Coming Home (23 page)

‘Sweetheart, how much did Kit see?'

At the endearment, Juliana rubbed her cheek against his waistcoat. ‘Not much. I told him to run as fast as he could when Ames grabbed me.'

‘I've already warned him that the Runners or his grandfather may question him about it. But he just shrugged and said he'd seen nothing,' Colly said, grinning. ‘He's a bright lad.'

She sighed, a huge sigh of thankfulness, and leaned limply against him.

In the distance a bell rang.

‘Dinner!' they exclaimed in unison.

‘We must hurry.' Colly urged her to her feet.

She pulled a face. ‘I do not feel in the least like eating.'

‘Nor I.'

They scurried across the open yard where a blustery wind scattered raindrops from the darkening sky.

‘Juliana, if anything unexpected arises out of all this, I shall deal with it, I promise you,' Colly said as they parted in the foyer.

‘Thank you,' she whispered and fled upstairs.

He watched her for a moment, admiring the straight back and proudly held head. At the top of the stairs she glanced back over her shoulder. Ignoring whoever might be passing through the foyer, he blew her a kiss. He was rewarded with the slightest of smiles.

No, it would not be long before she was his.

T
HREE WEEKS LATER Juliana found that she had indeed become a woman of means. Earnest Mr Beck assured her that all was in order for her to take over her aunt and uncle's property. Advertisements in
The Times
and
Morning Post
had brought forth no other legal claimants. It had been a simple exercise to ascertain there were no more Colebrooks of their particular line because a family tree was inscribed on the first page of the family Bible in her uncle's study.

Juliana had snorted when she heard that. ‘The family
Bible
?' she asked Mr Beck, trying to suppress a snigger.

‘Yes, Miss Colebrook.' Mr Beck did not see anything untoward about owning a family Bible. Of course, he had no idea what sort of family he was dealing with. ‘Your uncle was the senior and last remaining member of his line, so he held the Bible,' the solicitor said, shuffling a heap of papers together. He obviously did not want to waste too much time on a simple transaction from which he would not make a large fee. He hustled her into his carriage and took her to the bank in Hungerford where he introduced her to the bank manager.

But apart from changing the name on the account and withdrawing a few pounds, Juliana left the bulk of the money in the bank. She also refused Mr Beck's advice on investments. He was stunned when she asked him to make arrangements to sell the house. ‘B-but all this money, Miss Colebrook! Will you not use it to bring the house up to scratch?'

‘No thank you, Mr Beck. I'm not yet sure what I shall do. I've made no plans. But you can rest assured that most of the money in that bank account will go to charity.'

Mr Beck's parsimonious soul was rattled. Aghast, he protested.

Juliana knew she would need a business associate, someone she could trust – apart from Colly – because she had plans that did not include him. So she set to work to explain to Mr Beck why she felt uncomfortable about inheriting her uncle's savings. The stuffy little man was horrified.

‘Now can you see why I am reluctant to use it for my own ends?'

‘I can indeed, Miss Colebrook. And might I add that I'm impressed. Another person might well turn a blind eye, under the circumstances.'

Good, she had him on her side. She smiled. ‘I'm afraid I have some more work for you, sir. When the family house is sold, I intend to use the proceeds to purchase a small cottage or something of that nature. There must be sufficient monies left over to maintain a small household. '

Mr Beck nodded sagely as he tooled his carriage through the busy streets of Hungerford.

‘The money for the upkeep of the house was inherited from family funds, so I'm happy to use that,' she explained.

‘I trust you will be guided by my advice, Miss Colebrook.'

She smiled. Hopefully he would take that as a yes. She was not sure where she would go but it would be best for her peace of mind if she left the Hungerford area altogether. Now that Colly's father had come to his senses, Colly could, with a clear conscience, feel free to court a nice young woman. But that nice young woman would not be Juliana. By no stretch of the imagination could she be called
nice
– not when one took into consideration the fact that she had killed two men, even though Colly insisted she had done it in self-defence. Nor was she the pure, innocent lady of leisure society decreed he must have. If the authorities ever investigated the kidnappings and Ames's death more closely, they might enquire into her background. Thanks to Colly they would not discover her part in Ames's murder, but the ensuing gossip about the way her aunt and uncle had died rendered her unacceptable in the best circles. She had learned enough about English society to understand that everyone, from chambermaids to owners of great houses, thrived on gossip. And as a child she had learned from her father how rigidly English society adhered to its self-made rules. No. She was too old and too dark-skinned and she was a member of an iniquitous family. Heavens, she was even unsure which knife to use when eating fish! Worst of all: what if it got about that she had accompanied Colly as his wife on board the
Maximus
?

