Dearest Josephine

by Caroline George

  Elias sighed. He rested his head against the wall, a memory lighting the back of his mind.

  Josephine De Clare.

  He thought about her all the time, as though her kiss had altered his brain. Of course, he wouldn’t dare speak of the attachment. He barely understood it himself. What an embarrassment. A childish reaction. To grow fond of someone because she gave attention.

  But she represented a hope still alive within Elias, that one day a person would look at him and not see a bastard. They wouldn’t send him away or threaten to withhold his inheritance.

  Elias needed to preserve all faith, so he clung to the memory—that bonfire dream—where he was kissed by the girl in the bumblebee dress. Still, over half a year later, she was the book he couldn’t put down.

  The Darlings valued tradition as they valued afternoon tea. Each night before dinner they gathered in their drawing room to discuss the day’s events. Mr. and Mrs. Darling played chess. Fitz wrestled the dog. Miss Karel inspected oil paintings and bookcases while Kitty sewed.

  Routine bored Sebastian, but Elias rather enjoyed the pattern. He liked to huddle near the fireplace and listen to his cousins laugh. He smiled whenever Fitz coerced him into a game of charades.

  Despite his longing for Windermere Hall, Elias found peace at Cadwallader. He was no longer a boy peering through cracked doors, rather a welcome guest.

  And to be welcome seemed a novel concept.

  Sebastian puffed an empty pipe. “Kitty has a knack for organizing dinner parties. However, she lacks the charisma needed to fuel its level of engagement.” His father had banned tobacco from the estate, a mandate which sparked rebellion among him and the staff. Why should he behave like an adult if his parents refused to grant him liberty?

  “I assume you believe yourself the source of such engagement.” Elias rubbed his hands over the hearth. He shivered from the manor’s dampness, a cold no fire could defeat.

  “But of course. What is a party without Sebastian Darling?”

  “You flatter yourself most profoundly.” Elias tugged his cravat to loosen its noose. He’d asked Fitz to help him tie the neckband, a mistake which led to a great deal of wheezing.

  Sebastian plucked a bottle of port from the mantel. “Care for a drink?”

  “Liquor disagrees with me,” Elias said.

  “Same, but I enjoy the argument.” Sebastian poured the amber liquid into a glass and guzzled it, his throat jerking with each swallow. He glanced at the doorway as if anticipating someone’s arrival. Was he nervous? Elias rarely saw his cousin apprehensive, let alone distressed. Emotion did not suit Sebastian’s ostentatious lifestyle. Quite the opposite—all feelings suffocated under smiles and false pretences.

  “Are guests joining us?” Elias asked. He’d dined with countless strangers, for the Darlings entertained guests from all over England. They hosted balls, formal dinners, and hunts. Such events forced Elias to prove his education. He spoke about politics and cricket, his time at Eton. Of course all conversation eventually veered to his birth and good fortune.

  Gentlefolk wished to know why Lord Welby named a bastard his heir.

  “Two of them,” Sebastian said with a nod. “And they don’t plan to leave.”

  Knocks rattled the front door, followed by the patter of footsteps. As if on cue, the Darlings rearranged themselves. Kitty and Fitz stood at attention. Mrs. Darling hissed orders at Miss Karel, who then sprinted toward the dining room like a messenger with news from battle.

  Elias had learned to tolerate the family’s histrionics, but this occasion seemed different. He sensed a tension, the kind that made his hair stand on end. Who’d come to stay at Cadwallader Park? If the visit was significant, why did Sebastian ignore the frenzy and pour himself another drink?

  “Calm yourselves. Let’s not frighten our company.” Mr. Darling rose from the chess table and hurried to welcome the guests. He paused in the drawing room’s threshold, his broad frame hiding the newcomers from view.

  “Who’s here?” Elias asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” Sebastian plopped onto the divan and tucked his pipe beneath a cushion. He scowled at the floorboards while his mother paced.

  “Nephew, come.” Mr. Darling motioned for Elias to approach him. “I’d like you to meet our friends. They’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

  “Popular boy,” Sebastian grumbled.

