The Redemption of Julian Price

by Victoria Vane

  “Muriel is not a low woman, Hen. She’s the widow of an officer who is now in reduced circumstances.”

  “Is that her excuse for turning to prostitution?” she replied, eyes flashing.

  “She did nothing of the sort,” Julian said, growing more perturbed by the second. Why were they even having this infernal conversation? Even Harry didn’t ask such personal questions. “May we please cease this discussion now?”

  “To think I actually felt sorry for you,” she continued heedlessly. “I had even planned to petition my aunt on your behalf.”

  “I want neither your pity nor your aunt’s charity, Henrietta,” he snapped.

  “That’s well and good, then,” she tossed her head, “because you deserve neither.”

  “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means good day, Julian, and good luck to you in Portugal. There is a gate over there.” She pointed imperiously. “I trust you can see yourself out of it.”

  Julian watched in agitation as Henrietta performed a rigid volte-face and marched through the terrace doors into the house without giving him a backward glance. What had gotten into her? She’d always been the one person he could trust not to judge him. But now it seemed he could do nothing right in her eyes. Damn it all. Henrietta simply didn’t understand how it was. Telling himself he didn’t care anymore, he spun on his own booted heel and exited the garden gate. If that’s how it was going to be, Henrietta Houghton could go to the devil with all the rest of them.

  ***

  Henrietta had done all she could to contain her tears, but once she closed the terrace doors, she fell against them with a strangled sob. She was furious with Julian, but worse than that was the fact that she didn’t even fully understand why she was so upset with him. Was it that he had a mistress? Or was it that he didn’t even remember that he’d kissed her?

  “Heavens, child! Why so distraught?”

  Henrietta’s gaze jerked up to find her great-aunt perched on a chair by terrace door. “Aunt Iola! Were you spying on me?”

  “I was merely enjoying the view, child. At my age, once must find entertainment where one may. Now tell me what that rapscallion has done to put your feathers in such a ruffle. Mussed hair and swollen lips, I expected,” Lady Cheswick chided, “but certainly not tears. I had much higher hopes given that young buck’s reputation.”

  “Julian doesn’t want me.” Henrietta sniffed. “Not in that way.”

  “Pshaw! If that is the case, it is easy enough to make him want you,” Lady Cheswick said. “Do you not think yourself capable of engaging his passion, Henrietta?”

  “I don’t know,” Henrietta said tearfully. “I know nothing about inspiring a man’s passion. I haven’t even been able to entice him to kiss me since I bloodied his nose eight years ago.” She didn’t count a drunken kiss that Julian didn’t even remember.

  “La! Child!” Lady Cheswick cackled. “’Tis no wonder you have not wed!” The dowager patted her hand. “Do not despair, Henrietta. It is never too late to learn.”

  “It’s also true that Julian keeps a mistress.” Henrietta sniffed.

  “Ah! That’s what’s troubling you?” Lady Cheswick waved a hand. “Most gentlemen do, my dear. At least those of my generation always did. Marriage and monogamy are quite distasteful concepts to most of the male gender.”

  “But Julian is all but ruined. How can he do such a thing? It’s . . . it’s wasteful!” Henrietta declared with all the righteous indignation she could muster.

  “Do not disparage what you do not understand, Henrietta,” Lady Cheswick wagged a be-ringed index finger. “There is often far more to these arrangements than meets the eye.”

  “What do you mean?” Henrietta asked.

  “My dear,” Lady Cheswick laid her bony hand on Henrietta’s arm, “there is something you must understand. Julian spent six years at war. You and I can have no idea what he has endured or what horrors he has witnessed. When a man suffers, bedding a woman is often his means of reclaiming a sense of his manhood, of regaining a sense of himself. It is entirely possible that his mistress supplies what he needs most.”

  Henrietta suddenly recalled Julian’s expression of apathy and emptiness, of feeling less than human. Those words had haunted her. Did this woman, Muriel, ease his despair? Understanding bloomed into compassion. She felt her anger abating.

