Never Less Than a Lady

by Mary Jo Putney

  “I didn’t marry the richest prize in England,” he said with equal dryness. “I married a winsome midwife who owned no more than the roof over her head.”

  The duchess gave a crack of laughter. “You’ll do, Major Randall. Now take me to my grandchildren.”

  Randall accompanied Mariah and the Duchess of Charente to the salon. He was curious how Julia and Stoneleigh would react to her entrance.

  When the door opened, two voices chorused, “Grandmère!”

  Looking over the heads of the two duchesses, Randall saw Stoneleigh leap to his feet and bow. Julia rose and swept gracefully into a formal court curtsy before moving forward to embrace her grandmother. She was taller, but only slightly.

  For a moment, tears glinted in the eyes of the fierce Duchess of Charente. “I’m so glad you’re out of the shadows, my dear,” she whispered. Then she blinked and stepped back to study her granddaughter. “You’re looking well, Julia. Less mousy. I suppose I should thank this great hulking male creature you married?”

  “Indeed you should, Grandmère.” Julia glanced over the duchess’s shoulder to give Randall a smile that did strange things to his insides. “He is an amazingly tolerant man who was willing to marry me even after I explained all the reasons he shouldn’t.”

  “Not tolerant. Wise,” the duchess said approvingly. Her attention shifted to her grandson. “You are not going to treat Julia like your fool of a father, Stoneleigh?”

  “It would be disrespectful of me to agree with your assessment of my sire, Grandmère,” he replied, his eyes glinting. “But I assure you that I will support my sister in all ways I can.” Like Julia, he obviously respected his grandmother without being intimidated by her.

  The duchess nodded. “Very good.” She turned to Mariah. “You and I have a ball to plan. I will permit the children to catch up a bit. Then you will join us for the planning, Julia.” Her gaze shifted to Randall. “You will best serve by staying out of our way. This is women’s business.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of interfering,” Randall said fervently. “The Duchess of Ashton has already informed me that I must attend wearing my regimentals. I am at your service for any other orders you wish to issue.”

  The Duchess of Charente chuckled. “You’re a scamp, Major. Orders will be forthcoming after I have conferred with my adjutants. Now be off.”

  Randall obeyed. He’d never been called a scamp before. Coming from the duchess, he suspected that was a compliment of sorts.

  He collected several letters that Holmes had set out for him and retreated to his rooms. Some of the letters had followed him to Spain and back. Knowing that many were from his business manager, he added the new letters to the pile of correspondence that had landed on his desk during his adventures in the north country. It was time to settle down and behave like a responsible property owner.

  He took a Spanish dagger from his desk drawer and began slicing open the seals, but he had trouble concentrating on routine matters of business. He’d started the day as heir to an earldom with a bride who was rare, intriguing, and penniless. Now he was an untitled gentleman with a modest income who had married a woman who was heiress to almost unimaginable wealth.

  It was said that Sarah, Lady Jersey, had gone to her marriage with a hundred thousand pounds because her mother was the only daughter of Robert Child, founder of Child’s bank. Lady Jersey was her grandfather’s principal heir and she’d been an enormous prize in the marriage mart. His quiet Julia, who had dug bits of shrapnel from his damaged thigh, was equally wealthy.

  He’d told both Julia and Mariah that it was no great matter that he was being superceded, but apparently he did care. Though he’d lived most of his life not considering the possibility that he’d inherit the earldom, in the last few weeks, he had become used to the idea. He’d even grown to like the prospect. He had too much pride to admit that to anyone else, but in the quiet of his own mind, he must be honest.

  What happened when the knight errant rescued his lady, and it turned out that after the rescue she didn’t need him any more?

  Chapter 24

  At the end of the afternoon, Julia returned to their rooms. She paused in the doorway to admire the picture that Randall made as he worked at his desk by the window. Late afternoon sunshine touched his hair to gold and silver, and lovingly illuminated the strong, austere planes of his face. She felt a pleasant internal shiver at the knowledge that she was becoming very familiar with that lean, well-muscled body.

