Julia London 4 Book Bundle (63 page)

It was incomprehensible
.

And he repeated that over and over as he hurried home, intent on hearing what had transpired at that rout from his daughter’s own lips. He would hear it all, then think what to do to keep the ugly rumors from spreading too far—to the
king
, for godsakes!

He arrived home at the same time Lord Montfort’s footman was leaving. Standing in the foyer, Redbourne gestured for the note the man had brought. It was addressed to Claudia. Redbourne opened it, feeling not one scintilla of guilt—she was still his daughter and his responsibility, and as such, her mail was open to his inspection. He quickly scanned the vellum and felt his pulse begin to quicken with dread. The note very politely conveyed that, due to unforeseen circumstances, Lord Montfort would not be making a donation to Claudia’s charitable project. No other explanation was given, nor was one needed.

Redbourne’s pulse jumped erratically.

Montfort was a wealthy man. The unforeseen circumstances he referred to were the rumors of Claudia’s hideous display of loose morals. Frankly, Redbourne would have done the same in Montfort’s shoes—if Claudia couldn’t be trusted with her own chastity, she could hardly be trusted with the man’s money. What frightened Redbourne most was the unanswered question of just how many people knew.

He found her in her sitting room with a servant’s daughter—Redbourne couldn’t remember precisely which servant—in whom Claudia had taken a particular interest. He had chalked it up to her being five and twenty and still unmarried, and wished she would just agree to marry one of the half dozen suitors who regularly sought him out and bear her own child. Claudia and the
girl were sitting side by side on a lawn green couch, an atlas spread across their laps.

Surprise flit across Claudia’s face as he entered, turning into a beatific smile. “Papa! How wonderful that you should join us!”

Redbourne glanced at the girl. “Run along and find your mama.”

The girl looked hesitantly at Claudia, whose smile slowly faded. She nodded to the girl. “Let’s continue tomorrow, shall we? There now, off you go—your mother is in the kitchen with Mr. Randall.” The girl slid off the couch, peering intently at Redbourne as if she had never seen a grown man before, walked slowly to the door, then reluctantly slipped out.

He waited until the door had shut behind her before turning to look at Claudia. Her lovely face tilted up to him, and he was struck with the disappointing notion that it was such a waste of beauty. “I understand you had a rather fine time of it at Green’s latest soiree.”

All of the color suddenly drained from her face. “W-what?”

Deny it. Tell me it is an abominable lie
. Redbourne walked farther into the room, crumpling the note from Montfort. “Rumors apparently abound that you were discovered alone with a man in a rather … 
compromising
position. Is that true?”

For a moment, Redbourne feared she might actually be ill. She could not possibly have done this—her reaction was one of shock and dismay that such horrid things would be said about her. When she found her breath, she would beg him to bring all his power to bear on whomever had started this despicable lie.

“It is true,” she murmured. “I am so very sorry, Papa.”

Marshall Whitney’s world tilted. Staring at his flesh and blood, he refused to accept that this child of his could have slandered his name with such careless depravity. It could not be true! “With Kettering?” he heard himself ask with great disbelief. “On a bench beneath him, your breasts exposed?”

Wincing painfully, Claudia shamefully averted her gaze from him.

Redbourne stumbled to a chair, his mind racing. If the king heard of this disgrace, he might very well have him removed from the Privy Council. Worse yet, he would be the laughingstock of every club in London—his daughter, a whore!

“Papa, I—”

“No!”
he said sharply, throwing up a hand. “Do not speak!” Taking several deep breaths, he fought for composure. He had never lifted a hand to Claudia, but if the gel ever deserved a sound thrashing, it was now. “Why?” he finally managed. “Why would you
degrade
yourself?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered miserably.

Furious, Redbourne jerked his head up and glared at her. “You don’t
know
?”

Claudia remained silent.

“I have given you all that I can, raised you in the best of circumstances. How could you throw it all away? And for … for the sake of
lust
? What kind of woman
are
you? Why in God’s name did you do it?”

