“It is very hot, so with your permission I will take off my coat.” Gervaise matched his words to the action before sitting beside her.
Juliana propped her chin in her hands. Gervaise’s proximity stole her breath away. Her skin, more sensitive than she had ever known, quivered. Although she yearned to experience her first kiss, Juliana chided herself for desiring a widower so obviously still in love with his late wife. She swallowed, and then forced herself to speak in an even tone. “Did William call you Beau Hindu because you married a Hindu lady?”
“I daresay.”
“Why did he call you a heathen?”
“There are rumours about me.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Rumours?”
“Word has spread that I sometimes dress as an Indian.”
She peered at his portrait. The unfamiliar garb suited Gervaise, although she preferred him in the conventional clothes of an English gentleman.
“Is that the only reason William accused you of being a heathen?”
“Although I am not the only person to have brought such rarities from the East, the exotic silks and shawls, the trinkets and furnishings I brought from India are gossiped about.” He cleared his throat before looking at her sideways.” Some ill-informed people claim I am a Hindu, but it is not true.”
“Do you believe Hinduism is superior to Christianity?” Holding her breath, she waited, fearful of his answer for, like her sovereign, Queen Anne, she accepted the teachings of the Anglican Church, even if she was not nearly as fervent a supporter of it as Her Majesty.
“Not better. Different.” Gervaise hesitated as though he searched for words to explain his sentiments. “Although I find much to admire about Hindus, I also find much to despise.”
“Such as a woman being forced to burn herself on her husband’s funeral pyre?”
“Yes. Gopal Krishna das explained that according to ancient Sanscrit scriptures, the practice was never intended to become general, and that no woman should be forced to commit the act. In my opinion, justification based on scripture can be found for any heinous act in every society.” Gervaise patted her clenched fist. “Let there be no misunderstandings between us, Mistress Kemp. Although I have not engaged a chaplain, I am a Christian as I attend church on Sundays.” He stood, his movement lithe and elegant. “No more of religion and philosophy. I want you to meet my daughter, Sitala or Isabella as she is called in England. Please excuse me while I fetch her.”
Her mind reeled as she waited to meet the child. In spite of Gervaise’s explanations and reassurances, she scarce knew what to make of this alien room, any more than she did of his past life, and his familiarity with Hinduism, something she knew naught of, other than what Gervaise had told her.
Juliana bent her head. Despite the day’s extraordinary revelations, she did not doubt her love for Gervaise. In despair, she shook her head. Could she win him away from the spectre of his dead wife, whose presence she sensed earlier? Oh, she must curb her imagination. She did not believe in ghosts, did she?
The door opened. Gervaise entered the room with his young daughter in his arms. He put her down and then patted her head. Isabella reached up to clutch her father’s hand.
“Make your curtsey to the lady, Isabella,” Gervaise prompted.
Apart from the inheritance of Gervaise’s chestnut hair, the little girl resembled her mother. Isabella’s skin might be a little fairer than Pushpa’s but it was of an equally attractive shade. Juliana smiled at the child. Isabella’s huge, dark eyes, so like her mother’s, regarded her with contemplation unusual in one so young.
“Mistress Kemp, with your permission, I have the pleasure of presenting my daughter, Lady Isabella.”
When the little girl made her curtsey without a wobble, Gervaise smiled down at her, his love and pride revealed in the softened expression of his eyes.
“Isabella, this lady is Mistress Kemp. I am sure you will like her as much as I do.”
What did Gervaise mean? How much did he like her? Did he say it for no other reason than to reassure the child?
The little girl put her thumb between her full lips. Gervaise tugged it out of her mouth. “Do not suck your thumb. Nurse says it will spoil the shape of your mouth, an unfortunate fate for one as pretty as yours.”
Isabella clutched the hem of Gervaise’s coat. “I like sucking my thumb.”
He laughed. “Everything we like is not good for us.”
