Edith Layton (5 page)

Sophie noted her silence with approval. “I also want to warn you that though I do think you look very well, I told you that so you’d be careful not to take his compliments to heart. I’m sure he’ll have many for you. I saw the look he gave you when you met.”

Julianne felt a flush of pleasure. So she wasn’t wrong about that look he’d given her!

“He was trying to figure out where you fit in the
scheme of things,” Sophie went on, treading on Julianne’s fantasies. “Now, about that, tonight we must avoid using your name until we have to.”

Julianne started to protest, but Sophie cut her off. “We’ll tell him in due time, but we can find out a lot this way, even the runner said so. Be on guard. The imposter will be. Never forget he’s clever. He probably knows there’s a reason we didn’t give him your name. So he’d try to charm it from you, and I’m afraid he may be able to do that. He’s obviously a flirt and wouldn’t stop at being a seducer to gain his ends. It’s clear he’s already impressed you.”

Julianne bit her lip.

“It’s not that you’re not pretty,” Sophie said in more kindly tones. “But he’s a man trying to gain what few men have, and I doubt he cares what you look like so long as he thinks you can help him. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I just want to make sure you know the lay of the land. Think about it. He’s a handsome rogue. I’m sure he can get women anywhere he likes; why, he may even have a wife. We’ll never know, from him, at least.”

Julianne’s eyes grew wide.

Sophie nodded. “You didn’t think of that, did you? Well, so it may be. Kings have wooed with less reason than an estate like Egremont. You’re intelligent enough, Cousin, but you haven’t experience with the world. You’re an innocent, from a farm.”

Julianne looked down at her crimson gown. Now she felt about as enticing as a sow with rouge on its jowls and a ribbon round its neck. The worst part was
that Sophie was right. She was ill equipped to deal with a charming imposter—if he was one. But she also realized it would be disastrous to let Sophie think she had as little experience of the world as she did.

She drew herself up. “Perhaps I’m not as experienced with the social world as you are, Sophie. I never had a Season in London, true. But I’m nobody’s fool, and,” she went on, waving aside Sophie’s hasty assurances that she knew that, “I wish you’d stop saying ‘farm’ that way, as though we lived in a barn or next to a sty, or took pigs into the parlor for the winter. We have a very fine house, not as fine as this one, maybe, but historic and well furnished, and quite sufficient for our needs. And we have acres of good land, with tenants on it as well. We have woodlands as well as pastureland, and extensive gardens, and for more than growing radishes.

“I don’t have to milk cows or churn butter, and I’ve never worked in the fields. I grow flowers because I enjoy doing it. And, I’d like you to know, our family is highly regarded in the community. I don’t have elegant clothes because I don’t need them in my milieu. But I could, if I wanted them, I assure you.”

“I never doubted it,” Sophie said quickly. “The point is that I know more of the world than you do, and you must be guided by me in this.”

“The point is,” Julianne said hotly, “that
I
am the one doing you a favor, Cousin!”

Sophie started to speak and thought better of it.

“And I am unwed out of preference,” Julianne added, “as I’m sure you are, too.”

Sophie remained silent. Julianne was gratified. She began to think she’d been right in thinking that a lovely girl like Sophie had remained single through several seasons because she’d been holding out for the biggest fish in the social sea—which definitely would be an earl with an estate the size of Egremont.

“Very well,” Julianne said haughtily. “And now, shall we go downstairs?”

“Yes,” Sophie said curtly, and they left the room in mutual silence.

Julianne made her way down the long stair in the wake of her little cousin, feeling far less sure of herself than she wanted Sophie to know. She hadn’t lied. She led a pleasant life at home, though she knew she’d have had a different one if her beloved brother had lived to share it with her. And she’d had beaux in her time, although that time had been ruthlessly cut short by mourning. But she’d never been courted for anything but herself.

Now she knew how an heiress might feel, never sure of any man’s intentions. At least, she was unsure of one man’s, and she realized she very much wanted his attentions. Sophie had ruined that. Because, of course, she couldn’t be sure of a thing the man who claimed to be Christian said or even guess what he was thinking. That was what she was here to find out.

The rest of the company was waiting for them in the main salon, a sumptuously furnished gold-and-ivory room. Sophie’s mama was there, in puce, wearing diamonds, and purple feathers in her hair. The squire was in formal evening dress, as was Hammond.

