CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After spending the day in bed, sipping tea, dozing, and quietly reading a novel, Julia began to feel embarrassed about her behaviour of the past few days. Seeing Edmund had given her a shock, naturally, but it did not now seem worth the trouble of summoning the Marquess all the way back from Cornwall. She had worked herself up into a ridiculous state and she only had her employer's sympathy to thank for the fact she hadn't been immediately dismissed as hysterical.
She rose from bed to take a peek out of her window and was reassured by the sight of a footman marching up and down in the garden, blowing on his hands to relieve the cold. Guilty as she felt to send the servants out into such freezing weather, she was glad to see her concerns being taken seriously. Surely Edmund would not dare approach Harding Hall now? She hoped he would give up and retreat back to London. Perhaps he would even forget her.
A tentative knock at the door heralded the arrival of Sally, the maid. "Pardon me, Miss, but the Marquess would like to know whether you're well enough to join him in the library."
"Please tell him I am quite recovered," said Julia, tingling with a mixture of nerves and something she didn't quite understand at the thought of seeing Charles again. "I will join him as soon as I am dressed."
"Thank you, Miss." Sally bobbed a quick curtsy and was gone. Julia wished she'd thought to ask her what sort of mood the Marquess was in. He'd been so kind to her that morning – too kind, almost – but he might have reconsidered things now.
How could she make him see that there was serious danger afoot, without revealing her connection to Edmund?
Julia stared into the mirror, caught by a horrifying realisation midway through brushing her hair. The answer was clear: she couldn't.
For the sake of Annabelle's safety, and the safety of everyone at Harding Hall, she needed to tell Charles the truth. The time for honesty had come. Her brother was a dangerous man with a contempt for the aristocracy that ran deep. Hers was not the only life at stake.
Julia pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle an angry sob. So, she would never be free of Edmund. She had always suspected it, but her months at Harding Hall had soothed her into thinking that perhaps she had managed to forge a new life for herself. A new life she would be allowed to keep.
It was not to be. Tears wouldn't help her.
Julia finished dressing and went down to the library with a new resolve in her heart. Let the consequences be what they may: she would not put the inhabitants of Harding Hall in danger any longer.
Charles was sitting at his desk, a book in his hand. Julia felt a strange jolt as she realised that it was the very book she had been reading that morning – The Bride of Lammermoor by Sir Walter Scott. Charles looked up in time to catch her smile.
"Has something amused you, Miss Mallory?"
"Only that we have the same taste in novels," she answered, taking a seat in response to his gesture towards the chair. Charles laughed.
"You must keep this a secret from Lord Kit. I can't have my masculine reputation impugned."
"On the contrary," said Julia, "I think the world would be a much happier place if more men read novels rather than spending their days traipsing around the countryside, hunting and drinking and –" She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, my lord, I spoke out of turn."
"Not at all," said Charles with a wry grimace. "I don't doubt that you're absolutely right. Well, much as I would love to discuss the intricacies of Walter Scott with you, Miss Mallory, I have asked you here to talk about my daughter."
"Of course." And it was perfectly natural that Annabelle was all he wanted to talk about. There was no need for the flicker of disappointment in Julia's heart at all.
"I took the opportunity of passing some time with her today," said Charles. "Kit did a...rather assiduous job of keeping me updated, but he does not have the same priorities as I do. I must confess I don't care a bit whether Annabelle has memorised her times tables or not. I am interested in her comportment, her accomplishments in terms of music and art, and above all her happiness." He beamed, a sunlit beam which filled Julia with warmth. "I am pleased to tell you that I was simply amazed to see the progress she has made. Her manners – her attention span – her skill with a paintbrush – they have all undergone the most impressive material change. I never imagined that simply employing a governess would have such a positive effect. I wish I had found you years ago."
Julia would have appreciated this praise much more if she were not so distracted by the thought of her impending confession. "Thank you, my lord, but there is something you should know..."
"What is it?" Charles rose from his seat and walked around the desk, sitting in front of her. It was a casual pose more suited to a schoolboy than the Marquess of Chiltern. Julia felt a rush of affection for him that left her speechless. Charles, seeming to understand, bent down and took her hands in his. "The most important thing to me, after Annabelle, is that you are happy here. I fear that Harding Hall has little to offer someone used to London's finest society."