A sob caught in her throat as she glanced heavenward. “I don’t know! I thought … I mean to say I
wanted
to know—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He suddenly vaulted from the chair and began pacing furiously. “I don’t want to know what madness overcame you! I never saw such lascivious behavior in your mother!
God
, Claudia, have you any idea what you’ve done? You’ve ruined everything! Do you think any of your suitors will call again? Believe me, they will not—no one will make a match with a woman disgraced by her own lust! Look at this!” He lifted Montfort’s crumpled note for her to see. “You have already put your charitable endeavors in jeopardy!” He tossed the note at her, hitting her squarely in the chest.

She did not pick it up from her lap. “I am not disgraced! Kettering is not disgraced, so why—”

“Kettering will pay the piper, you may depend on it! I
won’t allow him to succeed in bringing this humiliation upon my house!”

“What do you mean?” Claudia asked breathlessly. “W-what do you intend to do?”

Redbourne scowled at her. “He shall marry you,” he said low. “I will see to it that he makes a legitimate whore of you!”

She recoiled physically, and for a scant moment, Redbourne almost regretted his words.
Almost
. But her ungodly lust had brought scandal to his pristine name, and by God, she would know the consequence of her folly!

“I won’t marry him,
Papa
.”

After what she had done, she would
defy
him? For the first time in his life, Redbourne could hardly stand to look at his daughter. “You will do as I tell you,” he said in a voice trembling with rage, and started for the door.

“You can try and force me to your will”—she spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her—“God knows, as a woman, I have no rights in such matters as this. But you will not impose your will on him, I assure you.”

Redbourne twisted sharply around and leveled a lethal gaze at her. “You had best worry less about your
rights
and pray that he doesn’t hide you away in some remote corner of the world for the rest of your life. The bastard certainly has the means and the reason to do so.”

Her eyes widened with mortification.
“Papa—”

“Save your breath—you should have considered the consequence of lying under that bastard like a whore at the appropriate time.” And with that, he walked away.

A steady rain was falling on the little town house on Upper Moreland Street, crowding the inhabitants into the house from the small but cheerful garden in back. Three of Doreen’s charges—women ranging in age from twenty to almost five and sixty—were gathered in the basement kitchen, baking the last of the teacakes. Two more women were gathered around sewing baskets in the
parlor, chattering gaily over their darning while three young children played at their feet. Doreen sat at the front window, rocking back and forth as she labored over the piecework in her lap, looking up and out the window occasionally when a carriage or pedestrian passed.

Claudia stood at the bay window, staring blindly into space as she had been doing for the better part of an hour since delivering fresh fruit for the children. This house was the only place she felt like herself now. Her life had been turned upside down and everything she thought she knew was suddenly open to debate—and God knew she had done enough of that. Word of her carnal experience had spread like fire through the
ton
, thanks to Mrs. Frankton, the story becoming more outrageous with each telling. It was humiliating to learn from Brenda, her maid, that some unscrupulous men—men she had known for years and had hosted in her home—were fanning the flames by claiming to know Claudia Whitney’s person, having been associated with her in
that
capacity.

It was even more humiliating to learn that she had not, apparently, been The Rake’s only conquest at Harrison Green’s that night—Brenda had also heard about a rather tawdry kiss Julian had shared with Lady Prather in the ballroom.

Claudia folded her arms across her abdomen, seeing Julian’s dark face above her again, his black eyes shining.
You are right to fear me
 …

She shook her head, tried to clear her vision, but it was blurred by a thin sheen of tears she could scarcely keep at bay. She had finally come to realize … or admit … that her folly had cost her much. It didn’t matter that certain factions of the
ton
judged her unfairly—Julian Dane was just as guilty as she was, yet she had not heard a word spoken against him. Nor did it matter that she was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions and mistakes—the error in her judgment was adversely affecting her father’s reputation. Her argument that she was a thinking adult with free will who should be allowed to enjoy the same pleasures in life as a man
was met with an icy reproach. The essence of it, really, was that she was a woman, and therefore, her will was supplanted by that of her father, or a brother, or a husband.

Her reputation was annihilated beyond repair, apparently—the donations to her school project had dwindled to almost nothing. In the last few days, she had received a half dozen notes in which offers so generously made two weeks ago were withdrawn. Worse, when she had called on kindly Lord Cheevers to discuss the withdrawal of his pledge, he had refused to see her. His butler had turned her away at the door.

