Joan Wolf (12 page)

“Well, that depends on what you mean by permanent,” John drawled in reply. “When I’m in England I expect I’ll stay there.”

“You are not going to remain
in England then?”

“I doubt it. I have too restless a nature, too great an interest in the rest of the world. England is so small.”

Lord Rutherford stared at the strongly planed face of John Champernoun. Part of him was relieved to hear that Denham was not going to be his neighbor on a permanent basis; William was not completely easy about the obvious familiarity that existed between this man and Julianne. But part of him—the patriotic, nationalistic part— disapproved of an English lord becoming an expatriate. “Do you consider it right to give up your country?” he asked after a moment’s pause.

“One can’t give up one’s country any more than one can give up one’s grandmother,” replied the other man easily. “They both preclude choice.”

 “But you don’t want to
live
in England?” The questioner now was Julianne.

He looked at her out of suddenly hooded eyes. “No. I don’t. Not permanently. It’s so horribly narrow, you see.”

Lord Rutherford’s warm brown eyes sparkled a little in indignation. “It is true that the Tories have controlled the government for years, but the time for a change is coming. The more liberal party will come into it’s own shortly, my lord.
We
, at least, do not intend to turn our backs on our country.”

John did not look at all put out by this implied condemnation. “Are you a radical, Lord Rutherford?” he asked with interest.

“Yes, I am,” replied that young man firmly. “The Fosters have always been liberal Whigs, even from the earliest times.”

“Ah well,” said John blandly, “you’ve made a great success of it.” His sapient blue eyes traveled around the beautiful and elegant room in which they were sitting.  “No wonder you like it.”

Julianne’s straight thin-boned nose quivered a little. Fortunately for her composure, they were interrupted by George Foster, who pulled a chair up to the other side of the sofa. “Where were you walking today, Julianne?” he asked her curiously. “It was filthy weather. You really oughtn’t to go too far from the house; there’s no place to shelter from the rain.”

John laughed. “Mr. Foster,” he said, “I doubt if a little rain would bother Julianne Wells.”

Julianne looked annoyed, but it wasn’t clear if her displeasure was directed at John or at George. “No, it wouldn’t,” she said evenly. “After being cooped up in the house for two days I felt the need to get outdoors, that is all. I went out to the downs.”

“To the downs!” Both William and George stared at her, appalled.

“Do you know, Julianne, it really would be kinder of you to disabuse these two young men of their image of you as a frail flower of English womanhood.” John sounded distinctly amused. “The truth will shortly be revealed at any rate, won’t it?”

He was referring to her journal. Julianne thought for a minute, then looked into the worried, puzzled brown eyes of her fiancé. “Lord Denham is right, William,” she said to him gently. “You seem to forget that I spent five years walking through the jungles of Africa. After that, a walk on the downs is child’s play.”

“But you had your father to protect you in Africa,” Lord Rutherford said.

In reality it had been
she
who had looked after Lord Richard, but she did not say that to her fiancé. She smiled at him gently. “I am a tough campaigner, William. I learned to live off the country, to eat native foods, to sleep on the ground. My father maintained strict marching discipline; we walked regularly five or six hours a day no matter how hot it was or how rainy. The only thing that ever stopped us was fever. So you see, you mustn’t worry about me. I am well able to take care of myself.”

Lord Rutherford was staring at the pure and classically beautiful face of his future wife. He found it hard to reconcile what she was saying with the sweet, gentle girl he knew. “Well,” he muttered, “I don’t like to criticize your father, but I think it was wrong of him to take you to Africa. I mean to take very good care of you in the future, Julianne.” He smiled at her reassuringly, pleased at the thought of his future role. “I promise you, you won’t ever have to sleep on the ground again!”

Very, very briefly Julianne’s eyes met those of John Champernoun
.  Then she looked away.

Chapter Fifteen

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well...

--
Byron

Julianne did not sleep well that night and consequently arose later than she usually did. When she went down to the breakfast room she met Lady Minton, who informed her that all of the men who were not in the play had gone out riding. Everyone else, it seemed, planned to spend the morning rehearsing.

