nothing about that bit of wool, but instead, she’d marched down the lane, ruining her favorite pair of slippers, with the soggy bit of material in her hand and presented the facts to the vicar and his lovely wife. She’d profusely apologized and offered to pay for a new hat, but the vicar had graciously declined, though he never did leave his door open so that Daisy could get in again, and knowing Daisy, Cass was sure she’d tried.
No. Cass wasn’t a liar, but would Julian see it that way when the truth was revealed?
Oh, she supposed she had lied before, but only when the circumstances truly merited it. Like last summer when she’d told Lucy she was sick with a head cold. She hadn’t been sick at all. She’d done it in order to keep Lucy and the duke in each other’s company when it was clear to everyone they were meant to be together and were both just being typically stubborn about getting around to acknowledging that fact. Why, if Cass hadn’t told that little fib, Lucy might still be on the shelf. Wasn’t that a lie for a good reason?
Cass sighed. It wasn’t just the lying, though. There was something else to consider: the fact that Julian would no doubt eventually be interested in greeting his old friend Cassandra. No. Regardless of Lucy’s confidence, it was absolutely not going to end well. There was no doubt about it. But Cass could pretend. She could act for a sennight. She had little choice. She’d already started down this twisty path … with a giant shove from Her Grace, Lucy Hunt.
Lucy stopped at the entrance to Cass’s bedchamber and leaned inside. “The butler tells me Captain Swift’s coach is on its way up the drive.”
Cass froze. She pressed a hand to her belly and breathed deeply. “He’s here?”
&n
bsp; Lucy nodded, her dark curls bobbing against her cheeks. “Yes. Come with me to greet him?” She held out a hand to Cass.
Cass nodded woodenly. She stood and made her way over to her friend.
“You look absolutely gorgeous, dear,” Lucy said. She kept holding her hand as they made their way down the stairs, across the marble foyer, and out onto the gravel in front of the house.
Cass concentrated on breathing normally the entire way. Julian was here. Julian. But she couldn’t talk to him the same way she would if she were Cass. She couldn’t refer to any of the things she knew about him. She couldn’t tell him she remembered how hard he’d worked to earn the respect of his men. She couldn’t tell him she knew he’d nearly died of thirst in a desert in Spain. She couldn’t tell him she understood why he hated confined spaces after spending night after night in a tent. She couldn’t say any of the things she wanted to say to him. She had to feign complete ignorance. Could she do it? Lucy had warned her to say as little as possible about anything in the past. Did she have it in her? Was she even capable of such subterfuge?
Had Julian already been looking for her as Cass? Had he gone to her parents’ house to try to visit her and found her missing? Oh, the web they’d spun was already too tangled to sort through. Instead, Cass pasted a smile on her face as the coach rolled to a stop in front of the manor house.
Very well. Enough worrying. Cassandra Monroe was a worrier. Patience Bunbury was decidedly not.
One of the footmen hopped down and opened the door to the coach. Julian emerged soon after, looking like the blond Adonis he was. This time, he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he had on a simple white shirt, cravat, emerald-green waistcoat, dark gray trousers, and black top boots and hat. He seemed every bit a handsome member of the ton on holiday, no longer the injured army captain. Cass swallowed hard. It didn’t matter. The man looked good either way.
He smiled brightly when he saw the two ladies waiting for him. Cass’s heart skipped a beat as she remembered the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled like that, as if he was holding something—just a bit of himself—back. He strode forward, and she let out her breath. He didn’t have any other outward signs of lingering injury. She’d noticed that at Pen’s house. Now she confirmed it. Cass had prayed about that, over and over. She’d gone to bed more times than she could count reciting prayers for him in a feverish voice until sleep overtook her. Then she usually slept fitfully, plagued with awful nightmares of Julian being shot and bleeding to death or being run through with a bayonet. She usually awoke, sweating, breathing heavily, and sometimes crying. Then she began the praying all over again.
The Accidental Countess Page 6