She must not allow Colly to continue their friendship. He needed to resume his rightful place in society. Association with her would not help him the way marriage to a carefully reared young Englishwoman would. Because she loved him she would let him go. No one had earned his happiness more than Colly Hetherington. A lump grew in her throat as she thought of how the Trewbridges and Hetheringtons would hold up a bevy of beauties for him to choose among. In time he would forget the
half-English, half-Portuguese nurse who had caused him so much trouble. His bride would be a pale, pure virgin who would know instinctively who was important, and who was not – someone like Lady Richelda. That lady would be confident in her knowledge of fish knives and whose title was the oldest. She would have a large dowry to enable Colly to purchase the estate he so longed for, not a silly little inheritance sufficient to buy a mere cottage. And she would have smooth, white hands. She would stroke those elegant hands across Colly's scars. (It was to be hoped she would not flinch.) Juliana prayed that this mythical, perfect creature would appreciate all his good qualities – his kindness, his gentle toughness and his innate sense of responsibility, because that young lady would be the luckiest person in the whole of England.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Colebrook?'

Good heavens! She had ignored poor Mr Beck for the entire journey back to Trewbridge. ‘I'm sorry, Mr Beck. I was wool gathering. Please allow me to offer you some refreshments.'

She must not let Colly suspect what she was planning. She dreaded his reaction, but she knew she was doing the right thing. For Colly, anyway. Ugh! Why did doing the right thing always feel so bad?

I
NSTEAD OF COMPILING a list of repairs for the empty cottage and the gatehouse, Colly found himself sitting at his desk gazing into space, wondering where he could find a romantic setting to ask Juliana for her hand in marriage. He wanted romantic, damn it all, because Juliana had had very little of it in her life. She
deserved
romantic. Perhaps the Lady's Garden would be appropriate? She loved flowers and that was perfumed wondrously at this time of year. Although most of the roses were well past their prime, a few hardy ones remained and the musky scent of clouds of pinks wafted on the breeze. Or maybe the summerhouse would be better for a proposal. That was it. He'd arrange for—

There was a light tap on the door and Twoomey bustled in. ‘Sir, your father is here to see you.'

His
father
? Now what? He hoped there would be no repeat of the maudlin contrition he'd had to face the other day. Unfilial it might be, but he had hoped it would be many months till he had to face his parents again.

‘Thank you, Twoomey. Please show him in.'

‘I think it best to tell you, Mr Hetherington, that Sir Ambrose is er … not in the best of humours.'

‘Good Lord, Twoomey. You unman me.'

Twoomey's lips twitched. ‘Yes, sir.'

The butler scarcely had time to step back out of the way before Ambrose Hetherington rushed into the study.

‘What do you have to say for yourself, boy?' he demanded.

‘Ah … about what?' Colly enquired cautiously. ‘Have a seat, sir.'

‘Mmph.' Sir Ambrose flung himself on to a ladderback chair and it rocked alarmingly.

‘Sir?' Colly enquired again.

‘You'll have to marry the girl.'

Colly wondered for one startling moment if his father was a mind-reader.

‘Which girl?' he asked.

‘That dark-eyed foreign woman who was here last time we called,' his father shouted.

‘Her name is Juliana Colebrook,' Colly said with narrowed eyes.

‘Whatever her name is now, it'd better be Hetherington as soon as possible.'

‘I've had that in mind for some time. Why the urgency, Father?'

He had not called his father by that title for many years and for a moment Sir Ambrose's eyes snapped shut. When he opened them again, they glistened. But he took only a minute to recover. ‘There's a filthy rumour flying about. We received a note yesterday. Unsigned of course.' Sir Ambrose all but spat the words.

‘If it's a rumour, ignore it. But what does it have to do with Juliana?'

‘The note said that you and she travelled from Portugal as husband and wife.'

‘Hell!' Colly exclaimed unguardedly.

‘Colwyn! You didn't! My God, wasn't the last débâcle enough for you?'

Colly stood up and strode towards his father. ‘Must I remind you that the débâcle before was not of
my
making?' In contrast to Sir Ambrose's voice, his was quiet. But Sir Ambrose must have heard the steel beneath the measured words, for he subsided, refusing to catch Colly's eye.

‘Well then,' he responded meekly, ‘I can see from your attitude that you admire the gel, so instead of hedging about, marry her. Then all will be well.'

‘That will not be necessary, sir.' A third voice joined the conversation. Colly and Sir Ambrose whipped around. Juliana stood in the doorway. ‘Excuse me. I saw you arrive, Sir Ambrose, and I wish to speak to you regarding your son.'

‘Eh?' Colly asked, startled into rudeness.

Juliana ignored him. ‘Sit down again, Sir Ambrose.' She patted a settle invitingly and Sir Ambrose sat, looking puzzled.

But not nearly as confused as Colly was. What was the little minx up to? Juliana disposed her skirts and Colly noticed she was wearing a new dress. Very nice it was, too. Instead of the worn drab gowns she'd been wearing since he met her, she was now garbed in a deep-blue gown of some silky fabric. It was reminiscent of her evening gown and Colly was very fond of that evening gown. Without a fichu it showed a lot more of Juliana than he was used to seeing. He hoped she had consigned her prim, boring fichus to the dustbin. Thank goodness she had broken down and used a little of her late uncle's money.

