by Sharon Page
“I don’t believe that is what I want.”
He took her hand, led her to the bed. He sat on the end of it, pulling her with him. He pulled her onto his lap. Felt her rounded bottom settle on him, smelled her light rosy perfume, gazed at her perfect profile. And something happened to him. He threw aside any noble part of him.
“I’d want to take you around the world while I paint,” he said, keeping his voice low and seductive. “I’d want to sleep under a lean-to with you in the north, cuddled tight together against the cold of frost.”
She caught her breath. And he was holding his. Expecting her to turn him down flat. Giving her every reason why she shouldn’t want him—except the real one.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” she breathed. “Being with you—every moment I’ve spent with you—has made me see there’s something I couldn’t live without in marriage.”
“What’s that?” he asked, all innocence, even as he trailed his lips down her neck, then nipped the very base of it.
She moaned and he felt a jolt of lust and pain. “What can’t you live without?” he asked again.
“Passion,” she squeaked.
The way she said it, all wrapped up in ladylike nerves, only served to make him want her more. Wanting her was a feeling more powerful than the beat of his heart.
“You could marry me,” he said, “if you were willing to live a nomadic life with me.”
“But I want you to find a home. To build a family and be happy. What if there are children? They can’t live in a tent or be taken all over the world.”
“Worthington will never be my home.”
“I haven’t changed you at all, have I?” she asked softly. “It’s not you selling Worthington that frightens me now. Doing so will not give you peace from the past or change anything that happened. It won’t make your past go away. It won’t heal your pain.”
“If I gave you the choice, Julia, would you choose Worthington over me?”
“It doesn’t have to be a choice.”
“Yes.” His voice was cool and low. “It does.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She moved away from him.
“If you don’t marry me, I’d sell the damn place in a heartbeat.”
Her eyes went wide. “You can’t blackmail me into marriage.”
“I can.”
“No, you cannot. This is a mistake. A terrible mistake.” She jumped off the bed to her feet. “I’m going back to my room.” She pushed her skirt back down so it covered her thighs. Hiking up her straps, she hurried to the door. Cal followed her and saw her snatch up her girdle. He almost smiled as she clutched it to her chest and ran out into the hall.
He stalked over to the champagne bottle in the bucket. The hell with a glass. He lifted it to his lips and drank straight from the fancy bottle.
He knew loss and he knew pain. He’d lost his father and mother. Both deaths—in a way—had been his fault. He had witnessed hell in the War. He’d seen David wounded. He knew what it was like to have your heart broken by grief and pain.
But right now, it felt like his heart had shattered. Into pieces too small to ever fix.
He couldn’t lose Julia.
Every moment he’d spent with her flashed before his eyes, like a moving picture. The first night he saw her on the terrace, sparkling as if all the stars in the world surrounded her. Her determined vow to make him love Worthington. Her glowing smiles for young Ben. Her strength when she helped Ellen. How she’d gamely herded the pigs.
He loved her. More deeply, more intensely than he’d loved anyone.
He shouldn’t marry her. Not a girl like Julia. He had no right to her, but he was going to make her his. And he would sell his soul to do it—that’s what Mam would say, wasn’t it? That keeping the truth from Julia was as good as lying to her. Marrying her that way had to be a sin.
* * *
Julia knew a lady should probably throw herself on the bed and cry. But she jumped on her bed and pummeled it with her fists.
Inside, she was all wound up. And all mixed-up. Had he seriously offered marriage—or was it a joke? Or was he just trying to get her into his bed?
A knock sounded at her door. “Julia, it’s Cal. I want to ask you to marry me. Seriously this time. Honest.”
His words answered her unspoken question so clearly, it stunned her. Sometimes she’d imagined a proposal from Cal—imaginings she wouldn’t even admit to herself. She never dreamed she would feel as if walking across clouds to receive it. As if she could fly, as if she were lighter than air, but tentative and full of nerves, too.
The instant she opened her door, Cal dropped down on one knee and took her hand. “You’ve changed me, Julia. I know Worthington means so much to you. You don’t know how much it touched me to have you say you agreed with me—that maybe the place is poisoned and should be destroyed.”
She was about to speak, but he rushed on. “Julia, I’d rather live with you at Worthington than live in pain and anger for the rest of my life. I need you. A life without you would be too empty for me to bear. I love you. You’ve changed me because I love you. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“I didn’t change you,” she whispered. Her throat was so tight. “You’ve always been a loyal, loving, good man. I know that from everything you have done for your brother, for Ellen and the Brands.”
Cal got to his feet. What did it mean when a man got off his knee during a proposal, before she’d answered? Had she ruined the moment? Julia struggled to find a rule of polite behavior to deal with such a thing—
He drew her out to the terrace, holding her hand. He walked with her to the railing. Lights sparkled all around her, streamed up the Eiffel Tower and shimmered at the dizzying top.
“In front of all Paris, Julia, tell me—do you care for me enough to marry me?”
She sucked in a breath. She saw the vulnerability in his eyes. The hope.
