Loving Julia (23 page)
So, furious at the evening’s unexpected ending, he had carried her up to bed and in the process been struck by how lovely she really was, and how ready she was to like and even trust him. It had made him feel like a cad for what he had intended, but it had also touched some deep chord within himself that must, he decided with some irony, be hungry for affection. Starved was more the right word, if the thought of a reformed guttersnipe nurturing a fondness for him was enough to dissuade him from his evil designs on her person. But whatever the explanation, he had strictly censored himself from that night on, treating her in an avuncular manner that had amazed himself, and would certainly have flabbergasted any of his cronies or former mistresses had they seen him.
His mouth twisted. What made it all so ridiculous was that she had been chasing him the whole time. He had grown to like her, really like her, which was novel in his relationships with females. It had been a bitter blow to discover that she was no better than all the rest. If he hadn’t gotten so blind drunk and so furious at her, he would in all likelihood still be at White Friars, growing fonder of her by the day. In a way, he was grateful she had taken to heaping coals of guilt on his head about Chloe. Otherwise, he would never have gone to see Chloe in her room, knowing he only aggravated her illness. He never would have gotten so damn drunk afterwards, and he never would have seen his creation in her true colors. She was a round heeled little whore, as he had expected from the first, succumbing to him without even the first hint of reluctance.
But in that she had made a huge miscalculation. Possibly she had believed him too drunk to know the difference, possibly she had tossed away her virginity so long ago that she had forgotten how virgins react to a man’s animalistic advances, or possibly she was so used to a man using her body that she was starved for it by the time he had finally got around to trying his luck. That night in the music room should have warned him. She had been eager then, too, responding to his compliments and caresses like a kitten wanting to be stroked. In the library she could have easily stopped him with a slap, or even a strong “no!” He had not been so far gone that he would have raped her. But she had been eager, so eager that he had known immediately that this was nothing new to her. And then he had wanted her too badly to stop himself.
He thought of her standing on the steps at White Friars with her hooded cloak clutched about her, her golden eyes huge and falsely innocent as she stared up at him as if she were the injured party. He had wanted to put his hands around that soft slender neck and wring it. He got some little satisfaction from hearing her slip back into her guttersnipe’s cant for the first time in months. Like the mask of her innocence, the mask of her gentility was only a thin veneer hiding what she really was.
She was a lying little whore, and he was lucky he had found out that truth before he had committed the monumental folly of growing fonder of her than he should. Even as he told himself that, Sebastian became aware of an aching sensation in the pit of his stomach. He had enjoyed her company—and her body. His memory of taking it was so strangely clear … and it had been perfect. He felt his groin tighten just thinking about her creamy white, full breasts and tiny waist, and he swore savagely.
He would forget all that soon enough. He had not visited Suzanne in months, but he was paying for her house, her clothes, her carriage, and even the food she put in her mouth. He would visit her now, and slake the memory of that golden-eyed little bitch with the same cure that proved so effective with a hangover: the hair of the dog that had bit him.
The carriage rocked to a stop, and his outrider jumped down to open the door and let down the steps. Sebastian saw the brightly lit facade of White’s, and scowled.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he growled, glaring at the hapless servant, and gave the man the address of Suzanne’s snug little house in Lisle Street.
The remainder of that fall passed uneventfully for Julia. After the first few weeks, when it became obvious that Sebastian had no intention of returning and explaining his actions, she clamped the lid down on her temper and refused to think of him at all. He had made her love him, taken her virginity, and then cruelly discarded her. If she thought about it, it made her furious; it also made her want to cry. So she resolutely refused to think about it.
If she was lonely without Sebastian, she told herself, no one had ever died from loneliness. She lived a pampered life in a warm house with plenty of food to eat and an army of servants to see to her every wish. She had spent her childhood dreaming she might one day live this way. When she had pictured heaven with its pearly gates and streets of solid gold, it hadn’t been half so nice. She was determined to enjoy what she had, and not pine for what she didn’t. In truth, what—or, more properly, who—she didn’t have was not worth pining for.
