“Husband-to-be?” Henrietta repeated. “How do you know about our engagement?”
“Julian informed me.”
Henrietta’s stomach knotted. “So you have seen him recently?”
“I have. He came to call just last evening.”
“Last evening.” He’d called on his mistress the very day they’d become engaged? The knot tightened and rose higher to squeeze her chest. “I see,” Henrietta replied tightly. “Then it appears my question has been answered. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Mathieson.”
“Oh, my dear,” Muriel exclaimed. “Please don’t go! It was not at all what you think!”
Henrietta froze. “What do you mean?”
“Julian came to tell me of his forthcoming marriage . . . and to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” Henrietta repeated, feeling more like a parrot every passing moment.
“Yes. Given his upcoming marriage, he thought it best to end our . . . friendship. I could not agree more. Had he not already chosen to do so, rest assured that I would have.”
“You would have ended it?” Henrietta asked in surprise. Muriel Mathieson wasn’t at all the kind of woman she had imagined.
“Indeed,” Muriel affirmed. “I may be morally compromised in some respects, but I do not condone marital infidelity. I believe Julian’s actions indicate that he feels the same way. I don’t pretend to know anything about your relationship, but it appears he wishes to begin the marriage on the right footing.”
“That is most reasurring,” Henrietta said. “Thank you again for your time.”
“Please, Miss Houghton.” Murial touched her arm. “I’m certain Julian would be beside himself if he knew you had come here, but since you have, might I offer you some refreshment? Some tea, perhaps? I admit I have wondered many things about you.”
“You wondered about me?” Henrietta replied with a laugh.
“Yes,” Muriel said. “I was most intrigued about what kind of young woman had finally captured Julian’s heart.”
Henrietta decided in that moment that she quite liked Julian’s former mistress. “Yes,” Henrietta replied with a nod. “I would be delighted to take some tea with you.”
Over the course of the next several hours, the two woman chatted like bosom beaus. “Your family doesn’t approve of your intended marriage?” Muriel asked.
“No,” Henrietta said. “My mother has never approved of Julian. And while my hypocritical brother likes Julian well enough to consult his opinion on horses and hounds, his good opinion does not extend to accepting him into the family.”
“My family didn’t approve of my choice either. They disowned me when I wed Charles,” Muriel said sadly.
“They did? Why?” Henrietta asked.
“For much the same reasons, I suppose. He was a younger son with no money or property. They had higher aspirations for me, but I loved Charles, so we eloped.”
“Do you have regrets over the estrangement from your family?”
“I would act no differntly if given the choice to do it again,” Muriel replied adamantly. “We were only together for six months before he went to Portugal, but it was the happiest time of my life. He wrote me diligently every day, but we never saw each other again.”
“I’m so very sorry,” Henrietta said, feeling an instant kinship. “I also lost someone I cared a great deal about in Portugal.”
“I only wish I could have borne his child before I lost him.” Her green eyes misted over. “Julian brought me all of Charles’ letters and personal effects. It was how we met. I never intended for he and I to become involved but . . .” Her voice dropped off.
“I understand your need for comfort. Do you love him?” Henrietta blurted the last question that plagued her.
“Julian has been kind to me and a friend when I was in need,” Muriel replied. “But no one will ever replace my dearest Charles. Do you love Julian?”
“I have always loved Julian,” Henrietta confessed. “At least the Julian that left Shropshire six years ago, but I was uncertain until I came here that he was the same man I am about to pledge myself to.”
“And now?” Muriel asked.
“In many ways, he has changed, but he is still Julian. There is something else I need to ask you . . .” Henrietta began hesitantly, chewing on her lip. “But I can’t think how to do so without being indelicate.”
Muriel laid a hand on hers. “You may ask me anything, Henrietta, just know that if I deem it too personal, I may not answer. What is on your mind?”
“I have no experience of men,” Henrietta said. “I have only been kissed one time.”
“Did you like it?” Muriel asked.
“Yes, but I don’t think I was supposed to like it.”