“You’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met,” he said softly. “You’re ladylike and elegant—”
“I thought you didn’t like such things.”
“I adore them about you. But you also have all the kindness my mother always had. You truly care about people. You are too good for me. I’ve no right to ask you to become my wife—”
“Stop that. I love you—” She hesitated. “And you are really willing to keep Worthington?”
“Yes, Julia.”
“Then, yes, I will marry you. Yes! Very much yes! But we should be modern about this. Are you, Cal Carstairs, willing to become my husband?”
He grinned, dazzling her. “With all my heart, Julia.”
19
Wedding at Worthington
“Silly twit. I’m right worried about her,” Hannah muttered as she worked on the preparations for the wedding feast. Tansy had vanished again, just when Hannah desperately needed her help. The food for the earl’s wedding must be perfect.
“Worried about whom?” Eustace the footman asked. He was clearing the luncheon dishes, bringing them down from upstairs.
“I’m just wondering where Tansy has got herself to.”
“Maybe she’s lying down. She’s kind of delicate,” Eustace said.
“She’s kind of lazy,” Hannah said sourly. “I expect she’s snuck out to see that man.”
At first Eustace had looked affronted by her comment, then he looked panicked. “What man?” He was in love with Tansy—that was written all over his face. But Tansy didn’t even know the poor lad was alive.
If it were Hannah that he admired, she’d be thrilled. And she hated the way flighty Tansy was making her growl and snap—everyone thought it was her new position going to her head. But she had so much responsibility, and no one seemed to understand.
She hated to break Eustace�
�s heart. And she knew he wouldn’t thank her for giving him the truth, but she was tired of covering up. She was also scared. “Tansy is chasing after a toff who takes her for rides in his motorcar. It will end badly. I just know it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’ll seduce her, use her and then leave her hanging.”
“But Tansy’s lovely and any man could fall in love with her.”
Hannah wished it would all work out for the best. But she had a country-bred mother—the sort who always saw disasters and dangers looming. She sighed. “Anyway, I have bigger problems to worry about. I have to make a wedding cake and I have no idea what to do!”
“Don’t you just bake it?”
Hannah shook her head. “Wedding cakes are fashionable, so I must make something grand and dazzling. I tried one already and—” She went to the larder and took out her first attempt. She’d found some little decorative columns stored away in the kitchen and she’d used them to stack two layers of cake. The upper one had crushed the columns right through the lower one.
Eustace frowned. “You can’t stack something on a cake. Of course it won’t hold it up.”
“Then how do they do it?”
“I don’t know. You’re the cook. Can’t you read a book?”
Hannah bit her lip. She could read a little, but she hadn’t found any recipes for wedding cakes. And she couldn’t really read most of the recipe books that Mrs. Feathers had kept.
If she failed at this, she would be out on her rump. What was she going to do?
“Mrs. Talbot? May I speak to you for a moment?”
Hannah jerked her head up. She gazed into concerned blue eyes and gasped, “My lady, I didn’t see you there. Of course you can speak with me.” She bobbed a quick curtsy to lovely Lady Julia of Brideswell Abbey, the woman about to become Countess of Worthington.
“I wished to speak to you about the menu for the wedding reception, Mrs. Talbot. I wish to know if you can cope. Do you need extra help?”
Oh God, her soon-to-be mistress doubted she could do it. “Of course I can, my lady,” Hannah said defensively. “You’ve nothing to worry about.” She thought of the horrible squashed cake. Her cheeks got hot. She swallowed hard.
“How many kitchen maids do you have?”
Hannah saw Lady Julia was not going to be easily bamboozled. “There’s two.” Did she defend Tansy? Did she reveal the truth—that she was trying to do most of the work herself? She hated to admit that she couldn’t control Tansy. That she gave orders and Tansy did whatever she wanted. She might get the sack for Tansy’s disobedience.
Lady Julia looked over to Pru, the new kitchen maid, who was scrubbing the breakfast pots. “You seem to have only one helper today. Where is the other maid?”
Hannah gulped. Why risk her job for Tansy? But she couldn’t bring herself to tattle. Tansy would be fired without a character. She wouldn’t do that to her worst enemy.
“I think she’s under the weather,” Hannah began.
Then they all heard feminine squealing and Tansy rushed into the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, “You can be a naughty thing, can’t you, Stephen?”
The first footman came in, grinning. He saw Lady Julia and froze. Eustace glowered at Stephen.
“Hurry up and get to work, Tansy,” Hannah snapped. “There’s to be no fooling around in my kitchen.” She tried to sound as forceful as Mrs. Feathers. Especially in front of her future mistress. She just wasn’t good at it and she feared Lady Julia would think her inadequate. “You don’t want her ladyship to think we will let her down over the wedding meal,” she said briskly.
Tansy gushed over Lady Julia, giving all kinds of promises. Tansy could lay it on thicker and gooier than treacle when she wanted. Then, Hannah almost fainted in shock when Tansy said, “Everything will be just perfect, my lady. Except for the wedding cake. Hannah has no idea how to make a wedding cake.”
“That’s not true,” Hannah declared, panicking.
