Julia sighed. Truth be told, she could not really blame them for feeling as they did. If she were to be brutally honest, she would have to admit that she, too, would be taken with Gideon Harwood were she not aware of his true character. He was rather handsome, after all, in an aggressively masculine way. Yes, and his manners were remarkably elegant for a commoner. Then there was the matter of his meticulous grooming. Not only was his clothing always immaculately clean, his dark hair gleamed as if washed each day, and he smelled of soap rather than the heavy perfume that so many men used to conceal their disdain for bathing. Oh, and one must not forget his excellent teeth. Or his intriguing air of mystery. Or the warm, husky timbre of his laughter and the way the hard lines of his face softened when he smiled. Or-
Or the fact that he is a blackmailing wretch, Julia harshly reminded herself, discomfited by the odd sense of yearning that threatened to overcome her as she pictured that fascinating smile. But enough of such featherbrained musings! She had far more pressing concerns to occupy her mind than how the blasted man looked and smelled, such as how she was going to persuade him to marry her.
Now standing at the shallow flight of stone stairs leading up to his door, Julia contemplated that very question. It was the same one that had robbed her of her sleep the night before, making her toss and turn and grow dizzy from her whirling thoughts. As had happened then, she was no closer to finding an answer now, at least none that offered hope of success for her quest.
She sighed again. Well, for all her indecision there was one thing for certain, and that was that she could not stand in front of Mr. Harwood's house all day. Indeed, should anyone of consequence see her loitering there, on foot and unchaperoned, there was sure to be a scandal, the shame from which her mother would never recover. Or so her mother would claim.
Wincing at the thought of the lectures she would be forced to endure from her parents should such a catastrophe come to pass, Julia shot a nervous glance about her, making certain that she was unobserved. Save for several tradesmen making deliveries to the houses, a crossing sweeper clearing the foulness left by horses the night before, and an assortment of street hawkers crying their wares to the servants who had stepped from the dwellings to purchase the daily household needs, there was no one to mark her presence. Then again, it was scarcely past eight in the morning, far too early for the occupants of the houses on the fashionable square to venture forth, which was exactly why she had selected this time of day for her clandestine assignation. To be sure, not only was her potentially ruinous visit to a bachelor household unlikely to be observed, the earliness of the hour all but ensured that Gideon Harwood would be at home.
True, but the hour is not getting any younger for your procrastination, she sternly reminded herself. Heaving another sigh, this one in resignation to her duty, Julia ascended the first of the five front steps, her mind again grappling for a plan to swing the pendulum of Mr. Harwood's favor back toward marriage to her.
She climbed to step number two as she mused. Hmmm. She supposed that she could appeal to his vanity. Yes, she could pretend to have become hopelessly enamored with his person and try to convince him that she wished to marry him out of a newly awakened sense of love.
Step number three. But was she actress enough to play such a scene convincingly? Another sigh. No, probably not. Besides, Mr. Harwood hardly seemed the sort of man to fall for such a transparent ploy.
Step number four. Well then, maybe she should try apologizing, though exactly what that would accomplish she did not know. Simply apologizing for losing her temper in the garden would neither address his reasons for withdrawing from the bargain, nor would it revise his intent to do so. On the other hand, she would probably do well to do so, so as to prevent him from thinking her to be impossibly ill-tempered.
Step five. Fine. She would apologize and then she would-she would what? Again she delved into her tangled thoughts, straightening an abstraction here, unknotting a concept there, until-aha! She hit upon a new idea: she would plead on behalf of her siblings and throw herself on his mercy. He did, after all, seem to harbor an inordinate fondness for his younger sister, at least judging from their conversation in the garden, so he was bound to be sympathetic toward the plight of her sisters and brother.
Then again, probably not. She stood on the stoop now. How could she possibly hope to gain his sympathy toward children he disliked as much as he did her sisters? And it was apparent from his comments that he regarded them with implacable displeasure.