Muriel laughed. “Whyever not?”
“Because it was not the way I imagined being kissed. It wasn’t at all gentle.”
Muriel’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Then it was a passionate kiss?”
“I suppose so. I felt almost as if I would be ravished.”
Muriel’s smile disappeared. “It frightened you?”
“Perhaps a little, but it excited me more.”
“Was it Julian?” Muriel asked.
“Yes,” Henrietta replied.
“Julian is a man of great passion, Henrietta. If you are to wed him and wish to keep him satisfied, you must not be reticent in the bedchamber. A man who is well satisfied in his marital bed rarely strays from it, but if the bed is cold, he will seek to warm himself elsewhere.”
“Oh.” Henrietta swallowed hard. “I see.”
“Do you not desire him?” Muriel asked.
“Of course I do!” Henrietta said. “But I haven’t a clue what pleases him. Would you tell me, Muriel?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “I think it would be best if you discover it from Julian himself. If you are willing, Henrietta, he will show you.” She added with a wink, “Or better yet, he may be far more eager to learn what best pleases you.”
“I am glad to have met you, Muriel.”
“Me too. I wish circumstances were different,” Muriel said. “I would like to have continued our acquaintance.”
“And I too.” Henrietta rose. “I must go now. My aunt will be worried that I have been gone so long.”
“Just a moment, please,” Muriel said. “There is something I wish to return to Julian.” Muriel disappeared for several minutes and then returned with a gold pocket watch in hand. Henrietta recognized it immediately as Julian’s. “I did not wish to accept it,” Muriel said, “but Julian left it in case I had need of money.”
“So you do not have need of money?” Henrietta asked.
Muriel replied with a tight smile. “I have a small pension from the army. I will economize.”
“Do you intend to seek a new protector?” Henrietta asked.
“No. I have no desire to expand that particular circle of acquaintances . . .”
“Pray forgive my impertinence,” Henrietta said, “but I have a reason for asking.”
Muriel arched a delicate brow. “And what is that?”
“I came to London because my great-aunt desires a companion. She is an eccentric woman with a scandalous past, but she is also kind-hearted and generous. I would very much like to introduce you to her.”
Muriel blinked. “You think I would be an appropriate companion to your aunt?”
“She is an unusual woman. I think she would be quite taken with you. If she were to send for you, would you be willing to call upon her at Cheswick House in Chelsea?”
“If your aunt desires me to,” Muriel replied with a smile, “I would be delighted to call.”
Henrietta gave her a quick embrace. “Then I shall look forward to seeing you again.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
AT HER MAID’S ENTRANCE, Henrietta rose from the window seat where she’d spent most of the night and early morning gazing sightlessly down at the parterre gardens. The sun had begun to rise, revealing
the sculpted shapes that had formerly been only shadows. It had been several days since she’d seen Julian. He’d sent a letter purposely giving her a few days to reconsider, but she refused to beg off. To do so now would be both cowardly and dishonorable. She was neither. Yet her insecurity continued to grow and bloom until it threatened to suffocate her.
“Good morn, Miss,” Millie offered cheerily “’Tis a big day for ye.”
“Indeed it is, Millie,” she replied. Henrietta glanced at the clock. It was past seven. She expected Julian at eight. Taking the seat in front of the dressing table, she untied and loosened her plaited hair as Millie prepared her morning toilette.
Taking up the boar’s hair brush, Millie began stroking it through Henrietta’s tangled tresses while Henrietta stared dispassionately at the plain muslin traveling gown that lay waiting for her. She’d told Julian she cared nothing for all the pomp and pageantry of weddings. That much was true, but she would still have liked to have had a new gown made for the occasion.
“Don’t fret, Miss,” Millie spoke as if reading her mind. “You’ll make a lovely bride. I bought some new lace trim yesterday, and Lady Cheswick has given you a new silk shawl.”
“Thank you, Millie. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Ye won’t have to, least not if ye and Mr. Julian be settling at Price Hall,” Millie said.
