The Fictitious Marquis

by Alina Adams

  She mulled over his words, at last quietly asking, "What would it take for you to stay, Jamie?"

  He answered, "Nothing very complicated. I will stay, Julia, if you will ask me to."

  19

  How very simple.

  And, at the same time, how very complicated.

  All she had to do to get Jamie to stay was to ask him. No games, no tricks, no bribes. She just had to ask him.

  Only she couldn't do it.

  He was waiting for Julia to reply. Standing in the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other already on the knob, Jamie was waiting for Julia to decide his fate. But what he did not know, though, was that it were her fate she was deciding as well.

  For a young woman so willing to risk life and limb traipsing across Europe with no money and a stolen child, Julia felt strangely frightened of risking something a tad more difficult to mend—her heart. And so she merely stood there, saying nothing, until, with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, Jamie Lowell opened the door, stepped into the foyer, turned, and waved one hand over his shoulder, without even looking back.

  "Be seeing you, miss."

  It did not take Jamie very long to pack up his things.

  He refused Julia's offer to take all the clothing she had bought him, explaining, "I really haven't any use for buff-coats and tall-crowned hats. You best keep them for the next fellow you make an arrangement with."

  He requested his money in cash, and Julia moved as if in a dream, from his bed chamber to the vault in the cellar, and back again. She handed over the bills, letting her palm briefly brush against Jamie's, and straining to imprint the sensation of his touch upon her skin. She asked whether he would like to take one of the horses from her stable, but Jamie shook his head no, explaining that he planned to follow their arrangement to the letter. The day in Newgate, Julia had stipulated that when she grew weary of him, Jamie was to disappear from England and feign being dead. Well, he was holding up his part of the bargain, and catching the first ship heading for the Americas.

  "I should do well there, don't you think? Bit of money in my pocket, fancy manners, winning smile." Jamie flashed his smile for Julia's appreciation.

  "I'm sure you'll do well in whatever you decide, Jamie."

  "Thanks, luv." Julia wondered if it were for her benefit, or whether, now that their charade were over, Jamie simply felt more comfortable slipping back into his lower-class accent. He slapped a simple gray cap atop his head and announced, "Got to be off, now, I do. Wouldn't wish to wear out my welcome."

  He was wearing the same pair of slacks and the white shirt that he'd donned the first day Julia peeked at him through the crack in the door. The only difference was that now he no longer seemed nearly as starved or as frightened or as angry. And now, she were in love with him.

  Jamie hugged Alexia good-bye, trying to assuage some of the panic in her eyes by assuring the child that both Julia and Salome would still be at home to take care of her. She stared at him, heartbroken, then begged him to stay.

  No one in the room would ever understand just how badly Julia wished that she could get over this paralyzing fear of hers, and do exactly the same thing.

  Because Alexia was weeping, Julia momentarily turned her back on Jamie to try and console the little girl. She wiped Alexia's eyes with her handkerchief, and offered a torrent of hopefully soothing words in French, none of which even came near to offering the same comfort as Jamie's brief speech to Alexia had back home.

  She was so consumed with attempting to calm Alexia that by the time Julia turned around again Jamie was gone.

  Neither one felt much like eating the luncheon Cook had prepared. Julia, Alexia, and Salome sat at the table, listlessly picking at their meat pastries, and waiting for the other to offer a solution for their common grief.

  Finally, Alexia asked, "What if Papa tries to come to England and to take me away with him? What shall we do then?"

  So focused was Julia on missing Jamie that she actually felt relieved, having another difficult problem to worry about.

  She assured Alexia, "Do not fret, dear. I have a close friend who is an expert in the law. I shall go see him this afternoon. He will tell us what we need to do next."

  Julia carefully timed her visit to Gavin's home so that she incurred the least likelihood of encountering Lady Emma. The last thing she needed that afternoon was the added irritation of hearing Emma's insults, even if they were delivered in tones as sweet as boiled maple sugar. And she certainly did not wish to face the sticky situation of having her ladyship inquiring after Jamie.