  He glanced up at her entrance. “You look like a girl just emerged from the schoolroom,” he observed. “Young and happy and excited about new possibilities.”

  “I feel that way.” She crossed to Randall and bent to hug him. “I knew that Grandmère would be glad to see me, but I feared that Anthony would disown me forever, like Castleton.”

  “He’s a better man than your father.” Randall wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. Since he was seated, the side of his head rested very pleasantly against her breasts.

  The energy that had buoyed her up evaporated, leaving her tired but happier than she’d been in…forever. “I’m sorry that my family was so much more rewarding today than yours.”

  “My expectations of Daventry have always been low,” Randall said. “What matters is that he ordered Crockett to stay away from you so you can live without always looking over your shoulder.”

  “I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders.” She brushed her fingertips through his thick blond hair, thinking how much she owed her husband. “Considering that I had to be coaxed into marriage like a skittish filly, I’ve benefited remarkably from marrying you.” She hoped he’d say that he had also benefited, but when he didn’t, she continued, “What did you think of Grandmère?”

  “She enjoys terrifying people,” he said promptly. “But her sense of humor occasionally undermines that.”

  Julia laughed. “You understand her well. She said you weren’t at all like a Randall, which means she liked you.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s quite a compliment. I think.”

  Since Randall didn’t seem inclined to pull her onto his lap, Julia moved to the adjacent wing chair to continue their talk. He looked calm and handsome—and too blasted detached, given what they’d done in the carriage earlier.

  Reminding herself that detachment was his natural expression, she said, “Gordon’s sweetheart, Elsa Smith, came by to be interviewed. She’s a bit inexperienced, but bright and keen to learn. I think she’ll do very well.”

  Randall gave an approving nod. “Gordon will be ecstatic. Can she start soon?”

  “Tomorrow.” Julia frowned as she thought about the interview. “Her current master has been making Elsa’s life difficult, so she’s desperate to leave. I told her she could move here tonight and I’d make up whatever wages she lost by not giving notice. She and Gordon were going to her former household right away to collect her things.”

  Randall regarded her curiously. “Given her bad situation, would you have hired her even if she didn’t seem like a promising lady’s maid?”

  “Probably,” Julia admitted. “I hated knowing she had to dodge her master to avoid being assaulted. At least she’s free to leave, unlike a wife.”

  “Unlike most wives, you are free to leave,” he pointed out. “You made sure of that before accepting my offer.”

  “I had to know the door was open if I needed to run.” Was it only weeks since she’d insisted he give her a letter agreeing to a divorce if she should want one? How quickly she’d grown to trust him. Julia continued, “Elsa’s situation got me thinking. If I really have this huge amount of money, I’d like to use some of it to create shelters for women who need to flee male violence but have no place safe to go. Not every woman can fake her own death in order to escape.”

  “And most wouldn’t be lucky enough to be taken in by someone like your Mrs. Bancroft.” Randall’s expression was thoughtful. “That’s an amb
itious plan, but such shelters would literally save lives. Would you establish them in all the major cities?”

  “I haven’t thought that far,” she admitted. “They would need to be widespread since abused women are everywhere.”

  “What if the shelters were affiliated with parish churches?” he suggested. “They really are everywhere.”

  She frowned. “Yes, but I’m not sure that would be the best plan. The church is run by men, and male views of a woman’s place often differ from female views. I suppose I could talk to the Archbishop of Canterbury. He’s some sort of cousin.”

  “Naturally the Archbishop of Canterbury is a relative,” Randall said with wry amusement. “I should have guessed.”

  “None of my exalted relatives helped me when I needed it,” she said tartly. “Grandmère was the only one who might have taken me in, but her husband was dying then and I couldn’t burden her further.” Nor had Julia been able to face the difficulties of staying in her old world.