But so far as Julianne was concerned, they were
only background for the man who rose to his feet as she and Sophie entered the room. For the life of her Julianne couldn’t see what he was wearing, because the expression on his face when he saw her blinded her. A look of such glad welcome warmed those crystalline eyes when she met them that it transformed his face. He looked younger, eager. Julianne got a fleeting impression of someone she knew and loved—it was almost like seeing her brother returned to her again.

Then, as though someone had snuffed a lamp, the look was gone, making her wonder if it had only been an effect of the shifting lamplight.

Again, she was faced with an impossibly handsome, immaculately clad stranger, who smiled as though he knew something she didn’t. Julianne let her breath out in a deep and secret sigh, because likely, she thought sadly, he did.

T
he company made feeble conversation as they waited for dinner in the salon. Julianne, Sophie, and her mother sat and listened to the gentlemen as they talked about the weather, the ladies only making occasional polite observations. The mood was too uneasy for anything more spirited. The squire, Hammond, and the man who claimed to be Christian Sauvage carried most of the limping conversation. This gave Julianne the opportunity covertly to study the supposed imposter. At last, she had a chance to watch him without him watching her.

It must be damnably hard for him, she thought as she eyed him where he was standing silhouetted before the crackling fire. He stood with one arm on the mantel, his head cocked to the side, listening to his host describe how cold a winter it had been. While nothing in his manner was careless or discourteous, nevertheless his lean body looked relaxed. In fact, he seemed the most comfortable of them all. That surprised Julianne. It had to be difficult even to stand at ease in a room with a man you were trying to sup
plant, chatting amiably with another man whose daughter you might well do out of a title and a fortune.

Surely he knew he was in the midst of people who at the least suspected him and at the most wished him dead or gone? But he acted as though nothing could be further from his mind than what was obviously foremost on everyone else’s.

The squire was too hale and gruff; it was clear how ill at ease he was. Hammond was quiet and seemed depressed. But the man who would be heir to Egremont appeared so urbane and charming that a stranger entering the room might have taken him for the host. It made Julianne wonder if the real Christian would be so confident, or whether this fellow’s self-assurance was a telltale sign that he was a practiced cheat.

She had a better opportunity to observe him when they were called in to dinner. Because she was seated at his side.

The squire and his lady took the head and foot of the table. Sophie sat at her father’s right hand, Hammond beside her. And Julianne was seated next to Christian, opposite Sophie and Hammond. It wasn’t traditional. In Julianne’s experience, the engaged couple would have sat opposite each other, so as to give guests a chance to speak to them. She quickly glanced at Christian as a footman pulled out her chair for her. Would he realize he was being seated next to her so she could test him?

He wore a bland expression. Nothing in his manner showed he thought the seating unusual. But then, she thought as she sat down, he might not know what was
usually done. Even if he were Christian, he’d been in prisons so long he could have forgotten.

The conversation was general at first, the squire holding forth on the price of crops as a footman ladled hot brown soup into their bowls.

Christian hardly touched his.

“Is the soup not to your taste?” the squire’s wife asked him. “I didn’t think to ask, did you not have the same sort of food in…” she hesitated, then went on, “…the antipodes?”

He smiled. “In…” he paused. It was hard to say whether he was doing it to frame his answer or mock the question. Then he said smoothly, “In the prisons we ate whatever we were given. The food improved as our general condition did, and when we were free men we ate very well. Apart from some fruits, vegetables, fish, and animals that are found only in the antipodes, the cuisine is very much the same. We tried to make it so. After all, we all missed home, and tried to re-create it there.”

No one said anything. They hadn’t expected him to mention his criminal past. Although, Julianne realized, his avoiding discussing it would have been odder.

“The soup’s excellent,” he added. “It is only that I don’t care for turtle, to tell the truth. Silly of me, really. But I had a turtle as a pet in New South Wales, and ever since I’ve disliked eating them.” He smiled. “It would be rather like you dining on horse meat, or puppy soup.”

Sophie put down her spoon and looked into her
bowl as though it was filled with poison. Julianne smothered a rising nervous giggle.

“The French eat horses, and puppies are a delicacy in parts of the East, I understand,” he said conversationally. “But neither appeal to me…Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Miss Wiley,” he told Sophie. “It’s hard for me to know what is or isn’t appropriate table talk here in England. I’ve only been back a few weeks. Please feel free to tell me when I make a mistake. How else can I learn?”

