Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3)

by Nadine Millard

  But at the mention of Charles, she, to her shame, stayed quiet and listened.

  “Oh?” was all she said.

  “Oh, to be sure. My mam says he’s caused her ladyship more sleepless nights than you could count,” said Molly passionately. “Although,” she continued. “My mam can’t count that high, so I’m not sure it’s that much.”

  Julia bit her lip to keep from laughing at Molly’s pragmatic opinion of her mother’s education.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “Everyone knows what he’s like. There’s not a maid downstairs who wouldn’t swoon to a dead faint should he look their way. Last time he arrived home with one of his hangovers, his valet needed someone to bring some tonic or other to his room. You’ve never seen fisticuffs like it. In fact, Annie Connors near lost a tooth. They got so bad that, in the end, Mr. Murphy sent a footman.”

  With a cheerful wave, Molly swept from the room leaving Julia with an open jaw and a burning jealousy. Of course, anyone with an eye could see how handsome Lord Ranford was. But really, coming to blows about the man? Ridiculous.

  Even more ridiculous, she found herself sizing up the maids on her way to breakfast, wondering how she’d fare should they come to blows.

  And spent the rest of her morning in a mood with herself.

  JULIA’S MOOD DID NOT improve when, later than morning, Mr. Trent paid a call.

  The man was an insufferable bore and was paying more attention to her than she was comfortable with.

  The countess, however, was always elated to receive him, bizarre as that was, and so she tolerated his company with equanimity and good grace. Even if her jaw ached from the effort.

  The visit was short-lived, however, as not long after Mr. Trent’s arrival the sound of peoples in the hallway caught everyone’s attention.

  “Oh, that must be Caroline and Tom,” squeaked the countess, and she stood in excited anticipation, the dowager joining her.

  Within seconds, there was the distinctive squawk of an unhappy baby, and the sound sent the older women into fits of delight.

  The door to the drawing room opened, and Caroline swept in, carrying a bundle wrapped in blue, whilst Tom followed close behind carrying another, this one pink.

  The resulting greetings, joyful tears, and general chaos such that even one as obtuse as Mr. Trent apparently knew it was not the time for visitors, and he shortly took his leave.

  Julia, for her own part, stayed well back. As pleased as she was to see Caroline, whom she considered now to be a friend, this was a family moment, and she did not wish to encroach on it.

  The countess was now ensconced in a corner of the settee, an infant in each arm. The dowager to her left, cooing over the babies. And Tom and Caroline sat facing them, the look of pride and exhaustion that seemed to belong solely to new parents firmly on their faces.

  “Julia,” exclaimed Caroline, stepping forward and embracing her. “How wonderful to see you.”

  “And you,” replied Julia sincerely, before smiling shyly at Mr. Crawdon’s warm greeting.

  The man was entirely too handsome for his own good, though Caroline did a wonderful job keeping him in line.

  From what Julia had gathered, his past behaviour was enough to have more than one bunch of maids engage in fisticuffs as well.

  After a moment or two of discussing the perils of travel with five-month-old babies, Caroline asked, “Where is my brother?”

  “He’s here.”

  All occupants of the room turned at the deep baritone from the doorway, and Julia felt the now familiar rush of pleasure as Charles appeared.

  Caroline rushed forward, and Charles wrapped her in a tight embrace.

  Julia scolded herself for wishing his arms were round her. This was getting out of hand.

  “Caro,” he said, affection evident in his tone. “You look radiant. Motherhood agrees with you.”

  Caroline smiled and moved to lift Sophia while her mother stood with James, leaving Charles and Tom to their friendly greeting.

  “Come,” said Charles, stepping toward Caroline. “Let me see my beautiful niece and nephew.”

  Julia thought she would stop breathing at the image before her.

  Charles bent to stroke James’s forehead before lifting Sophia from Caroline’s arms and settling her in his own.

  The babe looked even smaller than usual, nestled as she was against her uncle’s chest. Charles gazed down at her, a soft smile hovering at his lips.

  “She is as beautiful as I knew she would be,” Charles said softly, not looking up from the baby’s plump face.

  Julia’s stomach quivered with the intensity of her longing.

  She had thought that he looked attractive before, but nothing could compare to the sight of him holding a baby in his arms.

  She should not stare. She should look away. But it was impossible.

  Just as she was sure her ogling would become painfully obvious to everyone in the room, Charles looked up, and their eyes locked.

  Awareness of him sizzled through her.

  Her body felt as though it had fire instead of blood running through her veins. Her heart was beating so hard it felt as though it would come out of her chest.

  The look seemed to go on forever, and still she could not take her eyes from his.

  Suddenly a screech emanated from Sophia, causing Julia to jump and Charles to wince. The spell was broken.

  “What the bloody hell is that?” Charles demanded as the shrieks got louder.

  “Language, Charles,” scolded Caroline and the countess as the same time.

  “We’re not allowed to swear anymore,” Tom said, sounding devastated by the fact.

  “Well, what’s wrong with her?” he yelled over the screaming.

  “Oh, she’s only hungry, isn’t that right, my darling?” crooned Caroline, taking the baby and soothing her with gentle pats to her back.

