by Meara Platt
He shook his head and sighed. “It does sound implausible, doesn’t it? Yet, you are injured and Charlie is ill, and those bluebells are flourishing despite the onset of winter.”
“Because of the hot spring.”
“That’s the reasonable answer, Julia. It’s also reasonable to assume you’re injured because you slipped and fell. And Charlie is ill because that’s what happens sometimes. Good people get sick, children get sick. It happens all the time.”
And men kiss young ladies, even ones they don’t particularly like, Julia realized with dismay. Men seduce young ladies. It happens all the time and means nothing to the man other than an enjoyable way to pass the evening. Women, on the other hand, are left behind to suffer the consequences, her cousin Laura being the proof. “Thank you, my lord.”
“For what?” he asked, gazing at her in confusion.
“For putting my silly concerns to rest. What seemed possible in my wayward thoughts is utterly nonsensical when spoken aloud. There is no faerie king and he has no influence over Charlie. I will sleep easier now, for it shall be exactly as you say. Charlie will forget King Cadeyrn once he reaches Eastbourne.”
*
As the evening progressed, Douglas grew more concerned about Julia. At times, she would appear to improve, then suddenly grow ill again. Watching her was like watching a battle between evenly matched enemies, each hard-fought advance taking a damaging toll.
“Julia,” he said, taking her cold hands between his warm palms and trying to rub life back into them. Her cheeks were ashen, no sign of their usual peach glow, and her once-pink lips were now tinged blue. Douglas suspected that the gleam in her eyes was the effect of fever. “Now that we’ve resolved to banish the faerie king from our thoughts, what shall we do for the rest of the evening?”
Julia laughed and very gently shook her head. “You can’t mean to keep me awake and talking all night long. I assure you, it isn’t necessary.”
The thought crossed Douglas’ mind that there were far better ways to occupy his time with Julia than talking long into the night. Indeed, he could conjure up several amusements for the innocent girl who was – conveniently – in bed. Those drawings.
He took a deep breath, determined to expunge all such thoughts of Julia, for he was having too many of them this evening. “You start. Anything you care to ask me?”
A shadow darkened her eyes. “Many things, but I don’t wish to fight with you.”
“Ask me something easy. Shall I tell you about London Society? About the elegant ladies and their beautiful gowns?”
She pursed her lips. “No, I think I’d like something more practical. Tell me about life at Eastbourne.”
Cold. Austere. Those were his first thoughts. “It’s a grand home,” he said instead, tossing a casual shrug.
“And?”
“It has soaring white marble columns at the entry, gleaming marble floors and expensive furniture that fills the many large rooms. We maintain a staff of fifty to keep the place running with the precision of a Roman phalanx.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen Eastbourne. I wasn’t asking for a description of the place, but of the life. What occupies your day? What is it about Eastbourne that you love?”
He paused a long moment, then tossed his head back and laughed softly. “Love? In truth, it’s been a joyless place for a very long time, desperately in need of a little boy’s laughter to ring through the halls.”
The sincerity of his response appeared to surprise Julia as much as it had surprised him. He rarely revealed his innermost thoughts to anyone. Why now with Julia? He didn’t trust her, but there was something compelling about the girl.
“Please, go on,” Julia urged, squeezing his hand. “Tell me more.”
He noted that her hands were still cold, though they ought to have warmed by now. “Eastbourne was the happiest place whenever my brother, Charles, was in residence. He was born with a smile on his face and it never faded. He was kind and pleasant to everyone, especially to me. He knew how to make me laugh, always protected me. As we grew older, the roles somehow reversed. I became his protector.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We got along very well.”
“And when he wasn’t about?”
“Eastbourne was dull and lonely. Being the younger son, my parents had little use for me.”
“I’m truly sorry, my lord. Having dealt with your parents, I assumed their coldness extended only to Charlie and me. I see now that I was wrong.”
He let out another soft laugh, hardened by a trace of bitterness. “Our parents cared only for position in Society, maintaining proper appearances. Charles thumbed his nose at all of their notions, derided their pomp and circumstance. He believed that a man ought to be judged by his character, not his wealth or connections.”
Julia nodded. “Laura must have admired that in him. She was an honest, caring soul. If your brother was as you described, I can see why she loved him with all her heart.”
“But you still disapprove of Charles, don’t you?”
“I won’t deny it. He may have charmed my cousin, but she was merely an entertainment to him. Oh, Laura insisted they were in love. I suppose your brother convinced her with pretty words. But had your brother entertained thoughts of marriage, he would have done his duty when Laura told him she was with child. Instead, he abandoned her.”
“I don’t think he meant to. Had he lived, he would have protected Laura and Charlie. Indeed, he… never mind. What’s done is done.” Douglas wasn’t proud of hiding the truth about Charlie’s birthright from Julia. In truth, he intended to tell her as soon as Mr. Barrow made further inquiries and put all doubt of her honesty to rest.