  “Perhaps you are right,” Henrietta replied with a sigh. “But Julian’s means are limited. What will happen when he can no longer afford to keep this woman?”

  “Then he will have to find another way to satisfy his needs. Perhaps then he will look to take a wealthy wife?”

  “But Julian is not marriage-minded. He told you himself that he has no desire to wed.”

  “Perhaps not at this moment, but lack of funds is a powerful incentive,” Lady Cheswick replied. “If Julian is experiencing such difficulties, he may be more persuadable than you think. Most men are when their purses get light.” Lady Cheswick smiled. “Perhaps it is time to discuss why I invited you here.”

  “I understood you desired a companion, my lady, and thought I might suit you.”

  “I am certain you would,” Lady Cheswick said. “You are wasted in the country surrounded by imbeciles, but I begin to doubt my arrangement would suit you nearly as well as it would suit me. I sent for you under the misapprehension that you had no desire for marriage, but it seems I was mistaken.”

  “But I don’t desire to wed,” Henrietta insisted.

  “What of your Julian?” Lady Cheswick asked, painted brows arched.

  “Julian is not mine,” Henrietta insisted. “He is merely a childhood friend, my lady, not a suitor.”

  “If it is only sisterly affection you feel for him,” Lady Cheswick argued, “why this distress over his mistress?” Her gaze was too sharp and her questions too pointed.

  “Because . . . because . . .”

  The old woman smiled. “I think you have deeper feelings for him than you care to admit. One should never pass up a grand amour, Henrietta, but we face a dilemma. As an unwed woman, a liaison is quite out of the question. Were you a widow, ’twould be quite a different matter. With an appropriate degree of circumspection, most of the polite world would turn a blind eye to an affaire de coeur. But sadly, you must first take a husband before you can lose one, which returns us back to you and Julian Price. If indeed you truly want him, you have no choice but to take him as your husband.”

  “But it doesn’t matter if I want him or not. I am not the least inclined to set my cap for someone who does not want me.”

  Lady Cheswick ignored her rebuttal. “If you have quite decided you don’t want Julian, you will have no dearth of marital prospects once word gets about that you’ve become an heiress.”

  “An heiress?” Henrietta repeated blankly. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “Five hundred pounds is a paltry dowry, but I’m quite certain ten thousand is sufficient to entice even a minor nobleman. Perhaps a baronet or even a viscount?” she suggested.

  “You are giving me ten thousand pounds?” Henrietta repeated incredulously. It was a fortune that could grant the dream of independence she’d always desired.

  “Yes. And you will receive considerably more upon my passing,” Lady Cheswick continued, “but let us keep that part a secret between you, me, and my solicitor. We don’t wish to unearth every gold digger in England.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Henrietta whispered, her mind racing.

  Lady Cheswick patted her hand. “I merely give you options you didn’t have before. Ultimately, my dear, the choice is now completely yours.”

  ***

  Henrietta spent a restless night, deliberating this new and unexpected course her life had taken. Thanks to the generosity of her exceedingly wealthy and overly indulgent great-aunt, her dream of independence could soon become reality. But for the first time, she considered the facts rather than just the fantasy and found it lacking. As a widow, Lady
Cheswick could do as she pleased, but unmarried women could not live alone. Even with a fortune at her disposal, if Henrietta chose not to wed, she would have little choice but to remain with her aunt or set up her own household with a paid companion. Neither option permitted the full freedom she’d always envisioned.

  She was suddenly reminded of Julian’s careless remark. “It is indeed too bad you weren’t a chap, Hen. We rub along well enough that I would have invited you to stay with me.”

  “Julian,” she sighed his name. Why had she been so angry with him? At least he was honest with her. She’d told herself it was disappointment that he’d followed in Winston’s footsteps, but that wasn’t the entire truth. Deep in her heart, she was jealous that another woman had laid claim to his affections. She knew he cared for her, but sisterly devotion wasn’t enough.