“Have you decided to stay with me, then?” Henrietta asked in surprise.
“Aye. I’ll stay. ’Twouldn’t be the same to go back to Houghtongate without ye, Miss.”
Henrietta took Millie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Millie. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“’Twill be all right, Miss,” Millie offered reassuringly. “I’ve always thought well of Mr. Julian. There’s no doubt in my mind he’ll try to be a good husband to ye.”
“I think so too, Millie. Julian is not half the scoundrel the world seems to think he is. “Millie, is my lady still abed?” Henrietta asked.
“Aye. But she said last night that she wishes to speak with ye before ye depart,” Millie replied.
By the time Henrietta had finished dressing, she was a bundle of nerves. It was a quarter to eight. Julian would arrive at any moment. A few moments later came the sound of a carriage. Millie ran to the front window and peeked through the drapes. “Mr. Julian has arrived for ye, Miss,” she reported with a grin. “I’ll see to yer bags.”
“Thank you. I’m going now to take my leave of Lady Cheswick. Please inform Julian that I will be down directly.”
Taking up her bonnet, gloves, and reticule, Henrietta quit her rooms for her aunt’s chambers. She stole a fortifying breath and then knocked softly on the door.
“Come in, my dear,” the old lady croaked her reply. Henrietta entered to find her aunt sipping chocolate in bed. “I never take breakfast,” she explained, “But I do enjoy my chocolate. Is Julian here to collect you?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You are too pale by half. Have you second thoughts?”
“No. I’m just a little nervous,” Henrietta confessed.
“That’s natural, child,” Lady Cheswick replied with a compassionate smile. “I daresay every bride suffers a case of jitters . . . particularly about the wedding night.” She wagged a finger. “You must not be afraid to touch him, Henrietta. Virgin brides can be ridiculous about a man’s apparatus. It will not bite you. On the contrary, if handled properly, it is a source of the greatest pleasure.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Henrietta replied, fighting a blush. “But what if he doesn’t wish to . . .”
“Then you must entice him into the bed with you by whatever means necessary. Once he is under the covers, you need only take the slightest initiative, and he will surely make his desire known to you.”
“And then what?” Henrietta asked.
“And then let nature take its course. La! Child!” she exclaimed. “Do try not to look like a lamb going to slaughter. Nothing kills a man’s passion faster than a show of reluctance.” Lady Cheswick regarded her with a more sympathetic look. “Perhaps I have something that will help guide you.” Lady Cheswick rose from her bed with a groan. “Give me your hand, girl.”
She led Henrietta into the boudoir adjacent to her bedchamber. “’Tis my private library,” she explained, squinting at the books. “Look for Chorier,” she commanded.
Henrietta knelt down to examine the spines that included novels by Samuel Richardson and Daniel Defoe, plays by Hannah Cowley and Aphra Behn, and a shelf containing poetry.
While Henrietta continued perusing the titles for Chorier, Lady Cheswick retrieved a tattered volume with a chuckle. “I had nigh forgotten I had this one in my possession.”
“What is it?” Henrietta asked.
“The poems of Lord Rochester, a notorious Restoration rake. Salacious reading indeed! Perhaps I shall take this one back to my bedchamber.” She tucked it under her arm. “Have you found the Chorier?”
“Yes,” Henrietta replied and then read the spine, “A Dialogue between a Married Lady and a Maid?”
“Yes! That’s the one!” the old woman exclaimed. “And here is another!” She handed Henrietta a volume entitled Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. “If you wish to be educated in the pleasures of the flesh, you will find these most edifying. Even better,” she added with a cackle, “if it is his passion you wish to inflame—read them to Julian.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Henrietta accepted the books with a tremulous smile.
“All will be well, child,” Lady Cheswick reassured with a wink. “Now be off with you! It is bad form to keep your bridegroom waiting.” Lady Cheswick offered her cheek for a farewell buss. “Godspeed to you, child. I shall expect to be edified with all of the sordid details when next you return to London.”
