by Mary Balogh
“Julia spoke with me,” Malcolm said. “She has decided not to betroth herself to anyone this month. She feels that it would be wrong.”
“Ah,” Camilla said quietly. “Are you disappointed, Malcolm? Were you still planning to offer for her?”
“I was not sure,” he said. “But 1 am not disappointed. I don’t think Julia would have been happy with me. I am too dull a fellow.”
Camilla smiled up at him. “More to the point,” she said, “is that you would not have been happy with her, Malcolm. She would have unwittingly made you feel dull, and you are not. I am glad that she has rejected you though sorry if you are hurt in any way.”
“I asked you out here with me,” he said, smiling ruefully, “because I wanted someone to help me celebrate.”
She laughed.
“I have always admired Julia’s high spirits,” he said. “I even fancied myself a little in love with her though I know now that I was not. We would have nothing to offer each other. I fancied myself in love once before. And I think perhaps I was not deceiving myself that time because I liked her too and she liked me and she was one of the few women in my life with whom I always felt at ease.”
“But it did not work out?” She looked rather sadly at him. “I am sorry, Malcolm. You must have suffered from her loss. She married someone else?”
“There was a betrothal,” he said. “But he died. She was very much in love with him. After her betrothal and after his death I persuaded myself that what I felt was affection, not love. She is still my friend.”
They walked in silence for a while. “Malcolm.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “Whom are you talking about?”
“Perhaps it would be better if I said no more,” he said. “Perhaps I have already said too much. I would not want to lose a dear friend. Except that it has been two years, Camilla, and you said yourself that it is time for you to live again.”
“It was me you loved?” Her voice was trembling.
“Present tense,” he said. “I was wrong about Julia and I was wrong about my real feelings for you. But I did not realize it fully until this evening. I don’t want it to spoil our friendship, though, Camilla. 1 should have said nothing just as I did when we were growing up.”
She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “You were always my hero,” she said. “I even used to sigh secretly over you during my growing years and admire your height and your lovely blond hair. But you were always so quiet and somehow unattainable. And then I met Simon and fell head over ears for him. You became my friend—or remained my friend, I should say, after all the silliness had passed. Or what I thought of as silliness, Malcolm.” She set her head to one side and continued to look at him.
“You would prefer that we remained as just friends?” he said “Perhaps it would be as well.”
“Simon is dead,” she said “I did love him dearly, Malcolm. But he has been gone for longer than two years and I have love to give. It is fairly bursting from me. And I need to be loved. Now, in the present, not just in the past. Life is to be lived. Now. I want warm, living arms to hold me.”
He touched his fingertips to one of her cheeks. They trembled slightly. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. “Mine will hold you forever if you want them to,” he said.
He could see the tears swimming in her eyes as she smiled at him and slid her arms up about his neck. “Yes, I do, Malcolm,” she said “Oh, yes, please, I do.”
He kissed her again, wrapping his arms about her and drawing her close against him. And feeling so brimming over with happiness that he could have cried too.
“You will marry me, then?” he asked her when he finally lifted his head.
She nodded, smiling, and he could tell that she would not trust her voice.
“I’ll talk to your brother, then,” he said “Now, Camilla? Shall I do it now?”
She shook her head. “Don’t let’s go inside yet,” she said. “I want to be alone with you for a while longer, Malcolm, to savor the wonder of this night.”
He kissed her briefly once more. “You think it is all right for you to be out here even longer with me when you are unchaperoned?” he asked her.
She laughed softly.“I am twenty-four years old, Malcolm,” she said. “I am no girl.” She set her cheek against his shoulder and sighed. “Oh, you are so wonderfully warm and alive.”
“Let’s go and sit by the fountain, then,” he said. “We’ll stay out a little longer. I’ll talk to Daniel later. I shall probably stammer over every word.”
Camilla laughed again as they walked toward the fountain, their arms about each other’s waist. They sat on the bench below the fountain, looking out over the darkened, moonlit garden, scarcely talking. She nestled her head on his shoulder and he set an arm about hers.
They were unintentional eavesdroppers to parts of the conversation between Frederick and Julia, especially the last part, which was spoken just above the fountain.
“She is very brave,” Malcolm said when the couple had gone back inside. “She has spoken to all three of us this evening—I left her with Les when I came to invite you outside. Poor Julia. It cannot have been easy to do.”
“I think she is wise to end the month early,” Camilla said. “And yes, I admire her decisiveness, too. It is so typical of Julia. I am not surprised that she has decided not to marry. I have always thought that she is something of a romantic. I think Julia wants to love the man she will marry. I hope she finds what she is looking for.”
“Is the journey to Gloucester wise?” he asked.
“In a party of four?” she said. “I think it quite unexceptionable. Kiss me again before we go inside, Malcolm. And assure me that I am not going to wake up soon to find this all a dream.”
He smiled and kissed her again.
