Joan Wolf (8 page)

For some reason she could not fathom the beat of her heart began to accelerate. “I do not know if I have ever thanked you for all you have done for me,” she said hurriedly. “I owe you a great deal, and I am not ungrateful.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” he said roughly, and her heart beat even faster. She rose to her feet.

“Well, then, I won’t bore you with my protestations any longer. But I meant what I said.”

He did not rise with her. “That is nice to know.” His dark strongly carved face was settled in harsh angles. “Good night, Julianne,” he said.

She did not want to leave him.

“Good night,” she replied with calm dignity, and walked out the door.

Chapter Nine

I shall the effect of this good lesson keep/ As watchman to my heart.

—William Shakespeare

He left for Crewe early next morning and Julianne filled up the day as best she could. John had sent the ship and its crew, headed by Said, on to Dover with orders to Said to join him in London in four days’ time. Consequently, Julianne was by herself at the inn as she waited for John to return with his “respectable” chaperone.

He did not come back until very late in the day. It had grown dark outside when he tapped at her door and she was beginning to worry that something had gone wrong. She felt a great surge of relief at the sight of his tall broad-shouldered figure in the doorway.

“I was afraid you had deserted me,” she said with an attempt at lightness, stepping aside and holding the door wide for him to enter. “Did you see my grandmother?”

He came across the threshold, his eyes raking the room. “Yes, I saw her. She was going to send a Mrs. Brightling. Hasn’t she arrived yet?”

Julianne smiled with pleasure. “My old nurse! No, she has not arrived yet.”

“Blood hell,” said John rudely.

Julianne thought she knew what was wrong with him. “You—did you tell my grandmother about Papa?”

“Yes.”

She spoke gently, ignoring his bad temper. “I’m sorry you had so unpleasant a task. It cannot have been an enjoyable day.”

He shrugged a little as if it was of no importance. “Mrs. Brightling should be here shortly. I have ordered dinner to be served for both of you in the parlor at eight. We are leaving for Crewe tomorrow at nine o’clock and I would like you to be ready on time, please.”

She was disconcerted by his brisk, impersonal manner and asked in a bewildered voice, “But won’t I see you at dinner?”

“No.” He did not elaborate on his answer.

She said nothing, but regarded him gravely as he stood by the door; he had not come very far into the room. For a long silent minute they looked at each other, then John spoke in his clipped, decisive voice. “I want you to know that I meant what I said about your journal. I want you to see about getting it published.”

She smiled a little stiffly and made a dismissive gesture. “I did not write it for publication.”

He frowned and came a few steps closer to her.

“Yes, you did,” he contradicted her. “And it
ought
to be published. It is a very important record of a part of the world that is unknown in Europe. It is well written, the product of a keenly observant and deeply reflective mind.” She flushed a little with pleasure. “I want you to promise me you won’t turn coward about this. Promise me you will see a publisher.”

There was a distinct note of command in his voice, but strangely it did not put her back up. She moved closer to him, inexorably drawn by the strength in his voice and the compelling brilliance of his gaze. “All right,” she said softly. “I promise.”

There were only two steps between them now and Julianne was conscious of the treacherous quickening of the blood she always seemed to feel when she was near him. I won’t see him alone again, she thought. I must say something. He seemed to be moving toward her and, with a naturalness that didn’t seem at all odd at the time, she went into his arms.

She let him kiss her, her lips warm and yielding under his, her body soft and pliant in his embrace. The kiss became harder, more hungry, and Julianne’s mouth opened under his demand. She was aware of nothing in the world but the two of them, and the white heat of passion that had ignited between them. His hands were moving over her body. She easily could have pulled free of him had she wanted to. One hand touched her breast and moved caressingly; Julianne shuddered with pleasure.

He seemed to freeze at the small sound she made and then she felt his hands, hard and hurting, on her shoulders. He put her away from him with rough abruptness and held her that way for a minute before releasing her. The marks of his fingers would be on her shoulders the next morning. “Almight God, Julianne.” His voice was barely recognizable. “Another minute of this and I’ll have you down on that bed.”