  Fortunately, Julia's coming an hour after luncheon, insured that Emma would be out visiting one of the many acquaintances she'd worked so hard to cultivate since her marriage to Gavin.

  A butler escorted Julia to Lord Neff's study, cautioning that he were very busy, but also more than happy to see an old friend.

  Julia entered the book-paneled room with trepidation. She and Gavin really had not spoken since their argument over the propriety of Jamie's waltz at the ball. At her wedding, all they'd exchanged were a few pleasantries. She wondered if he were still cross with her. And then, much to Julia's combined surprise and relief, she realized that, quite honestly, Julia no longer cared what Gavin, or anyone else for that matter, thought of her. It was rather hard to get all in a tither over public opinion, after having spent the previous day and night stealing children and horses.

  That, Julia supposed, was another gift she had Jamie to thank for. He'd taught her not to pay much notice to what other people thought, as long as she got what she wanted. And, by extension, he'd shown her that there was no excuse for Julia to feel damned over who she was.

  Gavin looked up from his desk and smiled when she came in, laying down his pen and pushing away the stacks of papers he'd been working on. After a few minutes of insignificant dialogue about the weather, local gossip, and the upcoming London season—a few minutes during which, although most likely for different reasons, neither mentioned their respective spouses—Gavin politely inquired why exactly it was that Julia had sought out his council. After all, Gavin was not Julia's regular barrister. Besides, he thought all issues regarding the transfer of her father's estate from Collin to Julia had been settled.

  "They have been," she said. "Thank you for asking. I am afraid that I have come to speak with you on another matter entirely. A more personal, sensitive matter."

  Briefly, Julia told Gavin about Miriam, about Alexia, and about Henri's desire to banish his child to a convent. For an instant, Julia wondered if she might be able to complete her story without getting into the specific details of why Miriam feared so severely Alexia's being forced into a nunnery.

  But, when Gavin mentioned, off-handedly, that, truly, he saw no harm in Henri's wishes—after all, Alexia were his child, to do with as her father liked—that Julia knew she would have to share with him the true reason for Miriam's desperation.

  Squeezing both fists so tightly that the stubs of what were once Julia's nails cut through her palms, she was about to hang her head and, mumbling, confess to everything. And then Julia remembered Jamie. Jamie and the way he'd always managed to discuss even the most unsavory details of his past, with head held high.

  "After all," Jamie had explained to Julia, "if I behave as if I believe that my actions deserve condemnation, then why should anyone else think differently?"

  Heeding his advice, Julia reconsidered her posture. Instead of sinking, curled up, into Gavin's chair, she straightened like a soldier, shoulders squared, head held high, and, looking Gavin straight in the eye, proudly announced, "The reason my cousin requested that my aunt Salome bring up her daughter, rather than see Alexia's father send her off to a convent, is because she feared her husband treating Alexia as cruelly as he had Miriam, and for the same reason. You see, that which my cousin told her husband, that which she had hidden from him for ten years, was the fact that Miriam and her child are both of the Hebraic faith. They are Jews." Julia pointedly added, "
As am I."

  Gavin's eyelashes sprang upwards until they lay nearly parallel with his brows and his jaw dropped slightly. Then, unexpectedly, Gavin began to laugh. It was the laugh of someone finally getting the joke, and chortling in appreciation at having been momentarily fooled.

  The laughing stopped when, thanks to Julia's solemn facial expression, Gavin realized that she were not fooling.

  He swallowed hard, raising both arms as if to beseech Julia, "Surely, you cannot be serious. Why, your father, and his father, and his father before him, they've all been peers for generations."

  "It is my mother's family who were the Jews." Julia added. "That is why I refused to marry you."

  "Oh." Gavin awkwardly replaced his hands atop the desk, linking his fingers. "Oh." He cleared his throat, momentarily looking away from Julia and up at the mantel above his fireplace. A stack of social invitations lay neatly organized by date of reception. Finally, he asked, "But surely, might it not have been better for all concerned for your cousin to have kept such inflammatory information to herself?"