She kept up with her reading, and before long had gone through nearly a quarter of Sebastian’s considerable library. Shamed by her lapse into street cant on the day Sebastian had left, she practiced her speech as well, reading aloud in the library until the well-bred accent was second nature to her. Finally, she grew confident that she could hold her own conversationally in both manner of speech and subject in any company, however exalted. Mrs. Johnson, whom she had come to consider a friend, would frequently invite her to the cozy housekeeper’s room to share some tea, and insights into some of the little social niceties she had picked up from a lifetime of observing the aristocracy in action.
Julia took long walks almost daily. She loved tramping over the heath in all its moods. When a light drizzle was falling, the scent of wild lavender was lovelier to her nostrils than any perfume. When the sun shone, the rolling acres of bracken seemed to sparkle and beckon. If the air was nippy, she loved the crispness of the heath beneath her feet. The activities of rabbits, birds, and chipmunks as they prepared for winter fascinated her city-bred soul. Sometimes she would sit for hours at a time on a small hill, her cloak wrapped tightly around her as she watched the comings and goings of its furry inhabitants. At other times she would perch on the banks of a stream and watch for the flashing bodies of fish or the occasional predatory bird who flew in low, looking for them.
Sebastian had only been gone a week when she first felt she was being followed on her walks. The idea of it frightened her, as she knew both Elizabeth and Sebastian’s older brother Edward had been killed in these seemingly peaceful surroundings. It was on a bright September morning, and Julia was not too far from the old monastery, which she had never visited again after that once. She was sitting in a little hollow watching the antics of a pair of ground squirrels who were frolicking in and around a rotting log. The roar of the Wash was a pleasantly muted accompaniment, and the air was clean and crisp as she breathed it in.
Suddenly she had looked around, certain for no reason except that she was, that someone was behind her. She saw no one, but still she could not shake the feeling that she was not alone. Immediately her overactive imagination pictured a pale gentle ghost, which just as immediately she dismissed as ridiculous. Still, she demanded sharply to know who was there. When there was no answer, and since she could see for quite some way in every direction and knew that she must be truly alone, she tried to settle back down to watching the squirrels. But they had fled, and she had no other reason to linger. She had gone straight home, but she could not shake the feeling that something, or someone, was following her the whole way. Although she kept looking uneasily over her shoulder, she saw nothing but rolling miles of deserted heath.
The next time she had felt she was being watched, she was closer to home. In fact, she was just beyond the topiary garden, where anyone could easily have been hiding behind one of the tall shrubs. She searched, but was unable to discover anyone that time either. She felt more uneasy than ever as she returned to the house.
Gradually, though, she stopped being bothered by the sensation of being watched and followed. She felt it frequently, but she could never see anyone and never came to any harm. After a while she was able to cast a single casual look over her shoulder, and go on with what she was doing with scarcely more than a shrug. If it was indeed a spirit, of Elizabeth or anyone else, she preferred to think of it as friendly. And if it was simply her overactive imagination seizing on the brooding atmosphere of the heath, then she wasn’t about to allow her subconscious to undermine her pleasure in being out of doors.
She also occupied her time with trying to befriend Chloe.
Two or three times a week, she would go to the nursery and spend an hour or so with the child. Chloe was wary during these sessions, remaining huddled in a chair while Julia sat on the far side of the room and read very loudly from one of the little girl’s picture books. Sometimes Chloe watched from the safety of a corner as Julia undressed a flaxen haired doll that Miss Belkerson assured her was one of Chloe’s favorites and pretended to tuck it into bed with a story and a kiss. Chloe never actively participated in the play, and at times appeared not to even be aware of Julia’s presence. But at other times, those sky blue eyes that were so like Sebastian’s would light up for a scant moment before being diverted, as if Chloe had some inner warning system that kept her from getting too interested in whatever had been taking place.
Always after such a moment those eyes would become even more unfocused, and Chloe would stare mindlessly into space until Julia left. Once, as Julia performed an especially silly bit of play-acting with the doll, she thought she caught a glimmer of a smile on Chloe’s face. A screaming, kicking tantrum followed that experience, and Chloe ended up being borne away sobbing to bed. Julia, shaken by the violence Chloe displayed, nevertheless continued her visits. Despite her lack of obvious headway with the child, she felt in some obscure way that she and Chloe were becoming friends.