  Elias rolled his eyes and left the hearth. As he neared the doorway, a lady breezed into view. She resembled a swan, her neck long, her elegant features untouched by age.

  She wore a dress the darkest shade of grey.

  “May I introduce Widow De Clare and her daughter, Josephine.”

  A lump clogged Elias’s throat. He tensed, all voices fading until the atmosphere echoed his breaths. Josephine De Clare? At Cadwallader Park? No, he couldn’t face her, not after months spent pining. And all because of what—a silly kiss?

  The rustle of silk distracted him. He saw a flash of red, then golden bumblebees frozen in flight. He blinked, and his chest ached. Was she a figment of his imagination? No, she was there, in front of him, shimmering like a jewel held into firelight. Gloves ascended her forearms. Pearls roped her neck. She appeared the same as before, yet somehow brighter.

  Elias averted his gaze. He panted, his cheeks burning. Indeed, Josephine wouldn’t remember him, for he’d worn a bag over his head at the masquerade. Perhaps he might avoid embarrassment if he pretended not to know her.

  “Ladies, this is my nephew, Elias Welby.” Mr. Darling grabbed Elias’s shoulder and drew him close. “He came for the social season, but we haven’t been able to part with him.”

  Josephine glanced at Elias, and her eyes widened.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Welby.” Widow De Clare extended her hand and smiled when Elias kissed her knuckles. “Your uncle speaks highly of you.”

  “He perjures himself,” Elias said. He looked at Josephine, and his voice faltered. How could he last an evening in her presence? Eton College had taught him to navigate conversations with formalities, but rehearsed speech could not express his thoughts . . .

  And he thought so much about her.

  Widow De Clare laughed. “You’re too modest. Few people manage to raise their station. Your life attests to our ability to better ourselves, whether through education or connections.”

  “I am not so impressive, madam,” Elias said with a bow. He cringed whenever someone treated his birth like an accomplishment, for a son did not choose his father.

  A bastard didn’t earn the fortune attached to his family name.

  “Shall we go into the dining room?” Mr. Darling offered his arm to the widow. “My daughter created the menu for this evening. According to the cook, it is sure to impress.”

  Elias flinched when the adults moved across the chamber. He turned his chin so Josephine wouldn’t notice his blush. He held his breath so her perfume wouldn’t unravel him.

  “It was you,” Josephine gasped once her mother was out of earshot. She gazed at Elias as though to confirm her suspicions. “Not a word about the masquerade. All right?”

  He nodded. “Consider it forgotten.”

  “That was so unlike me. I don’t make a habit of what happened.” She fidgeted with her purse, a rosy hue colouring her cheekbones. “Mother cannot know. She thought I was visiting my great-aunt, who is blind and deaf and likely wouldn’t remember if I did visit.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Elias said. He offered his arm, a flutter lifting through him when Josephine looped her fingers around his bicep. He’d dreamt about this moment for months. To see her again. To stand close to her.

  He wanted to feel her lips pressed against his.

  “Thank you, Mr. Welby.” Josephine looked up at him as they walked toward the dining room. She flashed a smile. “Or should I call you Bag Head?”

  Elias laughed. “Please do. I’ll even wear a sack—”

  “No, no, I think your face is much les
s terrifying.” Josephine squeezed his arm, her nose scrunching to make space for a wider smile.

  “Less terrifying? Brilliant. I’m pleased to know my face doesn’t frighten you.”

  “I’m wretched with compliments. The worst.” Josephine pinched her lips together, amusement shimmering in her eyes. “You have a fine look, sir. Perhaps you should go to London and become a stage actor. Crowds adore faces like yours.”

  “Until they witness my acting. I cannot even win a game of charades.” Elias led Josephine into the dining room, where their families gathered. He wanted to banter with her all night, for she put a warmth inside him. She eased his nerves.

  Indeed, she was the same girl he remembered.

  Dinner involved a humble five-course meal, for the Darlings dared not flaunt their good fortune. Instead, they celebrated their estate’s harvest in a room grand enough to seat the House of Lords. They adorned the table with flowers from their gardens. They displayed mutton and rosemary chicken—food indicative of their rural lifestyle.