  His amusement faded. “So you stayed with Branford until he almost killed you. You’re right, there should be refuges for women so they can escape before it’s too late. Perhaps you might want to affiliate with the Methodist chapels. They aren’t as widespread as Anglican parishes, but they already have shelters to take women from the streets and give them training and education to build better lives.”

  She felt a tingle of excitement. “You’re right, the Methodists might be better partners. May I have a piece of paper and a pencil so I can make notes to myself?”

  He pulled paper and pencil from a drawer and handed them over. “You might want to start by talking to Mariah and your grandmother. They will approve and have good ideas, I’m sure. They would also be very influential supporters.”

  “Another good idea.” She scribbled that down, other ideas beginning to bubble into her mind. “I’ll start with Mariah.”

  “This will be a way where you can help many more women than you did as a midwife,” Randall said, his eyes warm. “You’ve traveled a hard road to get here, but it’s made you a better, more compassionate woman.”

  “I’d like to think so.” She hesitated, not wanting to chase away that warmth. “Something has been bothering me all day. Lady Daventry mentioned the earl’s obsession with carrying on his bloodline. When she and I talked privately, I asked her if Branford had left any by-blows. She didn’t know of any, so perhaps Branford never told his father.”

  Randall’s expression hardened. “And you’re worried about that boy.”

  Julia bit her lip. “With any luck, he’s living happily with his mother with financial support from Daventry, but I’d feel better if I knew he was well.”

  “Assuming he’s even alive,” Randall pointed out. “Many small children don’t make it to adulthood.”

  “Yes, and if that’s the case, the boy is in God’s hands now. But what if he’s alive and mistreated?” Julia knew that some of the nobility’s illegitimate children were reasonably well treated, like Mackenzie. But others were not so lucky.

  “Why do you care about the fate of a child who was sired by an abusive bully who almost killed you?” Randall said with exasperation. “If he’s alive, he might be a monster like his father.”

  “Perhaps, but as you’ve said, Branford surely would not have been so bad if he’d been raised better. The same could be said of Daventry himself.”

  “This boy would be what—twelve or thirteen? His character must already be set.”

  Julia searched for words that might persuade Randall. “Perhaps. But no matter what his nature, every child deserves to be cared for properly. Though Daventry was a poor guardian for you, at least you had food and a roof over your head, and an education. Who is caring for Branford’s son? You have no reason to love Branford, but the boy is also your cousin. A Randall by blood. Someone should care about his welfare.”

  Randall sighed. “Perhaps Daventry does, but we can’t be sure, since his wife was unaware of the boy, and I can hardly ask the man directly. Very well, I am reluctantly convinced that I owe some responsibility to Branford’s bastard. What do you wish to see done? Do you have any idea of where the boy is?”

  Julia thought back to Branford’s taunts. “I think the child was born early in the year twelve years ago, probably near Branford’s estate, Upton Hill, near Bristol. I had the impression that the mother was a servant who lived in the area, but didn’t work at the manor.” She thought some more. “Maybe a barmaid? He told me more than once that I was a scrawny little wench who would never be noticed if a barmaid was in the room.”

  “Proving once again what a fool he was,” Randall said acerbically as he made notes on a fresh piece of paper. “Branford would have wanted a convenient woman for when he was at Upton Hill, so that’s a good area to start looking.”

  “Is this enough information to find the boy? I’d be willing to go to Upton to search, but I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

  “My friend Rob Carmichael is a Bow Street Runner. He’s good at this sort of thing.” Randall made another note. “I’ll set up a meeting with him.”

  “Tomorrow morning Mariah’s modiste will come to make me fit for society.” Julia made a face. “Grandmère will also be here, and Elsa Smith, and Mariah, of course. I suspect they’ll all have strong opinions about my new wardrobe.”

  “It sounds like I should leave town.” Randall tapped the papers in front of him. “I need to visit Roscombe. My steward is good, but some things I must deal with myself. I’d planned on going there after visiting Kirkland in Scotland, but as you know, I was sidetracked.” His eyes glinted. “In the most interesting possible way.”