  Her dreams that night were once more filled with Julian, but this time he wasn’t stealing a kiss from her at the fair or galloping hell for leather over the dales. Instead, he was lying alone on a battlefield covered in blood. She awoke with a gasp. Was it merely a dream or an ominous premonition? Had he survived six years only to die a mercenary’s death in Portugal?

  The thought sent a sharp, stabbing pain deep into her left breast. Although they’d parted in anger, she couldn’t let him go without trying to help him. All the money in the kingdom meant nothing compared to the prospect of losing Julian. Whatever it took, she had to convince him to stay.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JULIAN ARRIVED AT WINSTON’S TOWN HOUSE in St. James, disheveled and disconsolate following a particularly unpleasant meeting with his solicitor that had followed on the heels of an equally distasteful meeting with his banker. There was no hope. Everything he owned was about to go up on the auction block. He was prepared to down himself in a bottle until his valet, Gibbs, met him at the door with a censorious look.

  “There is a young woman come to call on you, sir. I told her you were not at home, but she was most insistent.”

  “A young woman?” Muriel? “Did she give her name, Gibbs?”

  “She did not. But she arrived in a rather large bright yellow conveyance.”

  “Yellow?” Who did he know with a yellow carriage? Not Muriel, unless she’d found another protector—one with particularly garish taste. No one else sprang to mind. “Where is she, Gibbs?”

  “She waits in your study, sir,” he replied with a sniff of disapproval.

  “Very well. I shall attend her there.” Pausing at the mirror, Julian raked his fingers through his overlong hair and attempted to straighten his cravat. Both efforts were in vain. His visitor would have to accept him as he presented. Still wondering who it could be, he strode across the marble tiles and flung open the door to his study.

  The figure in pale blue muslin jumped to her feet. “Julian! You startled me.”

  “Henrietta?” he gaped. “What the devil are you doing here? Your arrival has wreaked total havoc with Gibbs’ sensibilities. Don’t you know that it’s unseemly for a female to call alone upon a bachelor?”

  “I’m so sorry. I tried to be discreet.”

  “Discreet?” Julian shook his head with a laugh. “Did you truly presume to go unnoticed in a bright yellow carriage?”

  Henrietta colored. “My aunt would not let me go out in a private hack.”

  “She knows you came here?”

  She bit her lip. “Not precisely. She thinks I went shopping. Millie came with me, but I asked her to wait in the carriage. I needed to see you privately.”

  “I’m not in a proper frame of mind for entertaining, Henrietta, especially someone who should not be here in the first place.”

  “But it’s most urgent that I speak to you,” she continued, ignoring his reprimand, “before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” Julian strode to the bottle of port sitting on the side table.

  “Too late to make a difference.”

  “I still don’t know what the deuce you’re talking about.” He poured a glass of port and raised it to his lips.

  Henrietta arched a brow. “Aren’t you going to offer me any?”

  He frowned. “I wasn’t aware that you imbibed strong spirits. I’d be happy to ring Gibbs for some tea.”

  “No, thank you,” she replied with a moue as he downed his drink. “I also came to apologize.”

  “Apologize? For what?” he asked.

  “For prying into your personal affairs. You were right that your mistress is no concern of mine.”

  Julian scowled. “I don’t wish to discuss it, Hen.”

  “Neither do I,” she replied primly.

  “Then why are you here?” he demanded.

  “I came to help you,” she said. “Am I too late, Julian? Is it already done?”

  He shook his head with a groan. “Is what done?”

  “Has the bank foreclosed on Price Hall?”

  Snatching up the bottle of port, Julian flung himself into his favorite chair. “It is not done yet, but the banker assures me that the proceedings are imminent. There is no forestalling it.”

  “But what if you gave them money?” she asked.

  He drained his glass and set it down with careful deliberation and then poured himself another, welcoming the warmth that spread from his body outward toward his limbs. “This entire discussion is nothing but an exercise in futility.” He sounded a humorless laugh. “There is no money to give them.”