This time, the Bow Street runner’s investigation would focus on Mr. Twombly. Though Douglas did not wish to think so, it was possible the Eastbourne’s trusted solicitor had hired a girl to pose as Julia. After all, Twombly had been the one to urge the family to maintain that blackmail account and replenish it from time to time. Twombly had been the go-between, the only one who supposedly had contact with Julia.
Had it all been a lie?
“As I said, had your brother wished to protect Laura and Charlie,” Julia said, drawing his attention back to the conversation, “he would have made provision for them.”
“It matters not. I’m here to finish what my brother couldn’t.”
Julia regarded him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I see that you miss him very much.”
“I do.” Douglas tried to stifle the recollection of their childhood, but the memories rushed forward, of all those times his brother had rescued him from one youthful misadventure or another. The roles had soon reversed and by the time Douglas was eight years old, he’d become the protector, always looking out for his older brother, for Charles had a big heart and a nobility of purpose that led him into one entanglement after another.
Douglas continued to protect him even throughout their university days at Oxford. Charles was too busy righting the wrongs of the world to chase after women. No, Charles was serious and honorable, and when he fell in love with Laura, he’d secretly married her. “I might have saved him had I been home, but I was hundreds of miles away on a bloody Spanish battlefield, chasing Napoleon’s army. I only learned of his death months later.”
“How awful,” Julia whispered.
“I was used to men dying before my very eyes, but losing my brother, not being there to save him, well, that was devastating.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Charles had gone off in a temper after telling their parents about Laura, a woman their cold-hearted parents would never accept. Not ever. He’d run off in the midst of a raging storm. Douglas would have stopped him had he been there.
Julia gave his hand another gentle squeeze. “I’m truly sorry.”
“I felt his loss deeply,” Douglas said, his tension rising. Yet at the same time, the soft stroke of her fingers upon his palms did much to tame that beast of fr
ustration within his soul. “All the while, my parents knew of Charlie’s existence and never said anything. My brother had sired a son, kept a precious piece of himself alive and they didn’t care. Though he was their own grandson, they refused to acknowledge him.”
“My lord–”
“I do wish you’d call me Douglas.” He released her hands to run one of his own along the back of his neck. “I was wrong to take my anger out on you, the one innocent party in this shameful affair.”
“I treated you just as poorly.”
“The difference is,” he said, wondering when he’d stopped believing in her guilt and started to think of her as innocent, “I deserved it and you did not. Now, I shall ask you a question. What was it like living here with Charlie and your father?”
“Wonderful.” She closed her eyes and broke into a gentle smile. “Everyone adored my father and sought his wise counsel. At times, this vicarage seemed more like an inn than a house of worship. We never turned anyone away.”
“How did you manage?”
“Quite well.” Her eyes glistened with joyful tears as she opened them. “I enjoyed every moment of our hectic lives, even though it was difficult after Charlie came along. I was little more than a child myself. Suddenly, I had a newborn to care for.” She laughed softly. “Charlie, the little imp, kept me busy from morn till night.”
“You? Did you not have help?”
“My father hired a wet nurse for those first few months since I… well, I couldn’t manage that.”
He glanced at her nicely rounded bosom. She wouldn’t have a problem now. Those breasts. No. Not looking there. “Ah, of course.”
“My lord, you spoke of laughter and the lack of it in your home. Ours, despite our difficulties, was filled with merriment. More so after Charlie arrived.” She paused to cast him another smile. “He was so curious as a little boy, always up to mischief. But at night, he turned into a little angel. He loved to be tucked into bed and told his bedtime story.”
“About the young prince who was loved very much by his parents, the king and queen.”
Julia nodded. “It’s always the same story, the same search for the prince’s rightful place in the world.”
Douglas felt his heart tighten, knowing it was unfair to prolong the boy’s despair.
He would tell Charlie the truth, very soon.
Julia’s smile suddenly faded. “Life became harder when Charlie fell ill. Shortly afterward, my father died. Still, Charlie and I managed well enough until King Cadeyrn became more of a presence, hardly noticed at first, but now he seems to have taken over.”
Douglas tucked a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to his. “The Fae king, if he does exist, shall be banished from our world shortly.”
She nodded.
“We’ll leave for Eastbourne as soon as you’re strong enough to travel.”
“Tomorrow?”
“If you’re up to it.”
Julia shivered. “I will be. I must be.” She held up her hands. They had once more turned white with cold. “I can’t seem to warm them.”
“Here, put them back in mine.” He took her small hands into his warm palms, trying not to convey his own worries. “I’ll send Homer into town tomorrow to hire a maid to help you pack your belongings. In the meanwhile, Homer and I will remain vigilant. Rest easy, Julia. We’ll protect you and Charlie.”
“From those sinister faeries who sing and dance the night away in the bluebell garden? I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Allowed my fears, my foolish fears, to conquer reason.”
“Quite so,” Douglas said.
But there was something sinister about this place.
The sooner he got her and Charlie out of here, the better.
*
Julia marveled at the ease with which she and Lord Eastbourne fell into conversation, speaking of her family and his, perhaps revealing a little of their hopes and dreams as though they were old friends.
Of course, they weren’t.