  "Miriam loved her husband. She did not relish the idea of deceiving him. And she believed it when he claimed to love her in return. Foolishly, she assumed it to mean that he would continue loving her, regardless. After all, Miriam remained the same woman after her confession as she had always been. Only the assumptions had changed, not the person."

  "Do you truly believe that, Julia?"

  He asked her the question she had been wrestling with since Collin maliciously punctured her previously settled existence.

  A few months ago, she might have been unable to answer either way. But no longer. Not after Jamie.

  "Yes, Gavin," Julia's voice carried not a seedling of doubt. "I do. I believe that who you truly are cannot alter simply due to some external circumstance, or another's change of perception."

  "I see." Gavin appeared so serious, Julia half expected him to begin taking notes on their exchange. He continued nodding his head up and down. For a moment, Julia imagined she could almost see Gavin pulling further and further away from her, until he was nothing but a speck along the background of his office chair.

  Salome and Moses had warned Julia to expect such a reaction from strangers, but from her oldest, dearest friend? She refused to believe Gavin capable of such narrow-mindness. And yet, perhaps that wasn't entirely true. After all, if Julia had not feared exactly this response from Gavin, why then had she taken such pains to hide the truth from him all these past months?

  Considering who he was and where they were, Gavin, truly, could not have been expected to react in any other manner.

  "I am sorry, Gavin."

  "So am I, Julia. Good-bye."

  Doubting he would understand that she were not apologizing for her existence, but for the awkward situation that she'd put him in, Julia turned and walked out of his house. She had no business dragging yet another innocent party into her family problems. Especially not when the reasons behind those problems caused such a tongue-tying unease.

  But here, again, Julia had fallen into the erroneous trap of assuming that every man might prove as understanding, and as kind as Jamie Lowell.

  Once back in her own home, Julia knew that she should be feeling horrified by what had transpired. After all, Gavin's behavior screamed an indication of how everyone else would react when they found out the truth. Julia was not foolish enough to believe that he might keep such explosive information to himself. Even if Gavin found that a barrister/client relationship forbade him from running through the countryside, shouting the news, then, surely, Emma would be more than happy to perform the honors.

  At the end of a fortnight, everyone who was anyone would know of Julia's deception. And she supposed she should be feeling terror-stricken at the prospect. But she wasn't.

  The only thing Julia felt was giddy with freedom.

  Because she knew that now neither Gavin nor anyone else with a penchant for looking down their noses would ever be able to hold anything over Julia's head again. She had confronted her biggest fear, and, in the aftermath, the Earth still continued to spin, the ground did not open up and swallow her, and England had not yet crumbled into the sea. Julia had faced the thing she feared most, and nothing horrible happened.

  She was free.

  And that left only one more terror for her to conquer.

  Flushed with feeling that she could do anything at this moment, Julia hollered for Isaac to hurry and fetch her carriage. Julia was going after Jamie.

  And she was going to ask him to stay.

  Easier said than done.

  It was one thing to fly out of her house, shouting battle cries, and urging for Isaac to make her horses gallop faster. It were quite another to seek out a single man, one as adept at keeping a low profile as Jamie, in a country the size of England.

  Julia recalled him mentioning something about America. Well, the only way to reach America was by ship. And the nearest port was Bristol.

  Standing on the wooden planks of a seaside dock for the second time in two days, Julia noted that she was no longer nearly as affected by the smell of rotting fish. In fact, it stirred up all sorts of pleasant memories.

  Looking about, Julia searched for the vessel she needed. If luck were with her, she might spot one on the hull of which was written in large letters, "This is the boat to America." But, somehow, Julia doubted the probability of such convenient fortune.

  Instead, she settled for moving from sailor to sailor, inquiring whether they'd seen any man fitting Jamie's description. The answers Julia received were most colorful in nature. She made a mental note to write them down and inquire of Jamie as to their meaning, although Julia doubted the bulk of them would be quite appropriate at Almack's.