* * *
It was going to be a very tricky business, Frederick thought, and just as likely to fail as to succeed. Eight o’clock was very late to have set for breakfast. There were all sorts of chances that a few other early risers would be in the breakfast room. Of course he had urged secrecy on Julia and the chances were that she would see the wisdom of keeping her mouth shut. But seven o’clock would have been altogether a more comfortable time to be eating.
But he had not been able to suggest seven because then the rest of the plan that had been developing in his head would have seemed even less believable than it was going to sound anyway. It seemed altogether possible that Julia would not fall for the story. Especially if she came down to breakfast early or if she went out early riding, as he knew she sometimes did.
Frederick did not have a good night’s sleep. It was a mad plan. There were far too many things likely to go wrong with it. Only by the sheerest miracle would it succeed. And yet even the faint chance that it would work did not bring him any comfort. He felt like the worst villain who had ever stalked the earth. He just could not go through with it he told himself. Devil take it, it was Jule who was to be his victim. He had always been fond of Jule.
And then he thought of his astronomical debts and his creditors waiting like birds of prey to pounce on him and drag him off to debtors’ prison. And of his father hearing about it and coming to his rescue, that look of sorrow on his face that Frederick dreaded more than any other expression his father was capable of. He felt clammy with cold sweat.
No, he would have to go through with the plan and hope that somehow miracles could still happen for a blackhearted villain like himself. Perhaps it would succeed.
He consoled himself for the possibility that it would indeed succeed by telling himself that he would make her happy. He would give up his gambling and he would give up other women and devote himself to making Jule happy. Yes, and pigs might fly too. But at least she would be better off than she would be stuck up in the wilds of northern England with relatives who did not want her.
The miracle happened inch by inch. Frederick was pacing the breakfast room soon after half past seven. Julia did not arrive there until
a couple of minutes before eight. And it seemed that she had just got up and had had to hurry to get ready,
“I was so late getting to sleep, Freddie,” she said, “what with one thing and another swirling through my head and refusing to leave it so that I could rest, that I slept in. I almost never sleep beyond six o’clock at the latest.”
It was better than he could have hoped for.
“I have eaten already,” he said, though he had been quite unable to do any such thing, “and sent orders to have my carriage and horses prepared. We can leave as soon as you have eaten, Jule. Remember, if anyone should come in here before we leave, we must say nothing. The more 1 think of it, the more 1 am sure they would all try to dissuade you from going to Prudholm’s if they knew about it.”
“I shall say nothing, Freddie,” she said. “I am quite determined to go. Who is coming with us?”
He chuckled. “Les and Stella,” he said. “I did a most foolish thing, Jule. Stella was quite furious with me. I told them that breakfast would be at seven. That was what I thought I had told you until you did not turn up at seven and I remembered I had told you eight.”
“Ouch!” Julia said, settling herself at the table with two slices of toast. “Stella would not have liked that. She is a notoriously late riser.”
Yes, that was why Frederick had chosen her.
“Did she go back to bed?” Julia asked.
“No, actually,” he said, chuckling again. “Les persuaded her to take some morning exercise since we will be spending so much of the day in the carriage. They set off walking in the direction of the village almost half an hour ago. We are to pick them up there with the carriage.”
“Stella out walking at half past seven in the morning?” Julia said, laughing. “1 shall tease her about this one for years to come. We must not keep them waiting, then, Freddie. I shall eat fast.”
There was a moment of anxiety when the door opened and Uncle Paul put his head around it and then came on inside.
“Ah, other early risers,” he said. “I hate eating alone.”
“But I am afraid I am going to have to leave you within five minutes, Uncle Paul,” Julia said. “I have promised to go riding with Freddie and he is standing there pretending to look patient so that I am almost choking on every mouthful.”
Uncle Paul seemed quite without suspicion. And they met no one on their way to the stables and no one there except a few grooms. Frederick had been holding his breath. Dan sometimes rode early, he knew, and anyone else might take it into his head to do so too on this of all mornings.
“Poor Stella,” Julia said as the carriage pulled out of the stableyard and made its way onto the driveway. “She is going to be in a very cross mood unless the walk and the morning air have revived her spirits. It is a good thing it is Les who is with her. He is so very good-natured.”
“Yes,” Frederick said, looking rather tensely from the windows, hoping for the final part of the miracle. “Les won’t mind.” He was wondering how Julia was going to react when she found that there was no one to be picked up in the village.
She reacted predictably. She peered out of the windows as the carriage entered the village and exclaimed in surprise at the fact that they were nowhere in sight.
“They must have grown tired of waiting,” Frederick said, “and walked home a different way.”
“Don’t be foolish, Freddie,” she said. “And why is your coachman not slowing down? Tell him to slow down.”
“I already told him not to, Jule,” he said quietly, the end of the village street having been reached and all the houses left behind.
“You told him—?” She looked around at him with sudden suspicion, but with no fear in her face. Good old Jule.
“What is this, Freddie? Stop this carriage instantly. I am going home.”
“No, Jule,” he said. “We will go alone together. It will be easier that way.”
“They were never coming with us, were they?” she said. “It was all lies. Freddie, I hate you. And I won’t do this. I know I do some ramshackle things, but I won’t do this. I’ll not be alone with you all day. I would be ashamed to show my face at Primrose Park again.” She got to her feet and banged the side of her fists against the front panel.