Juliana sympathised with the child. Through Henrietta, she understood the grief of not having a mother from a young age. She longed to embrace small, pleasingly plump Isabella. “How old are you, Lady Isabella?”
“Four.” The child buried her face in Gervaise’s satin breeches.
He stooped and tried to coax Isabella out of her shyness. With his encouragement, she peered at Juliana. “What is your other name?” she asked.
“My other name?”
“Yes, I have two names. Sitala is the nice one.”
“You are very fortunate to have two beautiful names,” Juliana said.
Isabella wriggled, popped her plump thumb back into her mouth while continuing to stare at Juliana.
Someone knocked loudly on the door.
“Come,” Gervaise called out.
A woman, garbed in dark grey and white, bustled in and curtsied. “There you are, Lady Isabella.” She glared at Gervaise. “My lord, how many times have I asked you not to remove her ladyship from the nursery whenever you please?”
From the nurse’s mode of speech, Juliana judged her to be better educated than most women in her position. Yet, without reason, she disliked her.
“I apologise if my actions inconvenience you, Nurse, but she is my daughter to do with as I will whenever I wish,” Gervaise replied with a mixture of conciliation and authority.
Nurse frowned. “It is time for Lady Isabella and her cousins to eat.”
Isabella looked up at Gervaise. “I want to eat with you, Father.”
Gervaise shook his head, picked his daughter up, and then kissed her cheek. “Not today.” She put her arms around his neck. He disengaged himself from her before setting her on her feet. “To please me, be good and go with your nurse.”
With her reluctance expressed by snail-like speed, Isabella allowed the woman to guide her out of the room.
The harsh lines on his face softened as he watched his daughter depart. When the door closed behind her, he turned his head and looked down at Juliana. “Isabella is my wife’s most important legacy. The vast estate she bequeathed to me is valueless compared to my daughter.”
She smiled at him. “I understand, truly I do. My father said Henrietta and I were his heart’s treasures, testaments to his love for our mother. You are to be congratulated, Isabella is adorable. How lucky you are to have such a beautiful daughter. Henrietta would love her. She dotes on little children.”
“I look forward to seeing your sister again.”
At the thought of the deprivation Henrietta might be undergoing, anguish filled her. After all, what could be expected of a man like William, who had banished his small half-sister to the nursery and, in a house of plenty, allowed her to go hungry to bed.
“If only Henrietta were here with us.”
“Juliana, be brave. Pierre has come to London from The Grange, where I ordered him to keep watch over you when I visited Beaumaris Abbey. Pierre and others in my employ are trailing Lord Kemp’s footsteps. Sooner or later, I hope they will lead to your sister.”
She wanted to search the violent streets of London for Henrietta, but she must be sensible. If harm came to her it would not help her sister. “How can I ever repay you?”
“There is no need to speak of such a matter.”
She stood. “Yet there is naught you could ask of me which I would not grant you.”
* * * *
Gervaise caught his breath while he admired Juliana’s unique beauty. She stood before him like a pure white lily, sheathed in dark foliage against the sumptuo
us background of his daughter’s Indian Room; a room which reminded him of the tenderness and passionate love he and Pushpa had once shared.
He inclined his head to look up at his late wife’s portrait. Never would he forget her, but she represented his past. All of his former misgivings dispersed. Although time alone would tell whether or not he loved Juliana as much as he had loved Pushpa, one day, he would ask Juliana to do him the honour of being his Countess. All that mattered now was his love for Juliana, and his belief that not only would his love for her grow, but also that she would be a kind stepmother. If Juliana accepted his proposal, together they would raise Isabella and Henrietta.
Gervaise expelled his breath as though he had released his past. He took another breath symbolic of his future. If God blessed their union, Juliana would bear his son and heir.
“In future,” Gervaise began, and then paused to smile, “I might remind you that you once said there is naught you would not grant me.”
