Chapter Five

Her home lost? It couldn’t be. Mary hurried past Mrs. Pomfrey and her sisters as they sang Christmas carols together, altos blending with sopranos. But one look at her mother sitting and listening made her rethink her questions. She could only hope for the sake of her mother’s pride that few noticed the fingers trembling on the arms of her chair, the brittle smile. Mary slipped in beside her and wheeled her back a little way from the quartet.

“You didn’t have to do that,” her mother murmured with a sigh. “I’m all right.”

“But you will be better for a moment’s rest,” Mary said. “I am so proud of you, Mother. You are still the perfect hostess. I just don’t want you to overtire yourself.”

“You are good to me.” Her mother unlatched her grip on the arm of the chair and patted Mary’s arm. “Are you enjoying the party?”

More than she’d expected, despite her inability to maneuver Julian under the kissing bough. What was it about Christmas to raise such hope, such joy? To remember all the things she treasured from her childhood—family, friends, fun. Yet how much more glorious it would have been to announce her engagement to all those who had known her growing up. She could imagine Julian looking so adoring as he declared his love in front of them all. But she couldn’t confess her dreams to her mother.

“I’m enjoying it well enough,” Mary said.

Her mother nodded toward the hearth. “Mr. Godwin looks as if he could use some company.”

Mary shook her head. “You are unaccountably devoted to Mr. Godwin.”

“He has potential,” her mother said, and Mary thought she might be one of the few to reach that conclusion.

“Perhaps,” Mary said. “But I must speak to you about another matter. There is an ugly rumor circulating. Tell me, Mother. Are we beholden to Cousin Nigel?”

Her mother fussed with the lap blanket Mr. Cowls must have draped over her skirts, the blue and green plaid of the wool dark against her white gloves. “Not at the moment.”

The room felt colder. “But someday.”

“When I die,” her mother murmured. Then she straightened and went on in a stronger voice. “Should I die, your cousin inherits the house and all its contents. My dower arrangements last only that long.”

Mary could not catch her breath. “And if I outlive you?”

Her mother’s smile was as tremulous as her fingers. “You will be happily married in your own home, so the matter need not concern you.”

Mary swallowed. “And if I am yet unwed?”

“If you are younger than one-and-twenty, you will have to have a guardian. If Lord Farley allows, you could stay here as your cousin’s ward, under his protection.”

“Under his thumb, you mean,” Mary said.

Her mother nodded. “As his ward, you would have to do what he says.”

It was impossible, unthinkable. She had five years until she reached her majority. How could she survive five years under Lord Farley’s benign neglect or, worse, with Nigel pecking at her like an angry rooster?

It wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. Her mother would be fine. She just needed rest, the right physician.

“That’s why I’ve been encouraging you to choose a groom, Mary,” her mother explained. “I want to know you’ll have someone dependable at your side should the worst happen.”

Mary squeezed her mother’s hand. “I understand, Mother, but you’ll pardon me if I doubt Chester Godwin is all that dependable.” She did look his way then. He was trying to wiggle his shoulder pads back into place, making it appear as if he was jigging to the tune of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” Perhaps he would make a good husband someday, but not for her.

Her mother shook her head. “He has a reliable income, and he lives in the area. With you beside him, he could go far. I know he may seem common to you, but there are no perfect gentlemen.”

Now her gaze strayed to Julian. He had returned to the great hall and was speaking with an older couple, his look engaging. Others drifted closer to hear what he had to say.

“Not even Julian Mayes,” her mother said.

Mary started, then gave her a wry smile. “Sorry, Mother, but I will have to disagree with you there.”

Her mother sighed. “Oh, Mary. I have always liked Julian. He’s bright and charming, and he’s grown into a fine-looking man. But he has ambitions far beyond Surrey. I’m not sure he’d be willing to put them aside for you.”

Mary drew back. “And why should he? He has every ability to make his mark on the world. I don’t intend to hinder him; I want to help him. You said I could be the making of Chester Godwin. Why not Julian instead?”

“Because,” her mother said with a look his way, “Julian Mayes thinks he needs no one’s help, least of all yours. Set your sights on someone who will put you first. I fear he lacks that capacity.”

Mary was set to argue. Julian loved her. He must love her. He just hadn’t realized it yet. But Dr. Parkins was approaching, and her mother rallied to sit higher.

He did not appear to notice as he lay a hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Rose, I’m not sure this party was well advised. Perhaps you should rest.”

“Perhaps you should find better treatment,” Mary countered.

“Mary,” her mother admonished.

The physician straightened. An angular fellow, with sandy hair and a neat beard and mustache, he had a way of looking at Mary that made her feel as if she were a child again.

“Rest assured I am doing all I can for your mother,” he said. “Enjoy the party.” With a nod, he moved on.

“You deserve better, Mother,” Mary said. And so did she.

* * *

Funny. Julian’s neighbors were all fine people, but he remembered them as bigger, wiser. They seemed to have shrunk, or perhaps he had grown. He would never want to be like Godwin and decry them as country bumpkins. He just had other matters on his mind now than the timing of the frost on the fields and the size of the new bell in the church tower. His mentor would expect him to consult on cases of merit—larceny, criminal conversation, even murder. He would have to settle estates, arrange dowers, confirm inheritances. He’d help pen new laws, revise old ones. He would be working with some of the most titled, wealthy, and famous members of the land.