Mrs. Johnson was also concerned about Chloe’s well-being. Occasionally as Julia played in the nursery suite, she would look up to find the housekeeper standing in the doorway, watching Chloe with a sad little smile. The child never seemed to notice the older woman’s presence, just as she barely noticed Julia’s. Still Mrs. Johnson expressed a fondness for the little girl, and kept coming up to check on Julia’s progress in befriending her.
“Because I was that fond of her mother, you know,” Mrs. Johnson explained as Julia sipped a cup of tea with her one rainy afternoon. “And of his lordship, of course. The little mite does look so like her father, doesn’t she?”
There was nothing Julia wanted to discuss less than Sebastian, or Chloe’s resemblance to him. So she smiled sympathetically and remained silent, hoping Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t pursue the subject. Today, she wasn’t so lucky.
“I’ve known the little one all her life, you know,” Mrs. Johnson continued chattily, unaware of Julia’s discomfort. “And Miss Elizabeth, milady, practically ran tame over here when they were growing up. And Miss Caroline, too, of course. Miss Caroline was the beauty, although she was only a sort of cousin to Miss Elizabeth, taken in by the Tynesdales when her own parents died. Miss Elizabeth was quite an heiress, and we all thought that Master Edward would end up wedded to her. The Peytons weren’t too plump in the pocket then, you know. Most of my lord’s money came to him through Miss Elizabeth. But anyway, somehow or another Master Edward wed Miss Caroline, and it was she we all thought would be my lady. When Miss Elizabeth married his lordship—the second son was all he was then—Miss Caroline seemed to get a lot of satisfaction from kind of lording it over her. I suppose Miss Caroline had had to put up with some snubs growing up, being the poor relation, like. Then Master Edward died, and right after that the old earl, who’d been an invalid for years, died too. And Master Sebastian inherited the title. Ain’t it funny how things work out?” Mrs. Johnson paused to marvel at the vagaries of fate.
Julia felt her interest caught despite herself. “Their marriage—Sebastian’s and Elizabeth’s—was not a happy one, was it?”
Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “No, and that’s something most people don’t know. I suppose Emily has been talking about things that she shouldn’t again. But since you’re one of the family now, Miss Julia, I suppose it’s all right. From the very start that marriage was rocky. They weren’t right for each other, though of course hindsight always shows us where we went wrong, doesn’t it? Miss Elizabeth was such a quiet little mouse of a thing, you know, and Master Sebastian—well, he was always extraordinary handsome, even as a little lad. At first, I thought it was kind of funny that he should love her, but then I saw how she seemed to took up to him and I could see how he might like that. He didn’t get much attention as a boy, you know. It was all Master Edward this, and Master Edward that. He was the heir and all. And besides, Miss Elizabeth stood to inherit all that money. I’m sure that influenced Master Sebastian too. He’d have been a fool if it didn’t.”
The idea of Sebastian as a young man wedded to Elizabeth caused a queer little pain in the region of Julia’s heart. She refused to acknowledge it, and after a moment it went away.
“Do you know what went wrong between them?”
“Who could know what all goes on between man and wife?” Mrs. Johnson asked in such a way that Julia knew the question was largely rhetorical. The housekeeper took another sip of tea and whispered conspiratorially, “I think it had something to do with milady’s wifely duties, if you know what I mean. She was a lady through and through, and ladies don’t always like the things that their husbands expect of them. Now me, I’ve got good yeoman blood in my veins, and me and Johnson never had no problems like that. But I think my lord and Miss Elizabeth did.”
“But they had Chloe.”
Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “My lord had to have an heir, you know. He couldn’t have let her alone even if he wanted to. She was his legal wife, and it was her duty to give him children. But after Miss Chloe’s birth they never shared a bed again to my knowledge. Milady thought the sun rose and set on Miss Chloe, but the birth was real hard on her. I don’t think she wanted to go through that again, and I don’t think my lord would have forced her. If milady had lived, who knows? Maybe she would have given him his heir after all. But now there’s only Miss Chloe, poor little thing. What happened to her is as much a tragedy as what happened to Miss Elizabeth. More maybe.”