Juliana’s dimples appeared, although the expression in her eyes revealed anxiety. “Very well, but for the present please grant me a favour.”
“How can I serve you?”
“By doing me the favour of dismissing Isabella’s nurse.”
“Dismiss her nurse! Why?”
Juliana nodded as though she wanted to add weight to her suggestion. “Be rid of her. Isabella needs someone to play a mother’s part. The last thing she needs is a strict dragon of a woman who rules the nursery with fire and brimstone.”
His shoulders drooped. Memories of his unhappy childhood left him aghast at the thought of Isabella’s possible suffering. “Mistress Kemp how can you be certain my daughter’s nurse is too strict?”
“Isabella flinched when the woman touched her.”
Had the woman ever struck his daughter? Did she pinch Isabella? How could he have been so blind? He had assumed his daughter expressed no more than natural reluctance to return to the nursery.
Gervaise squared his shoulders. “It shocks me to think of the possibility that my daughter is being mistreated. Since Pushpa’s untimely death, I have striven to ensure her happiness.”
“If you have the slightest doubt, dismiss the woman. For the time being, pay your sister’s nurse to supervise Isabella as well as James and Margaret, until you find another one to play a mother’s part.”
Yes, one day he would ask Juliana to marry him as much for Isabella’s sake as his own. He raised Juliana’s hand to his lips, confident that she would accept his proposal.
Juliana’s face flushed.
Blood drummed in his head. So she desired him even as he desired her.
Juliana’s breasts rose and fell faster than usual beneath their demure layer of black silk.
“I now claim your promise not to deny me anything.”
She snatched her hand away. “My lord?”
“Gervaise,” he drawled, “you only need to call me ‘my lord’ in society.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you want of me?”
“To lay aside your mourning.”
Juliana opened her mouth.
Before she could speak, a wave of his hand silenced her.
“Do not fatigue me by protesting you have not the wherewithal to purchase new clothes. I will fund you. No, no, do not argue. When the time comes, if you still insist, you may repay me.”
“I planned to wear mourning for a year.”
“It is not the picture I wish you to present to the world.”
“You take too much upon yourself.”
He raised an eyebrow with mock hauteur. “If you say so.”
“Oh,” Juliana breathed, her parted lips promising delight. Yet they must await marriage or, if he could not contain his impatience to kiss her, their betrothal. “So, do you agree to stop dressing like a crow?”
“A crow! You are impolite.” She smoothed her gown. “But, yes, I will come out of mourning, for no matter what I wear, Father will never return to me.”
To comfort her, he enfolded her in his arms. After a moment or two, Juliana withdrew. “Your valet will never forgive me if my powder soils another one of your coats.” She stroked salmon pink satin with the tip of her forefinger.
“We must dine,” he said, afraid pulsing desire would overwhelm him. “I daresay Barbara and Ralph are wondering where we are.”
* * * *
Barbara rose from a chair in the small salon where Gervaise usually entertained close friends. “Gervaise, it is unmannerly to keep your guests waiting an age to satisfy their appetites. I vow I will perish from hunger.”
“Please accept my apology, but be done with your scolding. Allow me to lead the way to the dining room.”
When they were seated at the table, Gervaise eyed his sister. “Barbara, I know you will be pleased to hear Juliana has agreed to come out of mourning.”
Barbara clapped her hands. “How we will enjoy choosing your wardrobe, Juliana. Everything shall be of the finest quality. Of course, you must live somewhat retired until you complete your first year of mourning. ’Twould not be fitting for you to go to the theatre. But you may stroll in St James Park, visit Her Majesty’s court, and attend some small but select parties,” she broke off, addressed Wilson, and pointed at the contents of a tureen. “What is that?”
The butler rolled his eyes. “I cannot say, my lady.”
“It is spinach, first boiled, then drained and tossed in spiced butter with fried cubes of curd cheese,” Gervaise said.
Barbara eyed him with obvious suspicion. “’Pon my word, brother, will you deny meat to all your guests?”