  ***

  Henrietta glanced down at her folded hands in an attempt to compose herself. Her palms had been sweating since the moment she heard Julian’s voice in the foyer. It had all seemed so simple in theory; she had enough money to pay off at least half of Julian’s creditors and give him a chance to turn his affairs around. It was a straightforward solution to a complex problem. Explaining should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Julian’s pride would only get in the way. Somehow she had to convince him to let her help him.

  She rose and crossed the room to face him, chin raised and hands folded in front of her. “Perhaps not,” she began stiffly, reciting the speech she’d rehearsed a dozen times. “I wish to discuss a matter of business with you. It’s an alliance of sorts . . .”

  Slumped in his chair, with a half-filled glass dangling from his fingers, Julian stared at her with a perfectly blank expression. “An alliance? I have no patience for guessing games, Hen. Whatever it is you came to say, I wish you would just be done with it. Henrietta?” his low voice prompted when she still didn’t speak.

  Henrietta shut her eyes and drew a deep fortifying breath. “I have recently come into some money, Julian. A great deal of money, actually.”

  His brown eyes flickered. He set his glass down almost too carefully. “My felicitations on your good fortune, but I fail to see how this involves me.”

  “I come bearing a proposition that I think could be mutually beneficial.”

  “Proposition?” he repeated. “I’m not following you, Hen.”

  “Some might even call it a proposal . . .” Her pulse raced. She looked up, licked her lips, and blurted, “Of marriage.”

  Julian said nothing, just stared at her for a long painful moment.

  “You needn’t look at me like I’ve sprouted a second head,” she said.

  “Surely I didn’t hear that right,” he replied. “Did you just put forth a proposal of marriage?”

  She responded with silent nod.

  “Are you mad?” he asked.

  “No, Julian,” she replied softly. “I assure you I am quite sound of mind and also of body. I come from a long and robust line, in case that is a concern. My mother bore my father seven healthy children.”

  Julian shook his head with an incredulous look. “I can’t begin to comprehend this maggot that’s bored its way into your brain.”

  “But you said yourself that you thought we would rub along well together.”

  “I wasn’t talking about marriage, Hen! Did you think that I was?”

  “No! Of course not!
You made your feelings on the subject perfectly clear.”

  “Then why this . . . this . . .” He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes.

  “Because it would answer for both of us,” she said. “Please, Julian, at least hear me out.” Why was he making this so difficult? Henrietta’s stomach knotted. He’d refused even to kiss her the other night. It had never occurred to her until that moment that he might prefer returning to Portugal over marriage with her.

  “All right. Explain.”

  “What I propose is more of an alliance, or a treaty of sorts.”

  “A treaty?” Julian repeated dubiously.

  “Yes,” she said. “In this agreement, you would be as the larger, stronger nation who agrees to protect the smaller, weaker one from invaders. In return, I, as the smaller but richer nation would help to restore the fortunes you lost to those who pillaged you. You see how this benefits both of us?”

  “Do you have any idea how much money I owe?” he asked.

  “Yes. You told me, remember? Twenty thousand pounds.”

  “Are you saying that you have twenty thousand?” he asked.

  “Well, no,” she replied. “I have only ten thousand, but surely that is enough to hold off your creditors and halt the foreclosure.”

  “How, Hen? How have you come by this money?” he asked, gaze narrowed.

  “After our . . . disagreement the other day, Lady Cheswick informed me that she intended to bequeath me with a large sum of money upon her passing. But after meeting you, she offered to augment my dowry in order to bring you up to scratch. She said it was enough to entice a minor nobleman.”

  “It is indeed,” Julian replied with a scowl. “There are any number of high-ranking gentleman who would jump at the chance to wed you.”

  “Do you honestly think I would wish that kind of marriage?” Henrietta scoffed. “If I did, and he turned out to be a fortune hunter, I could very well lose both my wealth and my freedom. If I wed you, however—”

  “If you wed me, you would lose your fortune for a certainty,” he answered with a harsh laugh.