  Of course, after Gavin got through spreading the news, Julia doubted she would be receiving many vouchers for the Wednesday night gatherings. It was just as well. Their tea was tepid, their lemonade sour, and the cakes stale.

  "You are a bloody fool." The voice came from above, but it was a sound Julia would have recognized anywhere.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, she peered towards the sky. Halfway up, Jamie stood on one step, holding on tightly to a second rung of a rope ladder that dangled from the deck of his ship down to the water.

  Julia shouted, "I am the fool? You are climbing up one side of a boat when there is a perfectly decent gangplank available, and I am the bloody fool?"

  "What are you doing here, Julia?"

  "Expanding my vocabulary." She indicated the ladder. "What are you doing?"

  "Combatting boredom," he said. "Ship does not leave until sundown, and I have nowheres else to go."

  "You can afford a hotel. What with all the money I gave—"

  Julia never got a chance to finish her sentence, as Jamie unexpectedly let go of the rope, and changing direction in mid-air, dove down towards the water. He surfaced a few moments later, shimmying up a wooden pole and onto the dock, and clamping a hand over Julia's mouth.

  "Have you lost your senses? Do you wish for me to have my throat cut in the middle of the night, is that why you came?"

  She pushed him away, feeling the slimy droplets of algae-infested water dripping down her cheeks and neck. "If you had purchased a ticket on a decent vessel, one that caters to people with some means, instead of this floating rat boardinghouse, you would not need to worry about such things."

  "I have no intention of squandering my earnings. I worked most hard for them. Didn't I, Julia?"

  She refused to let him bait her. Instead, Julia said, "I came down here to look for you, Jamie."

  "The vocabulary extension was just a fringe benefit?"

  "I came down because I realized that there was something I forgot to ask you before you left."

  "And what may that be, m'lady?"

  "I forgot to ask you if you would please, for me, consider . . ." She gathered all her courage. "If you would consider staying."

  There. She'd done it. Julia had done exact
ly what Jamie demanded. Now he had no more excuses.

  "Why?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Why this sudden change of heart?"

  "Because . . . Jamie . . . I love you." This was exactly what Julia had so feared. The only reason Jamie wanted her to ask was so that he could reject her.

  "I don't believe you," he said simply. "Something must have happened to make you change your mind."

  "Well, yes, something." She told him of her afternoon encounter with Gavin.

  "Ah." Jamie nodded his head, beginning to understand. "So you think, now that your future in the ton is thoroughly ruined, you might as well settle for me, since, clearly, no one better is likely to come along now."

  "No, Jamie. It isn't like that all."

  "That's right. Because you are laboring under a mistaken assumption. Gavin will tell no one what you confessed. It would make him look too much the fool. Everyone knows how he loved you. He wouldn't embarrass himself in such a manner. And he certainly will not tell Emma, and give her the ammunition to taunt him with." Jamie, patronizing, patted her hand. "So you need not worry, Julia. Your reputation is safe. You do not need me, after all."

  "But, I do. I do need you." Julia all but jumped up and down on the dock to emphasize her point. "What can I say to make you believe me, Jamie?"

  20

  "I love you, Jamie. I want you to stay with me."

  "I do not wish to be any woman's second choice, Julia. I am not a consolation prize."

  "You do not understand."

  "No. I understand too well. This morning, you failed to make up your mind whether or not you wanted me to stay. You had a choice—me or Gavin."

  "Not you or Gavin. I do not want Gavin."

  "All right then, me or someone of Gavin Neff's ilk. Is that better?" Jamie continued, "And you chose him—them. It is not my fault that when you confessed your secrets, the pompous prig could only cough and sputter in reply. You are afraid. You think that he would tell all to your society chums among the ton, and that they would turn their backs on you. You panicked. Suddenly, the prospect of living out the rest of your days alone and ostracized did not seem nearly as appealing. So," Jamie said, "you decided to fall back on the one person you'd made do with before. You came after me. Only I am tired of hanging about your table, begging for scraps. I will not be a replacement. Not for any man. Not for any woman. Not even for you."