Loving Julia (24 page)

“Was Chloe … all right before her mother died?”

Mrs. Johnson nodded her head. “Fine as sixpence. A bonny little lass she was. So bright and pretty, we all petted her up something awful. Then, from the very day Miss Elizabeth was killed, Miss Chloe has been like you see her today. Like I said, it’s a real tragedy.”

“Has she always been so terrified of … her father?” Julia hesitated over the question, frightened by what the answer might be.

“Just since milady was killed. Miss Chloe started screaming like a crazed animal when my lord went up to break the news of what had happened to her right after he brought Miss Elizabeth home. She started screaming as soon as she saw him, before he said a word, so it wasn’t because he told her about her mother being dead. All we can figure is she must have seen him carrying milady’s body into the house from her window, and associated him with milady’s death. That’s all we can figure.” Mrs. Johnson looked uncomfortable suddenly. “What else could it be?” The very way she said it lacked conviction, and Julia wondered how much Mrs. Johnson had speculated about whether or not Chloe had some intuitive knowledge of her father’s guilt in the matter of Elizabeth’s death. Even old time retainers like the Johnsons weren’t proof against such gossip.

Mrs. Johnson changed the subject then, as if afraid she had said too much. She and Julia chatted about desultory things until finally they had to get ready for dinner. But long after that conversation Julia mulled over what had been said. Mrs. Johnson had provided Sebastian with at least two good motives to murder his wife, whether she knew it or not. The first was money, and the second was Elizabeth’s apparent inability or unwillingness to give him a male heir. But just because Sebastian might have had cause to wish himself rid of Elizabeth didn’t mean he had done the deed, Julia told herself. There was absolutely no proof that he had killed his wife, and until any was found Julia refused to convict him in her own mind. Despite the way he had treated her she still couldn’t believe him guilty of murder.

Winter came and went in much the same way as fall had. When it was finally followed by unmistakable signs of approaching spring, Julia was amazed to realize she had been at White Friars almost a year. She hardly ever remembered the old hard days in Jem’s loft, and she never thought of herself as anything but Julia Stratham, a lady. In her own mind that’s who she was, and she would never, ever go back.

The pleasant days with Sebastian the summer before were a scarcely thought of memory as well. She could not remember the good times without also remembering that shameful night he had taken her virginity and the even more painful morning when she had come to him full of happiness and love and he had spurned her. She supposed that she must see him again someday, as he was nominally her guardian, but until then she would not allow thoughts of him to taint her days. If at times she couldn’t help it, she at least comforted herself with the hope that eventually that too beautiful face with the celestial eyes would cease to appear with such lifelike vividness in her mind.

Rainy, muddy March was halfway through when the carriage bowled up White Friars’ circular drive. Julia, who had been walking, felt her heart stop when she saw it. They had had no visitors in all the months she had been in residence except for two men who had arrived within days of her own arrival. They had been closeted with Sebastian for perhaps an hour and then gone on their way again, and no outsiders had stopped since. Now the only person Julia could think might be arriving was Sebastian. Had he come back at last?

Her heartbeat returned, faster than before. Her first impulse was to run toward that carriage as fast as her feet would take her. Her second was to run in the opposite direction, to hide herself on the heath and never return. But Julia had learned quite a lot about self-possession in the weeks and months that Sebastian had been gone, and she did neither. She finished the ramble that she had just begun, and returned wind-blown to the house some forty-five minutes later. If she had secretly hoped to impress Sebastian with how unconcerned with his return she was, she had wasted her time.

Because the carriage brought not Sebastian but a message from him. She was, his note informed her tersely, to present herself in town in two weeks’ time.

XIX

The journey to London took two days in the closed carriage that Sebastian had sent for her. With only Emily for company, Julia soon felt she was going quietly mad. The country-bred girl, excited by this first venture beyond the confines of Bishop’s Lynn, chattered constantly, exclaiming over nearly everything she saw. Since she had experienced much the same thing in reverse when Sebastian had brought her into the countryside after a lifetime spent in London, Julia was sympathetic to a point. But even heartfelt sympathy could not quell the urge she felt to ask Emily to hush for just five minutes. Since kindness forbade her to do any such thing, Julia spent most of the journey praying that it would end.

