by Sharon Sobel
Of course. She had guessed that already. And yet there was something deflating about Laurentia’s words, a confirmation that for all her grand talk of freedom, Julia’s destiny was not entirely in her own hands.
She rubbed her brow, belatedly realizing that there was sticky sap on her fingers.
“What about the manuscript he wished to present to the princess and the case he intended to make for Raffles’s knighthood? What of the matter of Hawkely’s defense? Are those things not of greater importance than an introduction to a lady whose only distinction is to have the misfortune to have been widowed at twenty-three?”
Julia paused to catch her breath, but there was more to be said. Once she started the snowball rolling down the hill, it gathered in size and speed. “He risked his life to come to Seabury, and I almost lost mine. Instead of sharing Christmas with his family in Holland, he traveled all these miles and with no promise of success at the end of his journey.”
“But what did you just say about the ‘other things’ you have done? I assume you do not refer to besting him at whist,” Laurentia said sarcastically. “So, you see, he has been successful.”
“That is not pertinent,” Julia said stubbornly, even as she knew she was bested.
“Oh, but it is pertinent. It is precisely the point.” Laurentia had picked up an errant twig and pointed it at Julia, like a stern governess. “Something wonderful has happened, with nothing more done on my part than setting you both on the road to Seabury, and providing good food once you arrived here. The two of you did everything else. And I am perfectly delighted.”
“I will not be Titania,” insisted Julia. Even as she uttered the words, she knew she sounded as foolish as silly Miss Rossiter.
Laurentia shrugged. “If I ever regain my figure from the baby’s birth, I may wear it myself someday.”
“And the matter of my personal life is for me to determine. I am no longer the young girl who married your brother.”
“You are not. You are practically a woman of middle age.”
“I am not yet twenty-five,” Julia said.
“You have sap in your hair, and berry juice on your cheek,” Laurentia said irrelevantly.
“It is the curse of the season.”
The two sisters-in-law stared at each other, knowing that every argument in their life would end like this, in laughter or nonsense. Certainly, with a reconciliation. This, too, was love, as fine as any they might share with another.
“And yet, in this season, I only see blessings,” said Laurentia, and hugged Julia, sap and all.
“IT APPEARS I AM too late,” said Princess Charlotte, tracing a pattern on the wooden desk with her forefinger.
Will waited until she explained herself, for he was entirely at her bidding. Earlier in the day, she had requested a private audience with him, and he assumed it had to do with Thomas Raffles’s elevation. He arrived in the anteroom of her bedchamber with his own notes and comments on the lengthy manuscript, in case the princess had not yet read it.
But, in fact, she had. She had read through the night and in the hours before dinner, when most ladies rested. She was possessed of an energy that was not to be taken for granted in the royal family, that her father had not exhibited, unless one considered the construction of his palace at Brighton, further along the coast.
Her father remained the regent while her grandfather still lived, and inasmuch as he professed to have set up a new wife in Brighton, he held on to his hopes that he might yet produce an heir.
But Charlotte’s mother also still lived, and though she now lived in Germany, it did not look likely that the regent’s petition for divorce would be granted.
As Will waited for the princess to speak, he considered that she would make a wise and judicious queen, capable of intelligent decisions and a model to all her subjects. He doubted she would have lost the American colonies. He was certain she would have settled the business of the lost artifacts of the East Indies before blame could be ascribed without solid evidence.
“Ma’am?” he asked, at last. “Do you refer to Lord Nicholas? You may have read the pages regarding Mr. Channing, as well as the opportunity he had. I believe he inserted those leaves belatedly, intending for you to read them.”
“I have read those pages and quite agree with your assessment, Lord Willem. The man has been living under a shadow for too long and I believe this will do much to hasten the pending investigation. I intend to act on it at once, certainly before the end of the year. I hope the new year brings Hawkely much happiness, for I believe that St. John woman will bring him around. I do not know if he has any interest in birds, but if he has any sense, he will cease any duck hunting, and start spreading out bread crumbs to attract the sparrows.”
Will laughed politely.
“Miss St. John’s family is engaged in business,” the princess continued. “But that is not her fault. Indeed, it may have given her good sense and a purpose; she is much more useful than ladies who do little more than gossip all day.”
Will waited for her to go on, but reflected that the royal family gave their subjects an endless stream of gossip, so much that for some ladies, there would be little time to do anything else.
“Lady Leighton was not born to a title,” the princess said, and finally looked up from her imaginary scrawls on the desk. She studied him, squinting a bit as if she tried to get him into focus. “But she is as fine a lady as ever lived. Lord Kingswood was a fool to have died as he did.”
“I daresay he wished to live a long and happy life with his lady, if he could have managed it, ma’am.”
“Even so,” the princess mused. “An experienced horseman such as he, to not notice a hanging branch on his own estate? I can only imagine he was distracted, perhaps by his beautiful wife. I have heard the physicians refer to the condition as ‘lovesick.’”
“If I may say so, ma’am, those may be the words of poets, and not medical men.”
