CHAPTER SIXTEEN
February, 1821
Although Westbourne Hall was her father's ancestral home, Julia had never had the chance to see it. The grey February morning when she finally arrived did little to lift the forbidding aura which hung about the ancient grey stones. Julia was hurried inside under the cover of a cloak held up by the coachman and her footman before she had the chance to take in the vastness of the building.
She was very glad, on entering the echoing hallway, to see her old friend Alice Sharp taking off her coat. Of course, she was Alice Sharp no longer – she had married in the summer. It was Mrs Kirby now, wife of a man of wild reputation and, if Julia was any judge, still wilder affection for his bride.
Julia allowed herself only the faintest pang of jealousy for Alice's good fortune in finding a loving husband of her own station.
"Julia!" cried Alice, racing forward to embrace her. "It is so good to see you! Are you well? How was the journey from Chiltern? I am so excited to meet my nephew, little George! I hardly know what to do with myself!"
Behind her, Captain Kirby approached Julia with an outstretched hand and a gentle smile. He was dressed in his militia red, as though he had only just left his regiment. "Miss Mallory," he said, kissing her hand. "I am very glad you made it. Westbourne will be pleased as well."
"Is that my darling Mrs Kirby?" exclaimed a voice they all recognised. An inner door was flung open, and the Dowager Duchess of Westbourne appeared.
"Not only me," grinned Alice. "Look who has arrived only seconds after Kirby and I came through the door!"
The Duchess fluttered her hands in the air in delight, not knowing who to embrace first. "Oh, Alice! Oh, Julia! Oh, and if it isn't the dashing Captain Kirby, too! Come and kiss me, my dears. I am quite overcome to see you all."
A man Julia recognised as Harry's valet appeared at the top of the stairs. "The Duke wishes me to announce that his son and heir is ready to meet his Aunt Alice and Uncle Kirby," he announced.
Alice gave Julia a wink. "I shall tell them you're here," she promised. "You'll be summoned up before too long, I expect."
She took Kirby's hands and practically ran up the stairs. The Duchess sighed after them fondly.
"Such a lovely young couple," she said. "I rather fancy you and I had a hand in their betrothal, Julia, for, as I'm sure you recall, it was after that nasty business with your brother – whose name we shall not mention here – that they were engaged. I do hope it won't be too long before they have a child of their own."
Julia forced a smile onto her face. She had not anticipated how difficult it would be to hear about the marital happiness and new babies of her dear friends. She and Charles had the most wonderful understanding between them, but it went without saying that having children was completely impossible. They were not married, and could never be, as long as Julia was Edmund's sister.
"I want to hear all your news," said the Duchess, "as soon as I have had just one last peek at little baby George. I will just dash on up there and make sure they know you've arrived. Wait here, my dear. I'll call you up in a jiffy."
The Duchess had barely begun making her way up the stairs when a great bellow rang through the house.
"Julia! Julia! Hello, Julia!"
There was no mistaking that voice. It was Harry, Duke of Westbourne. Julia started up the stairs after the Duchess, resolving to let none of her jealousy show. She was, truthfully, extremely happy for Catherine and Harry. She refused to let her own unfortunate circumstances dictate the only time she had to spend with her friends.
"Well, it certainly sounds as if your cousin cannot wait to see you," said the Dowager Duchess. "Go on ahead of me. You have young legs and will manage the stairs at twice my speed."
Julia obeyed, following the sound of Harry's voice. She reached the upstairs corridor and was just wondering which way to go, when Catherine, the Duchess herself, appeared. "Ah, Julia. I'm so glad you could come." Catherine kissed Julia warmly on the cheek. Although she had now been a Duchess for some months, she had developed none of the pride that too often marred those in high positions. Julia felt her misgivings melt away. Yes, she was happy for Catherine. That was all that mattered.
"We're all through here," said Catherine, directing her to the right door. Julia poked her head in shyly. The little scene she found inside was one she could hardly bear intruding upon. Alice sat on the sofa, the new-born baby cradled in her arms. Captain Kirby was leaning over her, caught in the act of placing a tender kiss on Alice's forehead.
"Let me through! Let me through!" cried the Dowager Duchess, bustling past Julia at a pace which belied the age in her legs. "I want another look at our little angel."