Julianne stifled a sigh and drank an extra cup of coffee. Everything for the play was now in a regular train. The costumes had been decided upon and were being made by two local seamstresses. A scene painter had arrived from town and was getting to work in the gallery under the direction of George Foster. Most of the actors and actresses had learned their lines for the first three acts, and George was anxious to start rehearsing the individual scenes.

The sky was overcast but there was no rain as yet, so Julianne slipped out to the garden with her copy of
She Stoops to
Conquer
and sat on a bench holding it in her lap. She had been there for fifteen minutes before Lord Rutherford discovered her. He too had his copy of the play, but there was a preoccupied look on his face that told her his part was not what was on his mind.

Juliane felt a sudden, strange desire that he should not sit beside her and she got to her feet. “Were you wishing to rehearse with me, William?” she asked him pleasantly.

“I suppose we ought to.” His brown eyes looked troubled. “George wants to run through the first three acts after dinner this evening.”

She nodded. “Perhaps we should go inside, then. It looks as if it might rain at any moment.”

He didn’t move. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “What did Denham mean last night, Julianne, when he said that the truth about you would shortly be revealed?”

“Oh, that.” She looked down at the playbook in her hands and turned it over. “I suppose I had better tell you. Mr. John Murray is going to publish the journal I kept while I was traveling in Africa.”

“A journal?” he said blankly.

“Yes. Papa and I traveled to parts of Africa where no European has ever been, William. I kept a record of what I saw. It is rather a disorganized record, I’m afraid—comments on the behaviors of elephant, the price of ivory, the customs of the various tribes of natives, that sort of thing. But Mr. Murray found it interesting and desired to publish it.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Just before we left London. I have not even told Grandmama yet. I haven’t quite taken it in myself.”

“But you told Denham.” There was just the faintest trace of bitterness in his well-bred voice and Julianne remarked it immediately. It made her uneasy.

“Yes. It was at his urging, William, that I set about publishing the journal, so naturally I knew he would be interested. I told him that night at the Heathfords’ ball.”

“I see.” He turned to her with somber eyes. “For just how long have you known Denham, Julianne?”

Her sense of uneasiness increased as she looked up into his unusually grave face. “He was a friend of Papa’s,” she lied calmly. “It was Papa who showed him my journal.” Her eyes were wide and limpid.

Lord Rutherford looked deeply into those luminous gray eyes and slowly nodded. Julianne had a sudden sense that she was safe, that even if he were not totally satisfied by her reply, his good manners would prevent him from questioning her further. She was right in her assessment for in a moment he smiled and said, without a trace of the bitterness that had discomposed her, “Shall we go rehearse?”

She followed him into the house feeling enormously grateful for his impeccable courtesy.

They rehearsed their first two scenes together, and on the surface all went well. Lord Rutherford was playing the role of Charles Marlow, an attractive, likable, but immature young man whose discomfort in the presence of “well-bred young ladies” was the springboard for the play’s romantic comedy. Julianne was playing Kate Hardcastle, the well-bred young lady whom Marlow’s father wishes him to marry. Their first scene was almost a burlesque, with Marlow so terrified of his prospective bride that he never once looks at her. It was a scene that completely reversed the usual role of courtship, with the man shy and tongue-tied and the woman assured and in charge, directing the whole course of the dialogue. Lord Rutherford’s own physical attractiveness and natural modesty made him a perfect Marlow and Julianne thought she managed Kate’s witty assurance decently.

Their second scene was a little more difficult for her. The basic premise of the plot was that while Marlow was inept and petrified in the presence of “ladies,” he had no difficulties at all with “females of another class.” In their second scene he meets Kate when she is dressed in simple country clothes and he takes her for a maid. It is a scene of high comedy in which Marlow, feeling superior and dominant and masculine, gets up a flirtation with the maid, while Kate, who thinks his mistake is hilarious, mercilessly leads him on.