  Julia felt a pang that he was going away, but said cheerfully, “As long as you return before the ball. Mariah will never forgive an absence. I don’t think I would, either. I won’t be a demanding wife, but…I’ll need you then.”

  “Of course I’ll be back for the ball, Julia. It’s the goal we’ve both worked for—making you safe and returning you to your rightful station.” His tone matched hers in lightness. “After the ball, you won’t need me any more.”

  “I think that a fortnight of frivolity will be enough. After that, I’ll be yearning to settle in Roscombe.” She wondered what kind of life they would build together, but found she was afraid to ask. Did he honestly think she wouldn’t need him?

  Or did he really mean that he wouldn’t need her?

  After dining with Mariah and Ashton, Julia retired early and fell asleep right away. She had a vague impression of the bed sagging and a warm embrace when Randall joined her, but she woke to find him gone, leaving only an indentation in the mattress.

  When she got up, she discovered on the washstand a brief note saying that he was leaving early to meet Rob Carmichael. After that meeting he would head on to Roscombe. There was no trace of feeling in the brief words. Would he miss her? She would surely miss him.

  She had no time to brood because Elsa, her new maid, shyly entered the room to begin her duties. The girl was quick and pleasant, and she had a good way with hair. Julia went down to breakfast feeling a little more like a London lady.

  Mariah was alone in the breakfast parlor. She glanced up from her plate with a smile. “Oh, good, company. Adam is off doing something useful, while I’m eating everything in sight. Of course, I was sick when I woke up, so I now need to fill the empty spaces. How long will this phase last?”

  “About three months. Then about three more months of bouncing energy, followed by the slowest three months in the history of the world.” Julia studied the dishes being kept warm on the sideboard. “Any recommendations?”

  “The sausage is very good,” Mariah replied. “So is that kedgeree.”

  Julia lifted the silver cover and saw a mixture of rice and fish, topped with chopped hard-cooked eggs and pleasantly perfumed with exotic spices. Beside the warmer was a small dish of orange-colored chutney. “This looks good. Kedgeree is Indian, isn’t it? My father would never allow anything
so foreign into our house.”

  “Then he missed some good food,” Mariah said. “We hired an assistant cook with experience in India so we can have curries along with the English fare. The Indian side of Adam’s family loves to dine here. His mother threatens to hire away the cook.”

  Julia smiled as she helped herself to a spoonful of kedgeree, adding toast and a soft-cooked egg just in case. But the kedgeree was tasty, as was the mango chutney.

  Mariah finished eating first. Glancing at the clock, she poured herself more tea and spread marmalade over a piece of toast. “We have about an hour before the modiste arrives. Are you ready for the ordeal?”

  “I suppose so.” Julia chuckled. “The mere mention of the modiste sent Randall flying off to his estate early this morning.”

  Hearing something in Julia’s voice, Mariah asked, “Did you two quarrel? You look a little tense.”

  “Not a quarrel.” Julia toyed with her teaspoon, wondering how much to say. “But yesterday was difficult. I’m not sure if Randall was more upset about being superceded for the earldom, or finding out that I’m a considerable heiress.”

  “If he’s upset, it’s about your inheritance,” Mariah said shrewdly. “He’d never planned on the earldom so he can shrug that off fairly quickly. Your becoming so wealthy is much more disturbing. Heaven knows that I found Adam’s wealth alarming. I would be happy if he had less. Yet the ton is full of envious women who see me as a triumphant fortune hunter.”

  “But you didn’t know that Adam was a duke when you met him,” Julia pointed out. “Neither did he, for that matter.”

  “No one wants to let facts get in the way of a good story. The more ambitious young misses have been copying my dress and trying to bribe my maid to learn what kind of scent I wear.” Mariah laughed. “One terrible old dowager studied me through her lorgnette before announcing, ‘Beauty for wealth. Mankind’s oldest bargain.’ Then she swept grandly away. I’m not sure if it was a compliment or an insult, but she did Adam a disservice. He’s rather beautiful himself, though it would pain him if I said so in public.”