She lifted George out of Alice's arms without as much as a thank you and carried him over to Julia.
"Your young cousin," she said, holding him up for inspection. Julia gasped in delight, but Harry, behind her, rolled his eyes.
"Aunt, are you auditioning to replace our nursemaid? I've barely seen young George out of your arms since the moment he arrived."
"Nor should you," the Duchess said placidly, passing him gently to Julia. "I intend to see him brought up knowing all the traditions of the great house of Westbourne. Not as a wild creature like you and your reckless brothers!"
"We'll see about that." Harry gave his aunt a wink. Julia barely noticed. She was lost in the tiny features of George, Earl of Larksley, the newest member of her newfound family. He was a truly angelic baby, with bright blue eyes that winked sleepily as she rocked him in her arms. "But Cousin Julia," Harry continued, as though the wonder of his new-born son hardly affected him at all, "it's so good to see you again! Tell me, how does the Marquess treat you?"
Of all the questions he could have asked, this was the hardest one to answer. Charles treated Julia well. Charles treated Julia so well that she could not dream of anything better – except, of course, when there were other people in the room. Then, he treated her as one of the staff. And rightly so. Whenever Julia had cause to think of him – and she thought of him all too often – it caused her equal parts pleasure and despair.
In answer to Harry's question, all she could do was nod. A faint blush spread over her cheeks, that she hoped was not too revealing. "He's a very good man, Your Grace."
"None of that," said Harry, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "We are family, Julia. You may call me Harry or you may call me Westbourne, but never My stuffy Grace! How many times must I tell you?"
Julia blushed still more deeply. "At least once more, Your Grace."
"But look at those roses in your cheeks!" said the Dowager Duchess, delightedly. "Is there more to tell us about your new life than we might suppose, Julia?"
Alarm jolted down Julia's spine. She shook her head adamantly, knowing that her firm denial would only serve to fuel the Duchess's keen sense for gossip. Fortunately, at that moment, baby George let out an enormous yawn. The Dowager Duchess was completely distracted.
"The little mite is falling asleep!"
"Give him back to me," said Catherine. "I'll put him to bed."
She glided from the room, looking radiantly beautiful despite the tired shadows under her eyes. The Dowager Duchess followed close on her heels.
Alice rose to take Julia's hands. "Are you truly happy in Chiltern?"
"Happier than I can tell you," Julia whispered. She had been longing for a confidante since Christmas, but, even in her letters to Alice, she had not dared hint at what had passed between her and Charles. Now that they were together again, she might be able to catch Alice alone and finally tell someone the truth.
But as the week went by, Julia found that catching Alice alone was easier said than done. She was still revelling in her position as the newlywed of the family, and everywhere she went, Kirby followed her like a faithful spaniel. In addition, Harry had made an important request of Julia which had taken up a great deal of her time.
He had commissioned her to paint a portrait of Catherine and the new baby. Julia was glad that she had brought the lovely set of brushes Charles had given her for Christmas. The Westbourne family had all been so kind to her, and she had only the smallest means of repaying them. It was impossible to fit all of her gratitude into a single painting, but she intended to try.
It was on the following morning, as she arranged Catherine and George by the window to take a preliminary sketch, that Harry broached again the topic of the old Duke of Westbourne's letters.
"This is a delicate matter," said Harry, pacing around the room with a distracted air. Every now and again he would glance towards his wife and receive a loving smile. Occasionally, his gaze fell on Julia's sketch, and he gave a brisk nod of approval. "I trust you will not speak of this to anyone until we know exactly how things stand. Least of all the Dowager Duchess. What I'm about to tell you could hurt her deeply."
"Perhaps it would be better if you did not tell me at all," suggested Julia, not lifting her eyes from her work. "I would not like to keep a secret from my friend."
"I think you will understand when I tell you what I have discovered," said Harry. "It concerns your father, after all. I hardly feel right taking full responsibility for the contents of his letters without at least asking you what you think. I was only his cousin. You are his daughter."
"A daughter he never acknowledged," Julia pointed out mildly.
"All the same," said Harry, "I am afraid I am about to tell you one of the Westbourne family secrets, even if it achieves nothing other than unburdening my own soul."
