Julia London 4 Book Bundle (23 page)

Adrian looked from Arthur to Julian, both glaring at him, daring him to disagree. There was no point in dredging up the fact that Phillip would not have gunned him down, that he had shot well over his head and had not even
cocked
the second hammer. They would believe what they wanted, cope as best they knew how. But he knew. Lord God, he knew deep in his soul that Phillip would not have shot him.

His head was suddenly pounding.

“Yes, Arthur, Phillip killed himself before he ever arrived at Dunwoody,” Adrian muttered as he rubbed his forehead. “And we can only blame ourselves for it. If even one of us had understood his course of self-destruction, it might never have ended like that. I didn’t pay him heed, you know. I turned a blind eye.”

“The same could be said for all of us,” Arthur said wearily. “God knows how often I have lain awake at night, knowing that I might have prevented it—”

“Do you lay awake, Arthur?” Julian snidely interrupted, and gave them both an impatient look. “Well I
did
pay him heed. I saw everything, every bloody self-destructive act, and yet I didn’t do enough to help him. Can you imagine how that feels? I
let
him fall,” he snapped.

Yes, one of them had fallen hard, Adrian thought bitterly, and he’d be damned to eternal hell if he let another one fall. He glanced at Julian’s empty glass; he had drained several more snifters than his companions had, and it made Adrian angry. It was so like Phillip! Looking for a solution to his grief in a bottle! Adrian lifted his gaze to Julian, who had turned his attention to the back of the room, in search of a footman. “You drink like a fish. Just like Phillip did,” he snapped, nodding his head toward the empty glass.

With a groan, Julian threw up his hands. “Thank you, but I don’t recall inviting any one of my sisters to join us. So I’ve had a few brandies!” he blustered angrily. “Don’t worry about me, Albright. I am not in debt, I do not want to
die
, and I am quite capable of walking away from it!”

“Perhaps, but I would be vastly relieved if I thought you could pass a single day without drowning your guilt in whiskey,” Arthur interjected, which earned him a look of indignation from Julian. “You, too, Adrian,” he continued, undaunted. “Between the two of you, I’m not sure who is more worrisome.”

“Me?” Adrian fairly shouted.

Arthur calmly nodded his head. “You cannot deny that something is eating away at you. You look like hell, man.”

“How very kind of you.” Adrian snorted with exasperation. “But at least I am not tearfully sentimental. You, on the other hand, rather
do
sound like one of Kettering’s sisters!”

Resentment flashed in Arthur’s eyes. “Well, forgive me for the unpardonable sin of caring about the two of you. But I look at Julian, who is well into his cups more often than not, and you, looking rather desolate, and I know that
I
have not had a decent night’s sleep since Phillip died! I know if I had paid him more heed, if I hadn’t shut my eyes to what was happening, he might bloody well be here tonight, begging us to accompany him to Madam Farantino’s!” he exclaimed loudly.

A stunned hush fell over the table as several heads swiveled to see what the commotion was about. An awkward silence fell between them; Arthur shifted uncomfortably, and Julian twisted about in his chair, now apparently desperate for a footman. Adrian winced; the last thing he wanted to talk about was
this
, especially with his head pounding like a drum. But Arthur was right, and he bloody well knew it. They had lost Phillip, not so much because he had pulled the trigger, but because each of them had ignored what was happening, hoping it would go away, and pretending it was no cause for alarm. They had pushed it down with everything unpleasant, as they so often did.

“Bloody fools, the two of you,” Arthur muttered.

“Oh God, this is really so unnecessary,” Julian groaned. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

“I just want to assure myself that not another of us will fall,” Arthur stubbornly reiterated.

“Then perhaps we should prick our fingers and swear our fealty to one another,” Julian sarcastically shot back, and finally catching the eye of a footman, anxiously motioned him over.

“We’ve a vow between us,” Adrian carefully reminded
them. “We swore at Dunwoody to meet for the purpose of assuring ourselves another would not fall.”

“Oh
Lord
,” Julian moaned. “All right, all right, we’ve a
vow.
Enough of this now, before the world discovers how impossibly sentimental the two of you are! Come on, then, I am bored with this place. Shall we call on Madam Farantino? I am quite certain she has missed our smiling faces.”