  “Tom, please take James. Once one starts, the other is never long to follow.”

  “Come on, little man,” said Tom, scooping a still quiet James into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

  It was strange, Julia thought. Tom Crawdon was one of the most handsome and charming men she’d ever met, yet the sight of him holding the baby did not affect her at all.

  Caroline and Tom left the room with the dowager and countess rushing behind, wanting, no doubt, to spend as much time as possible with the twins.

  Julia felt a moment’s panic at being left alone with Charles before calling herself all kinds of foolish and, calmly as possible, moved to exit the room.

  But he clearly had other ideas.

  Julia felt his big hand capture her arm, and she reluctantly turned to face him.

  “A word, Miss Channing.”

  He sounded cold. Distant. His eyes as wintry as his tone.

  And, bizarrely, that gave Julia an unexpected confidence.

  “I am rather busy, my lord. Please excuse me.”

  He looked momentarily shocked. Then suddenly he grinned, and her breath left her in a whoosh at the sight.

  “Well, I really do want to talk to you. Could you just stay for a moment or two? Please?”

  It was the please that had her capitulating.

  In her limited experience, men took without asking. No matter what it was they wanted.

  Without speaking, she nodded her consent and allowed him to steer her back to the seating area.

  She sat in a lone armchair, and he stood before her.

  Another fleeting memory of her father standing over her countless times when she’d committed some misdemeanour or other tried to make itself known, but she ruthlessly pushed it away.

  Charles had never given any indication that he was anything like her father. She had to keep telling herself that.

  Besides, he wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t growling. He wasn’t presently drunk either.

  In fact, he wasn’t saying anything. Just staring.

  “Er — you wanted to speak to me, my lord?” sh
e reminded him gently.

  “Yes, yes I did,” he mumbled before drawing to a halt again.

  The silence continued, and Julia had no clue how to end it. He was acting very strangely.

  Just when she thought she might just get up and leave, suspecting he probably was drunk after all, he spoke again.

  “Dammit, I can’t concentrate. You’re so beautiful,” he threw at her, sounding accusatory, like she was beautiful on purpose to spite him.

  “What—?”

  “No, don’t. I realise how ridiculous I sound. I’ve never in my whole life been unable to talk properly to a lady,” he said, wryly looking away and running a hand through his hair before turning to her, looking adorably self-conscious. “You make me forget myself.”

  Oh, no. No, no, no. She would not, could not allow herself to be swayed.

  Julia had promised herself she would stay away from him, and she would. She must.

  Suddenly, Charles hunched down in front of her, grasping her hand in his.

  “Julia, I’ve been driven half-mad these past few days. And I know you’ve been avoiding me. The thought of you being frightened of me? Well, it’s bothered me more than it should.” He sounded vaguely surprised by the fact. “I don’t want you scared of me.”

  His tone lowered, and he leaned closer still. Julia was surrounded by him: his touch, his smell. Her breath hitched. God, she loved him. She did. Desperately and insanely.

  “Angel, whatever I did or said, I’m sorry. You must believe me, I would never hurt you.”

  “Yes, you would,” she whispered back, unable to stop the words. “Even if you did not mean to.”

  It was true. He was a good man, despite the behaviour she’d been told of. But, of course, he would hurt her. He was already hurting her. Because she loved him with her whole heart, and he would never love her.

  And even if by some miracle he should fall in love, it wouldn’t be with the real her because he didn’t know the real her.

  What a mess!

  “Julia, no. I—”

  “Please, stop. This is unnecessary. I am not afraid of you.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. I know you would not intentionally hurt me.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Please. Please, stop. I cannot do this.”

  Julia jumped from the chair, and mercifully, he let her go.

  Calm down, she told herself. Or he’ll demand answers.

  So with a ruthless self-control, she smoothed her features into a mask of polite indifference and turned back to him.

  “I assure you, my lord, I have not been avoiding you. It has just been so busy around here with preparing for your sister’s arrivals and the daily calls from Mr. Trent and—”

  “You’re lying,” he interrupted softly, then suddenly his face changed to a scowl. “Wait, daily calls from Mr. Trent?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Will you bloody well stop the ‘my lording’?” he snapped.

  Julia’s eyebrows rose at his tone, but he did not apologise, merely stepped closer to her.

  “Mr. Trent has been calling here every day?”

  “Well, yes.” She sounded confused and looked it too.

  He swore softly.

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why?” he repeated loudly, raising her ire once more, if the flash of anger in her eyes was anything to go by.

  “How should I know? Presumably to see your mother.”

  “It’s not my bloody mother he’s calling to see,” he muttered darkly. “I can’t believe this.”

  “I fail to see the problem, Lord Ranford. And frankly, you would have known about it if you were ever around to receive callers. Instead of nursing maladies brought on by overconsumption, or sneaking back from some inn or other,” she said hotly.

  It was Charles’s turn to raise his brows, and, suddenly, he looked every inch the aristocrat.

  Julia swallowed nervously. Where on earth were her boundaries? Her sense of duty? She’d spent over a year cultivating a rigidly proper character, and here she was, ringing a peal over his head.