“Perhaps. I have not the experience myself.” She looked down again, not meeting his eyes, and he wondered what was to come. “But I believe you have.”
“Ma’am?” Will’s heart begin to thud. For a man reputed for his diplomatic skills, he seemed embarrassingly transparent.
“I had hoped to introduce Lady Leighton to Prince Leopold’s cousin Gustav. By my mother, we are related as well. Of course, a man of your background must recognize the value of maintaining good friendships with our continental neighbors. And Gustav is a fine man, with a comfortable estate and excellent prospects. I am not that impressed with his beard, but I expected Lady Leighton to have something to say about that as well.”
Will felt a little sick. Surely the princess would not ask him to step aside, to make way for Gustav. Julia had already dismissed the prospect, as if it couldn’t possibly matter to her.
“But now, I see it’s too late,” the princess said, bringing the conversation full cycle. “She is yours; any fool can see that. And since neither of you are fools, I am delighted for you both. You do not need my blessing, but I shall give it anyway. I wish you much joy of each other.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Will rose as she stood, kissing her hand when she offered it. “I intend to make Lady Leighton very happy.”
“Have a care when you go riding, Lord Willem, and I expect everything will be as it should.”
Chapter 8
THE MORNING OF the masquerade ball arrived as it should, with a sense of great anticipation and the scent of sweet cakes baking in the ovens. Seabury was thrumming with activity; for whatever various reasons brought so many guests to the house party, this evening was surely one event they all shared.
Long tables suddenly appeared in the great foyer, already set with punch bowls and platters. Maids ran through the halls, trailing thread and lace behind them. Musicians already arrived in the gallery abov
e the ballroom, keeping their instruments warm under woolen blankets.
Julia passed Laurentia under the mistletoe, and pulled her away, so the little sprig of greenery could be put to better use by others. Laurentia held little Leighton, and handed him over to his aunt; balancing his little body in her arms, Julia wondered if he had already outgrown the sweater she knit for him as a Christmas gift.
“Why did we not think to have a crèche on display? Leighton would make a perfect Christ child,” Laurentia said.
“And would you have made an equally perfect Madonna?” Julia asked. “I cannot imagine you would be willing to stay seated for more than five minutes.”
“I am so exhausted just now, I would be happy to remain seated and not do a thing until Easter,” Laurentia confessed. “But I have very little to do this night, except don my costume, and smile at all my guests, and marvel at their costumes.”
“Have you need of my help?” murmured Julia, tickling the baby’s chin.
“Yes, of course. I need you to appear as Titania,” Laurentia said, unwilling to let the matter go.
“That shall not happen. Have you anything else in mind?”
“Please do not engage in any conversations in which you must raise your voice over the crowd. I wish to hear you above all else on Christmas Eve.”
“I suppose I can manage that much,” Julia reassured her. “I have been practicing every day and have already consulted with Mr. Wolfe.”
And yet, for all that, she scarcely thought about it all this day. It was strange to reflect how much importance she had put to her little performance when she set out for Seabury, so much that it was apparently the first thing she uttered to Will when she was slipping in and out of consciousness. She had worried about the soreness of her throat, and drank hot tea until she imagined her blood ran dark with darjeeling. She prayed the princess would approve of her choices.
And now, it scarcely mattered at all. She would sing the Kilmore Carols and While Angels Watched by Mr. Handel, and perhaps a few songs of love and longing, hoping that others would join her for The Twelve Days of Christmas. Some would sing. She guessed that Miss Rossiter would sing louder than them all. Others, accustomed to nights at the opera, or soirées in London drawing rooms, would applaud politely at Julia’s modest talents, and think about the feast to follow. Some would edge their way to stand under the mistletoe, and others would escape to private places to celebrate in their own way.
For she had changed, as Laurentia had noticed almost at once. The most compelling thing about this Christmas at Seabury was not the performance she agreed to present, a promise she made months ago. It was, instead, that Will had found her, and she had found him, and the shadows of their pasts had passed along with Tambora’s dark ash.
“You need not be concerned that I disapprove of your rustic little costume,” Laurentia said, nodding her head. “It is quite all right, my dear. As Lord Willem shall appear as a man of religion, it would not do for him to be taken with a pagan queen, after all. A shepherdess shall be more his style.”
Laurentia retrieved Leighton from Julia’s tired arms, and sauntered into the great foyer just as Will entered from another doorway. He murmured something to Laurentia, and dutifully tickled the baby before coming towards Julia.
Without a word, he took her hand, and drew her back under the mistletoe, kissing her on her lips.
“Will!” she said. “No one knows what is between us.”
“I believe you are mistaken, my dear. Everyone knows what is between us. I just had a conversation with the princess,” he said, but he released his hold.
“The princess! Did she tell you to keep your distance so that I might meet the German cousin?”
“No, she gave us her blessing, which I suppose means that poor Gustav would do well to set his sights elsewhere.”
“I rather like that name,” she teased.
“It is rather musical, but I understand you might have found fault with his beard.”