“Now
that
would be a perfect antidote to this morbid conversation,” Arthur drawled, and pushed his brandy aside.

Madame Farantino’s. It had been a long time since Adrian had sampled the delectable flesh there. “Go ahead then, why don’t you? I’ll find my way home well enough,” he said, surprising even himself.

“Oh no.” His tone grave, Julian leaned forward and peered closely at Adrian. “Don’t tell me that rustic wife of yours has made you soft!”

Adrian chuckled. “I beg your pardon, but I am married.”

“Yes, and so are the majority of patrons at Madam Farantino’s. Surely you will not deny yourself pleasure when she is safely tucked away?”

“Leave him be, Julian. He is smitten with her,” Arthur interjected with a broad grin. “As smitten as Romeo was with his Juliet.”

That was preposterous, and Adrian snorted. “I am not smitten with her,” he grumbled. And he
wasn’t
smitten with her. How could he be smitten with an obnoxious little—

“My God, I think you must be right! He
is
smitten with her!” Julian gleefully exclaimed.

“I am not
smitten
with her!” Adrian insisted more forcefully. “Believe me, she is the most exasperating, impudent, insane county bumpkin you could ever hope to meet!”

Much to his exasperation, Arthur and Julian exchanged a glance and laughed at that. Ignoring Adrian’s
dark frown, Arthur asked, “If she is so … exasperating, is that it? Why in God’s name did you marry her?”

Good Lord.
Adrian sighed and lifted his brandy, then set it aside again without drinking. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” Julian said, chuckling.

“For revenge.” There, he had said it, and glanced impassionately at the twin looks of shock.

“Wh-what?” Arthur stammered.

“Revenge, plain and simple,” Adrian repeated. And with the inevitable momentum gained from having opened his mouth in the first place, he calmly began speaking of the events that had occurred after Dunwoody. He told them of the disownment, which they apparently already knew, judging by the sheepish looks on their faces. He told them of his discovery that Benedict planned to offer for the parish princess, of his rash decision to marry her, of being catapulted into a strange world of horse thieves and drapes made of neckcloths, and perfectly good hats turned into baskets. He shook his head when he told them of Hugo and Maude, and how those beasts were slowly and systematically destroying his home.

And for reasons he would never fully understand, he spoke of the emotional distance between him and his wife, overlooking Julian’s dramatic groan when he covered his face with his hands at Adrian’s obvious weakness. Amazingly, as Arthur gaped at him in rapt attention, muttering,
“I knew it,”
the distress came tumbling out of him. He was able to put into words his inability to understand the Princess of the Grange, or women for that matter, and his fear that she loved Benedict. When he at last finished, he pushed away his empty glass feeling completely drained. Never in his life had he spoken so openly about himself, and he was already regretting it. He felt exposed and raw.

The men were silent for a long moment, until at last Julian spoke. “Take a mistress,” he said flatly. “Trust me, you will never be able to understand her, and if
what you say is true, it won’t matter. You come from different worlds, really, and if it is Benedict she desires, then … Take a mistress,” he said gruffly.

“No,” Arthur hastily interjected. “No. It is possible there is something you don’t see. Perhaps she doesn’t love Benedict. You should go and tell her what you have told us.”

Julian laughed. “And when did you become such a fool? Confessing that he married her to avenge the loss of his inheritance might not endear him to her.”

“I daresay it will be more appealing to her than a mistress,” Arthur shot back. “He deserves to know how she feels. And she deserves to know how
he
feels.”

Did he feel? Adrian wondered, and pressed his lips together, slowly shaking his head as Julian groaned his disgust again, muttering that feelings and a halfpenny would get him a pint. Was he even capable of feeling? After years of suppressing his feelings, it was exceedingly difficult to recognize them when they surfaced.

“Go home to her, Adrian,” Arthur insisted.

“Get yourself a mistress and thank me another time,” Julian said, and shoved away from the table. “I’m to Madam Farantino’s. Who will join me?” When Adrian declined again, Julian blithely remarked to Arthur that was just as well since Adrian always helped himself to the prettiest, and slung his arm around Arthur’s shoulder. With bright farewells until the morrow, the two Rogues sauntered from the Tarn O’Shanter with all the confidence of a pair of roosters.

