Chapter Sixteen
The moment I stepped into the dining room, my appetite fled south of the Amazons. Steaming plates of food sat untouched in front of Mother and Papa. Mother stared at a letter in her hand. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
I backed away, but Papa beckoned me closer with one jab of his finger. “Sit.” His face was stony. I slinked to the chair beside him and lowered myself onto the seat.
“Bess,” he said, his voice clipped, “read the letter to Francine.”
I swallowed heavily. “I can read it for myself.”
Mother passed it to me with a tremor in her hands. My stomach sank like a stone.
I opened the missive and skimmed it quickly. I cleared my throat before raising my gaze to Papa’s. “We’ve been uninvited?”
He nodded once, curtly.
My lips quavered. I knew the answer. I’d even predicted it, but I had to ask. “Because…because of me?”
Again, he nodded. “Someone saw you enter the Marchioness of Carnavon’s townhouse. It’s well known in Town that the only person in residence is her brother.”
I’d been afraid of that. I still didn’t regret a moment with Julian. I swallowed heavily but couldn’t banish the large, aching lump in my throat. I reached for the glass of water, gulping it down. It didn’t help. My eyes pricked with pain. This was it. The cut direct. All hope had shriveled and died. Although, without Julian, I hadn’t seen much to look forward to in a marriage, anyway.
His voice heavy and blunt, Papa asked, “Did you go to visit with him unchaperoned, Francine?”
I couldn’t lie. The truth gave neither of us much solace. After all, even if Papa demanded, Julian wasn’t free to marry me.
…
Papa demanded, for all the good it did. Sunlight streamed through the study’s open window, a direct contrast to the sullen, tense atmosphere inside the room.
Julian didn’t look at me. He stared my father in the eye, his posture stiff. “I can’t marry your daughter.”
The words walloped me in the gut. They didn’t get easier to hear, even if I’d known his answer would be no different to Papa than it had been to me. Papa’s shoulders climbed to his ears. He clenched his fists so hard, his knuckles cracked. At any other time, I might have cowered in fear, but at the moment I was strangely…numb.
“It wasn’t a request.” Papa snipped off his words like he’d rather they were pieces of Julian’s body.
I expected Julian to show some qualms, but he held firm. Not a muscle in his body twitched. “Threaten all you’d like, it won’t change my answer. Drag me to the altar. Have me arrested—call the Bow Street runners, if you will! I cannot marry Francine.”
Each of his words sliced me to the core. The last four, said with biting, resolute emphasis, drained me of what little composure I maintained. I trembled but pressed my lips together.
“I’m engaged to someone else.”
Papa stepped closer. Although Julian stood an inch taller, Papa had at least two stone on him. “You blackguard. I’ll see you at dawn.”
My throat closed.
Resigned, Julian said, “You might as well shoot me now, for all the good it will do. It won’t solve anything and I won’t duel you. I couldn’t hurt Francine that way.”
“But you’ll hurt her this way?” Mama’s words were muffled by the hand she clasped over her mouth. She looked close to tears. She blinked, owlishly, from Papa’s shadow.
“Not by choice.” Julian’s words barely carried to my ear. He lowered his gaze to his feet. His mouth was set, but even when gifted with only his profile I read the agony on his face.
“Who?” Papa demanded. “If you’re set on treating my daughter as a common doxy, I’ll have the name of this shrew you’ve been unfaithful to.”
What did he mean to do, write to her and inform her of Julian’s misdeeds? Or did he believe Julian was lying? I didn’t. I believed him with all my heart, for all the good it would do.
“Alyssa Danby.”
What? “No. That can’t be right.” I’d never asked his fiancée’s name because I’d assumed he’d been forced to marry her for the connection it would bring his family. Never would I have guessed that he was engaged to our childhood friend, especially not Alyssa.
She was in love with his brother, Joseph. She had always been in love with Joseph.
Julian turned to me. “I’m sorry, Francine.”
Moisture swamped my vision, blurring the figures in front of me. No. I refused to cry in front of him. I turned on my heel and sprinted out of the room. The air in the hallway was too stuffy. I had to vacate the house. I couldn’t suffer a single second longer under the same roof as Julian. Alyssa?
No. It had to be a lie. I hadn’t stayed in touch with her the way I had with Julian, but her feelings couldn’t have deviated to this extreme.
How? Why?