Julia smiled wryly. "Well, since you have made up your mind, you had better tell me what it is."
Harry rubbed his hands together, as though he could banish his misgivings along with the cold. "I won't beat around the bush, Julia. The fact is that I have read letters which suggest that the old Duke of Westbourne was married in secret before his marriage to our dear Dowager Duchess."
Julia's pencil broke against the paper, leaving an ugly smudge. "Are you certain?"
Harry shook his head. "No, I am not. I intend to ask the Duke of Rawly for his opinion as soon as I returned to London. He was one of old Westbourne's closest friends."
"Are you and the Duke of Rawly on such good terms as all that?" asked Julia, surprised.
Harry pulled a most un-Duke-like face. "Rawly and I have had our differences, true enough. But now that my brother has married his daughter, we are at least on speaking terms. I will get to the bottom of this secret marriage business and write to you the moment I have a clear answer."
"I do not know what to think about it," said Julia. "I cannot imagine that he married my mother. Why, then, would he have abandoned her to a life of poverty? And what does it mean for the Dowager Duchess? Was her marriage a sham? I can't bear the thought of her ever finding out."
"Painful though it may be, the matter is worth pursuing," said Harry. "Only imagine if you are truly the legitimate daughter of the last Duke of Westbourne! I would be able to publicly welcome you as my cousin. You would have no more need of working as a governess. You would be able to have your share of the Westbourne fortune."
"I have never wanted a fortune," Julia protested. "And I enjoy my work. I am very happy at Harding Hall. I do not want you to think –"
"And I am sure that you are a wonderful governess," Harry assured her. "But you must see that I have a duty to discover the truth of the matter. I am not sorry I told you, even though it may cause you some confusion. Try to put it from your mind until we know the facts."
"Dearest Julia," said Catherine, who had been listening to their conversation in tranquil silence, "only think how wonderful it would be if, instead of being Miss Julia Mallory, you were Lady Julia Marsden!"
It was all Julia could do not to press her hands to her ears to block the sounds out. "Please let's not talk of it anymore," she begged. "I will do as you suggest and put it to the back of my mind. I only wish I could forget it. Oh, the poor Dowager Duchess!"
"Hush," Cathy soothed her. "Whatever your father did, you must not feel guilty about it. And Harry and I will always treat you as family, no matter what we discover."
"Thank you," smiled Julia. "And now, your Grace, please do not talk anymore. I am trying to sketch out your face, and I am afraid I will make an awful mess of it unless you can keep perfectly still."
Catherine obliged her, and Julia buried herself in the work on her painting.
She might have seemed tranquil on the outside, but inwardly she was in complete turmoil. She did not know whether to laugh or cry. Every one of the dreams which lay so far beyond her reach might be answered by the discovery that she was, in fact, the legitimate daughter of the Duke. Yet it seemed too unlikely that her father had loved her mother enough to marry her, only to abandon her together with their child. If Julia were legitimate, why had she spent her life in poverty? Why had her father never sought her out to rescue her from the filth of Seven Dials? She had spent a miserable youth enslaved to Edmund's cruel whims and it was almost unbearable to think that, were it not for a twist of fate, she might have been spared.
It was still more unbearable to contemplate her future with Charles if she were elevated to the position of a Lady. Julia did not want to allow herself to become lost in a dream which would never come true. Far better to wait, and hope for nothing, than to have those hopes dashed.
She resolved to tell no one of her conversation with Harry. Not even Charles – it would be even worse if his hopes were raised for no good reason. And she knew that even the faintest suspicion would be enough for him to marry her. For her own part, she had been happy enough since Christmas keeping their love a secret. It was folly to wish for more.
So, between her painting and the Dowager Duchess's company, Julia spent a fine week among her friends at Westbourne Hall. She did not allow Harry's revelation to mar her enjoyment. Neither did she let it turn her head. She behaved in all ways as though he had never spoken to her at all.
Only when she was leaving Westbourne Hall for the last time, and turned to see its grey turrets rising behind her, did she allow herself the faintest flicker of excitement. Could that fine building really be her true home?
No, she reminded herself. Whether she could marry him or not, her true home now lay in Charles's arms.