His coachman did not slow the carriage.
“Jule,” he said, “sit down.” He did not believe he had ever felt so wretched in his life.
She turned to look at him again, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. “We are not going to Mr. Prudholm’s, are we?” she said, surprise in her voice.. “You are kidnapping me. Aren’t you? I am your prisoner. You are going to try to force me to marry you. Oh, Freddie, they must be huge debts.”
“I’ll make you happy, Jule,” he said. “I’ll make you fall in love with me. It will be better than your uncle in the north of England.”
“Goddamned bloody hell it will be better!” she said, causing him almost to laugh for a moment. But he did not believe he could laugh to save his life. “I’ll not marry you, Freddie, if we ride about the countryside for a whole month. I still have to say yes, and I will never say yes. You might as well save yourself the trouble of being shut up with my temper for a long spell. I’ll never marry you.”
“You will have no choice, Jule,” he said, trying to possess himself of her hand. But she snatched it back and then cracked it painfully across his cheek.
“You are not only going to compromise me, are you?” she said, her voice shaking—more with rage than with fear, he thought. “You are going to rape me. Aren’t you?”
“I would far prefer it to be just a compromising, Jule,” he said unhappily. “And it would not have to be rape. I can make you want me.”
She looked at him long and hard before settling back in her seat and folding her hands in her lap, apparently calm.
“It will be rape, Freddie,” she said. “I will not give you the comfort of thinking that it may be something else. It will not. Will it be tonight? In Gloucester?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I may still not marry you, you know,” she said. “Only if you get me with child. I suppose you could keep me long enough to make sure that that does happen, but it will not be soon enough, Freddie. I have to be betrothed to you within the next two weeks and a few days. I’ll not consent before that time. You may have me if you are capable of begetting children, but you will not get Primrose Park. You might as well take me back, you know.”
He said nothing and made no move to change his orders to his coachman. She would marry him, and she would agree to it before the deadline. Once he had taken her virtue—Lord God, was that what he was planning to do to her? Once he had done that, she would see that she had no choice. Besides, he would make her fall in love with him. He would use all the charm and expertise of years on her and she would not be able to resist him.
But it would be rape nonetheless, a part of his brain that he would just as soon have ignored told him over and over again during the silent hours that followed.
16
Nobody really missed them at first. It was true that Aunt Millie commented on the fact that dear Julia was not at breakfast, but Uncle Paul, who had eaten earlier but came back to the breakfast table anyway in order to enjoy the company, explained that she had gone riding with Freddie. It seemed a fairly unremarkable fact except that she had no business riding alone with Freddie or any other man. But the earl frowned only briefly. He would think about it later, he decided. There were other things to take his mind this morning.
Like the unexpected offer for his sister he had had from Malcolm late the previous night and her even more unexpected happiness. If only he had opened up the eyes in his head, the earl had decided, he would surely have seen in which direction the wind was blowing. Camilla had always been fond of Malcolm and it had been very obvious since spring that she was over the death of Captain Styne and ready for love again. And she had spent more time with Malcolm in the past week or so than with anyone else.
The earl
was delighted. So was his mother as soon as she remembered that Malcolm would be a baron someday. Though that was a little unfair to her. She wanted both her children to marry well, but first and foremost she wanted their happiness. She happened to believe that happiness was more likely to result from a good marriage than from an unequal one. And Camilla was now, after all, the sister of the Earl of Beaconswood.
So the betrothal, and its announcement at breakfast of all places because in a family it would be impossible to hold such a fact secret until a more appropriate time for an announcement, took most of the earl’s attention. He had determinedly put out of his mind all the turmoil of his own emotional life.
Julia. The almost unconscious maneuvering that had enabled him to spend most of the afternoon alone with her the day before. The strange need to justify himself to her. The hurt rather than anger he had felt when she had refused despite everything to promise not to marry Freddie. The kiss he had been unable to resist. The anxiety—anxiety?—he had felt when he saw her speak with Malcolm and Les and then witnessed her asking Freddie to walk outside with her. Everything was pushed to the back of his mind, to be dealt with later. He owed Camilla his full attention. And he really did rejoice in her joy. He had been the one who had had to deliver to her the news of her Simon’s death in battle. It was a day he did not care to remember.
It was only after breakfast, when the general family excitement had died down a little or been carried to other parts of the house and Camilla and Malcolm had gone off somewhere together, that the earl’s thoughts returned inevitably to Julia. Where was she? He wandered in and out of all the daytime apartments and even strolled out onto the terrace, but there was no sign of either her or Freddie. The earl could not be sure when Uncle Paul had had breakfast. He had not thought to ask him. But whenever it was, the two of them must have been gone for a few hours.
He stood on the terrace and clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He could remember all too clearly another ride Julia had taken with a man and the way it had developed. Was the same thing happening between her and Freddie? She had freely admitted that Freddie had kissed her at the lake—for all of ten minutes.