Grimsby tried to stop me as I lunged for the door. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I brushed him aside. I yanked open the door myself and barreled down the front steps so fast I nearly tripped. My ankle throbbed, but it was a welcome pain.
I ran into the street. Once off the property and out of sight of the townhouse, I slowed to a walk. I stepped heavily on my injured ankle each time. A reminder. He had done this. He had wounded my ankle and my heart. I should have known he would when he didn’t return my letters for months, only to show up in London unannounced. And, come to think of it, he hadn’t presented himself at our townhouse, either. No, I’d only met him by chance at a ball.
My breath hitched as I nursed the stitch in my side. Had Julian ever cared about me at all, even as a friend?
The livery loomed ahead of me, at the end of the street. These stables housed the carriages for the entire neighborhood. They would have the Valentia conveyances inside. Impatience welled in me, and the fear that Julian would follow to confront me.
Or worse, that he wouldn’t.
I had to get as far away from the townhouse as possible.
I paused outside the livery door to compose myself. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, which were no doubt splotchy from crying. It would have to do. Laughter echoed from inside as the stable hands conducted the morning chores. Usually, we sent a footman to ready the carriages. I hoped the hostlers would release the phaeton to me.
I stepped inside. The laughter quelled immediately. I counted four—no, five—pairs of male eyes affixed in my direction. I cleared my throat.
“I’ve come to take out my father’s phaeton—Lord Valentia.”
The nearest man spit on the floor. I recoiled. How vulgar!
“Proof?” he drawled.
“I beg your pardon?”
“How are we s’pose to know who you are, miss? We don’t give away them rigs to just anyone who asks.”
I hadn’t considered they might want proof. “What sort of proof would you like? I am who I say I am.”
He smiled. Two or more teeth were missing on the right side. He spit through the gap.
The wad landed dangerously near my toe.
“D’you have the barony seal on you?”
I didn’t carry it around like a secret diary. Imagine the ton, each sporting their family seal stitched onto their clothing. Ridiculous. Even my handkerchief didn’t bear the seal.
Crossing my arms, I said, “Yes. I do. It’s on the door of the phaeton.”
A second man chuckled as he stepped forward. “Ready the horses. I know her.”
I blinked. “You…do?” Most men of my peers couldn’t pick me out of a crowd. All except for Julian.
I eradicated him from my thoughts.
The young man shrugged. “Pauline speaks highly of you.”
Pauline? For some reason, I’d never pictured her leaving the townhouse. A silly notion. Clearly, she must have friends and colleagues outside of the Valentia household. How much didn’t I know about her? She’d been with my family for years.
Why hadn’t I considered her life before?
I grappled for what to say to the hostler. While he may have heard of me, Pauline had never mentioned him or anyone else outside of the manse. Maybe because she feared a reprimand.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t pursue the conversation further. Within minutes, he and the other hostler prepared the phaeton for me. He hesitated before handing me the reins. “You have driven one of these before, right?”
“Of course,” I lied.
I climbed into the front-facing seat. I divided the reins between my hands to keep them straight. The hostler slapped one of the twin white horses on the rump. It started forward at a sharp clip.
A tug on the right rein directed the horses onto the street proper. And men pretended this was an exclusive skill. I straightened in my seat, gaining confidence as I guided the horses through another turn. Their pace wasn’t fast enough. I gave both reins a light snap.
The steed to the left flicked one ear at me. “Go faster,” I muttered. I snapped the reins again. No results. I snapped them harder.
The horses jumped as though startled by the feel of the reins on their flanks. The one on the right whickered. They bolted into action. The cityscape passed in a blur. The air whipped my hair free from its braid. Stray strands of hair batted me in the face. More came loose.
My hair whipped behind me. My heart drummed in time to the horses’ hooves, pounding as though attempting to gallop out of my chest. Traffic loomed ahead, slow-moving carts and smart-moving carriages.
“Stop,” I moaned under my breath, over and over. “Please stop.”
I tugged hard on the reins. One of the horses—I couldn’t tell which—screamed. They bucked the reins out of my hands and plummeted into a gallop. A wagon plodded down the center of the road. The horses charged on an unwaveringly straight path. I couldn’t draw in enough air. In a second, we would hit the conveyance. I used the last of my breath to scream.
I shut my eyes, prepared for pain.
A third set of hoofbeats pummeled the cobblestones. The thunder cleared my head. The reins. Where were the reins?