What shocked Julianne most of all was the realization that she would like him to do just that. She raised trembling hands to her mouth. “I don’t understand what is happening,” she whispered.

He laughed, a short harsh sound. She could see the effort he was making to control his breathing. “No? Well, I understand it very well. Why do you think I stayed away from here all day? I only came back when I thought that damn nursemaid would be here.”

“Oh.” The word was a small breathless sound in the tension-filled room.

He put his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said very grimly. He pulled the door open and then slammed it behind him with a violence that caused the lamp on a nearby table to shake. Julianne fought down an almost overwhelming desire to burst into tears, but by the time Mrs. Brightling arrived half an hour later she had herself calm and in control.

She was in control the following morning as well. She and her old nurse rode in the carriage the duchess had provided and John rode before them on horseback. They had no opportunity for any private conversation before she was facing him in her grandmother’s drawing room to say good-bye.

He called her Miss Wells and offered her his best wishes for her future happiness. She followed his lead, thanked him for all his trouble, and bade him farewell in a cool and stately fashion that utterly belied her actual feelings. As she watched his tall black-haired figure walk out of her grandmother’s door and out of her life, she felt lost and deserted and alone.

She remembered that feeling now, as she sat before the dying fire on the night of her come-out ball. She remembered it and she thought she could understand why she had felt so. She thought she could understand what his terrible attraction for her had been.

She had been through a profoundly frightening experience and he had rescued her. There had been no one else to turn to, no one else who cared. Of course she had become dependent on him; of course she had been attracted to him; of course she had almost fancied that she loved him.

From the objective standpoint of several months later, she looked at what had been the situation between them, looked coldly, clearly, measuringly. Her defenses had been down and she had been vulnerable to the attraction of a good-looking man who had rescued and protected her. In her present objective mood she gave him credit for not taking advantage of her vulnerability. She was honest enough to admit that she had been most terribly vulnerable. But that was the case no longer. She could meet John Champernoun now without a qualm. Now that she had recovered her balance it would be impossible for her to find him attractive. He was utterly opposed to her and to all she held valuable. Her feelings had all stemmed from her own fear and insecurity. She was unlikely ever to see him again, but even if she did she was safe. John Champernoun was not what she wanted out of life.

The fire had burned out and the room was cold but still Julianne did not seek the warmth of her bed. She thought now of the ball and the society into which her grandmother had introduced her that evening. That was not what she wanted either: parties, chatter, gossip, flirtations. She wanted a quiet life, a safe marriage with someone with whom she had things in common. She wanted children. She wanted a home. She wanted what she had never had: domestic tranquility. John had scorned her for such an ambition, but Julianne knew that happiness for her lay in calm, in serenity, in absorption in the small things of life that so few people noticed and appreciated.

To get all those things she needed the proper man. There had been many young men at her grandmother’s ball, and many of them had looked at her with admiration in their eyes. She would have to begin paying attention to those young men. John Champernoun and Egypt and Africa were in the past. It was the future she must look to now. She went to bed with this thought very firmly in her mind. She knew what she wanted and she was determined to see about getting it. Although she would never have admitted it, Julianne could be every bit as ruthless as Lord Richard.

Chapter Ten

Fain would I wed a fair young man

That night and day could please me ...

—Thomas Campion

There were few who would dispute that the London season of 1815 belonged to Julianne Wells. She was, unquestionably, the loveliest, most-sought-after girl in all the ton that spring. Most of the young men were camped on her doorstep and it was generally agreed that she could have her pick of half a dozen of England’s most eligible bachelors - at least two of them hardened cases in their thirties whom most matchmaking mamas had despaired of years ago.