  “Sebastian, do you not wish to welcome our guests?” Mr. Darling asked once everyone took their seats. He sat at the table’s head, his moustache twitching with frustration.

  “Apologies.” Sebastian glanced up from his plate and forced a smile. “I am thrilled by your presence, ladies. Your arrival . . . It fills me with . . . emotion.”

  Mrs. Darling cleared her throat when Sebastian slid down in his seat. She glanced to her right, at Widow De Clare. “Did you have a pleasant trip?”

  “Oh, yes. I find the northern moors both eerie and evocative.” Widow De Clare unfolded her napkin, then draped it across her lap. “Do you not agree, Josephine?”

  “Yes. Eerie and evocative,” Josephine said with a huff. She clutched her cup of tea, requested in lieu of wine. Her demeanour seemed tense, unlike her interaction with Elias. Had she not wished to visit Cadwallader Park?

  Elias reached for the fork closest to her hand, his fingertips skimming her glove.

  “Won’t you miss the city, Miss Josephine?” Kitty asked from the opposite end of the table. She leaned forward, her auburn curls swishing over her food.

  Widow De Clare answered instead. “Not at all! We’ve been living at our cottage in Morpeth, which is superior to the old town home. Besides, Josephine prefers the countryside.”

  “Really? Why?” Sebastian stabbed his knife into the tabletop. He propped his elbows on either side of his plate, drenching his sleeves with potato pudding. Either the port had gone to his head or he intended to scare off the guests.

  “Because it’s eerie and evocative.” Josephine delivered the response like a rehearsed line. She mustered a smile, one that appeared more spiteful than sincere. Had Sebastian offended her? What else could explain her sudden change of mood?

  “Gracious, Sebastian,” Mrs. Darling gasped. “Mind your manners.”

  “Yeah, Sebastian. Don’t act like a pig.” Fitz giggled. He squirmed in the chair next to Miss Karel and tossed peas onto Kitty’s plate.

  “Please do not make a sport of your dinner, Master Fitz,” the butler said with a groan. He confiscated the boy’s vegetables and replaced them with a slab of bread.

  An easier cleanup.

  The valet rushed to provide a second course of savouries and sweets. He balanced platters on his forearms, poured wine, and skirted the butler with careful steps.

  “I want my peas back,” Fitz yelled.

  “When hogs fly,” the valet said. He grabbed the boy’s collar, forcing him to still. Mr. Darling nodded his approval.

  Elias leaned toward Josephine, his heart racing when she met his gaze. “You shall have plenty of theatre here,” he whispered. “Not an evening passes without entertainment. Take my word for it. Dinners would seem quite dull without Sebastian’s tantrums and Fitz’s pea cannons.”

  “Good. I like the theatre,” Josephine said with a nod. She lifted her fork and guided a square of cheese into her mouth. Still, her expression remained despondent.

  “This place looks gloomy, but it’s not, really. Just mind the ghost upstairs. He doesn’t like girls who joke around,” Elias said in hopes of making Josephine smile. Perhaps her stay at Cadwallader would give him the chance to offer courtship. He possessed wealth and a good name. Surely Josephine wouldn’t care about his birth.

  “We were sorry to hear about your loss,” Mr. Darling said as he sliced his mutton and doused it with gravy. “You have our deepest condolences.”

  “Thank you. My late husband’s illness was a shock, but your kindness toward Miss De Clare and me has been more than generous.” Widow De Clare dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Please, let’s not talk about the past. We should celebrate. Right, Josephine?”

  “Celebrate. Yes,” Josephine said, her bottom lip quivering. She reached for a teapot. Her elbow struck a soup bowl and tipped it to the side, dumping cream onto the tablecloth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me—”

  “It’s no problem. We make a lot of messes here.” Elias pressed his napkin onto the spill. He refilled Josephine’s cup with tea, a flutter stirring within him as her mouth tugged into a gentle smile. A smile that returned the light to her eyes.

  A smile meant only for him.

  “You’re in good company,” Elias said. He should’ve realized Josephine had lost her father. Was the tragedy responsible for her visit to Cadwallader?