Julia reached up to rub her hand against his smooth chin. “And so I might. But now I suppose I may never know.” She could hardly wait to tell him that his Sinterclaus was considered a man of religion.
But he said nothing, so she dropped her hand. She wondered what else the princess might have said to him, what plans were discussed, what she might have offered along with Raffles’s elevation. Could he be thinking of the new year, of 1817, as one with new journeys and adventures? Though she was prepared to acknowledge that she had thought of him all this day, he might have had many other things on his mind.
“Have we come too far, too quickly?” she asked. “Do others have expectations for which we are not prepared?”
“You do not appreciate the princess’s interference?”
“I suppose I should be honored, for I am a most insignificant person among her subjects. But the business, our business, does not stop in Kensington Palace. Laurentia made it her mission to bring us together here this Christmas, and Lady Jersey has voiced her approval. The other ladies giggle when you enter a room, and wait for me to greet you. Even Miss St. John, the most discrete of ladies, has told me what good fortune I have.”
“I have reason to believe we shall celebrate her own good fortune before very long. I confided to Hawkely your little discovery in Raffles’s manuscript. Which, at the very least, casts some suspicion on Channing, Raffles’s purser. He intends to pursue this possibility at the first opportunity, and he is more hopeful than I have seen him since the night before Tambora’s eruption. I hope we shall soon learn that he has been absolved of all blame.” Will paused, nodding thoughtfully. “He sends his gratitude to you, by the way. And said something about the value of a good woman who knows how to read.”
Julia blushed at the compliment, which somehow was more meaningful than praise for her eyes or her fine figure. “How wonderful for her, for them both. Theirs has been an arduous journey, in more ways than one, and I believe they will find much happiness, at last,” Julia said, quite sincerely. Miss St. John’s steady nature was undoubtedly what Hawkely needed, and perhaps even desired.
Will surprised her by laughing. “Do you not think we have endured an arduous journey as well, and not merely in a metaphorical sense? I cannot imagine more trials and roadblocks.”
“Truly?” Julia teased. “I might have been found in my abandoned coach by Mr. Granger and compelled to sing at his inn all through the Christmas season. And you, good sir, might have rescued earnest Miss Rossiter, who would have found excuses to remain under your protection until the geese returned to Rye in the spring.”
Although Will laughed again, Julia knew her words were ungenerous, and regretted them almost at once.
“But Mr. Granger is a good man, and did much to make our prolonged stay a pleasant one. And Miss Rossiter deserves to be happy and sing upon waking every morning.”
“I know you cannot think unkindly of anyone, though I believe you had some suspicions about me when first we met,” Will said.
“I think it’s fair to say you had the advantage of me, and I could hardly be blamed for fearing that you were going to take me captive for ransom, or worse,” Julia said defensively. “I only remembered that Mimma jumped out, the coach went down, and then I awoke in a strange bedroom and was greeted by a man who looked somewhat familiar but I did not entirely recall meeting before.”
“You were very brave,” he said, and kissed her again. “It is one of the reasons I love you.”
“Love me?” Julia asked, not feeling at all brave at the moment. She was not quite ready to hear this from him, though she knew she loved him too. She spent her nights—and much of her days—dreaming about him, with alternating moments of joy that they might be together, and moments of dread knowing they would soon part.
She couldn’t read the expression on Will’s face, though she believed she could rea
d him as well as her best beloved books. He glanced up at the mistletoe and muttered something he might well have learned onboard ship, and pulled her into a dark alcove of the great hall.
“Surely I have not surprised you with this?” he asked softly, his blue eyes intensely gazing into hers.
“I have dreamed that you confessed it,” she said, and he let out his breath as he might had he just surfaced a lake. “But . . .”
“There can be no ‘but,’” he said, “Unless there is some great thing you haven’t yet told me. You are already married. You intend to enter a convent. You prefer to be a German princess than an English countess.” He counted them off on his long fingers until he ran out of possible excuses.
“My reputation was thoroughly compromised on the road to Seabury,” Julia said, clasping his hand, and continued to count. “I have not the patience to learn Dutch.”
He looked bemused, and she dropped his hand.
“No,” she said. “I am none of those things. I only want you.”
“Then it is settled?” When she did not answer, he continued. “My mother would be delighted to tutor you in the language. She taught my father and has continued to correct his grammar for thirty-five years.”
“Oh, Will,” Julia sighed, and leaned against a pillar. She would have preferred to have his solid body at her back, but hers was an argument that needed to be said face-to-face. “That is precisely why I have reason to doubt. Can we survive together for thirty-five years on a love based on an acquaintance of two weeks? Are we not being encouraged by your heroism, our well-meaning friends, and the spirit of the season? What will we feel when we are supping alone in our dining room on a dreary February night?”
“We will feel it is time to finish our sweet bread pudding and make our way to bed,” he said succinctly.
Yes, she would enjoy that very much. In fact, she would be happy to forget about dinner altogether with such plans for the night. But was lust not as perilously frail as love?