But as evening fell and they entered the outskirts of London, bowling along the familiar narrow streets and crowded thoroughfares, Julia sudddenly wished that the trip would go on forever. The thought of seeing Sebastian again filled her with dread.

When the carriage rocked to a stop at the address on Lisle Street, Julia made no move to alight. Instead she delayed by leaning to look out the window. Her stomach churned with what she suspected was nerves and what she insisted to herself was travel sickness. To her surprise she saw that their destination was a neat little row house that looked cozily welcoming in the glow of the torches burning at either end of the street. It was a charming dwelling, but it did not look like any place Sebastian might live. A footman opened the door and let down the carriage steps. Julia could delay no longer. Frowning, she accepted his proffered assistance and stepped from the carriage.

Her anxiety over meeting Sebastian again was now overlayed with a different unease. Upon first reading his message she had noted that the address at which she was instructed to present herself was not that of his house in Grosvenor Square. She had guessed it was a lawyer’s office or some other business establishment. But this was definitely someone’s home with ruffled curtains and pots of big pink geraniums on either side of the door. She could not by any stretch of the imagination picture Sebastian living in this pretty little house. From her knowledge of the high and mighty Earl of Moorland, he took grand surroundings as much for granted as he did air to breathe. She made a face. Standing there wondering who owned the house was only another way of buying time. Sooner or later she would have to go in—and face Sebastian.

Was he even now inside? That was the question that drove all other considerations from her mind. She stood hesitating at the bottom of the modest set of stone steps that led up to the entrance, staring at that white painted door with the simple brass knocker as if it were the gateway to hell. There was no way to know without going in herself, of course.

Taking a deep breath to quiet the butterflies that were doing flips in her stomach, she climbed the steps, a thankfully silent Emily at her heels. The door opened as she approached it. A man stood there, but it was not Sebastian. A short, thin, cadaverous fellow in a butler’s uniform was looking her over in a way she could not quite like. She stared back at him nonplussed while his eyes passed quickly over what little of her body he could see, shrouded as it was by her hooded cloak.

“Mrs. Stratham?” His voice was extremely polite. Perhaps she had just imagined the look in his eyes.

She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and responded with a cool affirmative to the title that was still a little strange to her. He bowed his head as she passed by him into the entry hall, which was charmingly decorated in whites and yellows but was still nothing like what she would have expected of one of the earl’s residences. But, of course, it must be. There was no possibility of a mistake. The butler even knew her name.

“I am Granville, ma’am. Please call upon me for anything you may need. The staff here is rather small, just a cook-housekeeper, two maids, and myself. And now your own maid, of course.”

Behind them the footmen who had accompanied Julia were carrying in her bags. Granville raised his voice to a surprising degree, shouting out, “Mary!” A plump girl responded, and Granville directed her to show Mrs. Stratham upstairs.

Julia could stand the suspense no longer. “Is my lord Moorland here?” She had to know if he was liable to appear at any moment like a demon in a puff of smoke.

Granville’s face took on an expression that she couldn’t quite decipher. The look was completely devoid of respect; instead she could almost have sworn he leered. But that was impossible, of course. No servant would do such a thing in response to an innocent query from a member of his master’s family. It would be grounds for dismissal. She must be overly tired, and letting her imagination run away with her.

“His lordship left orders that word was to be sent around to

him as soon as you arrived. No doubt he will be with you in a very short while.”

The words were expressionless, but there was something there—she was sure of it. A kind of contempt? Perhaps this man somehow knew of her background? But how could that be? She was very sure that Sebastian would never tell anyone. With a cool thank you she followed the plump maid named Mary upstairs, followed by Emily, who carried her traveling case.