“You do eat salmon, roast beef, mutton, and pigeon?” Sophie’s mother asked. “That
is
what we are having for dinner.”

“Oh yes, thank you,” he said mildly. “I look forward to it.”

“We’ll be sowing soon,” the squire said, changing the subject with a vengeance. “What sort of crops do you grow there in New South Wales?”

“I don’t,” Christian said. “That is to say, my father went into business rather than farming, so I have much to learn about agriculture if I want Egremont to prosper.”

This caused another sudden silence.

It was like trying to make pleasant conversation on a battlefield, Julianne thought. This plan to get to know and learn more about him was ill-advised. He had every advantage. What could they ask him, after all? His future plans were a source of controversy. His past was suspect at best, and shameful in any event.

The squire cleared his throat and proceeded to
plow on in conversation as he meant to in his fields, launching into his spring planting schedule for Hammond’s benefit. Sophie concentrated on her plate, occasionally stealing glances at the interloper who threatened her future, casting her gaze down if he caught her at it. Her mama was busy directing the footman to add more food to her guests’ plates. But Julianne couldn’t forget the warm breathing presence of the man next to her, and good manners and burning curiosity combined to make her decide to speak to him.

The difficulty was that she’d have to look at him, and it was hard to meet his knowing eyes. Plus, she wasn’t supposed to give her name yet. He had to know it was a deliberate omission because he hadn’t asked for her name. He hadn’t asked her for anything. Maybe he was amused. He could be annoyed. His expression gave away nothing. She wished her cousins had been more subtle and at least hadn’t seated her next to him. She wished she were more facile. But she couldn’t just ignore the man. Especially when he was only an elbow’s length away from her, and she was so aware of him she swore she could
feel
him next to her.

She turned her head toward him and saw him turn to her, as though he’d been watching her all along.

Lord
, she thought,
he is such an attractive man!
Especially when she had his full attention, and those bright eyes were looking at her with interest. This close she couldn’t help noticing how fine his complexion was. Surely a man who been sent to prison in London, then across the world in the company of murderers and to who knew what ghastly places
would bear some scars? He didn’t look as if he’d ever even cut himself while shaving.

She scrambled for something innocuous to say and noticed that he hadn’t eaten much of anything on his plate.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, then added quickly. “The food is very good. Or maybe it isn’t spiced the way you’re accustomed to?”

“I’m sure it’s excellent,” he said in a low voice that didn’t carry farther than her ear, “but I can’t help but wonder what it’s spiced with. My portion, that is. I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a sprinkle of poison to liven it up.”

There were a dozen ways she could and probably should have answered that. But it was so near to what she’d been thinking herself that she brought up her napkin to cover a surprised gasp of laughter.

That seemed to please him.

“No, no,” she murmured, when she could. “That would leave evidence. My cousins aren’t fools. No, truly,” she said when he smiled, “whatever they think of you, and you can hardly blame them for their suspicions, my cousins are straightforward, and Hammond seems to be, too. They might meet you in a court of law, or a court of fives, or even in a duel, but I think you can safely eat tonight, I really do.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” he said doubtfully, eyeing his plate, then hers. “You urge me to eat. But as for you…you’re sure you tried the beef? It does look very good.”

She nodded. Clearly, he was joking…at least, she hoped so. As she watched, he cut a small bit of beef,
slowly brought it to his lips, and, even more slowly, popped it in his mouth. He chewed, watching her carefully as he did. “Thank you,” he said, after he’d swallowed. “It is good. And the pigeon? Have you tried it yet?”

Smiling, she nodded again.

He took a small bite of that, too. Then he looked at the tiny peas on his plate, then at the ones on hers. “But you haven’t eaten any peas, have you?” he asked softly, his expression wistful as he stared at them. “I wish you would.”

“You
are
teasing me, aren’t you?” she asked.

He smiled, a true warm smile. “Of course. But I had to find something to talk about that wouldn’t make you turn to stone, which is what I seem to have transformed everyone else to this evening.”

“It
is
difficult, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “I hope you understand that my cousins aren’t rude or cruel. But you have to admit that your sudden appearance upset their plans. What are they to say? What can they think?”

“I know exactly what they think, and I do understand,” he said as softly. “There’s not much I can do about that. Now, tell me please, since you didn’t expect to inherit the estate or marry the heir, what has my sudden appearance meant to you, Miss Wiley?”

Her smile froze. She wasn’t Miss Wiley, but her cousins hadn’t wanted her to mention her name yet.