Julianne found herself feeling deeply uneasy as they rehearsed this scene. It was extremely funny and Lord Rutherford was excellent, but she felt herself to be stiff and uncomfortable. She apologized to him several times, but he was encouraging and would not admit that she was anything but splendid. She would have them all in a blaze of admiration this evening, he told her.

Julianne slipped out by herself for a walk before tea. She went along one of the paths in the home woods, not intending to stray too far from the house. She had felt restless and dissatisfied all day and thought some exercise would help. It was drizzling and the feel of the light rain on her face, the softness of the dirt path beneath her feet, the silence of the woods were all deeply soothing. She strode along, covering ground with a steady gait, and tried to get a sense of perspective about her own feelings.
Why
did she dislike this play so much?

The answer to that question came to her as she walked through the cool, wet woods. She was feeling guilty. That was the cause of her uneasiness, her antipathy to the role of Kate was because in Kate she saw too much of herself. Was not she deceiving Lord Rutherford just as mercilessly as Kate had deceived Marlow? Was not she just as manipulative? She had lied to William, and she intended to go on lying to him. She had taken advantage of his good nature. She was not just playing a role in this stupid play; she was playing a role in real life as well. Yet she could not tell him the truth about how she had met John. She could not tell him the truth about the slave auction. The very thought of his reaction to such a tale made her shiver.

She had gone further along the path than she had intended and she turned back toward Minton a little reluctantly. She recognized that reluctance in herself and it upset her. What was wrong with her, she asked herself angrily. How could she possibly be feeling this way? Was not Minton all she wanted out of life? Was not Lord Minton everything she had longed for during her years in Africa? Was not William the finest, most truly amiable young man she had ever known? The answer to all these questions was a resounding yes. She wondered a little bleakly, as she ran up the stairs to change her dress, why then was she not more happy?

The rehearsal that evening went with admirable smoothness. The stars of the show were undoubtedly George Foster, who was playing Kate’s stepbrother, Tony Lumpkin, and William’s aunt by marriage, Mrs. Henry Foster, who was playing Mrs. Hardcastle, Tony’s mother. The two roles called for broad comic talent and the actors threw themselves into their parts with a combination of caricature and timing that made them truly funny. Anne Foster and William’s cousin Francis were playing Constance and Hastings, the second pair of young lovers, and they acquitted themselves honorably, as did Lord Boldock and Mr. Lewis, who were playing the two fathers. Lord Rutherford made a boyishly charming Marlow and Julianne remembered all her lines, which she felt was the best they could hope for from her. George, who was in charge as well as playing the role of Tony, was pleased with his cast. The onlookers, who comprised the members of the house party who were not acting, voiced their enthusiastic approval.

John Champernoun had been among the audience and Julianne had been uncomfortably aware of his presence the whole time she had been on the stage. The play was a harmless diversion, she scolded herself, and everyone was obviously having a grand time. She ought to get over this feeling of discomfort. But it did not help to feel so intensely John’s eyes on her as she recited Kate’s witty lines. That blue gaze only helped to reinforce her conviction that she was being quite colossally silly.

The rain had stopped in the early evening and Lady Minton had the French doors that led out to the terrace opened. After she finished her tea Julianne detached herself from the group of young people she had been sitting with. “I’m just going out to the terrace for a moment,” she murmured in Lord Rutherford’s ear.

She had risen and he made to follow her, but with her hand on his shoulder she gently pressed him back into his seat. “You stay and finish your tea.” She smiled at him. “I just want a breath of the night air.”

If she had wanted his company he would have joined her without hesitation, but now he watched her for a minute as she crossed the room and then turned back to the conversation he had been having with his cousin Francis. The two young men were soon happily absorbed in discussing the merits of a new horse that William hoped to hunt in the fall.

Julianne stepped out onto the terrace and walked halfway to the stone parapet before she saw that she was not alone. She stopped dead for a minute, then took, at a slower pace, the last few steps that brought her abreast of the man who already stood there. The moonlight showed her his profile clearly. He waited a minute in silence before he turned to look down at her, one of his straight black brows lifted in irony. “Well, if it isn’t Kate Hardcastle herself,” he said suavely.