  He battled the urge to embrace her, for nobody had hugged him when his mother died. No one had scooped him into their arms and dried his tears. He’d broken alone and healed poorly, like an unset bone. Maybe he and Josephine could hurt together. Maybe the broken parts of him would fit the broken parts of her, and somehow, against all odds, they’d make each other whole.

  “Pour the champagne,” Mr. Darling said to the butler.

  “What’s the cause for celebration?” Elias spooned white soup into his mouth, the creamy broth soothing his hunger with tastes of veal and almonds.

  “Did Sebastian not tell you?” Mrs. Darling furrowed her brow, perhaps shocked by her son’s restraint. “He’s engaged to Miss De Clare.”

  “Engaged?” Elias choked on the word.

  “Betrothed,” Widow De Clare said. “I could not hope for a better match.”

  “We finalized the arrangement months ago.” Mr. Darling raised his champagne in a toast. “To Sebastian and Josephine—may you find happiness together.”

  The clink of glasses broke that hope still alive within Elias. He grew stiff in his chair and glanced at Josephine. No, she couldn’t wed Sebastian. Why would she agree to the marriage? She despised him. And what about Sebastian’s mood? He didn’t love her. In fact, the betrothal explained his grumbles at the stream bank.

  Elias wheezed. He braced his weight against the table. As he attempted to wrap his mind around the truth, something collapsed within him as if he had constructed a mansion of cards—a cathedral of dreams—and with a breath, it tumbled down.

  Didn’t Josephine want more than Sebastian and Cadwallader Park? She had prospects. She could experience the world. Of course, that was the beauty of potential—it liked to make itself useful, but it also enjoyed sitting idle and gathering dust.

  “Tell me about the upstairs ghost,” Josephine said with a sigh, her nose reddening. She looked at Elias as though to distract herself from the adults’ conversation.

  “Are you sure? It’s a gruesome story . . . that I will invent just for you,” Elias said. He tried not to look at Josephine, for candlelight blurred around her face like a halo.

  The very sight of her made his chest ache.

  “Do share your wicked tale, Bag Head. I wish to be frightened.” She crossed her arms and motioned for him to commence his narrative.

  Elias needed to stifle all romantic feelings. He knew better. He’d sworn never to want beyond his means. Even so, he felt an attachment binding him to Josephine, and the strands of his sanity hung loose.

  He’d built a fortress around his emotions, th
en left the front door wide open.

  After dinner everyone retreated to the drawing room. Mr. and Mrs. Darling entertained Widow De Clare while their youngest children played dominoes. Sebastian retired to his chambers, leaving Josephine to linger near the bookcase with her third cup of tea.

  Elias pretended to read a novel. He mustn’t further involve himself. If anything, he should avoid Josephine until his feelings dimmed. Nothing could happen between them. He’d be a fool to dream otherwise. Still, the sight of her standing alone twisted his stomach into knots.

  He snatched a doily off a side table and walked to her side. “What did you think of my ghost story, Miss De Clare?” He draped the lace over his head and bowed.

  “Bravo. I am scared out of my wits,” Josephine said with a laugh. She relaxed against the bookcase and set her teacup on a shelf. “Will you stay here long?”

  “Until my father summons me.” Elias stuffed the doily into his coat pocket. He clasped his hands behind his back. He lifted his chin. “Father thinks I should behave like Sebastian.”

  “You’re joking?”

  “No, I’m serious. Father wants Sebastian to teach me the ways of high society. So far, my cousin has taught me to style my hair, spend money, and play spin-the-sot.”

  “All important lessons. How would you live without them?”

  “I’m not sure. Like a normal person, I suppose.”

  Josephine launched off the bookcase and twirled to face him. “Try not to change, Mr. Welby. England doesn’t need two Sebastian Darlings.”

  A new feeling breezed through Elias like wind from a horse race, like wings unfurling from their neat positions and stretching into full span. He grinned until his cheeks ached. Yes, he should put distance between him and his cousin’s fiancée. Yes, he risked heartbreak and scandal.

  But she gave him hope when the well of it ran dry.

  SEVEN

  JOSIE

  * * *

  From: Josie De Clare