But first he had to make sure Mary was all right. The revelation of the estate’s future had to have left her reeling. She needed to know she could count on his support, even if he could offer nothing more at present.

He turned his steps in her direction and found her cousin blocking his way.

“Good of you to come, Mayes,” he said as if he had had anything to do with the party. “Despite the unusual circumstances.”

“Mrs. Rose has held her Christmas Eve party since before I was born,” Julian reminded him. “I don’t find it so unusual, sir.”

He clasped his hands over his bulging belly. “To be sure, to be sure. What I find unusual is that she should insist on hosting it when she is clearly unwell. What is the point of such an extravagance when the money should go to her care?”

“Begrudging her even this moment of cheer, are you?” Julian couldn’t resist saying.

He stiffened, hands falling. “Certainly not. All things come to those who wait. Rose Hill will be mine soon enough. I merely wished to save you the trouble.”

“Trouble?” The man was impossible. “What trouble should I find in the transition?”

He sniffed. “Well, your neighbors were glad to relate how many times you have paid my cousin attentions in the past. Best to steer a wide berth now, if you take my meaning.”

Julian drew himself up. “Not in the slightest, but I will warn you, sir, of the inadvisability of slandering the lady in my presence.”

Rose held up both hands, betraying reddish stains on the palms of his gloves. “I only speak the truth. Surely you’ve noticed she’s too high in the instep. She is due for a fall. As a gentleman, I would not like to see you caught up in it.”

“As a gentleman, you should be doing your best to prevent it,” Julian argued. “She is a member of your family, sir, and you are the titular head. It is your duty to protect her.”

He sighed. “Would that that were so. According to the local magistrate, the terms of my late uncle’s will give Mary and her mother far too much responsibility. It has bowed them, I fear. I would step in if I could, but my hands are tied.” He moved closer, eyes brightening. “But you are a solicitor. You would understand such things—how inheritances work and how they can be . . . managed.”

Julian fixed him in place with a look. “Are you suggesting I attempt to nullify a legal document?”

“No, no, nothing so difficult.” Rose spread his hands. “But if another magistrate could be persuaded to offer a different interpretation, or perhaps appoint a different guardian over Mary given her mother’s ill health, it might suit all involved. As it stands, the old family friend who was appointed in the role of guardian rarely even visits. I’m certain Lord Farley would find it a relief if I were to serve the function instead.”

And give this miscreant more reason to trouble Mary and her mother? Over Julian’s dead body.

Mary didn’t need this oily creature watching over her. She was doing perfectly fine on her own, if the flawlessly executed party was any indication. And if she did need help in the future, she should turn to someone who respected her, wanted the best for her, cared about her.

Like he did.

Once again, the force of his feelings overwhelmed him, and he thought the very floor was shifting under his feet. He’d tried so hard to be more, yet one look at Mary and all his pretensions were undone. Why hadn’t he seen it before now? Mary was his to protect, his to encourage.

His to love.

“So?” Rose asked, oblivious to Julian’s tumultuous thoughts. “Is such a thing possible? Would you be willing to undertake it, for a fee, of course?”

Julian smiled at him. “Such an undertaking is illegal, the attempt punishable by death or transport. I could have you up on charges even for suggesting it.”

Rose stepped back, eyes widening. “I’m sure I never . . .”

“But you did,” Julian said, keeping his voice pleasant. “The exact legal term for falsifying a will is forgery. Trying to enlist my aid is akin to bribing an officer of the court. And I shudder to think how our local magistrate, the Duke of Wey, will react when he hears you tried to circumvent his decision. Shall I go on?”

Sweat trickled down the side of Rose’s face. “No, no indeed. It was only idle speculation, sir. You mistake me if you thought I would suggest anything---”

“Untoward?” Julian offered. “Larcenous? Treacherous?”

Each word sent him back another step. Julian closed the distance.

“If I hear that you have spoken of this plan to another person, I will have you hauled before the magistrate. Inflict your presence on someone else before I lose my temper.”

Rose rallied, head coming up. “You have no right to order me about. I am the one with the power here. I will not allow you to marry my cousin. I will tell Mrs. Rose that I forbid it.”

“You may tell her what you wish. Like your preposterous attempt to negate your uncle’s will, nothing you do will stand. Now, leave off, or I will be obliged to call you out.”

He gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Swords or pistols?” Julian challenged. “I prefer the sword myself. A fellow can bleed to death from a dozen cuts. A ball in the chest ends things far too quickly.”

“You’re mad.” Dragging out a handkerchief, he mopped his brow, then turned and hurried away.

Julian looked for Mary. She had been standing near her mother, but she must have moved while he was arguing with her detestable cousin. She must be warned.

But she wasn’t near the iced gingerbread house gracing the refreshment table or overseeing the installation of the Yule log to cries of delight. He angled his head to peer out the closest window. The snowball fight had dwindled, a few stray white puffs shooting through the air. He couldn’t spot a crimson cloak among the combatants.

How had she disappeared from her own party?