I fumbled at my feet, snatching one but unable to find the other. I tugged on it hard.
The horses veered. With a whinny, they lunged down an alley. Too tight. The spokes of the wheels scraped the walls. The wheels rattled. Dear Lord in Heaven, would we crash?
The alley opened into a full street. Angry workmen shouted as the phaeton breezed past. The horses dragged the phaeton forward. They picked up speed. Tears stabbed my eyes. I would die. No doubt in my mind.
“Let go of the reins,” a man called.
I clutched the one I held to my chest. Who had spoken? I didn’t dare peel my gaze away from the horses’ haunches.
“Damn and blast, Francine, drop the bloody reins! You’re making it worse.”
A rider pulled up alongside. He crouched low to his horse’s neck, urging him for speed. The horse took three more paces as the rider tied his reins to the saddle. He kicked his feet from the stirrups.
“Move over,” he said.
“Julian?” My mouth formed around the name, but I didn’t hear myself speak. I scurried as much to one side as possible.
He leaped from his horse to the phaeton. The floor rocked with his added weight. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming at the sudden lurch. I clutched the side, praying not to be dislodged. His horse drew back, into the phaeton’s wake instead of alongside.
“Give me the reins, Francine,” Julian ordered. “Quickly.”
I threw the one I clutched into the air. He grappled for it. He found and snagged the other within a second.
“Hold on to me!” he yelled.
I latched onto his arm as I had the reins. My throbbing heart nearly ripped out of my chest to beat alongside his. I buried my face in the crook of his arm.
He smelled like horse. I whimpered into his jacket.
Miraculously, the phaeton slowed. First to a canter, then a trot. It veered around traffic. I didn’t budge from Julian’s arm. Not even when the vehicle stopped altogether.
He shifted beneath my cheek. “Francine?”
He tried to pry his shoulder free, but I clutched him tight. “Give me a moment. I think I left my skin at the livery.”
He chuckled. “You haven’t lost your wit.”
After several deep breaths, my heartbeat slowed. I pulled away.
Julian disembarked from the phaeton to lead the horses to the side. He barked at a dirty, barefoot boy, promising a reward if the boy held the horses. He lifted his fingers to his lips and released an ear-splitting whistle. I winced.
His horse trotted up to him with the obedience of a dog. He tied the horse’s reins to the back of the phaeton, whispering soft, indecipherable words. The sight pierced my unruly heart.
He cared more for his horse than he did for me.
Steadying my trembling legs, I disembarked from the phaeton. I would find a hack, return home, and lock myself in the hothouse for the rest of eternity.
“Francine—” Julian uttered my name in a strangled voice. He crossed the cobblestones in big, ground-eating strides, and clasped my elbow. He dragged me closer to the phaeton.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Tears threatened. I turned my face away before they fell. “I’m going home, Julian. I never should have left.”
“You’re bloody well right about that.” Using his tight grip on my arm, he turned me to face him. I stared at the buttons of his waistcoat, showing behind the unbuttoned jacket. He shook me. “Look at me, Francine. You’re in no frame of mind to wander the city alone right now. You’re still shaken.”
Twisting my arm, I broke his grip. I shoved him away for good measure. “I’m not some weak-willed woman to need looking after. I can look after myself perfectly well, thank you.”
He thrust his hand violently in the direction of the phaeton. “Like you did just now?”
I flinched. That had been a poor decision on my part.
He shook his head. His heavy, disappointed frown weighed on me. “Get in the phaeton, Francine.”
When I balked, he spanned his hands over my waist and lifted me bodily into the conveyance. I froze, my fingers digging into the seat. Was it safe? While stopped, the carriage seemed to wobble and jostle like we careened out of control. The harness creaked. My heart jumped into my throat.
Julian gave the wheels a cursory inspection. He tossed a shilling to the boy, climbed onto the seat beside me, and accepted the reins. When he glanced at me, he swore under his breath. “You’re as white as milk.”
“Spec-speckled milk.” My voice emerged as a whimper. What thin tendril of humor I managed to eject into it dissipated as Julian directed the horses onto the street.
My heart stopped pounding for a full second. My vision swam.
Julian swore again. He urged the horses to a faster pace. That only made it worse.