Lady Julia lifted a brow. “Could we speak privately, Mrs. Talbot?”
Hannah saw Tansy’s tiny smirk as she followed her ladyship. And she knew—Tansy wanted to become cook.
They went into the housekeeper’s sitting room, which was empty. Hannah was impressed—her ladyship was sparing her embarrassment—but also terrified.
Lady Julia closed the door quietly, then said, “A wedding cake is a very difficult thing. We could have it made in London.”
And she’d look like a failure. “I can do it, my lady.”
“Have you ever made one before?”
“I—” She could lie, but she’d be caught. She shook her head. “No. I have no idea how to make a wedding cake.” She winced. “Are you going to tell his lordship to let me go?”
“Of course not.” Lady Julia tapped her finger against her chin. “What we must do is find someone to teach you. We have a few days yet. Perhaps we can find a chef in London to assist you. That way, you will learn how to do it.”
“But, my lady—” She broke off. No doubt she would lose her place—to the chef!
“What is it, Mrs. Talbot?”
“I feel I’ve failed you.”
“You have not. But I will be disappointed if you do not take this opportunity.”
“You’d be disappointed if I don’t let him help me?” She didn’t understand.
“I want you to learn. I don’t expect you to magically know how to do things.”
“I will learn, my lady,” Hannah said quickly. If she wasn’t so afraid, she’d be over the moon to be getting lessons. But she was a simple girl from a simple family. What if she couldn’t learn how to make a fancy cake? What then?
* * *
It was the morning of her wedding and she was in her wedding gown.
Julia took a deep breath and turned in front of her mirror. The white silk dress skimmed over her breasts and hips to a dropped waist accented with a band of pearls. The skirt flowed to midcalf, so it showed off quite a bit of her legs in silk stockings. An overskirt of tulle billowed behind her, tumbling over her train of satin. Light and airy, the dress seemed to float on its own and she felt as though if she lifted her arms, she’d take flight.
After all, she was floating on air. Though trembling with anticipation.
“There, my lady.”
Zoe’s maid, Callie, sat back on her heels, and let out a big puff of breath. She’d had to fix a small tear in the hem and she’d done it quickly but admitted, “It’s not as well done as I’d like, my lady. But it will last for today.”
“It’s wonderful.” Julia was grateful and did think it was wonderful. “You’ve done miracles.”
“Thank you, milady,” Callie said.
After all, with help from one of the upstairs maids, Callie had managed to dress Isobel and Zoe, and then she had tackled Julia’s wedding gown. It had been made in London, rushed to be prepared in days because Cal had wanted to marry quickly.
She didn’t understand why, but after they’d returned from Paris, she’d barely seen Cal. He went out all day in his motorcar, touring around the estate. He had been invited for several dinners at Brideswell and she saw him then, but in the crowded dining room and drawing rooms. He had never tried to get her alone. He had spent more time with Nigel than with her—he’d gone to Nigel not to ask permission but to say they were getting married.
If Cal was trying to build anticipation...well, she was ready to explode.
But strangely it was as if he was avoiding her. Nerves? What was he doing? She was going to marry him. She should trust him. She knew it was wrong to doubt, to wonder: Was he breaking apart Worthington and not telling her?
Julia took a deep breath. She would not think of things like that.
Callie fussed a bit with her hair. Then said, worriedly, “
But we don’t yet have something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.”
Zoe breezed into her bedroom. She wore a beautiful dress of white and blue that set off her golden hair. “Oh my gosh, you look beautiful.” Zoe laughed, brushed a tear and embraced her.
“Oh dear.” Julia broke from the hug, laughing too and waving her hands. “You’ll make me cry.”
Callie held a mass of tulle. “It’s time for your veil, my lady.”
Zoe stepped back. Julia turned to face the mirror and stood utterly still as Callie secured the veil and diamond-encrusted circlet in place. Grandmama had worn it for her wedding and while it was old-fashioned and Victorian, Julia had been touched when her grandmother gave it to her to use. It was her borrowed item.
Grandmama had done nothing more than raise a brow and say, “Oh, you’re marrying the American. I can’t say I’m surprised. But I can’t say I approve, my dear. You barely know him—and while I grew up in a time when it was best to know as little as possible about one’s husband when marrying him, I fear it will cause trouble between you.”
Julia had smiled. “I intend to find out everything about him now, Grandmama.”
“You’ll only learn as much as he wants you to know,” the dowager had replied. “At least until you fight. Then you’ll learn everything.”
“There, my lady,” Callie said, bringing her back to the present as she smoothed the tulle.
Zoe sat on the edge of the bed. “Now that you’re leaving Brideswell, you’ll need a lady’s maid.”
Julia jerked up her head. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You hadn’t? Julia, you always think of everything when it comes to running a household.”
“I know, but since coming back from Paris, all I could think of was Cal. Being in b—I mean, marrying him. I suppose I will have to advertise. And quickly.”
“It is a shame there is no one local who could do it. That makes it so much faster. You’ll need someone responsible, someone with excellent sewing skills, someone you can trust.”