  “I assure you, madam, I have neither been sneaking back from inns nor nursing hangovers. In fact, I haven’t left the estate since you arrived.”

  “You haven’t?” Julia tried not to thrill at his confession, tried not to think it signified anything.

  “No, I haven’t. Strangely enough, it seems that lately I get more enjoyment from you arguing with me than I do from other women being nice to me.”

  Julia went completely still as she absorbed his words.

  What did he mean? What was he saying? Hope filled her chest, no matter how much she tried to push it away. And that feeling of hope scared her enough to put an end to this strangest of conversations.

  “Yes, well, regardless of the reasons why, the fact is you are not present during Mr. Trent’s visits, and if you were, you would see that he—”

  “I would see that he is sniffing around you, and then I would be furious. And jealous.”

  There he went again, saying things that made her feel — well, feel — feel things she should not be feeling.

  “Lord Ranford, please. Do not say such things.”

  He stepped closer still, so close that if Julia were to move just an inch, her lips could be pressed against his.

  “Why not? When it is the truth?”

  “I—”

  “Ah, there you are, my dear. Caroline has settled the twins, so we thought we would get a start on plans for the ball.”

  The dowager’s voice had them jumping apart and glancing guiltily in her direction.

  Judging by the beam on her face, however, the dowager noticed nothing untoward between Charles and Julia.

  With a final, confused glance in his direction, Julia turned and followed the woman from the room.

  Her stomach was roiling as she left. She’d had butterflies since she’d seen him enter the room, worrying about what she would say to him, how much truth she was willing to share. She was relieved that he had not pushed her with questions from her past, but the things he’d said caused the butterflies to flutter even more, albeit for very different reasons.

  “Oh, my dear, before I forget… Mr. Trent, before he left, had asked if you would be free to help him organise the village school’s pageant this year. ‘Tis nothing too formal, from what Mary tells. A short nativity scene and some carols. I told him that you would not mind.”

  Julia’s first thought was horror at having to spend any time with Mr. Trent whilst trying not to fall asleep. Then, she thought rather wickedly, that she would rather enjoy Lord Ranford’s reaction.

  But the overwhelming feeling was the horror to be fair.

  “You do not mind, do you?”

  “If you wish me to help, your grace, I shall do so.”

  The dowager stopped and turned to face her.

  “Julia, if the thought displeases you, I shall not make you do it.”

  Julia thought again of the sheer boredom she would experience. Then she thought of the safety of being away from Charles Carrington, away from his questioning and smouldering and generally distracting presence.

  It would be boring, yes. But it would be safe.

  And so she smiled placidly.

  “It does not displease me. I shall be happy to help the vicar.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AS IT TURNED OUT, it displeased Julia greatly to help the vicar. Because the vicar, though she would have thought it impossible, was even more deadly dull in his own environment as he was outside it.

  She had been helping for three days now. But helping seemed to consist of having to listen to him drone on about some non-eventful topic or another whilst he bossed everyone else around.

  Some local children were putting on an extremely enthusiastic performance, and Julia had hoped the noise of off-key singing and rustle of material as various kings and shepherds were dressed would provide enough of a barrie
r between her and Mr. Trent, but sadly it was not to be. When she’d offered to help with the signing, he’d asked her to help him hang holly and ivy. When she’d offered to help clean the church, Mr. Trent had asked her to accompany him into town to see about refreshments for the volunteers.

  Julia had three days of non-helping, and she was heartily sick of it.

  Mercifully, today she was unable to help since the Duke and Duchess of Hartridge were to make their arrival, and though she knew she would be neither needed nor missed, Mr. Trent did not know that, and so Julia was able to stay at the Hall.

  The day had dawned crisp and clear, and Julia had felt a bubble of joy at the sight of the vast and rambling grounds sparkling in the morning sun as a gentle frost kissed every blade of grass. She had become extremely comfortable there. Happy even. She could almost forget that it was for a short time only, and that this was a life she was borrowing, a life she was on the peripheral of, not one that belonged to her.

  The dowager had never treated her as a servant, nor had any of the Carringtons. But Society did and would continue to do so. The family might treat her as one of them, but she wasn’t one of them. And she must remember that fact.

  The thought could be very upsetting if she let it take root, but she refused to think on such maudlin things today. No, she could never, for example, marry Charles. But she could spend the morning looking at him instead of Mr. Trent, and that was enough to keep the smile on her face.

  Molly arrived to assist her, and Julia wasted no time in even a token argument. It was early enough that she could perhaps have a quick ride before breaking her fast. She wondered if it would be terribly rude to ask for Daisy to be saddled and then thought it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, so she would do it and then say sorry!

  In record time she had donned her drab and serviceable riding habit and made her way to the stables. Not for the first time, she wished she had been more amenable when the dowager had been trying to convince her to buy pretty dresses.

  It had been imperative that she be unrecognisable in London, but nobody would know her here, and her foolish heart wished she could look beautiful, even once, for him.

  None of the stable hands seemed to think it was odd or outrageous when she asked that Daisy be saddled, and Julia stood basking in the weak sunlight while she waited for the mare to be brought round.