Before she could further contemplate that disheartening detail, the door swung open and a maidservant carrying a bucket and scrub brush stepped backward over the threshold, laughing raucously at something the man accompanying her said. As she turned in an abrupt twirl to face forward, the fitfulness of her movement due, no doubt, to her state of frenzied hilarity, the soapy contents of her bucket splattered far and wide, showering the front of Julia's fashionable golden brown silk pelisse. Her brand-new pelisse, to be exact.
Julia gasped her dismay at the sight of the widening splotches. Oh! And after all the effort she had put forth to look nice for Mr. Harwood.
"Gor, miss," the girl expelled in breathless horror, her blue eyes round and growing bright with tears as she gaped at the calamitous results of her recklessness. "If I'd known ye was 'ere, I'd 'ave-I'd 'ave niwer-" She broke off with a rending sob, her plain, freckled face crumpling as she began to weep in earnest. "O-O-O! Jist look at yer loverly coat, miss. Courter's gonna sack me fer sure this time."
"Now, now, Peg. We will have none of that," chided the man who had provoked the maid's
ungoverned mirth, calmly surveying the mishap from the threshold. He was a roguish-looking fellow with a shock of unruly black hair and gypsy-dark eyes that presently regarded Julia with an interest that she found far too bold by half. "I am sure that our master will square matters right enough with Miss-" He raised one eyebrow in query, impertinently bidding Julia to present her name.
"Lady Julia Barham," she supplied in her most aristocratic tone, emphasizing the word "lady" in an attempt to put him in his place.
The maid emitted a short shriek, the contents of the bucket again sloshing over the brim in her agitation. "Lady? Oh, gor! I'm sacked fer certain, I is."
"You shall be sacked if you do not stop your screeching," the man retorted, his face registering what Julia found a satisfying degree of surprise at her identity. "Now to the kitchen with you, girl. You can scrub the stoop later."
The maid sniffled and bobbed a curtsy to Julia, her face as tragic as if she bore the knowledge that the world would end tomorrow. Then again, for her, perhaps it would if she lost her place. "I'm 'eartily sorry, my lady," she said in a jumbled rush. "I dinna mean to spoil yer coat. Truly, I dinna. I-"
"It was an accident, nothing more. So please do not give the matter a second thought," Julia interjected, the precariousness of her own situation giving her a new understanding, and sympathy, for the girl's fear of losing her place. Like she and her siblings, Peg, too, would no doubt find herself begging in the streets if Mr. Harwood chose to withhold his mercy. "As for the Courter person you fear will sack you, I see no reason whatsoever why they need ever hear of the incident. The same goes for your master. I take it that we can trust-" It was her turn to solicit the man's name, which she did by peering at him down her nose with an air of condescending expectation.
He bowed in an appropriately subservient manner. "Simon Rowles, Mr. Harwood's majordomo. At your service, my lady."
Majordomo? Though Julia had easily identified him by his speech and clothing as one of the upper servants, his youth had led her to assume him to be a footman on his way to enjoy a morning off, or perhaps Mr. Harwood's valet. Repressing the urge to frown in her surprise, she coolly inquired, "I take it that you can be trusted to hold your tongue in regard to this matter, Rowles?"
He nodded. "But of course, my lady. Whatever you wish."
She nodded back. "It is indeed my wish."
The
girl graced her with a watery, but exceedingly grateful smile. "Oh, thank ye, my lady. Thank ye! Ye can be certain that Peg McCain ain't niwer gonna fergit yer kindness."
Rowles inclined his head in approval at the maid's speech. "Very nicely said, Peg. Now to the kitchen with you." He snapped his fingers three times, spurring her to obey.
She bobbed another curtsy to Julia, and then did as directed, but not before casting her benefactress another thankful smile.
When she had disappeared from sight, Rowles said, "That was most gracious of you, my lady. I daresay that this is only the second time in her unfortunate life that poor Peg has been granted such kindness from a stranger."
"The second?" Her sympathy for the girl now piqued, Julia found herself genuinely interested to hear the story at which the majordomo hinted.