At best they were acquaintances, Julia reminded herself as time passed and they were still talking into the wee hours of the morning. Lord Eastbourne kept a light hold of her hands, for they were still cold and hurting.
“My brother and I used to chat for hours on end,” he said when the topic returned to his brother, Charles. As he spoke, he seemed to gaze beyond her to long-forgotten memories. “Charles would sneak into my room late at night, sit by the foot of my bed, and yammer about anything and everything that came into his mind. He never ran out of conversation.”
“I used to do the same with my father, especially after my mother died. I felt terribly alone and quite afraid.”
“As any child would, I imagine.”
She nodded.
“Your father must have felt her loss as well. I did so with Charles.”
“Yes, it’s like losing a little piece of your heart. Though you manage and move on with your own life, that precious piece is always missing.” She let out a ragged sigh. “I don’t know if my heart will recover if I lose–”
“Don’t say it, Julia. Don’t even think about losing Charlie, either to illness or to me. I’ll do all in my power to restore him to health. I won’t prevent you from seeing the boy, so long as you’ve been honest with me.”
“I have been,” she insisted, glowering as she shifted to her knees.
He took firm hold of her shoulders and settled her back against her pillows. “Julia, have a care. You’re not well. I shouldn’t have said anything to upset you.” He shook his head and sighed. “I promise you, if you’ve been telling me the truth, I will not part you from the boy.”
Julia suddenly felt quite spent.
Could she trust Lord Eastbourne?
“We’ve reached a point where each of us wishes to trust the other,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “But we fear to do so completely, perhaps out of an abundance of caution. Let’s call a truce, shall we?”
“To what purpose?”
“We both care about Charlie and wish the best for him. Can we agree on that?”
Julia reluctantly nodded.
Lord Eastbourne slapped his hands to his knees. “Let’s leave it at that for now. And speaking of the boy, I had better look in on him.”
“And I had better change out of my gown before it wrinkles beyond repair.”
“Of course,” he said with a noticeable scratch in his throat. “I didn’t think… it can’t be comfortable for you lying in bed, bound in your corset and buttons.”
“Oh, I don’t wear a corset.”
“Blessed saints.” His chair made a loud, scraping sound across the floor as he pushed it back and hastily rose. He made for the door, not bothering to ask if she needed assistance with her buttons. He must have realized there was no maid to help her so that she must have managed dressing and undressing on her own.
She stifled a laugh at the speed with which he moved.
But he hesitated a moment when he reached her door, his hand poised on the doorknob. He turned back to her and tossed her a surprisingly endearing smile. “Julia, I enjoyed our conversation more than I can say.”
“So did I, my lord.”
Chapter 9
Julia felt unsteady and a bit muzzy-headed by the time she’d finished the simple task of undressing. It seemed to take her forever to don her nightgown and robe, then shake the wrinkles out of her gown before she placed it back in her armoire. She let out a satisfied sigh, climbed back into bed, and burrowed under her covers to await Lord Eastbourne’s return.
Eagerly await his return.
Heat rushed into her cheeks. No man had ever entered her bedchamber or seen her in bedclothes before. She wondered how Lord Eastbourne would respond when he saw her. With excitement? Boredom? Would he notice?
Time passed.
Too long. Realizing that he ought to have returned by now, Julia began to worry that something had happened to Charlie or that something sinister had happened to Lord Eastbourne. No, she woul
d have heard a commotion below. She didn’t know the earl very well, but he wasn’t the sort to give up without a struggle. And if that struggle was about protecting Charlie, he would fight to the very end. She might not have been sure of it earlier, but she was now. Even in her foggy state, she could see the love shining in his eyes when he spoke of his brother and the pain that flashed in them when he spoke of his loss.
“There’s no help for it,” Julia muttered, tossing aside her covers. She was about to climb out of bed and walk downstairs, when she heard someone mounting the stairs. “Lord Eastbourne, is that you? How is Charlie?”
The motion on the stairs suddenly halted.
Had she had been mistaken? No, she’d distinctly heard those light footsteps. It had to be the earl. Charlie couldn’t walk and Homer was a portly man who moved with labored breaths. The floorboards would have groaned and creaked beneath Homer’s heavy step.
“I’m perfectly respectable. You may come in.” She counted to ten and repeated the invitation, apparently to no one on the opposite side of her door, for what came back to her was silence.
Odd.
The room suddenly grew unnaturally chill, as though all warmth was purposely being drawn out. She rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms to keep her blood circulating, but that did little to help. So she drew the covers back over her body and tucked them about her legs and shoulders until she was swallowed up in them, hiding like the coward she felt at the moment. The blast of cold air had to be seeping in through her window, but it was shut tight. Her heart beat a little faster. “Hurry back, Lord Eastbourne,” she whispered, wishing he had never left.
Just then, the footsteps resumed on the stairs.
One step, two… closer now… then silence once again.
Was she awake or dreaming?
The room felt cold as a block of ice and the walls appeared to be closing in around her as though creating a tomb. The night wind, which usually howled outside her window, had died down and the vicarage rafters no longer creaked. The overgrown tree branches no longer rattled against her window panes.