He signalled to a lackey to serve his sister. “Taste the dish before you deplore it.”
A protracted sigh issued from Barbara before she forked a minute quantity into her mouth.
“Well?” Gervaise asked.
“My compliments to your cook, ’tis delicious. Your cuisine will set a new fashion. It is the cleverest thing in the world to set one. I mean a new fashion, which I vow is no easy accomplishment. I congratulate you. I shall ask your cook to give me the receipt.”
Gervaise chuckled. “I do not seek to set a new fashion. As for the receipt, you need not ask cook, I gave it to her, and will write it down for you.”
* * * *
That night, Juliana sat in her bedchamber on the cushioned window seat, her knees drawn up to her chin. A barn owl, ghostly white against the dark sky, glided toward the sweet chestnut tree visible on the skyline.
From the day Mother died, Juliana had become adept at concealing her feelings because Father disliked mournful faces. Due to his abhorrence of unrestrained emotion, she became mistress of her sensibilities. Little by little, Gervaise’s kindness and sympathy undermined her painfully acquired self-possession. Since she met him, her tears welled up more often than they had during the last eight years.
She cupped her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook. How could she be brave when thoughts of Henrietta’s suffering never left her, and both fear of the future and loneliness stalked her?
Despite her effort to control her emotions, a long, low wail escaped her. Ashamed, she bit her lower lip. The pain triggered an unwanted flood of tears. Her shoulders heaved. She wept noisily. What would Father have thought of Gervaise? If Gervaise asked her to marry him, would her father have deemed him fit to be her husband? Yet what did any opinion Father might have had, matter? Her respect for him had waned since she learned of his change of religion and politics. Presumably he changed his faith to suit his convenience instead of his conscience. To make matters worse, he had not kept his promises to her. What would happen to her and to Henrietta?
“What am I going to do if I cannot regain Riverside?” she asked as tears filled her eyes.
Tears would not help. Juliana gulped them back and dried her face. Perhaps she could put her education to good use by starting a school for young ladies. She struggled for composure. Or maybe she should do the unthinkable for Henrietta’s sake and marry Ravenstock, although she had
no doubt that it would condemn her to a life of misery. She shook her head to quell her wild thoughts. Never could she marry a man of Ravenstock’s ilk. Should she visit William and pretend to agree to the marriage because she knew not how to find Henrietta in crowded London town? Could she outwit her half-brother?
“Pyari,” a deep voice exclaimed.
Startled, she turned her head away from the window. Gervaise had entered her bedchamber as silently as the owl had glided.
A sob escaped her. Ashamed, she swallowed to control her tears.
In a few strides, he crossed the room. “I heard you crying through an open window.” He sat down next to her and then, with a gentle hand, smoothed her hair.
She looked up at his face, illuminated by faint moonlight. “Gervaise, you should not be here.”
“Who else would comfort you as I can?” he asked, his voice harsh while he removed his hand from her head. “Forgive me, I know I should not be here. You are temptation personified, and I am a mere mortal. Do not cry. One day, I am sure you will be happy.”
Juliana took his strong hand in hers. Why did he jerk it away from her as though he was stung by a bee? Oh, he had just said she was too great a temptation. Surely that meant he did want to kiss her.
Gervaise’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“I must bid you goodnight. Yet, if fate is kind, in future we will not be obliged to undergo such ‘sweet sorrow.’”
“What do you mean? Our families do not feud like Romeo and Juliet’s.”
His eyes gleamed. “You have much to resolve, and I have much to do on your behalf.”
* * * *
Gervaise strode along the corridor to his chamber. Only iron resolve had prevented him from drawing Juliana into a fierce embrace and kissing her. Of course, if he had done so, he would have been honour bound to ask her to marry him. He sighed. For as long as he remained her unofficial guardian, he would not take the smallest advantage of her.
Far Beyond Rubies Page 18