The house was quite small, Julia saw, though the bedroom to which Mary showed her was spacious enough. It occupied the entire front of the upper level of the house, and like the downstairs was decorated cheerily in shades of yellow and white. An enormous bed dominated the far wall, and Julia stopped as she entered, staring at it. Its headboard and footboard were of gilt, and bore carved images of naked females cavorting with chubby cupids amidst hearts and twining vines. The bed hangings were of riotous floral print whose pirmary color was lush pink, and pink velvet curtains which could be closed to give the bed’s occupant complete privacy hung from the canopy.

All in all the bed was like nothing she had ever seen before, and she found it rather shocking. She pictured Sebastian sleeping amidst the profusion of pink velvet and flowers, and her mind boggled. It was harder and harder to believe that this house was his. Perhaps it belonged to a friend, and he was merely borrowing it so that their meeting could be private?

“Miss Julia, would you look at that? Those ladies don’t have on any clothes at all!” Emily’s shocked whisper from behind her told Julia that the maid also was stunned by the bed. But if the house and servants belonged to someone besides Sebastian, she did not want to inadvertently insult them by seeming to dislike their taste in furnishings.

“Shh, Emily,” she whispered back, and turned to look as Mary pointed out the location of the room’s conveniences in a voice that was surprisingly coarse for a maid in a gentleman’s establishment.

“I’m sure you’d like to change out of your travel dirt and bathe, ma’am, so I’ll leave you alone now.” Mary finished, heading for the door. With one hand on the knob she stopped, and turned back as though struck by an afterthought. “Would you like me to take one of your nightdresses downt’ the kitchen and press it? Travelin’ is that hard on clothes.”

“You can press a dress for me, Mary, thank you.” She assumed the maid didn’t know Sebastian planned to visit her that evening. “And bring some hot water to wash in. A full bath will have to wait until later, I’m afraid. His lordship will be arriving shortly and I would not wish to keep him waiting.”

“No, ma’am.” A little grin played about Mary’s too full mouth. Julia, noting it, frowned a little as she turned to Emily and told her which dress to remove from one of the trunks that the footmen were even now carrying into the room. Perhaps the girl was simple, she thought, puzzled by the maid’s expression. But, remembering the butler’s attitude, she shook her head. Perhaps the entire staff was simple.

Emily handed over a dress of fine black silk, which was indeed sadly wrinkled, and Mary bore it away with her. Another maid appeared at the door momentarily with a can of warm water, and Julia set about making a hasty toilette. She wanted to be ready when Sebastian arrived. Knowing him, he was quite capable of entering her bedchamber without ceremony if she kept him waiting. The thought made her heart speed up. Seated at the small dressing table in her underclothes, Julia stared into the mirror with unseeing eyes as Emily brushed out and repinned her hair.

The image of Sebastian rose up to suffocate her. She had banished it with such success for all these months, but now it would no longer be denied. He had shamed and humiliated her, and she despised him. She was furious at him. She resented his cavalier way of ordering her about; the note by which he had summoned her had been terse to the point of rudeness. But the very fact that he had requested her presence, however impolitely, made her heart pound so that she feared it might beat itself to death in her chest. She hated him for the way he had treated her—but perhaps he was ready to offer her some explanation for his behavior that would ameliorate her hatred.

A tap on the door announcing the return of her dress interrupted her thoughts.

“My lord has arrived,” Mary said with another of those annoying grins as she handed over the dress with a curtsy and slid back out the door.

Julia, watching the door close behind the maid, felt a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. She took another deep, calming breath, and allowed Emily to throw the dress over her head so that not a hair of her elegant upsweep was disturbed. Standing before the cheval glass as Emily fastened the dress up the back, her fingers were trembling. Quickly she clenched them into fists. She refused to let Sebastian see her agitated. Her pride demanded that she be as icily in command of herself as he always was. He might be the earl, but she could match him in dignity.

“You look lovely, Miss Julia,” Emily said at last, standing back. Julia, smiled, thanking her, and turned away from the mirror. To tell the truth, she was so nervous that she could hardly look at her own reflection. If only her agitation would not show.