Adrian spent the next day behind closed doors with his solicitors. When he emerged in the early evening, he headed straight for the blue drawing room and the cup of coffee he had craved all afternoon. No thanks to Arthur, he had slept restlessly. The suggestion that he tell Lilliana how he felt had tumbled roughly about his brain like a rock all night, jabbing sharply at his dull headache. If it hadn’t been for that wretched scene in her
bedroom, had she not presented herself like a wench, he would not have paid Arthur any heed. But that strange event had him thinking perhaps Arthur was right—there was more than he knew, and he should return to Longbridge at once to speak with her. To the extent that he was capable, he should at least be honest with her.

And himself.

He grudgingly recognized that perhaps he had not been completely attentive to her, really, as he had thrown himself into the resurrection of Longbridge. A gift. Yes, he would bring her a proper gift, a peace offering. He would have his secretary check on the emerald bracelet and necklace he had commissioned several weeks ago. That would be a proper peace offering.

Unfortunately, he could not yet depart, as his solicitors had advised him there were some papers concerning his Boston shipyard that needed to be drawn up immediately. It would take a few days to have everything in order, but they needed his signature so they might be dispatched at once. Ah well. Another day or so would not make any difference, and in truth he could stand a trip to the exclusive shops on Jermyn Street to replace his two best hats and the silk neckcloths she had destroyed. No, he thought with a wry smile, another day or so would not make much difference.

Except that he needed to see her.

Thankfully, Benedict did not want to remain in London any longer. He made some vague excuse of having business elsewhere, but Adrian suspected he was anxious to return to Kealing Park before he angered Archie with his prolonged absence. He asked Benedict to explain to Lilliana why he had been detained, which his brother eagerly assured him he would. With a cheerful wave, Benedict departed for Longbridge to retrieve his coach.

     
I
N THE ORANGERY
at Longbridge, Lilliana stared at the nearly finished portrait of Adrian and commended herself—she’d actually done a rather good job with it. His handsome face stared back at her, impassive, unfeeling.…

He had left her at Longbridge with nothing more than a terse note informing her he had gone to London for a few days. To
London.
She had been there once as a child, remembered it as noisy and dirty and teeming with all sorts of people. It was a vivid memory, and one so grand she would give anything to see it again. But after her little display she been abruptly left behind. Perhaps it was an indication of how things were to be with them. He would see the world; she would remain at Longbridge. Painting.

His abrupt departure had hurt her terribly and had angered her to an extent she had never before experienced. In some respects she was glad he had not returned before now, because Lord only knew what she might have said or done. But that was before the unmistakable feelings of contrition and shame began to creep into her conscience. Her actions had been abominable—
an image of her mother’s likely horror if she knew how Lilliana had acted kept playing in her mind’s eye—screams, a plea to God to have mercy on her daughter, then certain heart failure. Like a silly, wanton child, so in need of attention, she had pushed the limits of decency.

What demon had possessed her? What monstrous illness had robbed her of all reason? She was deeply ashamed that she would so readily and completely believe Benedict’s innuendoes. Again, like a child.

She paused in her painting and leaned back, cocking her head to one side as she assessed her work with a critical eye. It was a very good likeness of Adrian, but it did not quite capture the essence of him, the sheer magnetism that practically oozed from him.
Please come back
, her heart whispered. She missed him. She needed to apologize, to explain how foolish she had been, to finally speak of
why
she had done it.
Please come back.

But a little voice in her head sounding suspiciously like Alice Dashell warned her that he might never come back to her. Not in spirit, anyway. “You wanted a reaction?” she muttered angrily. “Well, you got one!” She had succeeded, apparently, all too well.

The sound of her name from somewhere outside startled her, and she yanked her gaze to the window. Benedict! Her heart skipped several beats. They were home! Lilliana anxiously leapt to her feet and yanked at the ties of her apron. Discarding it, she quickly ran a hand through her hair, pinched her cheeks to hide the paleness, and hurried to the door. Flinging it open, she rushed outside, oblivious to the cold of the final gasp of winter. Beaming, she held out her hands to Benedict as he came striding across the lawn.