"Yes. The first being when Mr. Harwood saved her."
"He saved her?" This time Julia could not refrain from frowning her surprise. "How?"
"He discovered her lying in our alley about a month ago, burning with fever. No doubt she would have perished had he not given her shelter and summoned the surgeon." He shook his head. "However, I need not tell you of my master's generous nature, my lady. I daresay that you know it well enough."
Julia could only stare at him, too stunned by his account to do anything more. That the villainous Gideon Harwood was capable of such compassion was almost beyond belief.
"But, of course, I am certain that you did not come here to discuss such things with me," Rowles added, skillfully guiding the conversation back to the business at hand. "No doubt you wish to see Mr. Harwood?"
She nodded. "Yes, please. It is imperative that I speak with him posthaste on a matter of great importance." Her heart sank in the next instant as the majordomo's face took on a look of genuine regret.
"I am sorry, my lady. But Mr. Harwood is not at home. There was a last bit of business that required
his attention before he leaves for the country this afternoon."
Her sinking heart abruptly plunged to the pit of her stomach at the news of his impending departure. "Mr. Harwood is leaving?"
The majordomo frowned, visibly perplexed. "He has business at his estate in Lancashire. Surely he informed you of his plans?"
"No." She more squeaked than uttered the word in her distress. If he left London now, she might never get the chance to plead her case. Indeed, there was a distinct danger that he would call her mother's debt due before returning to town.
Rowles's frown deepened at her response. "Do pardon me if I overstep my bounds, my lady. But I must confess to being surprised."
"I do not know what you mean," she mumbled, her mind barely registering his remark in her anxiety.
"It is just that there isn't a servant in Mayfair who has not heard that our master is courting you, and that the ton expects you to be engaged before the end of the Season. That being the case, I should have thought that you would be the first person he would inform of his plans."
Not about to report that his master had jilted her, she replied, "Perhaps he knows how sorely I shall miss him, and has thus decided to tell me the news today, before he leaves, so as to save me from fretting over his departure." She surprised even herself with the smoothness of her lie.
He accepted her fabrication with a nod and a smile. "Ah, yes. I am certain that that is indeed the case. It is just like Mr. Harwood to be so very considerate."
"Yes," Julia murmured, feeling suddenly ill as a new and horrifying thought struck her. What if the business that commanded Mr. Harwood's attention so early in the day was the calling in of her mother's debt? It made perfect sense that he should wish to do so now, after the dreadful scene in the garden. The more she considered the possibility, the more likely it seemed. Indeed, what else could it be?
"My lady, are you quite all right?" Rowles inquired, both his face and voice reflecting alarm.
"I-I am fine," she somehow managed to squeeze past the dread strangling her throat.
He shook his head, unconvinced. "You do not look fine. You look ready to faint." He stepped back then, holding the door wide to reveal an elegantly appointed foyer. "Please. Do come in and rest, my lady. Mr. Harwood will never forgive me if I do not take proper care of you. Your abigail-" He halted abruptly, glancing up and down the street, his dark eyebrows drawing together as if suddenly noticing that she was alone. "By the bye, where is your maid?"
Julia thought quickly. "She is in the Grosvenor Square Park." Deciding that it was a viable lie, she added, "She begged so prettily to stroll through it while I conversed with your master that I simply did not have the heart to deny her petition." The truth, of course, was that she had not brought a maid at all since she did not wish anyone to know of her shocking mission.
To her relief, the majordomo readily accepted her explanation. "I can see that you are every bit as kind as our master," he said, gazing at her with such approval that Julia could not help feeling shamed by her lie. "Nonetheless, it was highly improper for her to leave you as she did. You must give me her name so that I can have her fetched while you rest. In the meantime, I will have Mrs. Courter, the housekeeper, see to your needs."
"No, no thank you, Rowles. That shall not be necessary. I truly am fine," she replied, her voice surprisingly confident for her growing panic at being caught in her lie. As she spoke, she slowly backed away from the door.