It was that for which she could not forgive herself. Above all else, her folly had affected children like the three little girls playing behind her now. Because she had allowed her desires to emerge unchecked, those girls might not receive the education they needed and deserved. The tears began to well again.

“I reckon there ain’t much to be done for it,” Doreen said, startling Claudia from her ruminations. She glanced at the woman who had been forced to trade her body to keep food in her children’s bellies and felt a wave of self-loathing.

“I don’t suppose,” she muttered wearily.

“They’ve got you over a barrel. Only one thing to do, it would seem.”

Claudia turned toward Doreen, staring at her as she calmly rocked, her needle flying in and out of the fabric. “What?”

Doreen shrugged lightly. “Marry him.”

Dear God!
“No,” Claudia responded flatly

Doreen did not look up. “It won’t get any easier, not for you. I know this bloke has made you all sad and nervous of late, but he also made you moon-eyed—”

“I have
never
been moon-eyed!” Claudia protested as she sank onto a stool next to Doreen.

Doreen glanced up briefly from her piecework, but her skepticism was clearly evident. “You know that ain’t so.
You were moon-eyed as a cow, right here in this parlor. Marry him. Won’t do you any harm.”

“Doreen!” Claudia exclaimed. “You vowed never to allow a man to rule your life again! Why should
I
do so?”

Doreen lowered her sewing and fixed Claudia with a stern gaze. “There’s a difference between you and me, miss. You’re one of them, the Quality. You
must
marry if you are to live. You can’t work if you are of a mind to, and even if could, you’d not last a day in the factories. You’re too fine for that. What else can you do? That father of yours won’t keep you forever. Seems to me there ain’t really no choice, not for a woman like you.”

Claudia opened her mouth to protest, but Doreen shook her head. “It ain’t worth your breath to argue. Besides, you’ve naught to fear from men, not like we do,” she continued, gesturing toward the other women in the room. “Once that dandy marries you and has you, he’ll leave you to your own. He won’t need you to feed him and clothe him or bring him coin. God’s teeth, I reckon he won’t need you a’tall’ cept to be on his arm when the occasion warrants it. A woman couldn’t ask for a better arrangement in this world, and it ain’t like you got any choice in the end, is it? It’s our lot in life, and ain’t nothing any of us can do about it.”

Having said it, Doreen calmly returned to her sewing. Claudia stared at her for a long moment, then shifted her gaze to the rain-slicked windowpane.

There was no argument she could offer that even she would believe.

Julian held Sophie’s crumpled note in his hand, his jaw clenched tightly shut. It was directed to Stanwood, but had been delivered to him by the mistake of an old butler. Would he be forced
to physically
stuff some common sense into Sophie’s empty little head? Did she think she could continue to defy him without consequence?

His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing hard to erase the feeling of discomfort. She had quite lost her
mind. When he had confronted her, she had blanched, but then had quickly regained her courage. “
You can’t stop me from loving him!
”

Lord, he was weary of this! Sophie had never been so stubborn and the change in her was more than he could bear—not now,
especially
now—he could hardly care for himself, much less her. Julian rubbed his neck harder. He had told her, calmly and simply, that if she tried to contact Stanwood again, he would pack her off to Kettering Hall forthwith. And he had meant every word of it.

He looked at the vellum in his hand again. Addressed to Stanwood, Sophie’s handwriting flourished in great sweeping strokes, promising—amid some choice complaints about an overbearing older brother—to find a way to meet him. For the life of him, it seemed quite beyond his ability to understand why she could not see his point in this.

It was beyond his ability to understand anything these last few days. He was at a loss—his body ached in every joint, bothered by the vague but pervasive sense of disquiet. It certainly didn’t help that he hadn’t slept in days, thanks to Phillip. Ah yes, Phillip’s ghost came to him every night, just as he had in those long nights immediately following his death, invading his dreams. Everything came back, old wounds opened anew: the disbelief, the guilt, the voice of the vicar and the empty words,
know ye the quality of love
 … It all came to him in fragmented dreams, memories startled out of a deep slumber after many long months by her single remark, spoken in a voice still coarse with desire.