“Oh, I see,” he said gently, when she didn’t answer, his interested expression turning cool and polite. “You have an issue with me, too. Maybe,” he mused,
“I shouldn’t have tasted that pigeon, after all.” This time, he didn’t seem to be joking.

Julianne felt his withdrawal and the loss of his approval, and hated it. She struggled for something to say and, in that moment of silence, realized that their quiet banter had stopped other conversation at the table. They were the focus of everyone’s attention. Her cousins and Hammond were watching and straining to hear what they said.

Her cheeks grew hot. Julianne suddenly decided that she could and would not play this game. She didn’t know who this man was, but she really didn’t know who her cousins were either. One thing she did know. Her cousins were trying to use her, and if this fellow was trying to do the same, there wasn’t much to choose between them. In fact, though he could be an out-and-out villain, in the few moments she’d been speaking with him she’d felt more of a connection than she had with her cousins since she’d gotten here.

When she came right down to it, it hardly mattered to her who did inherit the title. It would suit her if justice were served, whoever was served up the estate. And if those dunderheads couldn’t think of anything to say to him, then what did they expect? she thought angrily. They’d seated her next to their quarry, after all. She’d been used as a hunting dog, and that was demeaning and unfair.

Mostly, she realized she didn’t like deception for a very good reason. She was terrible at it, as well as roundly ashamed of herself for trying to be a sneak.

“We weren’t ever properly introduced, were we?”
she said loudly and clearly enough for everyone else to hear. “My name isn’t Wiley. I’m Sophie’s cousin on her mother’s side. Nor do I live near here, or even visit often. In fact, I only just arrived the other day, and only for a short visit. I should be going home very soon, in fact.”

Well, there was truth! she thought, as a triumphant flush heated her face. She’d ended the game and would probably be told to pack her bags tonight.

“And so your name is…?” he asked.

The others in the room seemed to be holding their breath.

“I am Julianne Lowell,” she said, holding her head high.

“Julianne…Lowell?” he said slowly, his gaze traveling over her. His eyes slowly warmed, lit with brilliant light, and widened. “From…Little Slough?”

She nodded, holding her breath.

“Julie, the tag-along?” he asked, incredulous. “The little pestilence, as Jonathan used to say? Julianne,
Jonathan’s
little sister?”

Now she couldn’t breathe. Her hand flew to her breast as her eyes searched his.

“Where is the dratted fellow, anyway?” he asked, half-rising from his seat. He looked around with a dawning smile, as though he expected Jonathan to come laughing from out of the shadows of the now deathly silent room, as he’d have done so long ago if he’d been discovered at one of his pranks.

“Jonathan…died,” she managed to say. “At Salamanca, in battle, five years past.”

“Ah!” he said, sinking to his chair as though she’d dealt him a blow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

But for the first time since her brother had died, Julianne didn’t feel like weeping when she talked about it. Instead, her heart leapt, and she found tears of joy blurring her vision.

“Christian?” she asked, putting out a hand to him. “Christian? Is it really you?”

So they’d gotten Julianne Lowell to come and inspect him, Christian thought as he rode back to the inn where he was staying. He was glad he’d ridden horseback rather than taking a carriage, he wasn’t used to this soft and misty weather, and he liked it. He also felt more able to defend himself this way. Still, he doubted he’d come to harm here. After all, if he wanted to dispose of an inconvenient relative he wouldn’t do it in his own backyard either. Too incriminating. There were better ways.

Julianne Lowell, he mused. Now, that was interesting. He’d wondered who she was, and hadn’t doubted she was there for a reason. It was obvious from the first, from exchanged looks and sudden silences, that the woman was part of some plan. But Julianne Lowell? He hadn’t expected that. How should he have? There was a long list of people to remember, and though the name Jonathan Lowell would certainly have gotten his attention, he’d forgotten about her.

Now he was glad they’d remembered. This was very good. She was exactly the sort of woman he appreciated. He smiled. That admittedly, wasn’t a hard
standard for a woman to measure up to. But though he liked most women, he wouldn’t have wanted to pass any time with her if she’d been prissy or toplofty or put on airs—like her cousin. Sophie was a dashing little baggage, but not his sort at all. This Julianne was not only appealing, with her charming face and buxom figure, but seemed as candid and honest as the women he was used to, even though she had manners and morals and breeding. No. The morals, he thought, was a thing he’d yet to find out about. He looked forward to it.