The twists and turns he navigated with ease girdled my stomach as if I were perched atop a writhing sea serpent. At any moment, I’d be dislodged. I held onto the lip of the phaeton so hard my knuckles cracked with the strain.
The world slowly stopped spinning when he pulled to a stop. Branches wove overhead in a leafy canopy. Greenery bunched around us. We were in a park. Hyde Park? He jumped down to tie the reins around a sturdy tree branch. He tugged at them, ensuring they wouldn’t come loose. Moments later, he reappeared at my side. He pried my fingers free of the phaeton with difficulty.
“Francine, are you unwell?”
I certainly wasn’t at my best.
Although I tried to respond, I couldn’t convince my throat to work properly.
Julian lifted me out of the phaeton. He drew me away from the horses, apparently recalling my dislike for them. When we reached a tree trunk, he tucked me behind it, out of sight should anyone pass the phaeton. He sat next to me and took my clammy hands in his. His big palms dwarfed my hands as he stripped off my gloves.
“Your hands are like ice.”
“An exaggeration,” I said.
“Maybe, but that doesn’t diminish my concern.” He rubbed his bare hands over mine.
The spark of his touch warmed me, like it had when we were nestled together in his bed, skin to skin. I tugged my hands away.
“Don’t pretend you care for me.” A different kind of warmth spread through my chest, one born of rage and indignation.
He flinched but didn’t retreat. He raised his hands to bracket my face. Holding me steady, forcing me to look into his eyes. “The devil take me, Francine. You almost died! If I had been a second later…”
He trailed off. That mad moment on the street flashed into my mind’s eye, paralyzing me.
“I almost lost you. I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t lose you. Anything else, but not you.”
He pressed his lips to mine, feverish. I pushed him away.
“Alyssa?”
His expression turned to stone. “After you moved to London, things…changed.”
I’d expected they might, but…not this much. He would have mentioned in one of his letters if he and Alyssa were…
I couldn’t even think it.
Julian swallowed hard. He groped for my hand and squeezed it as he leaned his head back against the tree trunk. He stared at the branches overhead, but tears gathered in his eyes. “Joe is…Joe is dead, Francine.”
What? My stomach dropped. We hadn’t met or spoken in years, but he was still the brother to my best friend… “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” How could he not have told me?
His eyes shining with unshed tears, he met my gaze. “It happened around the time I received your last letters. I didn’t—I couldn’t bring myself to answer them.”
How could he not have turned to me in his time of grief? I understood that speaking of his brother must be difficult—after all, he’d avoided the topic of his family ever since we’d reunited—but I would have wanted to know. To help. If he’d told me, I would have traveled to Leicestershire, to Hell with what Papa had to say on the matter.
But he hadn’t told me. He’d shut me out.
Now, he looked like he was going to crumble in front of my eyes. When he embraced me, nestling his face into the crook of my neck, I didn’t push him away. I held him as his shoulders shook.
“After my sister married, Joe and I became closer, thick as thieves.”
I tightened my hold on him, not saying a word.
“He told me everything about him and Alyssa. They were deeply in love.”
That sounded more like what I expected. Alyssa had been forever trailing after Joseph, trying to tease his attention. She’d been in love with him even when we were children. It seemed, once she grew up, Joe had come to return her affections.
“He was a third son. No real income and he dreamed of glory, not a little plot of land that he could farm. He went into the army, like Jeremy. Unlike Jeremy, he never came home.”
His trembling stopped. He seemed numb, speaking in a near monotone.
“I’m sorry.” My voice was raspy. I didn’t know what else to say.
What must Alyssa be feeling? If Julian had gone to war and died…
It didn’t matter. I didn’t get to keep him, either way. “Tell me about the engagement.” I braced myself for his answer, but I had to know.
Julian pulled away. His eyes were red, his face ashen. He met my gaze for a scant second before he focused on a dozen other aspects of the scenery. His eyes didn’t stay still for long.
“When Joe left, he made me promise if he didn’t come back that I would marry Alyssa. Provide for her, give her the happy life she deserved. I thought it was just a silly promise to ease his mind.” His eyes slid shut, but a tear snaked out and slithered down his cheek.
My heart broke, for them and for us. I laid my head on Julian’s shoulder and wept with him as he circled me in his arms. He said nothing more, but he didn’t have to. I already knew what he would say.
He wouldn’t break the last promise he had made to his brother, and I wouldn’t ask him to. There was no hope for our future at all.