‘Your son,' she said to Sir Ambrose, ‘is the most honourable man of my acquaintance. When I cajoled him into acting as my husband' – here, Juliana's voice hitched a little – ‘he did not like the situation but felt obliged to help me. I was responsible for the masquerade and—'

‘Hush.' Colly had recovered his senses. He was exalted that she loved him enough to protect him from his father – in fact, he was damn near jumping for joy – but he did not want her to incriminate herself. After all, he hoped his father would soon become her father-in-law. Then he reminded himself to temper his enthusiasm. One never quite knew with Miss Juliana Colebrook. He had caught her looking at him once or twice recently with a serious, remote look on her face that he was unable to read. ‘Thank you for championing me, Miss Colebrook,' he said politely, trying to take the heat out of the discussion. ‘I'm sure my father understands. No doubt the anonymous letter gave him a severe shock.'

‘It did,' averred Sir Ambrose, wiping his forehead with a large handkerchief.

‘I think we both know this originated from Davidson, don't we, Juliana?' Colly murmured, touching her hand briefly. He noticed his father flick a quick glance at them, then look away. He could have sworn he saw a smirk edge the corners of his father's mouth, but he wasn't sure.

‘Well, whatever the circumstances, you must fix it,' Sir Ambrose said.

‘May I see the letter, Father?' Colly asked.

Sir Ambrose fished inside his coat pocket and produced a much-folded piece of paper. ‘Here. It's couched in terms that reek of blackmail.'

Colly scanned the lines. And raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes. I see what you mean. Leave it with me. I cannot spare the time to make enquiries today. I have work to do and the Trewbridges have been more than generous in giving me time to get my affairs in order.' He hoped Juliana would not object to being called an affair. He tapped the letter. ‘I know where the writer of this letter lives and tomorrow I'll see what he has to say for himself. It will have to be an overnight trip.' Colly pocketed the letter.

‘You're sure about his identity? Wouldn't do to go flourishing this around the wrong people, m'boy.'

‘I shan't flourish it, Father. I shall make discreet enquiries.' Lord, his father must think him an idiot.

Colly smiled at Juliana. ‘You may rest assured, Juliana, that we will settle this matter.'

Juliana looked at him, her chocolate eyes full of secrets. ‘Very well, sir.' She turned to his father. ‘Sir Ambrose, nuncheon will soon be served. Might I tempt you to stay and eat with us?'

By dint of gentle persuasion and a hand beneath his elbow urging him on, Juliana edged Sir Ambrose out the door. She cast Colly an eloquent glance over her shoulder and he was hard put to it not to laugh aloud. Her expression said, ‘I shall get rid of him for you.'

He settled back to work and this time accomplished all he had set out to do. Three hours later, feeling quite smug about his achievements, he strolled out to find Twoomey hovering in the foyer. ‘Ah, there you are, Twoomey. Is my father still here?'

‘No, sir. He left some time ago.'

‘I see.' Colly was not surprised his father had not said goodbye. Juliana had no doubt prevailed upon him to leave Colly alone to get on with his work. She was a gem. Her years of nursing stood her in good stead when it came to dealing with difficult people.

‘Is Miss Colebrook available, Twoomey?'

‘No, sir. She left with Sir Ambrose.'

‘
What
?' For one dreadful moment Colly's whole world skidded sideways.

‘Well, sir, Sir Ambrose and Miss Colebrook were getting on like a house on fire at nuncheon. Next minute I heard Sir Ambrose offering Miss Colebrook a ride in his carriage as far as Heather Hill. Then Miss Colebrook mentioned purchasing tickets on the stage for Keynsham, but Sir Ambrose said it was no bother, he'd convey her to Keynsham anyway. Then Miss Colebrook asked Tilly to pack her a valise.'

Twoomey must have listened assiduously to every word.

Colly rallied. ‘Did she, by Jove?' he exclaimed. ‘We'll see about that! I know what she's up to.' Then he recalled who he was talking to. ‘Ah, Twoomey, have you seen Lord Brechin anywhere about?'

Twoomey directed him to the stables, and Colly, feeling like the worst employee anyone could ever have, set out to beg John for even more time off.

But John just laughed. ‘Been expecting you, old boy,' he said, grinning. ‘M'mother warned me you'd be on the warpath when you discovered how neatly Miss Colebrook gave you the slip.' Then he laughed even harder. ‘Take the small carriage.'

‘Glad to afford you entertainment,' Colly said stiffly. ‘I should get as far as Heather Hill tonight, anyway. The weather is clear. Tomorrow I hope I can find Juliana in Cheltenham or thereabouts.'

‘Bring her back here, Colly. Tell her you shall have the gatehouse
when you marry. That might stand in your favour,' John said, grinning. ‘And Marguerite and Mama can at last plan your wedding. It will be a great relief all round.'

‘Know-it-all,' Colly muttered under his breath. He bolted from John's knowing grin and hurried to his bedchamber to pack a change of clothes. For a man who detested the word family he was hell bent on creating one of his own. Yes, he would eat his words later. Right now he must catch up with his skittish intended. As he stuffed a spare shirt into his valise he said aloud, ‘Get used to it, Miss Colebrook. You belong with me.'

Half an hour later he tooled the Trewbridge carriage along the Bath road towards Heather Hill.