The Dowager Duchess of Crewe was in her element, enjoying herself more than she had in years. She was truly fond of her granddaughter, was proud of her success, and anxious for her to make a wise choice for her future husband. She thought that Julianne would; she appeared to be a girl with a remarkably level head.

The suitor whom the betting at the clubs heavily favored was Lord Rutherford. This young man was good-looking, likable, and his father was the Earl of Minton, one of the greatest nobles in the kingdom. One day Lord Rutherford himself would be the Earl of Minton—immensely powerful, immensely wealthy. The odds makers thought he was a prize few girls would be likely to resist. The odds went up even higher in his favor when the Earl and Countess of Minton paid an unusual visit to town for a week in early June. The ostensible reason for their visit was to attend a party at Carlton House, but the interested ton thought it knew better. They had come to take a look at Julianne Wells.

When it became known that the Dowager Duchess of Crewe and her granddaughter were going to Minton for a visit, the odds in the clubs went out of sight. No one was ready to bet against what all now perceived to be a sure thing.

Julianne did in fact like Lord Rutherford. She liked his gentle voice and his warm brown eyes. There was a certain mixture of natural modesty and easy courtesy about him that she responded to. Lord Rutherford, she thought, was a thoroughly nice young man and when his mother invited her to pay a visit to Minton, she had about half-decided to marry him if she liked his home.

The Dowager Duchess of Crewe and her granddaughter arrived at Minton on a lovely June afternoon. Julianne fell in love with the house before she even walked in the door. Set in the countryside of Kent, it was built of mellow golden stone and looked warm and welcoming in the June sun. The hundreds of windows sparkled. The lawns were richly green, the flower beds a riot of color. And the inside of the house was just as attractive to her. It was elegant and imposing, but it was also clearly a home. The state apartments were awesome, but the family rooms were full of sporting prints and comfortable chairs and her bedroom was decorated with chintz and flowers. It was a house where one felt immediately at ease.

One of the chief reasons for the friendly attraction of Minton was its owner. William Foster, seventh Earl of Minton, was one of the great men of his time. He managed to be both distinguished and unceremonious.  He did not greatly care for London and spent the great part of his time in the country, where he saw to  his horses, his estates and his art collection. He was married to a woman whom he dearly loved and had three sons to add to his happiness.

Julianne loved Lord Minton. He was the father she had never had: hospitable, kind and paternal.  She loved Lady Minton, so gracious, so friendly, so peaceful. She loved the house and the grounds. It was no wonder that she very soon convinced herself that she loved Lord Rutherford as well.

He asked her to marry him on a glorious morning in late June. They had gone out together for a ride, stopped in a very pretty glade, and dismounted in order to drink from a crystal-clear stream that ran rushing through the undergrowth. Lord Rutherford tied the horses’ reins to a tree and bent down to scoop some water up in his hands. “This is the best-tasting water in the world,” he said to Julianne. “When I was a boy I used to love to drink it.” He looked hardly older than a boy now as he knelt, slim and agile, over the stream. His usually smooth brown hair was ruffled and his brown eyes glowed with health and happiness.

Julianne followed his example and knelt to try the water. As she bent over the stream he reached out and touched her tied-back golden hair. “Don’t let your hair get wet,” he said, pulling gently.

The pressure on her hair brought back a disconcerting memory from the past. To banish it, she turned to look at Lord Rutherford, assuring herself that it was indeed he and not someone else who had touched her.

He looked back at her and his face was suddenly grave. “Miss Wells,” he said. “Julianne. My feelings cannot be unknown to you. Can you— that is, do you—Oh, dash it all, Julianne, I’m trying to say that I love you and I want you to marry me. Will you?”

She looked up into the young and ardent face above her. He was so sweet, she thought. She smiled. “Yes, Lord Rutherford,” she answered. “I will be honored to marry you.”

He smiled in return and moved closer to her. “I’m so glad. I’ve been trying to get up the courage to ask you for days.” He slid an arm around her waist. “You are so lovely,” he said and kissed her.