"At the very least, you must allow me to summon a footman to escort you in your search for your maid. I cannot in good conscience allow you to wander the square unattended. Or perhaps I should have Mr. Harwood's carriage take you home? I know that he would-"
"No, but thank you, Rowles." She injected a note of firmness into her voice, one that brooked no argument. "Now I shall bid you a good day." Without waiting for him to respond, Julia retreated from the door as quickly as she could without compromising her semblance of composure. Well aware that he watched her go, she crossed the street at a deceptively leisurely pace and entered the park, disappearing down one of the graveled paths to take refuge behind the cover of the lush shrubbery.
As soon as she was certain that she was out of sight, she collapsed on the nearest bench and surrendered to her despair. She had failed in her mission, miserably. That meant that she and her siblings would most probably be reduced to begging on the streets within a fortnight.
And it would all be her fault.
She hugged herself, tears trickling down her cheeks as she wallowed in her remorse. Oh, if only she had tried harder to charm Gideon Harwood. If only she had kept her temper in check when he had announced that he was calling off the bargain, and had instead worked to change his mind by showing through her example that he was wrong about the women in the ton. If only . . .
Oh, what did it matter? Julia sobbed her defeat. Their fates were sealed and there was nothing to be done for it now.
Chapter 11
Shweet! Tat! Tat! Tat!
"Vah mujhako chirhata hai,"-he teases me-Jagtar said, scowling up at Kesin, who dangled upside down by his feet from a tree branch. In spite of the pains the Sikh took to keep his pet restrained on those occasions when he accompanied Gideon about town on business, the cunning little beast had somehow learned to liberate himself from his tether, a trick he had demonstrated a quarter-hour earlier as they had passed this particularly tempting stand of lime trees edging Grosvenor Square Park.
Gideon, who never failed to be amused by the pair's madcap antics, laughed at the droll picture they made. It did indeed appear that Kesin taunted his master, having first led him on a wild chase around the perimeter of the park, weaving in and out between the narrow iron fence rails to elude capture every time Jagtar lunged near enough to seize him. And now hanging mere inches out of reach, chirping and whistling as if mocking the Sikh's failure to catch him.
Laughing again, Gideon glanced around the square, scanning the milling street hawkers and their wares in search of fruit with which to lure the animal from the tree. It took only a moment to
spy what he sought, and a moment more to make his purchase. Thus armed, he returned to where Kesin hung, the beast now swaying as he twittered and scratched what was no doubt a flea on his belly. Temptingly waving his juicy offering, he called, "Kesin! Mithe angur" - sweet grapes-hoping to appeal to the creature's voracious greed for fruit.
The recalcitrant beast pulled itself up to crouch on the branch, emitting a series of sharp chirps as it stood peering down at the grapes with owl-eyed interest.
"Mithe angur," Gideon repeated, again waving the succulent purple bribe. For several seconds he was certain that the animal would accept his inducement, unable to resist the temptation of grapes. Then it grunted once and turned its back, making a show as it began to groom its woolly fur with its comb like lower teeth.
Jagtar sighed, his voice brisk with frustration as he pleaded in his native tongue, "Have pity on me. This habit of yours is very bad."
Kesin ignored him.
The Sikh sighed again and shook his turbaned head, saying to Gideon, "I feel he won't come. He is very careless."
As if loath to disappoint his master's low expectations, Kesin grunted once and whistled twice, then grasped the branch of the neighboring tree into which he quickly disappeared, thus proving that a slow loris was not always so very slow.
Expelling a foul oath in his native tongue, Jagtar raced around the railed perimeter of the park in pursuit and disappeared through the nearest entrance gate.
Gideon followed at a more dignified pace, chuckling and shaking his head. He had just passed through the gate when the air was rent by a piercing scream, a high-pitched female one, to be exact, coming from the direction in which Kesin and Jagtar had disappeared. Wondering which of his companions had provoked it, and there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind that the unexpected sight of one or the other had prompted it, Gideon lengthened his stride, heroically rushing to the woman's rescue.
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