“Good-bye, my lady. And thank you.” Henrietta took her leave from her aunt’s bedchamber with her heartbeat accelerating a little more as she approached the grand spiral staircase and Julian waiting below.
***
What the devil was taking her so long? Julian paced the marble-tiled foyer with long, impatient strides. Had she changed her mind after all? He almost wished she had—for her sake. He feared she had no idea what a devil’s bargain she had made in taking him as her husband. Until this moment, he’d thought himself an empty shell, devoid of hope. His future had seemed as elusive to him as the dreams of his youth. But Henrietta’s proposal had given him back the hope he’d lost. She offered him salvation—not just of his fortune, but of his very soul.
He’d told himself all along that he would never be worthy of her, that he could never measure up to Thomas, but he hadn’t realized how essential she was to him, how much he needed her. With her by his side, he had new faith that he could finally bury the past, and discover his future.
He glanced up at the top of the stairs to find her dressed to travel in her bonnet and pelisse. He studied her every movement as she descended the stairs. She was so much lovelier than he remembered from only a few days ago. Why had he ever thought her anything less than beautiful? Poised on the landing, she looked down at him and froze.
His chest seized as he read the hesitation in her soft gray eyes. Was she having second thoughts? Her gaze met his and held for an endless and excruciating heartbeat before her lips broke into a soft smile, a smile that radiated the welcoming warmth his soul craved.
Julian inhaled and moved toward her, feeling suddenly as if he had reason to breathe again. Meeting her at the bottom stair, he took her gloved hand in his. “So you still have not begged off?”
“No, Julian, I have not.” Her fascinating mouth twitched. “You accepted my proposal, so I shall hold you to it—till death do us part.”
“Very well, then,” he declared, matching her playful solemnity. “You have just sealed your fate.” He executed an exaggerated bow complete with a Continental flourish. “Your canary carriage awaits.”
“Lady Cheswick’s carriage?” Henriet
ta asked in surprise. “What of your phaeton?”
“I sold it two days ago,” he replied. “I had set out to hire a vehicle for our journey when Lady Cheswick offered hers.”
“I thoroughly approve of your economy,” Henrietta said. “I am confident that together we will weather the storm.”
“I pray you don’t drown with me instead,” he remarked dryly.
His heart lightened, Julian handed Henrietta into the carriage as the footman secured the baggage and then assisted Millie onto the driver’s seat. A moment later, he joined her inside the cavernous conveyance. He gave a sound rap on the roof and the vehicle jolted into motion. They set off at a brisk pace, but even Achilles’ Balius and Xanthus wouldn’t have been fleet enough to satisfy his eagerness to reach their destination.
Julian stretched out his legs and settled back against the crimson velvet squabs while Henrietta sat across from him rigid and upright, nervously plucking at her gloves. “Is something on your mind, Henrietta?” he gently prodded.
She heaved a martyr’s a sigh. “It’s just that I despise long journeys. I hate the confinement. I think I would have preferred your phaeton.”
“Even though I didn’t let you drive it?” he teased. Her mouth gave another twitch that suddenly made him want to kiss it. He briefly fantasized about doing precisely that—pulling her onto his lap and kissing her senseless. It would surely be more diverting to her than staring out the window at London traffic.
She glanced up, caught him looking at her, and hastily averted her gaze again. It had always been so comfortable and easy between them. Why this sudden damnable awkwardness? It seemed strange to him to be conforming to the code of proper conduct knowing they would soon be joined as one—at least in the legal sense.
He wondered if, in time, she might be gently persuaded to accept conjugal relations with him. When he’d broken with Muriel, he’d vowed to be faithful to Henrietta. He prayed that weakness of the flesh, one of his chief failings, would never cause him to falter. He’d rather cut his own heart out than hurt Henrietta.
“Julian?” she almost whispered his name. “There’s something important we need to discuss. I’ve had time to consider the terms of our . . . arrangement.”
The Redemption of Julian Price Page 9