Julia laughed bitterly. How far from the truth he was!
"There is something the matter," said Charles. Suddenly, his hand was on her face, lifting her to look him in the eye. His gaze pierced her. "Tell me. Would you like more time to yourself? A visit to your friends in Westbourne Hall? After the change you have wrought in Annabelle, I am minded to give you anything you desire."
Julia's lips parted, despite herself. She licked them slowly, feeling her mouth dry with nerves.
With Charles standing here before her, pinning her to the chair with the intensity of his gaze, warming her cheek in the palm of his hand, there was truthfully only one thing she wanted.
It was as if he read her mind. Slowly, tenderly, his thumb brushing a gentle line from the corner of her mouth to her collarbone, Charles leaned in and kissed her.
Julia was so amazed that for a long moment she did absolutely nothing. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Her world was filled with the hammering of her heart, with Charles's lips, with the rough but wonderful sensation of his chin on hers.
He broke away. "Forgive me, Miss Mallory, I..."
"You may call me Julia," she said. She felt so light-hearted that she was amazed she was able to form words at all. "If it would please you."
A smile, small and shy, turned up the corner of Charles's mouth. "Yes, that would please me. That would please me greatly. And you – you must call me Charles. Only when we are alone, mind. I would not want the servants to receive the wrong impression."
And what is the right impression? Julia wondered dizzily.
"I do have one request," she said, forcing down the words please kiss me again. Her hand went involuntarily to her lips, remembering how strangely soft his had been.
"Anything," said Charles.
"The Duchess of Westbourne is nearing her time of confinement. When the child arrives, I should very much like to go and visit them. Only for a short while."
"Ah." Charles's face darkened. "A dangerous time for a woman."
Only that morning he had told her that he'd lost his own wife in childbirth! Julia wished she had not mentioned it at all.
"Of course you must go," said Charles, shaking off his momentary shadow. "When will the child be born? It must be quite soon."
"A few months more. It is expected in February."
"Then you shall have a week in February to visit with them. I will give you a footman to accompany you on the roads. It is a grim time of year to travel, but a new baby..." Again, the shadow of pain passed behind his eyes. "A baby is always a cause for celebration, and rightly so."
His eyes slipped past her, focusing on something on the wall above her head. The back of Julia's neck prickled. She glanced back.
A portrait hung on the wall. A beautiful woman, blonde-haired and kind-eyed, sitting on a grassy knoll, surrounded by flowers.
Julia knew without asking who the woman was. She got to her feet, suddenly desperate to leave. "If that's all, my lord."
"Charles, please," he reminded her. Julia struggled against the strangeness of it.
"Charles. May I be dismissed?"
"You are not my servant, that I should dismiss you."
"All the same, I... I would like to write to the Duchess at once to tell her the good news."
"Of course." Charles moved towards her again. Julia stepped back, even though every part of her was straining towards him, fascinated by the idea of another kiss. "Julia, I want us... I want us to be friends."
"Yes, Charles." Apparently she had been turned into a complete ninny by the force of a single, close-lipped kiss. If Julia were alone, she would shake herself.
"I will not apologise for kissing you," he said. "But I think it is best if we both forget what has happened here today."
"I couldn't agree more." What was she saying? Her heart had never agreed with anything less. But her head... yes, her head knew it had been no more than a moment of passion, easily given away by the type of man Charles was, and just as easily forgotten.
She would rather die than let him know how deeply it had affected her.
"It's for Annabelle's sake," said Charles apologetically. "Romances can be so messy."
"I wouldn't know," Julia admitted. Her life in London had given her no occasion for romance. Something flared in Charles's eyes at those words, something hot and eager. Something he extinguished as rapidly as it appeared.
"Friends, then?" he asked, extending his hand. Julia hesitated before taking it. She did not know what she might ignite between them by touching her skin to his once more.
"Friends," she said, giving him a firm handshake that would not have disgraced a man.
She did not realise until she was back in her own room that she had not said a single word about Edmund.